The Orwellian Future of Reproductive Rights 

Abortion is a controversial topic, with its opponents believing that it equates to murder and its proponents believing that it is a basic human right. There are multiple ways to explain why abortion is necessary, but let us start with this: Women die giving birth to children. The whole process of giving birth is extremely intense and puts an intense amount of strain on the women’s body – enough to kill them – making childbirth extremely dangerous. The act of raising a child is long and expensive, especially in America. Hospital visits can cost tens of thousands of dollars, with or without insurance, not to mention the cost of baby supplies. If a ten-year-old girl wanted to adopt a baby, would you let her do it? No, of course not. This (hypothetical) girl does not have the money to take care of it and she knows nothing about taking care of a newborn baby. But what if she was raped and impregnated? Would you make her carry it to term, only so she could face strain on her body that has killed thousands of full grown women since human existence? Would you cram her head with knowledge of raising a child when she will soon face the academic burden of higher education? At what point does this go too far? Not to mention the stigma surrounding young mothers, teenage mothers, and single mothers? What would people think of that ten-year-old mother? There is no reset button, no undo button to save her now. But this could have been prevented, so many months ago, with one of the most controversial medical procedures today: Abortion. 

 With Roe v. Wade overturned last June, many states have immediately turned to taking advantage of the situation, banning several (if not all) forms of abortion, with little to no exception. But what is Roe v. Wade? In 1973, Norma McCorvey, a mother of two, was pregnant with her third child and wanted an abortion. However, she lived in Texas, where abortion was illegal except to save the mother’s life. With her attorneys, Sarah Weddington and Linda Coffee, and under the pseudonym of “Jane Roe,” she won her case over her local district attorney, Henry Wade, stating that Texas’s abortion rules were unconstitutional. Furthermore, in 1973, the Supreme Court issued a decision holding that there is a due “right to privacy,” protecting women’s right to abortion. And so it was, for many years, until last June, when Roe v. Wade was overturned. With many states leaping to take advantage of it, many worry for the future of reproductive rights and compare it to Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale. From standpoints literary, moral, political, and historical, it is impossible to deny reproductive freedoms for women and other people with uteruses without having unconscionable foundations.  

Passages: 

Offred narrates: “But a chair, sunlight, flowers: these are not to be dismissed. I am alive, I live, I breathe, I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight. Where I am is not a prison but a privilege, as Aunt Lydia said, who was in love with either/or.”

Atwood’s dystopian novel depicts a future America, where inalienable rights are taken away and women are objectified and only hold value through their fertility and spouse, and everyone lives under control of Christian extremists. Throughout the novel, there are many aspects of life that are notably oppressive, such as the restriction of several rights, abilities, and freedoms of women. One important thing to note is the obvious: this is a dystopian novel taking place in the U.S., and that the country was taken over by Christian extremists, transforming the country into a strict and cruel civilization shaped with patriarchy, constantly oppressing any who dare speak out against the society, renaming it Gilead, which is shocking, because no one has ever really written about a country as ‘progressive’ as the U.S. in a sort of Orwellian way. Though the novel doesn’t openly advocate abortion, it advocates reproductive rights by showing how women’s bodies are constantly in control by their male counterparts, doctors, and lawmakers. We see this when the main character, Offred, acts as narrator, guiding the readers through the basic “do’s and don’ts” of living. We learn that abortion, along with other procedures relating to women’s bodily anatomy when it comes to pregnancy is not only illegal and banned, but one could go through severe torture and eventually death just for speaking of it. 

Throughout the novel, you start to see where so many basic rights and abilities such as freedom of speech and the ability to use talk with others are taken away, and it makes you realize the power they hold. One of which is the ability to have and use your own name. As described in the novel, the main character’s name, Offred, used to be June, but it was changed when the country was taken over. Similarly, the woman she works for, Serena Joy, was renamed, with her original name being Pam, along with other female characters in the novel – one starts to see how every female character is renamed, but nothing is changed about the men. Our name is a part of who we are and is often the first thing others know about us. Being able to use one’s own name is important and underestimated. 

Additionally, the right to free speech is especially important and easy to forget about, but its absence in the setting of the novel is especially noticeable. Any word heard against the country, legal system, or society would lead to harsh physical punishment, adding to the sort of dystopian, Orwellian theme. Like our country today, both governments have found ways to ban abortion, and many states have gone out of their way to eliminate abortion in its entirety, severely punishing those who go through or assist the procedure more then those who commit much more drastic crimes such as rape or child molestation. According to the New York Times article, “Inside the Extreme Effort to Punish Women for Abortion,” “Even as those in the anti-abortion movement celebrate their nation-changing Supreme Court victory, there are divisions over where to go next. The most extreme, like Mr. Durbin, want to pursue what they call “abortion abolition,” a move to criminalize abortion from conception as homicide, and hold women who have the procedure responsible — a position that in some states could make those women eligible for the death penalty. That position is at odds with the anti-abortion mainstream, which opposes criminalizing women and focuses on prosecuting providers.” Eligible for the death penalty. What if the abortion was utilized because of the high risk of death to the carrier? There are even those who seek miscarriages to be labeled as murder and punishable. Which is more valuable: the life of an unborn child or the life of a fully grown child and adult? 

With people like Durbin placing such high importance and specified personification on fetuses, some people fight back with the argument that if a fetus were to be valued as much as a grown human, they should also have rights and insurance. In the article “If a fetus is a person, it should get child support, due process and citizenship” from the Washington Post, assistant Professor at Washington and Lee University School of Law Carliss Chatman makes points of what possible rights and events could happen if a fetus was viewed as equal as a person.  For instance, take their statement that “When a state grants full personhood to a fetus, should they not apply equally? For example, should child support start at conception? Every state permits the custodial parent — who has primary physical custody of the child and is primarily responsible for his or her day-to-day care — to receive child support from the noncustodial parent. Since a fetus resides in its mother, and receives all nutrition and care from its mother’s body, the mother should be eligible for child support as soon as the fetus is declared a person —” and “And what about deportation? Can a pregnant immigrant who conceived her child in the United States be expelled? Because doing so would require deporting a U.S. citizen.” Elaborating on the topic of deportation, Chatman points out that if one were to determine the citizenship of a fetus, they would have to look to section 1 of the 14th Amendment, which declares that “All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.” She further points out that the term born was not defined by the writers, and that they must have meant the dictionary definition of the word, of which was “to be brought forth by birth.” One’s birthday is celebrated on the yearly anniversary of their being born, as in the day their mother gave birth to them, not the day they were a fetus. “But in states with abortion bans, born takes on a new meaning. Now legislatures assign an arbitrary time during gestation to indicate when life, personhood and, presumably, the rights that accompany these statuses take hold. This grant of natural personhood at a point before birth brings application of the 14th Amendment into question and may thus give a fetus citizenship rights — but only in those states.” Chatman points out yet another detail overlooked by the Supreme Court in their decision to overturn Roe v. Wade; because of the grant of natural personhood (and presumably, the rights that come with it) that a fetus is given by the lawmakers banning abortion, the application of the 14th Amendment comes under question and may possible allow said fetus to have citizenship. A newborn infant born in the U.S. is granted citizenship, but a fetus? This is something without a conscience; something unaware of its very existence. A line has to be drawn deciding when a person is considered a citizen, a line that doesn’t quite exist and is being exploited by lawmakers. 

With lawmakers and citizens seeking to penalize and label miscarriage as murder (even though miscarriages are not preventable and often happen without warning), there is a strikingly similar tone in The Handmaid’s Tale. In the novel, old women and infertile women are sent to enclosed states where they handle chemical materials without protective gear, allowing them to die due to the amount of radiation they are exposed to, making it a sort of extended death sentence. Those women are called the Unwomen, and it’s not just the old or infertile that are sent there. If a Handmaid miscarries, she has a chance of becoming an Unwoman, forced out and exposed to radiation. Though the novel was published over 35 years ago in 1985, the eerily similar thought process and beliefs of the religious extremists of the antagonists and location in the United States to the Supreme Court’s turnover of Roe v. Wade and its unfolding aftermath today could be seen as a foreshadowing of what’s next to come for abortion rights. In January of 2020, Britteny Poolaw, a then-19-year-old Native American from Oklahoma, arrived at Comanche County Memorial Hospital after suffering a miscarriage at home a little over 4 months into her term. According to the affidavit given by the detective who had interviewed her, Poolaw told the hospital staff that she had recently used marijuana and methamphetamine, which was then added to the list of factors contributing to the cause of miscarriage, a list which also contained congenital abnormality and placental abruption. She was arrested on account of first degree manslaughter and since she couldn’t afford the $20,000 bail, she had waited over a year and a half for her trial, which took place in October of 2021 and lasted one day. According to the local news station at the court, an expert witness had testified that the use of methamphetamine may not have been the main cause of miscarriage, but after debating for less than three hours, the jury found her guilty, and she was sentenced to four years of prison.

It is important to recognize the other contributing factors of the abortion, notable ones which were congenital abnormality and placental abruption. According to the World Health Organization, “An estimated 6% of babies worldwide are born with a congenital anomaly, resulting in hundreds of thousands of associated deaths. However, the true number of cases may be much higher because statistics do not often consider terminated pregnancies and stillbirths.” Some congenital abnormalities include heart defects, neural tube defects, and down syndrome, which can impact those who develop them for their entire life. This means that there was a chance that Poolaw could have given birth to a stillborn infant, or an infant which might have a congenital abnormality such as a heart defect, requiring expensive treatments that could put Poolaw in debt or considerably worse financial position, given that she wasn’t able to pay her bail and that healthcare in the U.S. is considerably expensive. Additionally, placental abruption could cause internal bleeding for the mother, sometimes requiring an early birth or resulting in a miscarriage. Infants born too early would need to be incubated, yet another expensive charge for the parent or parents. Infants born after surviving placental abruption have a higher mortality than ones born without abruption, and the impact of abruption extends far beyond the perinatal period. Even if Poolaw were to give birth, her would-be son would face a series of health issues, requiring costly treatments that would put almost anyone in financial burden. But the detective’s affidavit also stated that “when she found out that she was pregnant she didn’t know if she wanted the baby or not. She said she wasn’t familiar with how or where to get an abortion.” Examining this piece of evidence, one would be able to deduce that Poolaw’s entire ordeal could have been avoided if abortion resources and information were available to her. Reproductive healthcare is extremely important for those pregnant, and when it’s not available, the loss of information or spread of misinformation could seriously damage the mother or the fetus, resulting in an unfair imprisonment or punishment that could have been completely avoidable had the resources been present and available. 

It’s also important to recognize how race, stereotypes, and the stigma surrounding young and/or single mothers plays into the topic of prosecution of women miscarrying or having abortions. According to the NCRC, “Based on the 2015-2019 ACS for American Indian and Alaska Native population, the median income of American Indian and Alaska Native households was $43,825 – slightly higher than the median income of African American households, which was $41,935. The Hispanic household income for that same period was $51,811. Altogether, these numbers are substantially lower than White, non-Hispanic household median income of $68,785. In 2015, the average income on reservations was 68% below the US average, about $17,000.” According to an NBC news article, “A 2013 report by NAPW and Fordham University looked at 413 arrests and forced interventions of pregnant women from 1973 to 2005. The analysis showed that 71 percent were considered low income and 59 percent were women of color, with 52 percent identifying as Black.” Just by looking at the statistics, one could observe that women of color, especially those considered to be of low income, were charged more. It is no secret that people of color are often imprisoned far more often and harshly than their white counterparts. But why are women so harshly punished for actions of nature? A healthy birth can never be guaranteed, but it seems that lawmakers can’t decide on where the line should be drawn between nature and intentional terminated pregnancy. 

But this is not the only problem. Many anti-abortion protestors and lawmakers go on to harass those who are pro-choice or seeking abortion, with anti-abortion protestors rallying outside of abortion clinics, harassing those entering or leaving, and harassing pro-choice activists, sending threatening messages or even death threats. According to NARAL Pro Choice America, between 1977 and 2015, anti-choice protestors carried out over 7,200 acts of violence at abortion providers, including over 40 bombings, 185 arson attacks, and thousands of bioterrorism threats, death threats, and assault. Additionally, over 200,000 acts of disruption were reported, including bomb threats and threatening calls. These are criminal acts, punishable by fines, restraining orders, and prison time, and yet they keep happening. An abortion clinic is just like an emergency room, and it saves lives. To barricade an abortion clinic is like barricading a hospital’s ER. The people seeking or wishing to consult an expert about abortion are in a vulnerable state, and sometimes, it’s a matter of saving their life, or helping their financial situation. Childcare in the U.S. is expensive, and the cost of raising and looking after a child is a large burden, especially for working, single, and/or young mothers. What anti-choice believers don’t understand is the impact of children on people who aren’t them. In an article by WNYC about the heated anti-abortion demonstrations outside of abortion clinics, artist, activist, and volunteer clinic escort Wendi Kent shares her story of abortion and teen pregnancy. In 1993, 13 years old and an eighth grader in Texas, Kent found herself in a dire situation: she was pregnant. She visited her local clinic for information about her options, recognizing abortion as the best one for her. In her interview with WNYC, she states that “When I went in, I kind of expected for this option to be given to me, or for someone to tell me that it was an option, because I didn’t want to have to ask… That actually didn’t happen. They asked me what I wanted to do, and I kind of suddenly said, ‘I think I want to have this baby,’ because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to say.” She had hoped that the options would have been laid out for her, so she could choose abortion without stigma, but it didn’t happen. Several months later, at only 14, she gave birth to a baby girl. Having a child at 14 is extremely difficult, and Kent didn’t feel safe with her daughter at her parents house. She asked her boyfriend’s family to take in her daughter, and Kent left her parent’s home, and wound up on the streets.

What both Kent’s and Poolaw’s story can tell us is that the lack of information, access, and option for abortions is dangerous, and can result in events that lead to homelessness or prison time. Now, with abortion rights no longer protected by the Supreme Court’s decision, the need for these resources are more important than ever. 

Bibliography:

“Anti-Abortion Violence.” NARAL Pro-Choice America, 23 Aug. 2021, https://www.prochoiceamerica.org/issue/anti-abortion-violence/. 

“As Supreme Court Weighs Abortion, Christians Challenge What It Means to Be ‘pro-Life’.” Los Angeles Times, Los Angeles Times, 14 Apr. 2022, https://www.latimes.com/world-nation/story/2022-04-14/abortion-evangelical-christians-republican.

Asante-Muhammad, Dedrick. “Racial Wealth Snapshot: Native Americans ” NCRC.” NCRC, 7 Apr. 2022, https://ncrc.org/racial-wealth-snapshot-native-americans/. 

“Birth Defects.” World Health Organization, World Health Organization, https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/birth-defects. 

Blake, John. “They Cite the Same Bible and Evoke the Same Jesus. but These Two Christians Are on Opposite Sides of the Abortion Debate.” CNN, Cable News Network, 25 June 2022, https://www.cnn.com/2022/06/25/us/abortion-christian-debate-blake-cec/index.html. 

Chatman, Carliss. “Perspective | If a Fetus Is a Person, It Should Get Child Support, Due Process and Citizenship.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 18 May 2019, https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/if-a-fetus-is-a-person-it-should-get-child-support-due-process-and-citizenship/2019/05/17/7280ae30-78ac-11e9-b3f5-5673edf2d127_story.html. 

“Congenital Anomalies.” World Health Organization, World Health Organization, https://www.who.int/health-topics/congenital-anomalies#tab=tab_1. 

Dias, Elizabeth. “Inside the Extreme Effort to Punish Women for Abortion.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 1 July 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/01/us/abortion-abolitionists.html. 

Goldberg, Michelle. “When a Miscarriage Is Manslaughter.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 19 Oct. 2021, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/18/opinion/poolaw-miscarriage.html. 

J.p. “Child Molestation.” NY Crime Defense Lawyer Stephen Bilkis & Associates, https://criminaldefense.1800nynylaw.com/new-york-child-molestation.html. 

Kilgore, Ed. “Do Republicans Really Want to Punish Women for Having Abortions?” Intelligencer, Intelligencer, 29 Sept. 2022, https://nymag.com/intelligencer/2022/09/republicans-punish-women-abortions.html. 

Levinson-King, Robin. “US Women Are Being Jailed for Having Miscarriages.” BBC News, BBC, 12 Nov. 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-59214544. 

“Placental Abruptions.” Publications.aap.org, https://publications.aap.org/pediatrics/article/142/2/e20173915/37549/Placental-Abruption-and-Child-Mortality. 

President, Julia Cusick Vice, et al. “Some States Are Ready to Punish Abortion in a Post-Roe World.” Center for American Progress, 23 Sept. 2022, https://www.americanprogress.org/article/some-states-are-ready-to-punish-abortion-in-a-post-roe-world/. 

“Recent Cases on Violence against Reproductive Health Care Providers.” The United States Department of Justice, 18 Oct. 2022, https://www.justice.gov/crt/recent-cases-violence-against-reproductive-health-care-providers. 

“Respect for Unborn Human Life: The Church’s Constant Teaching.” USCCB, https://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/abortion/respect-for-unborn-human-life. 

Robertson, Katie. “Facts Were Sparse on an Abortion Case. but That Didn’t Stop the Attacks.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 14 July 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/14/business/media/10-year-old-girl-ohio-rape.html. 

“Roe v. Wade.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 5 Sept. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roe_v._wade. 

“When Healthcare Comes with Harassment: Photographing Abortion Clinic Protests: The Takeaway.” WNYC Studios, 24 Jan. 2018, https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/takeaway/segments/when-healthcare-comes-harassment-photographing-abortion-clinic-protests. 

“Woman Prosecuted for Miscarriage Highlights Racial Disparity in Similar Cases.” NBCNews.com, NBCUniversal News Group, 5 Nov. 2021, https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/woman-prosecuted-miscarriage-highlights-racial-disparity-simil ar-cases-rcna4583. 

Old Hallows Eve

The spooky season is upon us like a beast upon its prey

Hallows Eve is 18 away

The fall aromas spread across the land each day

Candles burning, witches yearning to take first flight

A croissant dipped in arsenic so enemies beware

Soon costumed children of all ages with take forth into the night

Fairies, ghosts, princesses and pumpkins

Ghouls jump out at you under the flickering candle light

Stranger things have happened on Old Hallows night

I nearly cannot wait, for all the world to be alight, under the pale moonlight

‘Eha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-” ‘Eha was shouted over, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Eha hatched a plan to set the ship ablaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five.

Six.

Seven.

“Help, ‘Eha!” called Ayca.

Eight

Eha was nearing the ship.

Nine.

Ten.

FWOOSH!

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

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

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

The Doubles’ Disaster

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tenderloin’s Six

Chapter 1:

Julian, California, 1875

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

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

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

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

“Watcha sayin’ ya fool?!”

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

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

“Hey, look! Some shiny gold!”

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

“You slap danglin’ meat picker!”

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

“Yeah, me too!”

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

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

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

Chapter 2: 

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

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

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

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“Shut yer bone box ya filthy muskrat!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Ye let’s do ‘at!”

Chapter 3: 

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

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

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

“We are miners!” said William rather quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 4:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 5:

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

“Watcha doin’?” asked Thomas. 

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

“No, I win!” said another Hornswoggler.

“No!”

“Ye!”

“I wanna play!” Thomas yelled over them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6:

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

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

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

No Emotions

The Sunshine shines on the farm 

The farmer awakes on the alarm 

The birds that chirp, the new crops that were harvested 

The tomatoes and potatoes that got marketed 

The farmer’s emotions disappear

Allowing the new ones to appear 

Which emotions had they been

The ones that were held within, within 

The flowers that bloomed

The people who assumed 

Nothing less or more than last 

Season it was that had just past

The farmer, only one who 

Was indifferent to the new

Amazing new spring’s view 

For the farmer had thought through and through 

For he had no emotions 

For he had no devotions 

To anything but his plants 

His emotions were wrecked as were his pants 

But that all changed over night 

For he had woken up in a fright

What was the emotion he had felt 

For he had never ever felt 

Nothing besides his belt 

That was too small for him 

For he, penniless, lived in hut that was dim

He felt like jumping around 

Up and down on the ground 

For he had no emotions 

For he had no devotions 

The feeling he felt was strong, strong 

He felt like writing a song 

Butterflies in his belly

The girl, her name was Shelly 

As beautiful as the sun

On a sunshiny day that had just begun 

As had his emotions 

For he had never had emotions 

For he had never had devotions 

The Wall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ish & I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pawn’s Parry

Chapter 1: The Beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Utopia

7 years ago…

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

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

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

Present day…

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

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

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

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

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

I heard three consecutive knocks on the door. 

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

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

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

Peace

In a hot and loud classroom somewhere in Manhattan

Girl in black stares out the window yearning for peace.

Oblivious teacher in a button-up shirt gestures to an image of the 1960s

Students who never had phones scream about peace.

Boy who only wants to pass this class in the back of the classroom

Mindlessly copies down notes about protests for peace.

Student in a hood, head bent, glancing around every now and then

Holds their phone under the desk, ensuring that they’ll never know peace.

Somebody’s phone, tossed to the bottom of their backpack amongst gum wrappers and quarters

Has burrowed within it, if you know where to look, a passionate rant about peace.

Slightly over budget black car outside, air conditioner whirs and hums

Most likely irreparably damaging the environment but for now bringing peace.

Man whose eyes are not on the road envisions his big break, his retirement savings, his promotion:

His name sitting quietly under a headline proclaiming worldwide peace.

Nearly microscopic ant desperately trying to evade the unforgiving, ever-advancing wheel

Cannot begin to imagine peace.

On a date that maybe exists, so far in the future, my god, so far, 

Maya Wang-Habib’s life might not even change once we have peace.

Family Spirit of Thanksgiving

Cooking fills the table with love. 

Different styles of culture lie on the table. 

The scent of turkey and garlic fill the air.

The smell of food makes me drool.

Rushing waves of voices crash into my ears.

I am like a messenger, giving food to the poor.

I love being thankful. 

Being thankful makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

So does my family. 

Why Nintendo Should Save the 3DS

The Nintendo Switch is having a moment in modern-day gaming. According to GameRant, “It has sold 84.59 million units after just 49 months on the market, making it one of the fastest-selling consoles of all time.” In all the hubbub over the Switch, one could be forgiven for dismissing the 3DS, Nintendo’s previous handheld, as totally outmoded. Although the 3DS might just seem like a similar handheld to its predecessor, the DS, the 3DS was really a technological miracle of its time – one worthy of continued investment from Nintendo. The 3DS is a dual-screen console which natively (meaning: without anything else added on) supports 3D viewing “on” or “off” for most games. This last feature, in particular, was revolutionary because until the invention of the 3DS you needed 3D glasses or a really complicated and bulky system in order to display 3D pictures. That changed with the advent of the 3DS, which crammed this capability into one small portable console. It not only supports the red and blue colors you would see with 3D glasses, but every color on the visible spectrum. Nintendo should continue to invest in gaming compatibility with the 3DS because it has a rich technological legacy, lots of people still enjoy playing on the 3DS, and many others still have not had the chance to try it yet.

Sadly, people are forgetting the importance of the 3DS. Some very memorable games are The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds, Fire Emblem: Awakening, and Pokemon Sun & Moon. As I write, the number of available games for the 3DS/2DS on the official Nintendo website are rapidly decreasing. In the span of about 3 minutes, I saw the 3DS games go from 1,000 down to just 927! Plus, some of these games are just being hidden on their website, for example if you search for Mario 3DS games, only one result comes up. Super Mario Maker and New Super Mario Bros. 2 are still available for purchase, but don’t come up when you search for them. Whereas the Nintendo switch is getting all the fame, with a current total amount of games at 14,051. (At the time of writing)

This number doesn’t even account for all the separate games in the expansion packs, given to you when getting Nintendo switch online and Nintendo switch online + Expansion pack. There are a lot of separate games available from the NES, SNES, N64, and even Sega Genesis! (And now Gameboy and Gameboy Advance as well.) Taking all this into account, the total games for the Nintendo switch are probably around 15 thousand!

Nintendo has its own reasons for shutting down the 3DS, of course. According to Nintendo life, this turn of events “is part of the natural life cycle for any product line as it becomes less used by consumers over time.” Although this statement has some validity, there are many holes in this argument. Sure, less people are using it than at launch, but people like me, people who have never used it, or got it and use it daily, weekly, even just monthly still have reasons to get it and keep it. By shutting down features of the 3DS, people who love playing, or who have never played, will never get to experience the best of the 3DS, only the mess that Nintendo has now left us with. Essentially it takes away the reasons to buy or use the 3DS from the 3DS. According to the same Nintendo life article, “Online play will also still be available ‘for the foreseeable future’ for any titles you already own, past March 2023.” This means that until March of 2023, games that use online multiplayer are still playable. This doesn’t apply to all games though. Games made by Nintendo like Super Mario Maker, New Super Mario Bros. 2,  or anything needing to be connected to Nintendo’s servers and can’t be played anymore (multiplayer or other functions don’t work, single player usually doesn’t rely on Nintendo servers, so it should work fine). Super Mario Maker broke when Nintendo shut down their servers, since the only thing you can do is play levels. You can’t upload levels anymore.

Although the 3DS might just seem like a similar handheld to its predecessor, the DS2, the 3DS was really a technological miracle worthy of continued investment from Nintendo. It supported a variety of games considering its virtual console, support for other DS games, and its own 3DS games. That’s more than 3 different consoles!1 It also supported a variety of different inputs like the microphone, stylus, or the buttons and Circle Pads (the little circles you move around). This provided a great experience for many different game enthusiasts. This gives no surprise on why many 3DS enthusiasts still love playing the 3DS today, yet with the 3DS servers shutting down, they won’t get to play their favorite games or get to share their experience with others. There are many 3DS lovers, ones who have had the 3DS since its release, but this one joined the party 10 years late! Yet they still loved the 3DS,  “There is something inviting about the 3DS, from the small jingle it plays when it turn it on to the little shopping bag that bows to you at the eshop, to unwrapping your downloads like presents- Just navigating through the menu is full of small sights and sounds, and the 3D effect on the upper screen seems to exist simply because it’s neat and kind of magical.”

Yet there are still many people who have not had the chance to try the 3DS yet. With the 3DS servers shutting down, they will never be able to experience the joy that people had when getting their 3DS for the first time. Just look at what Miyamoto (an important figure at Nintendo) says about the 3DS, “The Nintendo 3DS system is sometimes said to just be a ‘Nintendo DS system with higher specs.’ But it’s really much more than that. It’s a game system with an entirely different charm. That’s why, for the customers who purchase it, I want them to fully enjoy the features of this new machine.” Yet a few years later (actually about 13 years later), they are shutting down the eshop, leaving the 3DS essentially useless, with no online multiplayer, no street pass, a very interesting feature of the 3DS, not even the ability to buy digital 3DS games!

You might be thinking, sure people haven’t gotten the chance to play the 3DS, but video games can be harmfully addicting. And you’d be right, according to Wiliam Siu, who used to be a game developer, “The over-the-top experiences and rewards built into video games can stimulate our brains to release dopamine. Dopamine, the powerful ‘feel good’ neurotransmitter, motivates us to seek more of these pleasurable activities.” Although video games can be addictive, if you or your child happen to get an addictive game, then you can either delete it, or you can use the built-in parental controls, which when enabled can limit time on specific games or play time in general. This is shown in Nintendo’s article about 3DS parental controls. The support article notes that, “Parental Controls can be set at any time on Nintendo 3DS family systems. It’s possible to configure these options while setting up the Nintendo 3DS family system for the first time, and then after this point they can be altered via System Settings.”

The 3DS is one of the most technologically advanced hand-helds of its time, and it does not deserve the fate of being forgotten. This phase-out of the 3DS gnaws at me, since I personally never got to play on a 3DS. With Nintendo shutting down the 3DS servers, most of the fun of using a 3DS is fading away as people leave with the servers. It gets rid of what the 3DS lived up to, leaving us only with only a few exclusive features that were built in. This matters to everyone because it means that people who did or didn’t get to experience the amazing features of the 3DS will never get to experience it again. By the 27th of March, 2023, the physical copies of games are going to be the only ones you can buy. Digital games can only be stored on the 3DS for so long. They will reach their expiration dates. These points apply to many other old consoles as well, not just the 3DS. There were many good consoles like the N64, Sega Dreamcast, and PS3 that were very popular in their time that many people would also like to preserve. And soon in the future, this fading out process will apply to the switch, when there will be another more popular console out there, leaving the history it made behind.

Works cited:

Simelane, Smangaliso. “Why Is the Nintendo Switch so Successful?” Game Rant, 14 Jan. 2022, https://gamerant.com/nintendo-switch-success-hardware-versatility-game-sales-pandemic/.

Gray, Kate. “When Does the 3DS and Wii U Eshop Close? Nintendo EShop Closure Guide.” Nintendo Life, Nintendo Life, 27 Mar. 2023, https://www.nintendolife.com/guides/when-does-the-3ds-and-wii-u-eshop-close-nintendo-eshop-closure-guide#:~:text=Here’s%20Nintendo’s%20statement%20on%20the,plenty%20of%20time%20to%20prepare.%22

Hetfeld, Malindy. “Falling in Love with the Nintendo 3DS 10 Years Late.” Eurogamer.net, Eurogamer.net, 27 June 2021, https://www.eurogamer.net/falling-in-love-with-the-nintendo-3ds-ten-years-late

Siu, William. “I Make Video Games. I Won’t Let My Daughters Play Them.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 2 Oct. 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/02/opinion/video-game-addiction.html#after-story-ad-2

“Setting Nintendo 3DS Parental Controls.” Nintendo Support, 25 Mar. 2011, https://www.nintendo.co.uk/Support/Parents/Safety/Nintendo-3DS-Parental-Controls/Setting-Nintendo-3DS-Parental-Controls/Setting-Nintendo-3DS-Parental-Controls-907330.html#:~:text=Parental%20Controls%20can%20be%20set,be%20altered%20via%20System%20Settings

Endnotes

1.  An interesting fact is that the 3DS can play two Mario Kart games, namely Mario Kart DS and Mario Kart 7.

2. Nobody knows what DS stands for, so there are a lot of games that make fun of that.

Flight

Flight is the pounding feeling in my heart when I am onstage, 

about to perform

Flight is the flurry of butterflies in the pit of my stomach when I 

try something new

Flight is the release of the softball as it goes whirling towards 

the batter

Flight is the excitement of my smile as the batter swings and 

misses

Flight is my pencil as it flies across my paper

Flight is the blur of my legs as they run, running faster than ever, 

with my feet pounding on the pavement, my future ahead of me

Poetry by Emily Rose

it’s not christmas anymore

her bruised lips are stained with sickly sweet pomegranate wine
her hollow eyes drunk with power (and with pain)
the moonlight beams into the darkness through wooden blinds
casting shadows on long-forgotten coffee cups and takeout boxes
and half-full glass bottles (but those are not forgotten)
stacks of books are crammed in every corner and scribbled notes litter the floor
the faded colored lights draped on the walls have been there for months
serving as a reminder of what once was (and what will one day be)
not a word (and barely a breath) passes her chapped red lips
after all if she doesn’t say it, it cannot be true
repeat it together now: it cannot be true, it cannot be true, it cannot be true
but she knows you cannot erase what has already been done
the truth is written in the cracks of her broken heart and in the lines on her face
(even in in the gap between her teeth)
the bitter cold of late february seeps through the cracks in the windows and doors
hollowing her bones, leaving endless space for memories to fill
as her brittle breath fogs the air, tasting of fruit and regret (with a hint of hopelessness)

make it until morning

i swore off of praying when You left.
never again i promised.
why would i pray to Him him
when He he doesn’t even listen to me anyways?
after all, why would i pray
to a God god who would take You away?

back when You were in the hospital,
i prayed every day,
like You always used to.
by the big window
in Your empty room,
in our empty house,
in this empty apartment building.

in the morning, when i woke up,
i prayed for the heat to stay on;
when You left i could no longer afford it.
before dinner,
i prayed for the flowers You grew
outside on our patio
to survive the cold,
to survive the winter,
to survive Your absence;
when You left they began to wilt.
and before i went to sleep,
i prayed for You to
make it until morning.

but now
i wear two pairs of socks each day
and my tattered coat inside the house,
yet somehow i am still cold.
now all of Your flowers have died;
whatever scraps of You
which were planted on that patio
have been buried under a bed of snow.

Hello, what is your wish?

Come inside,
it is getting cold.
Take off your shoes,
I don’t like a mess.
Please stay.
was the wait long?
It was to me.
But I am lonely.
are you?

breath on a dandelion Exhaled.
wishes in the wind Whispered.
coins in a fountain Tossed.

my wishes Drowned in 1994
have you made yours?
regret is unnecessary
as is hope

the best time to do things? why would i know?

all i know is pink sand stuck between toes
and sticky, blackberry-stained fingers
and ‘get in, the water’s warm’

    the most important one? who am i to tell you?

all i know is the tide’s pull, back and forth
and salty film on cool skin
and the sound of crickets chirping

the right thing to do? what do you think?

all i know is floating under a warm Virginia sky
with the clouds above me
and nothing below

Monsters in the Dark, Part 1

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ye – ” Ian was about to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No!” Alice just realized that the box fell.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Thunk. Thunk. 

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

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

“Thanks!” said a boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeez.” Jell backed away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MONSTER!” Alice jumped down the stairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ohhh.” Jell almost slipped off.

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it.” Jell started running after Alice. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Alice!” Jell jumped after her.

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

“Alice?” Jell stretched his arms out.

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

“Oh no!” Jell walked backward. 

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued…

Fracture

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tiresome.

Annoying.

Burden.

Embarrassment. 

Into my heavy, broken heart for everyone to see.

Where I Am From

I am from the heat of my village

And the blizzard of a New York winter

I can feel my sweat freeze

I am from my grandmothers who were child brides

And the daughter of a woman with a PhD

My family tree is a banyan

With long branches and deep roots in its land 

I am from my ancestors

That don’t speak the same language as me

I am from the land of the “goras” 

Colder than the mountains of Nepal

Where Badi Dadi came from at 13

I am the farthest from my village

That I could ever be

Yet the most at home when I am there

I am from culture shock

And joining the great American melting pot 

Come with your culture

And leave with theirs

That’s the price to pay

For paved roads and clean air

I can talk like them

Dress like them

Even look like them

But I will never be them 

No matter how hard I try

I am from lying to myself

Inside

Feeling like a fraud

Not knowing what is my culture and what is theirs

I am from shopping at Khan Market

I can smell the designer perfume 

Street food

And poverty 

The elites escape from a developing country 

Visiting the Mall 

With its shiny western products

On the flawless white models 

Viewed by millions of brown skin Indians 

Walks in Lodi garden 

I can hear the monkeys

Chattering at me

I am from the spoiled little girl 

Who lived five years

And never made her own bed

To the girl who can walk on the streets alone

And my brother’s late-night conversations 

And his gentle protection 

Calms my temper 

Like pouring ice on fire

I am from playing Ludo with Dadi

Getting printouts from Nana

And the hugs from Nani

I am from looking in the mirror and seeing nothing but flaws

Feeling like I am worth nothing at all

I am from my dog nuzzling through my arms and licking away my tears

I can feel my fears vanish

I am from my parents’ determination

To protect me

Help me

And raise me

Higher than I could ever reach on my own

I am from the midnight dreams

And the happy screams

And everything in between

I am where I can go

And everyone I know

I am my family

Wright: The Oil Chain

Chapter 1

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

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

It was not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is his goal?” I asked weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I tuned Destructo out. “Call my parents!

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

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

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

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

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

CRASH! 

“Mom? Dad?”

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

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

And so we went.

Chapter 2                  

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

“Get the cocktails!” Kenya yelled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lennon said almost excitedly, “I call shotgun!” 

And so they went.

Chapter 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I asked in a small voice, “How long?”

“Four days.”

I leaped out of my bed.

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

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

Or should I say, Kenya and Lennon Wright.

And so we go.

Chapter 4

Lennon said almost excitedly, “I call shotgun!” 

“This is not a game, honey.”

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

Kenya suddenly gasped. 

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

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

“Robert!” they shouted in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Run!” Lennon yelled.

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

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

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

“Under!” Lennon yelled quickly.

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

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

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

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

A tall, maybe six-foot-three man with a bald head and a long scar on his leg walked around, surveying the damage. Lennon looked at Kenya and sighed. 

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Lennon asked.

Kenya responded with a weathered sigh, “I will get the switch.”

Years ago, they had done this in a similar fashion when their skydiving didn’t go as planned. Kenya took her “emergency hatchet” out and started hacking away at the rusty metal, sparks flying in all directions into the never-ending horizon, dawn just striking. The metal, lined with old blue paint marks, long since having been redone, started to crack, and then, all of a sudden, broke off. A sizable chunk of metal flew from the bone of the powerline, and they looked inside. 

“Is it the red or the blue?” Kenya asked. 

“The red, I think,” Lennon said. 

Suddenly, the air seemed to drop in temperature, and they found the dots when they stopped hearing the buzzing sound. Kenya looked herself up and down, wondering if she really was going to do this. 

She was. Lennon picked up the hatchet which Kenya had dropped after cutting the wire and started hacking at the powerline wire. After a few very strong throws, the line was being held by just a thread. Kenya and Lennon grabbed onto the strong wire, and with all their trust in it, jumped. The wire broke, and they flew down at breakneck speed, trying to do anything to get higher for fear of skimming their feet on the ground. They flew back up as momentum took over, and they started flying toward a giant powerline. With no brakes.

Chapter 5: The End Is Near…

“How did you get h – ” I got cut off by my dad.

“We are killing that guy.” A new, hard look was on his face. 

I managed to croak out, “Okay…” before blacking out. 

People act like blacking out makes you fall asleep for years, but really, it is a short thing. Two minutes, maybe three, tops. And that is what happened. But it felt much longer. In my dream, my parents and I were in a tiny rowboat, and, suddenly, the water started rippling. The water started to push upwards, and a man seemed to show up out of nowhere. And he walked on water. 

“God?” I asked. No… It was the opposite of God. It was Destructo. I bolted up, panting. My parents were waiting over me, and I got up almost like a robot. We walked to the parking lot, and they directed me to a big car. Our car? 

“We had a little extra time,” they responded. 

I hugged them. They looked as crude as me, but I still held onto their scent, never letting it go, like a watchdog fiercely protecting their leader. 

“I – ” I started.

“Yeah, yeah. We missed you, too. We love you. But right now, we need to kill that guy,” Lennon said, playfully in an unplayful way.

I smiled. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

I limped into the car and surveyed it. Clean cup holders, an undamaged roof, and leather seats. Mom put the car into second gear, and we were off. Apparently, still too cheap for an automatic. 

After an hour of driving, we reached what used to be my grandparents’ house. They were still there. And more. There were hundreds of people drilling into the ground, and still, we stepped out of the car. We had no plan. We ran to the remains of the house, and we dug a little hole into it. I swear, I could still hear the cows mooing. Mom took out her phone. 

“Mom, don’t you think it would be a little disheartening saying your goodbyes now? Right now?” I asked, with a hint of a smile. 

Kenya replied slyly, “I managed to find all the people who Destructo has taken property from. They always seem to show up on the local news, and I tracked them down from there. While you were recovering from getting glass shattered onto your body, I called them up, and they were just happy to help. They should be coming right about… now.” 

Before I could respond, hundreds of cars simultaneously revved. 

“Here they are,” Kenya said, all jolly. I peeked my head out of the makeshift house. My eyes widened as I saw something that I never would have imagined in a million years. Cars lined up for miles. On the good side. People started stepping out of the cars. I was taken aback by the age groups when I saw babies standing strong next to grandparents holding their ground next to their kids. I walked towards them. They all gave us the same sympathetic grin, and we did the same for them. Somebody a little older than me, maybe 16 years old, stepped up. 

“My name is Gerald, and I am fighting for all of our properties. All of our freedom from this horrible curse brought over us.”

“I, too,” said a middle-aged woman.

“My name is Philip, and I have spent eighty-seven years on planet Earth. The last five have been hell. Because of what Putty has done,” said an old man.

“I, too,” said a different man.

“I, too,” said another.

And then all of a sudden, everyone said in unison, “I, too.”

And we marched forward. (Where? No idea.)

I walked next to my mom. “Any idea what ‘Putty’ means?”

“Nope. Nada. But if I had to guess, I would say Destructo or the whole organization of Destructo.”

“Wow… deep,” I responded a tad too casually.

“What’s up, squirt?”

I sighed. “Why did this have to happen? Why are you here? Wait… how are you here?”

“Well, that is a long one. I guess you have no idea where I am starting from, but we are almost there, so I will keep it short. Your father and I are holding on to a power line, I know, no context, and we are about to hit the metal structure holding it up. You know what I am talking about?”

“Um… I guess?”

“Whatever. Anyway, your father and I are about to hit it when… The line breaks. We flew up, still going towards the structure, and then your father saw something. A handlebar that led to the interior of the structure stuck out below. ‘Over there!’ Lennon yelled. We hoped for the best, and we drove all of our bodies to weight for it. We just catch hold onto the bar, and from there, we shimmy our way down to the ground, not before having a few hundred heart attacks.” Kenya seemed really invested in the story, but she suddenly stopped to look forward. “Almost there, honey. I have to speed up.”

“That is fine. I just want to know the basics,” I responded.

“All right. There was this bald guy, and we wanted to sneak away from him, but we couldn’t. He found us and coincidentally took us to a dungeon a block from the hospital you stayed at. I used my bobby pin to escape.”

“Wow… that was a fast ending but really cra – ” I trailed off. 

I kept staring forward, but I wanted to look down. It seemed crazy. I couldn’t help it. I looked down. There was a step down to a sort of basement with no roof, and it was full of weapons. It was so well covered by all the farmland around, and… and… IT WAS FULL OF WEAPONS, GOD DANG IT! Glocks, C-4, rocket launchers, SMGs, everything! And hundreds of them. We all gathered around, taking what looked cool, acting like we knew how to use it, and we lined up. And we marched.

Chapter 6: Survival of the Fittest is True to Every Extent

No, really. We became the fittest. So we survived. This can be seen in so many different cases. If the weakest wins, then they were actually the fittest. A normal person walks into a wall. They feel incredible pain. But if a person with fried nerves walks into the wall, they feel no pain. All odds were against them, and they still won. Let’s see how.

We marched to the battleground in style. Not expected, but it felt good. We filed into a line behind the house. 

“Ready! Set! Go!” I yelled. We walked into view, guns blazing. 

My grandparents walked next to me and crouched down next to me, and my grandfather shouted over the gunfire, “I need to go! I can’t be here, even though I would love to. My hand is infected!”

I wanted to cry for him, but I stepped forward. 

“Whatever you think is best!”

He left, and we stepped up. We encircled the compound, and, suddenly, some of the drillers who had taken cover ran toward us. With nothing. They got behind our lines and pleaded for mercy. We gave them weapons, and they fought for us. And then we closed in. We walked inside and saw Destructo, and we surrounded him.

We put a rope around his head, and attached ropes on every side. 

Victims grabbed onto any available piece of rope. 

“Three! Two! One! Pull!”

And with that, Destructo died. And nobody shed a tear, as he would have wanted.

THE END

I was at home, hundreds of people hovering over me, bright smiles on their faces. It was over. They could have their property back. The monster… the creature that uprooted dozens of families… was dead. I stuffed a cupcake into my mouth, trying to, as most likely everybody was,  forget the pain and suffering that had ensued after the loss of their homes. Mom had combed my hair an hour before and somehow got a fancy suit on me. Grandpa had actually gotten a prosthetic hand after he left the battle. Thank God he did… saved his life. But some of the stolen property was still being run. Durce, well, he was now running the operation much more humanely. No wonder Destructo’s workers turned their backs on him.

I looked around at everybody with great smiles on their faces, filling up with colorful churros – Mom still had kept the recipe secret. She said when my birthday rolled around, she would tell me. She didn’t. I looked at Dad. He was looking around nervously, repeatedly rubbing his hand across his head. “Dad – you ok?”

“Uh… um, yeah, sweety. Just happy everything went well.” 

“Well, me, too,” I responded.

“You should try one of the churros. We bought them extra special!”

I looked at Dad. Bought? Suddenly, hundreds of people fell to the ground. None were moving. And they never moved again. “Dad? Mom?”

They were the only ones standing. They both reached for their faces, and suddenly started peeling their hair off of them. 

“Durce, you said it would be painless!” said a man that I thought was my dad.

“Well, Azerite, you ruined my surprise!” Durce said harshly.

I studied them from head to toe. Definitely bad guys. And I ran.

Settling

Mr. Murphy was a settling man who lived free of companions, but the fact of the matter is this – he was not lonesome. Lonesomeness in his case was silent and unclassified, but he did play around with his own concepts. He sat on the porch of our shack, drowsy and what seemed to be drunk. 

That day was one of the sweltering, and we usually saw dry days in Texas, where Smurf would either go to sleep, or get drunk trying. Bo had stayed in a tent built with his brother, but he was only a tween, so we didn’t have a clue what to make of him. He had tan-ish skin, and we knew he had been living in the sun his whole life, so he could handle a bit of skin peeling. We lived a couple of miles away from the village because there was a river closer by us. Anyway, Smurf and I moved down to the bar, traveling the somewhat dried-up river. 

“Sand is pasty around here,” Smurf had muttered. “It looks safe for hunting, but I didn’t know what the laws were about around here.” We laid a couple of pebbles on the moist sand. 

“Bo’ll be marked for the land,” I guessed. We called the town Lead, and we called it that because we were on the river that narrowly ‘lead’ up to Miller, a gold mining city where the government had installed the Stoker Dam. There wasn’t much of anything around our place, but I had bet we weren’t gonna try to get out of there. We lived in a shack-like structure, with a rusty iron roof and chunky clay bricks. It was dry inside, and didn’t have anything in it, just a burlap-sack bed and a wooden porch. Anyhow, clumsily striding through the riverside, me and Smurf had gotten to the thicker parts of underbrush, where trees and bushes were blocking our paved-out route. 

“Any chance we can stop by… uh… one of the Mo’s today?” he asked. Smurf called auction houses “Mo’s,” half because he liked the word, and half because we all were used to him using the term.  

“What do you need horses for?” 

“One of the Indian folk in Arizona had sent me a letter, showing us a warrant they were trying to get on our claim,” he uttered, while jumping over a log. At that point we had no clue as to what the Navajo were trying to get our land for, as the plain-skinned guy who sold us the land had not informed us. 

Smurf had looked at my troubled expression quizzically, knowing I wasn’t going down easy on our land. I had gotten so much of our profit into mining everything I could get out of our dry and sandy ground. 

Up until the point me and Smurf got out of the underbush, we were unscathed, but as we were walking into the major square of the town, bits of sand started to hit our face by the wind. I had dragged Smurf on over to the town mostly just for poker to get a bit of money into my hands, but he now seemed up for some games. 

We walked up onto the patio of the new bar, which opened a couple of months ago, just to rest for a minute until someone came into view. The bartender, a guy named Vinnie, stepped out of the locked building all tired looking, but he had clearly gotten a new trim for the time being. I didn’t know if he himself wanted to do anything, but almost as soon as I thought this, he quickly trod over to talk to me and Smurf. 

“The landlords had been after you, ya know?” Vinnie said quickly. 

“Since when have the Indians actually won a case?” Smurf responded as he straightened up in his chair. 

“I don’t know, but you guys better get back to Mexico before anyone whips at your asses.”

I got out of my seat to stretch out and run over to a vendor and get a six-pack to calm down Smurf. I kept my own counsel, but I reckoned Smurf was devising a plan to steal some horses and flee cross-country, or something to do with Bo. I then hurried back across to street to pass a beer to Vinnie and maybe one to Smurf. 

“You boys wanna go back home for the night?” Smurf blurted out. 

“Why would I go? My gran’s got a place in Lead,” Vinnie shot back at him. 

“I guess I’m stressed on the whole of it, but any time wasted is just as bad as any time they have to get closer to us.”

“We should head back to get ready,” I pitched in. 

Vinnie sent us on our way and we took a trail back to the land. I knocked on the steel-plated door, and a couple of seconds later it opened up to reveal the face of a little Indian boy.

“Where abouts you come from?” Smurf asked as we walked into the shack. I had noticed the kid didn’t really want to speak, so we just gave him a cup to play with. We sat for a couple of minutes, until Smurf got up to pour beans into the one little stove we had. We sat for a little longer waiting for it to be prepared, the pan sizzling. 

As Smurf stood up from the bare floor to get bowls for us, we heard a knock at the door. Then there was another knock, and another. But they didn’t stop, loud bangs in the numbness of my brain. 

Proposal

They’d been together for six years now. Six years. It still didn’t feel like that long. But today was different. The two weren’t going to the same restaurant for Friday dinner, and they weren’t going out at the same time. The guy had told her beforehand, “Dress nicely,” which made her awfully excited. “Dress nicely” always had more meaning to it. It was always something special. Last time he told her this was when he surprised her with tickets to the concert of her favorite band. Or that time he took her to dinner and gave her a promise ring. He had led her to a new place. The beach. Not that new. But the beach was a very special place for the both of them. It was where they first laid eyes on each other. One special thing about their relationship was that they usually never disagreed except on one thing. How many slices to cut things into. Now, this may seem useless, but, trust me, it isn’t. Every Friday, they alternated between the number of slices they cut the cake into, and today was her choice. She usually chose six. As she was about to cut the cake, he said, “Do eight pieces today.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, please.”

“No, give me a reason.”

“Trust me, okay?”

“Fine.” 

Then she started cutting. Right as she was slicing the fourth piece of cake, the knife hit something. Metal? She took the piece out and there, in the cake, was a piece of metal. Not any type of metal, though. A ring. An engagement ring. 

That’s when he kneeled on the floor and said, “Will you marry me?”

Penguins

Penguins are better than people. They are the most loyal animals, staying with their friends forever. When penguins find a partner, they never leave; they are together for life. What if we were all penguins? We would always stick by one another. No being betrayed or being left behind. Never thinking about if a friendship is real or not. Knowing you can trust the people you want. Not having to doubt who’s real or fake. 

When penguins are cold, they huddle together. When we are cold, our first instinct is to put on a jacket. Penguins cuddle together and puff out their feathers to keep warm. They rely on each other for warmth and other aspects of survival. If I needed something as a penguin, I would ask a friend (who I would keep for life) and they would help me. In life people do things independently. If I need a pencil, I look around for a while, check my backpack and then I would ask for help. Penguins aren’t afraid of help. For them, asking for help isn’t an embarrassing thing that shows a lack of knowledge.

Many people think that penguins can’t fly, but, technically, that is incorrect. Penguins are seen as animals of cuteness, not personality. Penguins are underestimated. Penguins fly underwater. They fly in the way that any other bird would, but they do it underwater. They are seen as a flightless, stupid birds, but they are more. There is more to them than people would expect. If we had that point of view in life, it would be so much easier. People would not judge by first glance. You could be who you want; I could walk outside in yellow pants, and nobody would think of it. People would ask me why I wore those pants and not just assume I have bad clothing. People would be so much better to each other if we were penguins. 

There are four types of Antarctic penguins: Adélie, Chinstrap, Emperor and Gentoo. People really only know about Emperor penguins because they are the most popular. If you go to a zoo you will see Emperor penguins. Chinstrap penguins are smaller and have a black “strap” on their chin. Adélie penguins’ beaks look like Kylie Jenner’s lips. Their beaks are thick and look almost like human lips. They are also the smallest. Gentoo penguins have a half orange beak and white spots above their eyes. People only ever pay attention to Emperor penguins when the other ones are just as good. Adélie and Chinstrap penguins are aggressive but only to protect themselves from predators. Penguins don’t hate each other for small things they say or do; penguins care about survival. 

Gentoo penguins are actually the nicest and the least commonly known. “Gentoo penguin” is fun to say. When words end with “oo,” it makes the word better. Especially when the rest of the word doesn’t start with a stutter letter. I have a stutter that I don’t love. G is not a letter I stutter on. I like Gentoo penguins.

 Penguins are nice to humans, something that even we cannot seem to accomplish. We hate each other so much and that seems natural in our minds. When you see a pigeon on the sidewalk, you kick it away because the bird is not you. When penguins encounter humans, they are extremely nice. Why can’t we be like penguins?  Yeah, sure, we can hate people for their opinions and what they say. And if I’m being honest, I do that exact thing every day. Penguins don’t. They only hate if they are in danger.

No Second Chances for Your Love

Chaerin walked down the steps of her house, plugging her earbuds into her phone, and pressed play on her music playlist. She was going to the supermarket to buy food. She walked down the dairy aisle, checking the sell-by dates on each container. She heard footsteps approaching, so she moved closer to the freezer to make room for the person, but instead of walking past her, they stopped. At first, Chaerin thought that they must also be looking for milk, but after a while, she could really feel their gaze burning on the back of her head. She sighed, pausing her music and turning to face the person.

“Sorry, can I help y – “

“I missed you,” the person said, cutting her off. They lifted one hand and reached up to cup her cheek. Chaerin blocked their arm, realizing who she was facing. It was no other than Minwoo, her first “love.” He broke off their relationship, but after Chaerin found someone new, he tried to get back with her, even threatening to hurt her and her new lover. That, along with many other red flags, was the reason why Chaerin started avoiding him.

“Right,” she replied nonchalantly.

“No, really.”

“But we haven’t seen each other since…” Chaerin trailed off.

“Since?” Minwoo asked, feigning confusion.

“You know.” She crossed her arms, lifting her chin, daring him to say otherwise or pretend to be innocent.

“Well…” Minwoo scratched the back of his head, smiling nervously.

“Well.” Chaerin uncrossed her arms, turning around to leave. “It was nice seeing you again. Have a nice day.” She left, without giving Minwoo a chance to reply.

The Swan

These were no ordinary pair of scissors. They were my mother’s sewing scissors. They were gold and delicately molded by some craftsman long ago into the shape of an elegant swan in flight. The swan’s wings curled up the round handles, and the long beak was the razor-sharp blade. My mother’s hands guided the shining bird in and out of the seas of many-colored fabrics. She used these scissors to make the most beautiful dresses anyone had ever seen. She worked so hard. We lived in a tiny, cramped cottage with the bed too close to the stove. My bed used to be covered in half-made dresses and silken ribbons. 

Ivo stole the swan. I was asleep on my too-small bed in the too-small house. My mother was at the market. It was late at night, far too late to be awake when the moon was shining above brighter than any candle. I hated Ivo. He was the butcher’s son and about three years older than me. I’d seen him with blood on his hands. He climbed through the too-small window and stepped with his dirty boots on my mother’s beautiful dresses. I didn’t see him take them – I was too busy watching the dreams in my head. I never could have stopped him anyway – I am small, and he is strong. 

When mother came back to see the little house in disarray, she didn’t cry. I think she wanted to, but she was too proud to let me see. She told me that Ivo wanted to melt down the swan and sell the gold. In the early morning of the next day, I saw her counting the coins left in her desk drawer. I peeked out from under my blankets to see her. She lifted each tiny disk from the drawer and held it into a ray of silvery light. I dreamed about the coins when I fell back asleep. 

My mother spent the next morning sewing faster than I’d ever seen her sew before. She used a dull pair of gray scissors that lacked all the grace of the diving swan. My mother’s hands flew over the fabric as she attached a long red cape to a brown dress. She said it was for a very important, noble lady who lived in the big house by the castle. 

“I am going to play in the pond,” I said as I pulled on my favorite dress. The cloth was soft and worn from use. 

“Be careful. And come back before noon – I need you to hang the laundry,” Mother said, pinning my hair back with a spirally iron clasp. 

“I will.”

The front door creaked open. I ran outside, my boots stomping on the wet, slimy grass. I didn’t run toward the pond, though. Instead, I ran into town. The ground changed from brownish green weeds to hoof-pounded dirt to cobblestone that clomped too much with the many feet landing on it. Men and women in fine clothing walked and chatted in huddles. A couple of girls who looked about my age were weaving in and out of the swarms of adults. They had long, blonde hair the color of wheat and fine red dresses splattered with brown mud. 

No one looked at me, but I kept my head down anyway. I cut through a narrow alley. The stairs were cracked and scratched, and the walls were close enough together that I had to stretch both my arms out to feel the rough stone. The wet smell of horses faded in the alley. 

Soon, I reached the landing where two alleys converged into a cross. I turned to the right. The walls were too far apart now. Only one of my hands could feel as the stone softened to worn wood. The second too-wide alley dumped me out into an open noisy street. Wonderful smells, fresh flowers, baked bread, and expensive spices from far away filled the market street. Too many people had shoved themselves in between the tall brown houses to get a look at the vendors’ wares.

I climbed over a tall stack of crates to avoid a cluster of haggling shoppers. A tall man with arms like twigs and a wrinkly nose yelled something at me, but I didn’t hear a word he said. I leaped off the crates and landed on all fours beside a table piled high with sticky sweet buns and bread braided like hair. I scooted along the wall until the sweet smells of the market were contaminated with the ugly, rotten stink of meat and blood. 

The butcher’s shop was a tiny replica of the castle. It had big wooden doors with round door knockers the size of my head. Its charcoal stone walls stretched up higher than all the others and were crenelated. An alley snaked around on both sides of the mini-castle. I swiveled on my heel into it and away from the chattering crowds. This sidewall of the butcher’s shop was old and crumbling. Spiky vines crawled up the bricks. I counted the windows. There were five in total, three shuttered and two open. The fourth window was the only one that mattered, though. 

A pile of crumbled stone formed a lumpy staircase to the fourth window. I carefully climbed upward, trying to keep my feet from getting trapped in a dark hole. The stones were wobbly, and I felt like I was walking across a tightrope in a windstorm. I’d seen Ivo climb up these rocks before. He made it look so easy. When I reached the windowsill, I peered through a slit in the blinds. The crunching sound they made at my touch was deafening. The small room was empty, as I had expected. Ivo was downstairs in the shop with his father. 

It wasn’t a bedroom like John had told me. He said that the butcher lived in luxury. I had imagined a huge, silk bed with embroidered drapes and velvet-smooth cushions like the fancy ladies in the castle. This was not that. The room was small. The threadbare, gray bed took up most of the space. The nails in the walls looked like they had been crying reddish rust. A white apron hung from the door. There was a stack of clothes in the corner with a book on top. I frowned. 

The scissors weren’t under the bed or the pile of clothes. They hadn’t been hidden behind the apron or under the loose floorboards. I made my search as quiet as possible. I picked up the little book and tucked it under my skirt. He didn’t deserve it. The scissors just weren’t here. I cautiously pushed the door open. Its hinges creaked horribly loud. This room was bigger than Ivo’s, with an animal skin carpet and a big writing desk. A woman sat in a nice chair beside the desk. She looked up from her sewing in surprise, but her expression soon softened to a welcoming smile. A red-brown tunic was draped over her knees. Her face was warm and round, freckles scattered like stars across her cheeks. Her long, dark hair hung loosely around her shoulders. 

“Are you one of Ivo’s friends?” she asked. Probably reading the horror on my face, she tilted her head to the side and a cascade of dark waves followed. 

“Yes…” I stammered. “Uh, no. I mean, yes.” I panicked. I scanned her up and down, looking for signs of anger. Instead, my eyes caught on something that glinted in the dusty light. A delicate, golden, shimmering thing was laced between her fingers. She had used them to snip the thread. The swan. Mother’s swan. Our swan. 

I pointed at her hands. She looked confused. 

“The – the scissors.”

She held them up. “These?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

“What about them?” 

I wrinkled my nose. 

“Ivo took them from our house!” I yelled, smashing my boot into the wooden boards. “He stole them!”

“Ivo?” She tilted her head some more. “He stole them from you?” 

“Yes!” I stomped again. “I came to get them back!” 

“He said he found them on the street, along with some coins in a little embroidered purse,” Ivo’s mother said. She fingered the tunic’s hem. 

“He is a liar!” I crumpled my hands into fists. 

“No. He lied. There is a difference.” Her tone had grown building-stone rough. Her smile straightened out into a disapproving line, cutting lines under her eyes. “Sit.” She motioned to the wooden bench by the hearth. I sat, but only because her face looked like my mother’s face when she was mad. 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I crossed my arms into a stiff X.

“I believe you.” 

“Then give me back the scissors!”

“I want you to understand what Ivo must have been thinking when he stole.” 

“I don’t want to understand! I hate him!” 

“What he did was wrong, yes, and he will be punished, but I need you to understand why he did it.” 

“Why?!” I kicked the bench’s leg. 

“He was hurting. So he wanted to pass that hurting along to someone else.” She sucked a breath in through her freckled nose. “My mother, his grandmother, died last week. The plague.” I imagined the curved beak masks and the black cloaks and the smell of wounds and the screams from the tents. I winced. “You may have known her only as the flower seller.” I remembered a warm smile and fresh crimson blooms. “She and Ivo were very close. It, of course, hurt me, as well, to see her pass. I believe that Ivo thought the scissors would make me feel better.”

I was chewing on the pink insides of my cheek, tapping my toe on a loose nail.

“I’m – uh, I’m sorry.” I looked only down. The fiery anger was somehow nothing but thick smoke clogging up my throat. 

“Take them all back.” She handed me the swan and the little bag embroidered with sloppy roses from my unsteady needle. The coins inside jingled merrily. I took them back and clutched them tight under my arm. “You can go,” she said, pointing at the door. A little smile had come back over her round face. 

I walked with my head down to the door. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

“I never got your name.”

I turned. She had returned to her sewing in the nice chair, with a pair of dim, gray scissors. 

“Adelaide,” I said. 

“Jacquette.” 

The little book burned through my skirt with every clunk of boot on stone. I ignored the people chattering and didn’t run my hand along the walls of the alley. I helped my mother hang the laundry, clipping lines to the skinny trees. The book still burned. I put it under my too-small bed and tried to forget it was there. I could feel its smoldering warmth against my back at night. 

Ivo was crying. I ducked back into the market swarms, hiding. I felt the book under my bed burn the little cottage down in a blazing bonfire. It still burns me sometimes, but I don’t want to put it out. It will just sit under the too-small bed in the too-small house. I don’t think I could bear touching it. I want to forget it all.

To Be Blocked

Diving off a racing block into a swimming pool. The anxiety – would I mess up? Would my goggles fall down? Would I publicly humiliate myself in front of my teammates? The swirl of thoughts going through my mind was endless. Water dripped off my back. I glanced behind me to see the other teammates giving me looks of encouragement. Glancing forward again, I saw the clear blue water with tiled lines in the middle of the lane. The clock ticked on as the person before me started heading back across the pool. I had to get ready. I adjusted my goggles onto my eyes and put my hands on the block. My teammate behind me was going to tell me to go so I went at the right moment. 

The dive itself was decent. My goggles luckily didn’t fall down, and I was able to gain some speed to push my team to second place. As my teammates high-fived me when I got out of the pool, I realized something. I wasn’t scared of messing up the dive itself. Well, I was, but the main reason was because I didn’t want to disappoint my teammates. Whenever a team doesn’t win, people want a reason. Someone to blame. I did not want to be that person. I didn’t want that responsibility of not winning to be placed on me. In the end, after the last person swam, we didn’t even win. Which was okay. At least it wasn’t my fault. But even if it was, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? My goggles would fall down. We would lose. No one would talk about the race to my face. They would have talked about it while I was swimming. List all things that I did wrong. Talk about me negatively. And the worst part is, when I came out, they wouldn’t say anything to me. But even if that did happen, I would survive. It would be fine. I would keep practicing and get better at my dive. And I wouldn’t be so nervous knowing the possibilities of what would happen. And it most likely will happen. Sometime in the future, once, if not many times.

Feeling Colors

Dear Blue

Dear Blue,

I hope you’re doing well.

But recently I heard you are doing quite bad.

I hope to meet today, by the morning bell.

So you can explain to me why you are feeling so sad.

Was it Red? Did he tease you again?

Or was it Yellow? Did he boast his intellect?

Did someone visit you at your den?

Please tell me, I have a suspect.

I think it was me!

I told you who I wanted you to be. 

I want you to know: that wasn’t me.

Feel better soon,

Your friend, Maroon.

Dear Maroon

Dear Maroon,

Thanks for checking in.

I hope you don’t think I’m mad.

Or in the loony bin.

When I say I’m not feeling bad. 

The truth is, I ran away from you.

Your constant blabbering of speech.

You say so many things I know aren’t true. 

So please, the next time you screech.

Don’t say what you want to be.

Because I’m really tired of you pretending to be like me.

I want you to know: you aren’t me.

I’m through with you,

See ya, Blue.

Dear Brown

Dear Brown, 

I have no idea what to do. 

The Rainbow Dance is coming up.

And I don’t know if I should ask Pink or Blue?

If they want to take my offer up.

To dance… with me. 

Pink is really cute. 

But Blue is beautiful as far as the eye can see.

It’s like two sides of my brain are in dispute.

So please, help me out.

So I no longer have to strut about,

Worrying about who to ask out.

I’ll promise I’ll pay,

For the advice, Gray.

Dear Gray

Dear Gray,

The choice is obvious.

I don’t mean to be mean.

But I’m just saying, you’re kind of oblivious.

I know exactly why you’d be keen.

I know I would.

The color is just perfect for you.

I promise, I know you should.

So don’t ask either Pink or Blue.

I’d very much like it if you asked me.

No pressure, but I can see,

That you clearly want to be with me.

So stop acting so down,

I’ll see you at the dance, Brown.

Too

The world had progressed to develop many great things in technology — the self-writing pen, light-weight bulletproof clothing now available in regular day fashion, food production from oxygen, and now this: your very own “fear in a box” — an internet sensation so big, its producer, Mike Hentalburg, had overcome even Jeffrey Bezos. It was advertised only by influencers with the biggest follower counts. I heard they didn’t even get paid — it was all for the chance with the box. 

The box, I guess, was a way to identify your biggest fear, so you could later face and eliminate it. Apparently you just entered this kind of… void where you see it? I don’t know, I wasn’t really interested in all this stuff. Not until one day, when one of them showed up at my door.

I guess I had somehow signed myself up for some sort of giveaway, at least that’s what all the people with the cameras said. I didn’t know what to do with it. Did I really want to use this? How could there be so much in a normal-looking box? The packaging was kind of rough too. 

The thing is, I lived alone — no close friends, just neighbors. No coworkers too. I worked for myself. An introverted little writer, with no friends or immediate family. Seems sad. Well, I liked it, but it didn’t solve the problem of what I should do with this box.

Hmm. Might as well then, right? Could be fun, who knows. I opened the box, and I looked up to see my biggest obstacle. 

It was… myself.

“What? You have got to be kidding me. This is so cliche,” I groaned. 

“Who, me? Oh, I’m not your biggest obstacle,” Myself said with certainty. “That is.” Myself pointed somewhere else. I turned to see what he was pointing at, and I saw… a speck of light in the distance.

“So my biggest obstacle is a little bit of light off to nowhere?” I asked mockingly. Was this a joke? I thought I was going to find out my biggest obstacle, for it only to be a far-off light.

“Oh, no. That’s not it. It’s just really far away,” stated Myself, suddenly intensely eating yogurt. “Mmm, cherry.” He then looked at me in a what-are-you-still-doing-here type of way.

Great, now I had to do cardio.

I started running, wanting to make this quick. I had to stop a few times (chronic back pain).

I finally made it to the light. Why was this so hard?

“I have no idea,” Myself said, calm as always, answering my inner question (I guess he was myself). I still jumped back what seemed forty feet. Great, more running. This time Myself came along with me. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. To be fair, I also dropped my yogurt from your reaction…” I kept running, ignoring Myself. I needed to find out what this light was.

As I got within fifteen feet of it, I had to go closer because I didn’t bring my glasses. At two feet, I started to make out what it was. I slowed to a light jog. 

“A computer?” I whispered to myself. “What?” I looked back at Myself, and he was looking back at me with the same lightly confused expression, eating what seemed to be a banana yogurt. 

I went to open the laptop a little more. I then squinted as the light from the laptop tried to blind me. Forcing myself, I reached for the brightness button. Thankfully with just one click it adjusted perfectly. 

“It’s just… a Google Doc,” I mumbled to myself, and I guess also to Myself. I looked closer — it only had one word. “And it’s the only tab or anything,” I added. Huh.

“It’s only the word ‘to,’” Myself said to me over my shoulder, intrigued. I furrowed my brow. “‘To’ as in T-O.” I looked at the keyboard and found the pad. 

“How can the word ‘to’ be your—I mean, our greatest obstacle?” I slowly moved the cursor towards the “to.” “How — wait.” I clicked the end of the “to.” “Wait, wait!” And I went to press the space button. “WAIT, NO!” 

*Click*

My world imploded.

Too

Just Like Clockwork

Anita didn’t gain consciousness until the inventor’s Abilene was already gone; crippled with grief, the inventor took to improving his clocks. He worked day and night. Anita saw glimpses of the dusty old room, littered with scraps of metal where he worked. She heard stories about Abilene, the inventor’s late wife, and as time went on, Anita took on the personality of Abilene. The inventor made Anita on his honeymoon. On the inside of her lid was a piece of glass webbed with cracks. It showed an image of a young man and woman in a loving embrace in front of the Eiffel Tower. When Abilene died, the inventor, who once explored the seven seas and could never stay in one place, shut himself up in his house at the top of the hill, away from civilization, away from the past. He told himself every day that it was for the best, and eventually, he believed it. He forgot about the things he loved.

Anita set out to change him, make him happier, just like Abilene did. She started out by whispering to the inventor while he slept. He thought he had finally found a way to talk to Abilene, and he was ecstatic. She told the inventor stories about him and Abilene, stories that he once told her as she was being built. She had made a connection. Anita carried on and got the inventor to send a message down to the docks to buy tickets on the next ship. He was going back to Paris. Anita had seen the picture of the couple every day, and she knew that she had to see the Eiffel Tower, and so did he. So the next morning as they left the house, she felt relieved she had accomplished her first mission; she was going to see the places Abilene cared about, the places the inventor cared about.

When they got aboard the ship, it was a whole new world. One full of chaos, yelling, and many people. Anita wasn’t used to so many people — the only sound she had heard for the past eleven years was the ticking. The inventor made his way to a beautiful stateroom, and there was a large porthole that looked out on Nantucket. As the ship slowly pulled away from the coast, a feeling in the bottom of Anita’s gears started to grow. It was nervousness. She had never felt this before, but she liked it. It was new, refreshing compared to the boredom she had felt so far. The ship was far from the coast now, and Anita turned her attention to the inventor. He unpacked one of his bags, and to Anita’s dismay, it was full of metal scraps. Not a stitch of clothing. He had buried himself too deep in his work. Anita took this on as her next stage in the mission: the inventor needed compassion, other people, although this could wait until France.

The boat was lush with life. A whole new social scene that Anita had to become a part of. But while at the beginning it was magical and beautiful, the boat became a mess. After four days on the sea, it became wet and smelly. Children screamed with glee and ran about the deck as frantic parents ran after them and sailors skidded and jumped out of the children’s path. People were less enchanted by the sea as they were at the beginning of the journey. To make matters worse, the only view Anita got anymore from the porthole was people constantly leaning over the side of the boat, so green you could see it in their ears. Anita longed for the rose gardens back at home, the peacefulness of just her and the clocks. It was lonely, but it was controlled. But she made up her mind, there was no going back.

Meanwhile the inventor was still tinkering with scraps of metal. He didn’t know what to do with himself; he had Abilene talking to him back at home, but ever since he had gotten on the ship, he hadn’t heard a peep. What if he was going crazy?! He couldn’t go back to France, it would be too painful. As the boat finally moored on the docks of France, Anita and the inventor stepped off the ship with completely different feelings from each other. Anita was ecstatic but her nervousness was growing, while the inventor was plotting, plotting a way to go home. He had had enough of traveling and ghosts.

They were ushered off the boat and onto the mainland, where the inventor called for a carriage. The carriage was pulled by two beautiful black horses, and Anita was mesmerized. The horses’ coats were shiny and smooth. If Anita’s hands could come off her face, she would stroke them. But the inventor was unimpressed; he just climbed into the carriage and told them to go to the Hotel de Crillon. When Anita saw the horses, she was taken aback, so you can imagine how she was when she saw the Eiffel Tower. The glass on her face fogged up, and the cracks spread, almost impairing her vision. The inventor winced and looked down at his hand where a shred of glass had pricked him, and where Anita lay.

She tried to hold back her feelings, but she was too proud of herself. The tears in the inventor’s eyes told her enough, and as the carriage turned around the corner away from the Eiffel Tower, she sighed. But when Anita opened her eyes, she almost screamed. The inventor was looking at her, really looking at her. He had heard her. Anita went stiff and started to pray under her breath, and the inventor’s eyes widened. He knew it, he was going mad. Anita fumbled over her words, trying to explain herself, getting louder and louder. The chauffeur turned around and asked the inventor who he was talking to. The inventor’s ears went red and he quickly cast his head down.

“Pull over,” the inventor grumbled, “now.” Once the inventor was out and the carriage had left once more to take his luggage to the hotel, he turned back to her. “You can talk.”
For the first time in her life, the chatterbox clock was silent, but not for long. “You can hear me?” Anita’s breath got caught in her gears, making her voice sound deep and gruff.

“Yes, apparently everyone can. I’m guessing you’re the Abilene impersonator. That is why we are here in France. But I don’t understand why or how. Let’s go somewhere private.” They moved across the plaza and into the shade of a tree out of earshot and sight from people walking by.

“I am sorry for tricking you. Your life is just so sad, all your friends left you when you moved up the hill, and you just talk to your clocks, and they don’t talk back. Plus, you used to have an interesting life full of adventure. Yes, I know you are grieving, but you need to get back into the world… ” Anita stopped rambling on when she noticed the inventor’s face. He looked sad, embarrassed. She couldn’t have felt more terrible about herself.

“I have a life,” the inventor said quietly. “I talked to the milkman just last week. Plus, I didn’t know the clocks could hear me. There is nothing for me to do. My only plan of what to do when I got older was derailed when she died.” His words slowly died off, and he looked into the distance, blinking, trying to get rid of his tears. Neither of them expected the trip to go this way, and it was very unsettling. An awkward silence fell upon them, and they just walked. The inventor held Anita by her chain instead of her base like usual, and she tried to stay as still as possible. Finally, after a couple of minutes that felt like hours, they arrived at the hotel.

The Hotel de Crillon was rich with history, and the life around it was still lively and diverse. Even though it was everything Anita had ever dreamed of, she couldn’t help but feel detached from the whole experience. Like she was watching it from afar. The walk to the hotel confused Anita, made her question who she actually was and if this was what she wanted. She wasn’t Abilene, she couldn’t mend the inventor, make him happy, give him purpose. But without Abilene and her mission, who was she?

Meanwhile, the inventor was having his own midlife crisis. He couldn’t help but feel tricked, but he felt like he had been deceived. The whole charade made him feel like Abilene was there again, helping him, but he knew it was fake. The feelings that he buried alongside Abilene rose to the surface — grief, loss, love. He couldn’t give up the opportunity to get closure, to forgive, forget, and move on. As Anita lost her sense of self, the inventor found his, and as he strode out of the hotel room for the first time in eleven years, he didn’t feel lost.

Anita sat on the dresser, forgotten. The inventor had left her there. She tried to think on the bright side. She had made him happy, he had to forgive her sooner or later. Anita’s day was slow, agonizingly slow; the only interesting thing that had happened all day was the luggage being brought up. Anita tried not to worry about the inventor, but when he walked through the door, she felt more emotions than she ever had before. First she felt relief, but anger burst through her before she could even stop herself.

“Where were you?” she screamed. The inventor slowly turned around with a small bag in his hand.

“Buying some accessories, would you like to see?” He slowly pulled out a bracelet and turned it to face Anita. “It’s a wrist watch, they are new in fashion. I needed an upgrade, my old watch was… faulty.”
Anita was furious. She hadn’t changed, he just started to pay attention, and he was going to replace her. The inventor just chuckled to himself and slowly walked towards Anita. He slowly picked her up and dropped her in the hotel trash.

“I have a life, unlike you, and I intend on living it without you,” he said, stalking back to his bed and strapping the monstrosity he called a “watch” on his wrist. Anita tried to stay awake and watch the inventor to make sure he wouldn’t leave again, but once again a new feeling crept up on her: tiredness.

Anita missed the days where she was simply Anita, when she couldn’t feel, couldn’t get hurt. When Anita finally woke up, she was all alone, just as she had suspected and prophesized. Someone knocked on the door, and Anita’s gears skipped a notch.

“Room service!” A maid around the same age as the inventor walked into the room cautiously and looked around. When she was positive no one was home, she quickly made the bed and grabbed the trashcan where Anita lay. The maid looked into the basket and saw Anita and took her out carefully, holding Anita so she wouldn’t get cut by the cracked glass. Anita saw her chance and took it.

“Hello! I’m Anita, and I need your help. Who are you?” The maid screamed and flung Anita across the room. As Anita collided into the wall, she felt the remaining glass shatter and fall off in pieces. “Well, that was rude.”

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.” The maid ran over and knelt down to hold Anita. “What are you?” She slowly turned Anita over and opened the lid. Glass sand fell out onto her apron, but she was more taken by the image on Anita’s lid. “Frederic?”

“Who? Do you mean the inventor? Do you know him? Can you take me to him? He is probably at the Eiffel Tower, please… ” Anita was stumbling, words were pouring off her tongue faster than she could think of them. The maid didn’t respond; she just gathered her skirts and pocketed Anita and walked out the room, shutting the door behind her. Together, they practically ran to the Eiffel Tower. They crossed across the Seine, and eventually they arrived.

The inventor wasn’t that hard to spot. He sat on a bench staring at a sketchpad, a charcoal pencil held limply in his hand like an extension of his hand. He was so completely lost in his art that when the maid ran up to him, he didn’t notice. The maid tapped him on the shoulder and when he looked up, recognition flooded his eyes.

“Jeanne.” He quickly stood up, and his papers slowly fell to the ground. He was so caught up in the moment, a flash from the past. Anita, on the other hand, wasn’t as taken by the moment. While she was happy about the inventor, she was fixated by the sketches that lay on the dusty road. They pictured a beautiful statue with her arm raised above her head holding a torch. The inventor had sketched a name at the top of the paper: Lady Liberty. Anita longed for it. She always knew there was more meant for her, she was destined for something more, this was it.

Fredric and Jeanne sat on the bench, hands clasped together as they reminisced about when they were young. When they were in their teens, they fell in love, but it didn’t work out. The inventor fell right back in love. The hole that had eaten away at his heart was filled. He felt complete, truly happy.

***

After a couple years of traveling the world with Jeanne, the inventor proposed, and they moved back to Nantucket where they lived out the rest of their lives as key members of the community, happily in love. Anita got her wish and was built into the Statue of Liberty, where she welcomed people from all over the world into America, and even as hundreds of years passed, she remained a key symbol of freedom and opportunity. As for me, I remained where I had been since the beginning of the story, and where I would stay forever, part of something bigger, no longer the Abilene of this story. But I will always love him, which is why I have been watching my dear husband fall in love, and the impersonator who I can’t help but feel indebted to for making the love of my life happy once more.

Dear Little Ladybug

Editor’s Note: Content warning — Suicide

***

Dear little ladybug, 

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I didn’t mean to leave you. I love you, but I won’t be coming back.

Sincerely,

Friend 

Laura

Friend was always going to go this way. I mean, if she was going to go at all. At least she had left a note. She probably wasn’t going to leave one, but then maybe she thought of me, and maybe that tempted her to write one more thing.

But not suicide? When I found this note taped to my window as I woke up this morning, I thought the worst had happened. I mean, as soon as I had read it, I ran the ten blocks down to her house as fast as my legs would carry me. My short curls flew behind me, and I nearly fell on my face running up the four crooked steps to her door. I had run up those steps my whole life, and I’m sure I have tripped over those rotting boards countless times. But this time, it felt like it wasn’t me. Like I was out of my own body. Almost like I was watching a stranger run up the steps to her friend’s house, just to find that she had killed herself.

Robson came to the door, as usual. He appeared in his normal disheveled state. His hair was in its state of permanent messiness and his tank top was untucked from his dirty jeans. He probably had just woken up. I knew I hadn’t woken him up, because if I had by knocking on the door, he sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for that. But he would have recognized by now how I knocked on the door, and he usually didn’t answer the door for anyone else other than me and Friend.

He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke in my face. Ugh. I didn’t check the time before I ran out of the house, but I knew it was too early in the morning to be smoking that shit. 

“What are you wearing?” he asked, as he looked me up and down with an expression of amusement on his face. 

I must have been a sight. I wanted to get over to Friend’s house as soon as I could, so I didn’t even change. I was still wearing my feathery nightdress, and I had squashed my feet into my rain boots that were lying next to my bed on the floor. I was wearing an old jacket that had actually been Robson’s at one point, but eventually wound up with me when Friend didn’t want it anymore. 

“Is Tuesday awake?” I asked impatiently. 

“You know she wakes up at the crack of dawn. That little shit made such a racket going out the back I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up.” 

That’s when I realized how she had left. She didn’t want anyone to know, so she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It was probably just our secret. Friend and I had a lot of secrets that were just for us, and I knew when Friend wanted to have a secret kept. Didn’t mean I ever knew why, though. 

“Sorry, umm,” I fumbled, trying to come up with a lie. The thoughts and questions swirling around in my head weren’t letting any coherent sentences come out of my mouth. “I just wanted to give this back to her.” I took off my jacket and handed it to him. 

“I haven’t seen this thing in a while,” he said almost wistfully. “Why are you giving it back?” 

“I just thought she might want it.” My little lie was coming apart. 

“What’s actually happening, bug?” he tilted his head and looked at me. Not too many people called me “bug.” He was one of the few. As far as he was concerned, that was my actual name. I mean, he knew my given name. But he never used it. 

“Just take the jacket.”

He rolled his eyes, took a drag from his cigarette, and closed the door. I shakily sat down on the steps, even though they were still wet from last night’s rain. Where did she go? My mind continued spinning. She didn’t tell anyone, she just left. We had both gone through our fair share in life, but what in her finally snapped? What made her go? But I knew one thing. Tuesday Adelson didn’t kill herself. She couldn’t have.  

***

I walked back up the street to my house, slowly. Stepping in all the puddles I saw. It had started to rain lightly, wetting my face and hair. The early morning sunshine cast its light onto my bare, freckled arms. It was raining, but it wasn’t overcast. That was my favorite weather. Sun showers. No one was outside yet except for one or two cars driving down the street.

I tried to clear my mind, but how could I? How could I calm my thoughts when every spot on those streets had times spent with Friend? Times spent with Tuesday. Now that she was gone, all the memories of her were flooding my head all at once. I mean, it would have been one thing for me to have just found out that she had left. Robson probably would have come to tell me or asked me if I knew where she was. But it was just that she left a note. She confirmed it herself that she wouldn’t come back. And I was the only one who knew. It hurt a little more this way. A lot of things had hurt both of us, and it was all good and well for her to run away from it. But then she left me with it. Damn her.

I stopped walking and looked down at the small handprints on the sidewalk. This was where I first met Friend. I walked by these handprints every day, but I never stopped to think about the past. To go back in time. It was raining harder now, but I still sat down on the wet sidewalk in front of the hollow hand prints. My hands were so much bigger than those prints were. I couldn’t remember life before Tuesday, but I remembered the day I met her so vividly. 

I think I must have been four or five. It was raining just like it was now. The sun was out, but it was pouring. I remember running out the back door of my house. This part is a bit more hazy, almost like a dream. I mean, you would probably think you were dreaming if you found your older sister hanging in the basement. I didn’t know what was happening — I was only four, after all. I just remember being scared. And running out into the crying sun. I hid behind a big tree where I sat for hours in the rain. I didn’t cry. I just watched the little ladybugs march along in the wet grass. They didn’t care about the rain. They were just enjoying the golden glow before the sun was going to set. I was sitting there for so long. They must have thought I was a part of the grass and the trees and the flowers littered around my feet. If I had stayed there forever, flowers might start to grow and blossom up through my skin. And the grass would grow up, entangling with my arms and legs, rooting me to the ground. And I would have remained a little girl, frozen in time and in the earth. I may have stayed there forever.

If it weren’t for Tuesday. I remember hearing yelling coming from a block or two down. And then I saw her. She was spinning around in the middle of the road with flowers and grass tangled in her hair. But she kept looking back over her shoulder at where the yelling was coming from. Almost like she was trying to ignore it or hide from it somehow. She kept getting closer and closer to me, when all of a sudden, she tripped and fell on the grass. I watched as she slowly picked herself up and looked at her hands. I finally decided to pipe up. 

“Are you okay?” I asked in my timid voice. 

She jumped at the sound of my voice. I think I had startled her. But she took a moment to carefully look at me. 

“Why are you hiding?” 

I didn’t really fully realize I was hiding until she asked me that. I didn’t know how to answer that question, so I just shrugged my shoulders. She looked at me a little longer, so I looked at her. I remember first noticing her golden hair glowing in the light and her hazel green eyes that have not aged with time, even today. You can still see a child’s soul in those green eyes now. Then I remember she reached out her hand, the hand that was scraped and bloody from her fall. I took it, and she pulled me out of the shadow of the tree. I still had ladybugs crawling on my arms, and by now the rain had stopped, but I was still soaked to the skin. 

“Little, little ladybugs,” Tuesday started singing lightly to herself. “Little lady…” 

She sort of trailed off there. She was in a daze. Being four, I didn’t really think there was anything unusual about her behavior. Kids were supposed to play and act like they’re in a dream. I couldn’t believe I even remembered this much about meeting Tuesday, but the whole memory still felt like a hazy dream anyway. We sat there for a little while in silence, just being in each other’s company. Watching her golden hair, watching the ladybugs on my hands, seeing the scrapes on hers, watching the sun sink further into the sky. The day my sister killed herself was beautiful. Maybe that’s why it felt like a dream. Eventually Tuesday broke the silence. 

“Come with me.” 

She stood up and walked over to the sidewalk and sat down on the edge of the grass. I stood up, feeling the ladybugs fly off me when I stood. I sat down next to her and looked at her, waiting for her to say something, which she eventually did. 

“If you put your hands on the sidewalk, they’ll stay there forever.” 

The sidewalk in front of us had just been filled in. The cement was still wet. I remember putting our small, little hands out on the sun-kissed sidewalk. The wet cement felt weird, but we just sat there together. Sitting in silence as we made our mark on our block. The blood on her little hands mixed with the wet cement. We would never stop to look at those handprints. But they were always there. I don’t remember much of anything else about that day or the days after. I don’t remember the funeral; I don’t remember my mom’s endless tears; I don’t remember meeting my dad at that funeral; I don’t remember when my grandmother sank into her own grief. I know it all happened. I just simply don’t remember. All I remember is walking back into the house, shaking from the cold of the rain. I remember my mom wrapping her arms around my little body and crying into me, as if she were a child. I just remember saying in my little baby voice, “I found a friend.” 

And now where is she? How will I find her again? 

Tender

Editor’s note: This is a wonderfully creepy horror story that may be disturbing to younger readers.

As Jac swung open the heavy front door, an aroma of blood and flesh seized his unprepared nostrils. He slightly winced but he knew the smell was promising. The more rural the town, the better the meat, he decided. Fresh meat from the outskirts of Wales.

Jac examined the place. Before him, there was a counter display case with bright lights shining on glistening meat behind glass. The shelves weren’t full, but the slabs were large, damp like morning dew and appetizing even in its raw state. A small radio sat atop the glass counter that played Christmas Welsh opera from barley caught radio signals. The place looked to be aging with uneven and beaten tiled flooring but it “had character” like the barber shop your father has been to for the past four decades. Jac’s eyes met a hunk of a man that stood behind the counter. He had broad shoulders and a wide torso with rolls of fat you could see through his apron that was stained from the aftermath of which needs no explanation. He had a roughly shaved beard with slits from his razor littered across his neck and cheeks. He had droopy ears that had heard decades worth of squeals and wide eyes that had seen a lifetime’s worth of struggles and intestines. However, he wore a small smile when his eyes meant Jac’s. 

“Dine in or take out?” he said. 

“Dine in,” replied Jac. 

The butcher laid out his hand pointing to a high stool in front of the glass case. Jac awkwardly walked over and sat on the stool. His weight slightly pushed down the seat, making the already giant butcher tower over him even more. Next to the glass case, the smell of flesh and blood was stronger. Jac shuddered as he wondered what smelling the intense smell of fresh meat all day would do to someone.

“We only have pork today,” said the Butcher with a voice as cold as a pond in December.

“Fine by me,” said Jac. 

“Five and a half pound sterling for a cut.”

“Alright.”

Jac reached into his winter coat pocket, took out the money, and placed it onto the awaiting leathery hands that laid before him. The butcher then placed it into his apron pocket, looked down, and took out a butcher knife, and a large slab of meat from the glass case. He put it onto a cutting board and cut. The knife slid through the slab so effortlessly like a scissor slicing tissue paper or a needle piercing skin. Jac began to grin. Welsh pork was a must-have, of course, every Welsh man or woman knew that. Oh, so flavorful and covered in fat too, not too little and not too much. 

The butcher laid the large slice of meat onto the grill behind the counter. It sizzled loudly even without oil and overpowered the opera playing from the radio. Jac felt his tongue roll around his wet mouth, his twitching eyes fixed upon the browning meat.

A minute or two went by which, to Jac, felt like thirty seconds. The butcher took out an old porcelain plate and placed the meat onto it, pulling the plate across the counter toward the eagerly awaiting customer.

“Thank you,” said Jac as he immediately dug into the meat.  

He stuffed a big portion into his mouth and began to chew. It wasn’t tender but it didn’t matter. Each time Jac took a bite, a flood of juices filled his mouth. It tasted as fresh as it gets, a little under done if anything.

“Do you like it?” asked the butcher.

“I — It’s great. Really great,” said Jac through a mouth as stuffed as a goose inflated with apple stuffing.

“Fresh is the key really.”

“I’m sure.”

The butcher turned off the radio. An uncomfortable silence filled the shop interrupted only by Jac’s loud and childish chewing noises.

“Fine pork is best in silence,” said the butcher.

“Agreed,” said Jac as he swallowed.

“Say, do you know about vegans?”

“Sure.”

“Few in the Welsh countryside but still existent. No harm in it. I just think it’s wrong.”

“Yep,”  said Jac, a bit confused about the sudden change in conversation.

“It really is quite silly. I’m telling you from life experience that cows and pigs are stupid. Incompetent organisms really. Can’t tell night from day, and even if the animals were a bit smarter, they’re providing me a business right?”

“Right.”

“Of course. We’ve been eating animals for as long as we’ve existed. Some people just don’t see the greater good in things. Sure, it’s the death of an organism, but hell, it’s keeping me alive. What’s a few lives if it keeps business aflowing?”

“Right.”

“The only animal I can second guess about killing is monkeys. Chimps. Some attributes of the chimp are smarter than some attributes of the human.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think it’s the ability to lose empathy when needed for survival. Many humans lack that and it makes the chimp in some ways better at surviving than the human.”

“Hmm.”

“How bout this, a chimp’s diet is mostly based on fruit and insects. Chimps go out of their way to get the fruit and the insects,” said the butcher as his voice started to grow playful. “But, let’s say that there’s a sudden decrease in insects. Let’s say that the fruit that their diet is based on starts growing elsewhere. The chimp realizes the only source of food that could keep himself alive is his fellow chimp. What do you think he should do?”

“E-eat the… chimp?” said Jac with an empty mouth.

“Exactly. Eat the chimp. The chimpanzee does not think twice about eating one of his kind when needed. He knows that one in the end will survive and that one will be him. With empathy, the chimp will die, but without it, the chimp will thrive. How about another example?”

“I — I… I don’t… ” said Jac as he laid down his fork.

The butcher leaned towards him.

“Let’s say there’s a man in the meat business. He’s known around the neighborhood but the winter months come and business comes to a sudden halt. He’s not making enough money to afford the number of cows and pigs that he needs.” 

 Jac wanted to get up and dash out of the shop, but his muscles couldn’t move, like he was tightly stitched to his seat.

“Then the man realizes,” said the butcher as his eyes widened and a twisted smile grew across his face, “that the perfect solution has been sitting right across from him all along.”

In a swift motion his arms reached out to Jac’s neck and squeezed. He grabbed the rusted butcher knife and Jac realized why the meat wasn’t tender. 

Our Customized Future

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, the fetus communication device is all set up. We’re ready when you are,” the doctor said, while double checking that all the wires were in the right place.

“I think we’re ready, doctor,” said James Gardner, the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Clutching his wife’s hand, he whispered something in her ear, which made her frown mildly. The screen powered on, and James and Mary could see their fetus. Excitedly, Mary grasped her husband’s forearm, as they had been trying to have a child for a few months, with no success until then. It was a long and painful journey, but they had finally succeeded. 

“Hello? Is this my customization?” asked the fetus. The doctor gave a microphone to the couple so that they could talk to their son.

“Hello, my beautiful son. Shall we get to it?” asked Mary, wanting to get on with it.

“Yes, sorry.” The doctor opened his laptop. “Let’s start with a simple one, what are you thinking for height?” 

“I was thinking maybe 6’5, 6’6,” James said. 

“No, that’s too tall. The Inspector will see him as a freak! He’ll get sent straight to the Ugly House. 6’3 will do just fine,” said Mary, arguing with her husband, just as always. The doctor typed on his computer, inputting the requested height.

“Alrighty, now, how about eye color?” the doctor asked, still typing at his keyboard.

“We were thinking about blue, not very dark, but more like an ocean or sky blue,” Mary said, and James nodded, for once agreeing with his wife. The doctor typed some more on the computer.

“Hair color?”

“You better make me blonde. Not too yellow though, more like a pale blonde. I’ve studied the current beauty standards,” the fetus said excitedly.

“I don’t know, I was thinking brown hair, but I guess you would know better than me,” Mary said, debating whether or not to trust her child-to-be. The doctor typed that information in the computer. 

They stayed there for another hour or so. Whenever James tried to bring an idea to the table, Mary shot him down with some excuse. Eventually, James got sick of it and just let Mary and the fetus choose. He didn’t want his son to get sent to the Ugly House. He had heard about what happened there. He had heard that the Inspectors were very harsh. He had heard the rumors. He was nervous. 

* * *

Mary had given birth to Liam Gardner after 16 hours of being in labor. The Inspector was due any minute now. James had to leave for a meeting halfway through Mary giving birth. She was not happy about it. He was always leaving her to do some sort of work thing that she didn’t understand. Well, at least she now had a baby. A beautiful baby boy. Or at least she thought.

“Is this Liam Gardner with James and Mary Gardner?” a deep, booming voice asked. Mary turned toward the door. She saw a man dressed in a black and gray vest with a scar on his face. He was donning a black baker boy hat.

“Yes, I am Mary and this is Liam. James could not be here, unfortunately,” Mary said, a little bit snarkily. 

“Liam Gardner, what an interesting name.”

“Oh, the name is not final, we can change it if you think it’s odd.”

“That will not be necessary.” The Inspector walked toward Mary and the baby. “What a tall little man. He appears strong as well. He will be helpful to fight in our armies, if he is deemed satisfactory, of course.”

“Notice how beautiful his face is!” Mary said, trying very hard to get her son deemed satisfactory.

“It will not help you nor the boy if you try to convince me. I have made my decision. You will be sent a letter in the mail with instructions.”

“Instructions? For what?”

“For how to get your boy to the Ugly House. And for what to do from there. Please inform Mr. Gardner of this decision and read the letter together when it arrives.” 

Mary was shocked. Her son, going to the Ugly House? That didn’t happen to the wealthy folks. Liam had studied the beauty standards, and she had trusted him. Now he was going to be taken away. She had to speak with James about this. 

* * *

Mary stormed into their home. 

“James. Our sweet Liam is being sent to the Ugly House. I know this was all your fault, you in those meetings, when you told me in the customization that you had to sort a matter with the doctor, you knew he was going to be sent to the Ugly House all along!” Mary screamed at James, sobbing. 

“I did that to protect you, dear Mary. I knew I wouldn’t be able to help you raise a child. I was barely there when you were pregnant, I could never have time for our son,” James said, a lot calmer than his wife.

“And you thought that sending him to the Ugly House would be an appropriate response? You couldn’t have just been there for him?” Mary was really yelling now.

“Mary, you are acting obtuse. Do you not realize I was just trying to help? God, Mary, you’re impossible sometimes.” James was starting to get more aggressive.

“I’m impossible? I take care of our child, I cook, I clean the house while you just go to work all day! I don’t see you ever, and I’m the impossible one? You’re insane, James! You know what? Don’t come to our room tonight. I need my space from you.” Mary picked up Liam and went to their room. Liam’s crib was already set up in there, at least James did one thing. Mary had just gotten in bed when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.

“Hey, Mary, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I know it won’t help but I just wanted you to hear it. This came for us, I thought you might want to look at it first.” James slipped a letter under the door. It was addressed to both of them. 

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gardner,

On the next page are the instructions for how to get your son, Liam Gardner, to the Ugly House. You have three days to get him there, or he will be forcefully removed from your household. 

Sincerely, 

The Inspectors

Mary skimmed the instructions and then opened the door. James gave her a hug, and then took the letter from her. They would take Liam to the Ugly House the next day.

* * *

The instructions had been very clear. Liam was to be brought to 151 Applebaum Street, and he would be taken to the Ugly House. Mary and James took their relatively-newborn and got into the car. They passed Bananabaum street, Pearbaum street, Grapebaum street, until they finally got to Applebaum. 147, 149, and then finally, 151 Applebaum street. The house was painted a turquoise color, and neither Mary nor James could say that they liked it very much. It looked very old and run-down. Almost abandoned. The instructions had said to leave Liam on the porch and not to hover. They did exactly that. Mary and James had driven home, and didn’t see Liam again, at least not for a long time. 

That’s where their stories end, but Liam’s story, well, that one is just beginning.

* * *

Liam was lying on the porch for about 15 minutes before an elderly woman came out of the house and got him. She brought him inside and gave him a bottle of milk. Then, as standard procedure for all incoming Ugly children, she gave him a dose of a serum made from maple tree bark that allows him to talk. 

“Hello, Mr. Liam Gardner. You are here because you have been deemed Ugly. Do not be alarmed, you will not be harmed just yet. You may call me Mrs. X,” the elderly woman, Mrs. X, said.

“So, I was deemed Ugly, why am I not in the Ugly House?” Liam said, confused.

“Currently, you are in what is called the ‘transition period.’ You will be transported to the Ugly House in about 30 minutes. This talking serum will wear off in about two minutes, so if you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. Don’t worry, this is standard procedure.”

“What is it like in the Ugly House? Will I be treated poorly? I’ve heard rumors that it’s terrible there.”

“I apologise, but I’m not allowed to address that. Oh, I think the serum has worn off. Unfortunately, I cannot give you more. Here, play with this.” Mrs. X gave Liam a baby toy to play with until the Transporter arrived.

30 minutes later, Liam was picked up. The Transporter put him in a seat in the back of a truck. The ground was damp and it smelled like mold. The Transporter was not a good driver. He kept on swerving and hitting potholes. About 15 minutes into the drive, the truck stopped. Liam was taken out of the foul-smelling vehicle and put into a baby carrier. He was handled aggressively and carried until he saw a mansion. If someone had asked Liam to describe what he saw in that moment, he would’ve just said scary. The mansion was huge, and looked amazing, but Liam knew it was the opposite. The whole thing was very eerie. Liam was taken inside. He was greeted by an incredibly ugly young girl. She seemed about seven years old. Her family must’ve been poor, Liam thought. Come to think of it, all of the children in this home were not from a high income family. Liam was the only outlier. Liam thought it was kind of horrible how only the poor got sent to the Ugly House. Well, mostly the poor. The girl took him to a room that didn’t have any windows. The only source of light was a small lamp in the corner. There was a black crib in the room that Liam assumed was his. Sure enough, he was placed in the crib. The ugly girl gave him a small bottle of milk that she had hidden underneath her bed. 

“Drink up. I’m Susan,” the girl whispered to him. She seemed cautious, as if something or someone was preventing her from talking to him in full volume. Liam drank the milk. Susan watched him drink, and then took the bottle from him when he finished. Liam thought this was a bit odd. This whole place was kind of odd. But it certainly was nothing like the rumors, at least not yet.

“The guard will be here any minute. I should go,” Susan said anxiously. She left the room. 

“Liam Gardener?” a woman’s voice came from outside the room. “I am here to introduce you to the Ugly House. I need to give you an injection so that we can… communicate with you better. Don’t worry, it’ll only be a pinch.” The woman came inside the room with a needle and a bandaid. She gave him the injection and put the bandaid on. Liam felt different. He felt older. It’s not possible that that injection made him older, right? It’s not possible…

“Great, it looks like the injection worked. You are now 11 years old. Can you speak?” the woman asked.

“How – how did you make me age ten years with only an injection? Why am I suddenly 11 years old?” Liam asked, confused.

“This is a standard procedure for all incoming Ugly children. Do not be alarmed.”

“That’s not possible, the girl that greeted me, Susan, she was only seven. It’s not possible for her to age ten years.”

“The injection works differently for different people. That ugly girl only aged five years. Now, let’s take you on a little tour, shall we?” The woman grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the room. She took him to a room that again didn’t have any windows and sat him down at a metal table. The chair legs were uneven, and the table was sticky and smelled of orange juice. Sure enough, the woman gave him a glass of orange juice. When he finished drinking it, the woman took the glass and put it in a bin on the table. There was a small side room, which she went into and took out a pen and a notepad. She then looked at him and began to write something down. Liam was curious.

“What are you writing?” Liam asked, anxiously.

“That’s none of your concern! Don’t be so nosy, or you will not enjoy your time here. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Um, I guess not.” The woman continued to write. About ten minutes later, the woman had stopped writing and took Liam out of the room. She instructed him to follow her and took him to another room with no windows that had a chair and a barber smock in it. She told him to sit down and grabbed an electric razor from a side table. She then gave him a haircut.

“Nice hair makes someone look more Satisfactory. You stay here for three months so that we can mold you into a Satisfactory child. We transport you back to where you started, 151 Applebaum street. Your parents or whoever can come get you from there. Unfortunately, the injection never wears off, so you have lost a few years of your life. Oh well. Get up and follow me please.” She walked to yet another room. This was going to be a long three months. 

* * *

Liam looked in the mirror. I guess I’m, Satisfactory now? He thought. The Inspector was supposed to come today to reevaluate him. Liam was not sure if he was excited or disappointed. The last three months were something to say the least. He enjoyed his time here overall. He made a new friend in Susan from his room. He was considered attractive now. But despite all this, he still felt incomplete. He skipped ten whole years of his life. Ten years that he would never get back. Well, at least he would see mom and dad again. He heard a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” said Liam.

“Hello, Mr. Gardener. My, you’ve grown a lot since the last time I saw you,” said the Inspector, shocked.

“Yes, well I was given an injection which made me age ten years, as per your instructions,” Liam said, passive-aggressively.

“Do not put the blame on me, boy. I only deemed you Ugly because my boss had told me to. I have to reevaluate you now. You are a very good height for your age. And my-my, very strong too. Hair looks great. I deem you Satisfactory. Goodbye now, Mr. Gardener.” The Inspector left the room. Liam was in shock, that all happened so quickly! The woman who had given him a tour (whose name he still hadn’t learned) came into the room. 

“I’m here to discuss the details of your departure. You will leave our facility in half an hour. Please go pack your things now,” the woman said, without an ounce of emotion in her voice. Liam packed up his stuff and went to the exit of the Ugly House to be picked up. Again, he was put into the back of a truck. The ground was not damp this time, but it still smelled of mold. After a 15 minute ride, the truck stopped at 151 Applebaum street. James and Mary Gardener picked him up. They went back to the house. Mary had decided to get a divorce from James, so she took Liam and they got their own house. 

That’s where this story concludes. 

It was Him

Editor’s Note: This story explores darker themes and mentions violence & self-harm.

ONE

It’s the alarm that woke me up that morning. Not my clock that’s seemingly harmless, but the Imperial Alarm. It has never been used before. 

When we first moved to the Triwall Sector, the second thing our family was taught about was the Imperial Alarm. It’s reserved solely for emergencies such as natural disasters, and the unexpected death of a high ranking member of the Imperials. I remember the man who gave us a tour of the place, carefully pointing every single thing out. He had led us to the pedestal, holding the huge bell shaped alarm. “It’s never been used before and it never will,” he said. I guess that man was wrong. 

The bell rang, and it’s been ringing for the past half hour. It seems like no one knows what to do right now. Everyone’s scrambling around outside, frantically searching for some guards who know what they’re doing. I yank on my socks and slowly open my door to reveal the bare hallway. One step at a time, I pound down the stairs to find my family huddled around our Slim Screen that displayed the town square. The Slim Screen is honestly an extremely helpful tool. It broadcasts channels that play on TVs, and it translates over 6000 languages.

 My family’s faces are expressionless, but I see the fear beneath their eyes. I walk over to them and slip my hand in Mom’s. My mother, with her beautiful blond hair and blue eyes, the traits I inherited from her, is waiting with a worried expression and her level signal over her head. 153. Like Mom, I have her ocean blue eyes, yet take my thick, curly brown hair from my father. Mom rubs my back like she always has since I was little. I feel her hand, comforting me, and soothing me. “It’s going to be okay Alana, everything’s going to be fine.” When my mom says something, you have to believe her. The compassion and sympathy in her voice stay with you wherever you go.

 She’s squeezing my hand now too, and I can tell she is unhappy with the situation. My dad pulls me in for a side hug, and this time I didn’t resist. I mean, usually I would because who even hugs their dad when they’re 14? My head leans against his broad chest and I feel his chest muscles tense. He breathes in and out, in and out. I concentrate on his breathing. It’s ragged and heavy. I pull away and cover my eyes with my hands. I want to fall asleep. We stand there in muddled silence for about 30 seconds. The Alarm is still ringing, and it’s hurting my ears. Then, the Imperial Alarm lets out one last earsplitting shriek and falls quiet. Timmy squeaks out a sound. He moves to hold Mom’s other hand. Then, everything goes pitch dark. Even our levels are gone. 

The first thing we learned about when we moved to Triwall Sector were the levels. When you performed tasks the bots were happy with, the icons over your head gave you points. Having points gave you advantages which helped you lead a better life. As a pay salary for jobs each week, our levels go up by .25. Mom and Dad’s levels are really high for commoners, so we get lots of luxury. For example, our family, we all have levels in the hundreds. So, we are able to access the uptown of Triwall while the middle class can only visit Midtown and Downtown. For the people that have low levels, they can’t access the elevators, the cars, the luxury objects in everyday life. Points are like health levels as well. Your arm broke? Your neck broke? The levels above your head carry a value no one can imagine. They slowly drain while you’re getting better, while you’re summoning enough strength. After you’re healed, work harder. You work harder until the levels are gained back. That’s just how it is. Well, all that’s gone now. There are no more levels. There are no more levels. No matter how many times I repeat that to myself, I can’t seem to fully wrap my head around the fact that there are no more levels. 

My brother, Timmy, looks around with fear in his eyes. He’s only nine. I’ve always protected him. He’s like the best friend I’ve never really had. But now that the world is out of control, there is nothing I can do to make Timmy feel like he is safe. Because in fact, he isn’t really safe at all. I see my parents exchange that look that means, “Uh oh we’re in trouble.” But to us, they only give positive and supportive looks. Mom wrenches her hand from mine and Tim’s grip and hurries to the windows. Her forearms rest against the metal windowsill. My mom stares at the crowd, and turns to report back.

“The whole level system is gone. It’s chaos out there.” 

And indeed it was. I rush over to the window to see for myself only to find disaster. The usually lit-up streets were dark. The level symbols above our heads used to keep the streets glowing. There are no levels now. My hands fall on the windowsill. Without the level system, everyone can go anywhere. They don’t need to keep in line as they won’t be punished. I force myself to drag my feet back to the rest of my family. Timmy whispers, “Are we gonna die?” Feet shuffle, and finally, my mother says in her sweet voice,

“No, Timmy, we’ll be absolutely safe. We’re here for you wherever you go.” But somehow, even if Mom’s voice sounds exactly the same, for the first time, I don’t actually believe her. 

TWO

Mom starts soothing Timmy, who begins to cry. I can’t listen to this anymore, I’m way too tired. I’m tired of living in this world where levels control you, I’m tired of the levels malfunctioning. My feet drag with every step I take. My arms hang by my sides, like limp spaghetti noodles that Timmy throws under the dinner table. 

“I think I ought to get some sleep,” I say weakly. I mean, there is nothing I can do at this moment anyway. Mom nods, and Dad says,

“I’m heading up too, you guys should also catch a nap.” He gestures to Mom and Timmy. 

“Wait it out till the morning, nothing much can get worse from here.” Dad grins, puts an arm around my shoulder, and starts guiding me towards the stairs. Oh boy, is Dad wrong. 

We reach the top of the stairs. I leave Dad standing in front of his room and head to mine. I can barely keep my eyes open, my eyelids feel like weights. I sink down on my bed. I don’t even take off my socks. Pulling my blanket up to my chin, I immediately fall asleep and get greeted by a memory I don’t want to rewatch. 

“Alana Wilkson, walk up here please.” The levels above my head are rapidly shooting down, lower and lower. I want to stop them, but I can’t. The rest of the class is staring at me, laughing and pointing. My level is down to 33. I shouldn’t even be in school with a level that low. You need at least a 50 for that. Six, five, four, I feel myself losing strength. So this is how it feels to die. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper to Ms. Johns defiantly, while I fight for my eyelids not to close. She stares at me, daring me to lie. I want to sink into a small puddle, a puddle where no one knows who I am. Eventually, my levels were sorted out. I woke up in the office to find the most important man in the Triwall Sector waiting for me. That was the time I met the Elector Imperial. He drove me to his private quarters and then hired his team to fix the numbers. I watch as the symbols light up and my level is soon back to normal. The Elector Imperial fixes me with a smile, his ice cold eyes piercing into mine. “Sorry for causing you any trouble, Alana dear.” But even at the mere age of nine, I could tell he doesn’t really mean it. 

My forehead is beaded with sweat when I bolt up, wide awake. The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of the levels. When I used to wander downtown with Mom where the river is, where we saw the different boats coming in with shipments, I saw those homeless people, the beggars on the street. Their levels are low, really low, and their faces are blank. Like they’ve given up. Because once you’re down the ladder of levels, there’s really no going back up. Our lives are shaped by levels, and levels are vital to living in Triwall. It’s that important. So I’m scared. I’m scared because without levels, we’re nobodies, we don’t have a place in the world above anyone else. And I’m scared for my neighbors, my friends, and my family, but mostly, I’m scared for myself. 

THREE

I’m too startled. I don’t think I can go back to sleep and relive those unpleasant memories again. I walk to the bathroom quietly, as my whole family seems to be asleep. Peering into Mom and Dad’s room, I see Timmy snuggled in between them, smiling in his sleep. He’s probably thinking of good memories. Wish I could relate. I splash cold water on my face and pull on my boots. I am going outside. I am going to see for myself.

I open the door and fresh air hits my face. I need that. Walking to the Imperial Alarm, I see many people huddled in groups, even this early in the morning. It makes me uneasy, because usually no one’s around this early. It makes me scared. I pick up my pace to a jog when someone runs into me. I jump back in surprise. Without meaning to, my face lights up. He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Pushing those thoughts away, I analyze the person getting to his feet. He’a a carpenter, someone who fixes things that go wrong in the Triwall Sector. His badge gleams on his chest.  Can’t even call him a man, he’s barely 18. He looks flushed. Almost as if he’s hurting inside. Guilty for doing something wrong. “Sorry,” he mumbles, while averting his eyes and continuing on his way. I think I will remember that boy. With those looks, I don’t think I could forget him.

***

Wow. The space around the Alarm is packed four deep. People scrambled and shoved, trampled and tripped each other. Many people stay on the sidelines though. Without their levels, if you get hurt, there’s no telling what could happen. Of course, the risk takers wanted to see the Alarm for themselves. People touch it, bang it, or simply just stand in front of it. Normally, with the presence of levels, people wouldn’t dare. Points are taken off in big chunks for approaching the Alarm at all.  But now, you can do anything you want to, if you are okay with the possibility you may be in pain for the rest of your existence. After all, there are no more levels. Then, after an eternity of physical violence, people gasp.  Their faces are frozen with shock. “No!” someone screams, and all of a sudden, the Imperial Alarm rings again. Standing less than 30 feet away, the bell’s intense ringing hurts my head. I have no idea what’s happened. 

“The Elector Imperial is dead,” someone shouts while others repeat those horrid words. “Dead in his bedroom, throat slit.” 

My stomach hurts. I feel lightheaded. The world fades to black.

FOUR

I wake up to Timmy’s face hovering over me.

“Alana, you’re awake! Thank goodness!” my Mom says happily. Dad hovers over her shoulder, his eyes brightening the moment he sees me smile. Timmy dances around the room, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Mom, what happened?!” I gasp, finally finding my voice. 

“Nothing you have to worry about now, honey,” Mom replies, clearly hiding something she doesn’t want me to know. 

“Mom, I want to know. I deserve to know.” I sit up and pain hits my temples. It’s like a blinding light I can’t close my eyes to. Timmy shouts and screams. As much as I want to tell him it’s okay, I don’t have the strength to do it. I see Timmy’s hazy shape over me, and a memory hits me again. The day Timmy came home.

I see my old doll Betty in my hands. I’m pacing around the same table that’s still here now. Mom and Dad should be home anytime soon. I’m so excited. I get to meet Timmy. I’m with my old babysitter, Gerta. She’s gorgeous. Her level states 72. She got a job after graduation apparently, and then became my babysitter. There’s a knock at the door. I rush to open it, but Gerta beats me. She swings it open, and smiles brightly at Mom and Dad while I stare at Timmy. My eyes are only on him. He’s adorable. I make a move to grab his torso but Dad puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. 

“Sweetie, move to the sofa, you don’t want to drop him, not when he’s this young.” I sit down on the sofa and get comfortable while Dad sets Timmy down on my lap. He has blue eyes, the same as mine. I watch with huge eyes as a level symbol starts to form over my brother’s head. I swatted it, determined to see my brother’s full face and take in his face. The symbol stays put. Timmy starts to wail and scream. Mom takes him back hugging and rocking him. As Mom heads to her room, I stare at the hovering level signal with confusion. It’s always been there, and somehow, even now, I still can’t seem to get used to it. But now, as the levels are gone, it’s even stranger to not see the flickering blue digits above someone’s head. 

***

I’m conscious again, and Timmy runs over to me. I think I’ve gotten used to seeing our levels over our heads because looking at Timmy now, the space above his head just seems so empty. 

“Alana’s awake!” he says enthusiastically to the whole house. Then, to me, he says solemnly, “The Imperials want to talk with you. They wouldn’t tell us why. Mom pestered and pestered, but no one told us why”

The Imperials. That means the government. What do they want from me? A fourteen-year-old girl who fainted at the site?

Timmy tugs me up to a sitting position while Mom strides into the room. 

“Hey, hon, glad you’re up,” my mom says with her sweet voice like silk. She moves around, taking my temperature, and brushing my hair. When she’s satisfied, Mom sits down and sighs. 

“I’m taking you to Imperial’s Head for questioning, I’m sure Timmy has told you. Ready in ten.” Mom pecks my cheek and walks out. 

FIVE

We pass the Alarm as we head to the Imperials Headquarters. There’s caution tape around the site, but otherwise it looks the same.  Now, looking at the Alarm, it looks identical to what it looked like yesterday, but I know so much has changed. 

Mom pulls up to the huge cement block of a building. It doesn’t even have any windows. 

“Head in hon. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I’m numb as I pass through the endless metal detectors, walk by the countless stares the guards give me, and finally, when guards escort me to an office, my eyes snap open. 

There are two men sitting straight up in chairs. One is a general with badges all over his uniform. And the other is the beautiful boy I met this morning. 

***

He flashes a small smile, then returns to his poised state. I blush. Before I can move my mouth, the general saves me. 

“Glad to see you joining us, Ms. Wilkson.” He turns the corners of his mouth up, as if he’s teasing a smile. I nod tentatively and sit down in the chair the general points at. Once I’m seated, the general starts to talk. 

“I heard you were at the alarm early this morning. Is that correct, Ms. Wilkson? Yes, I assume that is. Judging by the face you made at Mr. Thomas Oberchy’s presence, I see that you two have met?” 

I nod again, and the general is silent. I’m still confused about why I’m here, but the general says no more. The silence is unbearable. I am here watching two men glare at each other with much hostility, and the reason? No idea.  

“Mr. Oberchy is suspected of the murder of the Elector Imperial,” the general finally says. I see Thomas clenching his fists. He must be instructed not to talk. 

“And as of now, you, Ms. Wilkson, are the only person Mr. Oberchy has interacted with this morning. I say, let’s begin. No need to make that face, Ms. Wilkson, this will only take about half an hour or so.”

The general really was trained for this type of questioning. Question after question, he shoots at me like bullets you can’t avoid. 

“Have you met this man before?”

“No.”

“Do you suspect there are other people involved?”

“Um, no.”

Tens of questions later, I find myself faced with one last question. This is where I make my mistake. 

“Was there any suspicious behavior from our suspect this morning?”

“He was worried, I think, and… and, he was heading away from the Alarm.”  My voice quivers and wavers in uncertainty. The general is still sitting up ramrod straight, but he smiles. 

Thomas’ eyes snapped open. The blase look behind his eyes is gone. For the first time, he speaks up. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. I was heading home to see my parents and my sister. I really swear I didn’t.”

His voice is like Mom’s. Smooth as silk, and it makes you want to fall for him. He seems so genuine, and his words seem to come from his heart. 

The general winks at me and steps out of the room to talk with his elders who are waiting outside. Thomas looks at me with wide eyes. He is only a few years older than me. His expression is so innocent, so real, he just doesn’t have the capacity to kill someone, especially in front of the Alarm, where there were hundreds of people present. 

When I first saw Thomas, I thought he was 18, but now I see the youth in his eyes, the sparks of joy. He can only be about 16, and as we sit here, in this cold cement block of a room, the youth in his eyes fades away. 

“Please,” he says. “I have family at home. They need me. My sister needs me the most. If there were anything more I had to say to make you believe me, I would.” He looks so vulnerable, so fragile. He looks away, then turns back. 

“I really don’t know why I’m begging you, but you are the only person who can change his mind. So please, help me, please do.”

I look over his face one last time, those deep blue eyes, flawless skin. His face is the definition of pain. It breaks my heart to see someone in that state. It hurts more to leave them like that. And even as I will myself to believe this boy is a criminal, I can’t bring myself to. “It was him,” the boy says. I shake my head. Is he talking about the general? His position is already so high, I doubt he would risk his own life to kill someone important like the Elector, I think to myself. My heart aches for Thomas. Turning away, I walk out the door, but not before whispering to myself that I was going to make sure I would do what’s right – not for the government, but for my heart. 

The general is talking with his elders in a room that looks executive. Even royal. Unlike the rooms they use for investigating people, like the one I just walked out of. He tells me, “We’ve all agreed! 10/26/47, we’re executing him.”

He chuckles, apparently proud of himself. I glance at him, disgusted to see this man. This man who has just dished out a death sentence without remorse.

I have just given a boy death, when I just as easily could have let him live. This boy could have been the man to find the cure to cancer. He could have been the president of the world. But most importantly, this boy will not be able to give his family love. He will not be able to love his mom, his dad, he will not be able to love his sister. His sister who needs him the most. 

SIX

Mom’s car is waiting idly in front of the building. I walk up to the car and knock on the window. 

“Mom, please unlock the car.” 

My mom gives me a thumbs up and I swing the door open. 

“How’d it go, hon?”

“It was fine, Mom.” I sink into the cushioned seat of the car. She stares at me pointedly as if urging me to tell more. I close my eyes and remember how easily the government was able to give a death sentence. The general too. And me. Can one person just end someone’s life? The general was so precisely trained, taught everything he needed to know to become as high-ranking as he was. And yes, you can train people to learn things, but you need to be born with a heart.

***

The citizens outside their homes are doing things they wouldn’t have dared to when there were levels. Why did the levels just vanish? Who would know how to start ringing the Alarm? And more importantly, who killed the Elector Imperial? In 27 days, a suspect who may be innocent will leave this world forever. We drive home in silence. 

Pulling up to our condo, I see Timmy and Dad waiting for us outside. Dad looks so worried. I give him a reassuring smile and tell him, “I’m fine, Dad, nothing to worry about.” But inside, I am hurting. I am hurting for Thomas, because if he is truly innocent, he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of it. 

I sit on my bed for what feels like forever. When I will myself to get up, I remain sitting. Now the level crisis and Thomas’s dilemma add to my problems. It’s all weighing me down. The problems are holding me under water and won’t let me breathe. The problems I don’t have 

time for. 

SEVEN

Thomas was arrested yesterday, right after I left the Imperial’s Headquarters. He is being broadcasted on Slim Screen. He doesn’t even look mad anymore. His eyes hold the pain he is forced to bear. Looking at him reminds me of someone who has given up. Someone who has decided that there is no reason to live. He fidgets with his hands. He moves them around in a pattern. I do that sometimes too when I’m nervous. It makes me feel more connected to him. It makes me happy. Happier to be sad. 

The camera switches over to the general in his office. His jacket is adorned with badges that gleam in the light. “It’s honestly an accomplishment that we found the culprit who killed our dear Elector. We are working on making him talk about the damaged levels. The suspect remains quiet as of now. We still wonder why he would… ” I turn the volume on the Slim Screen down. 

He keeps talking. He looks like a goldfish. Spitting out words with no value.

***

Laying in bed that night, I realize something so important. The levels prevent you from dying. The levels are now gone. And the Elector is gone as well. Is this a coincidence? I think of what my dad told me when I was only a little kid. “There are no coincidences in the Triwall Sector.”

Hurriedly, I sit up and turn on my lights. I swing open the door to my room and start making my way to my parents’ bedroom. Inside, it is peaceful. The dark curtains cover the windows, blocking the chaos in the outside world. I gently prod my mom with my hands. Bleary, and annoyed, she opens her eyes and stares at me, confused. 

I start, “Mom, the Elector couldn’t have died if the levels were intact. That means somebody who – ”

“ – knew how to wipe out the levels murdered him,” she finished, the twinkle in her eyes grows. This excited her, I can tell. 

“Then. Then, that means someone with access to the level system must have murdered the Elector Imperial. Someone on his side must have ended his life.”

EIGHT

It is October 26th. Thomas will be executed today. I spend the entire morning staring at the bright, flashing screen of the Slim Screen. The news stations broadcast Thomas’s face, bored and restless. His hands are moving again. Constant fidgeting. Almost like defined movements. Tears roll down my cheeks every time I hear someone reporting facts about Thomas’s would-be death. 

Now, you may be thinking, Thomas will live. The general is responsible for the death of the Elector, and Thomas won’t die. However, if you are thinking that, you are wrong. In fact, Thomas will die that day. In fact, I will visit Thomas’ family that day, his sister, his mother, his father, all blue eyed and blonde. I will comfort them, hug them, cry with them, despite barely knowing them at all. I will learn Thomas’ mother’s name, Lindsey. His father’s name, Landon, and his sister’s name, Anna. The sister who will get robbed of Thomas’s love because of me. 

Thomas’ family and I grieve over him. We sit in silence, the absence of sound addressing our feelings of how unreasonable it is for the General to give a death sentence merely based on my word. 

“I don’t think Tommy’s life was worth only a few words from a teenage girl. I really thought it was more,” Lindsey says, her voice cracking. Tears brim in my eyes, and threaten to spill. I glance at Lindsey, and she looks away. My heart convulses in pain. 

I watch Thomas’s family in silence. I cannot bear the responsibility of his death. I stand up, push in my chair, and I tell them, “I am truly sorry. I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.”

Thomas’ parents give me a small nod. It’s Anna who speaks up. “It’s okay.”

The most meaningful words I have ever heard. 

Lindsey comes up and wraps her arms around me. I used to think that sadness brought people apart. Now I know that sometimes, sadness brings people together. 

***

At home, I take a long shower, trying to wash off the grief I hold inside me. It doesn’t work. The shower thunders down in streams. My tears do too. 

***

I stare at the Slim Screen and the General talking like a goldfish. Spewing out lies of Thomas’ crime. He’s literally dead. Don’t pick on him more than you have to. I turn the volume down. His hands stay still, like a professional. Why were Thomas’s hands moving with so much certainty? What is he trying to tell us, and what do I need to know?

I ask the Slim Screen, “Pull up all clips of Thomas Oberchy.”

Seeing the more recent clips, I smile. His hair. His eyes. 

I scroll down the list of crammed letters and words until I’m at the year 2037. Thomas sure does have a lot of articles about him. None are particularly interesting. The math award in 2nd grade, the art competition he won when he was 5. I scroll back up. And then, something catches my eye. October 26, 2042. 5 years ago to this date. My face blanches, and I breathe in sharply. 

11-year-old Thomas Oberchy Volunteers to teach kids American Sign Language.

NINE

American Sign Language. Oh my god. I frantically order the Slim Screen to play the clip of Thomas’s last appearance on camera, and zoom in on his hands. It makes sense. His hands move with dominance, while trying to be subtle. He is trying to tell us something. 

I tell the Slim Screen, “Translate American Sign Language to English.” I hold up the video of Thomas signing. The device processes for way too much time, then finally says, “He did it himself. He did it himself. He did it himself, is the translation of the clip you have ordered me to translate.”

***

I sit there for a minute, trying to make sense of what Thomas was saying. Then, I shout, “Mom! Dad! This is so urgent. Come here!” 

I hear their footsteps plodding along. Like they’re on a walk! Like they are lounging by the pool and getting pina coladas for me and Timmy. No, Mom, no, Dad. This most certainly is not the time to be drinking sweet pina coladas while dipping your feet in the pool. 

“Hurry! Hurry up!” I shout. The door to my room opens slowly, and my parents step in.

“Ok. Ok! Are you listening? You know I was watching the news clips of Thomas before his execution, right?”

At this, my parents nod. 

I continue, “And, I noticed, his hands were moving very, very much. I do that too when I talk, but not to the extent of what Thomas was doing. So I thought, maybe I would figure out more about who Thomas is. I scroll back to 2042, and golly, there’s an article about Thomas teaching sign language!”

My mom turns to me. “Honey, I am impressed by what you have uncovered, but do you think there’s a chance Thomas did it? I mean – ”

“Mom. Are you serious right now? You have got to be joking.” However, my mom does not seem to be joking at all. 

“Dear, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but the people who have captured him are trained professionals. Surely they would know and can tell if someone is truly innocent.”

“Dad. These people killed a boy with their only evidence being my word. Do you understand how unreasonable this sounds?” I say. My fists are clenched. I already talked to Mom about the killer being on the Elector’s side. Just what could have made her change her mind? My mother, who I relied on, who is my most trusted human on earth. What has happened to my mother? Can’t she see she is wrong?

“Thomas said, ‘He did it himself, he did it himself, he did it himself,’ in the translation. Do you see how big this is?” 

Unfortunately, my parents do not see. I sat up, “You don’t get it. He’s innocent.”

Yanking the doorknob open, I storm out of the room.

TEN

Who knew how to disable the levels? And what does Thomas have to do with this at all? Why was he randomly taken into custody? I decide to visit Thomas’s family once again. 

***

Knocking on the door, I fear I have made a mistake. Thomas’ family certainly would not want to see their son’s cause of death in the flesh. Before I can turn back though, the door opens and Lindsey peeks out. 

“Hi! I just wanted to ask a few questions because Thomas’ death is so confusing and does not make sense at all. I hope I’m not bothering too much, even though I know I am.” My brilliant idea suddenly turns not-so-brilliant. I should not have come here. Lindsey opens the door fully, allowing me to come inside.

I follow her to the living room, and watch her as she takes a seat on the stiff orange sofa. I follow suit.

She asks me, “Would you like anything to drink?”

Even though my throat is burning with thirst, I cannot take more from this family. “I’m okay, thank you,” I say.

Then, I proceed, “I was just thinking about Thomas’s death, and I thought why him? Because there were certainly many other people around the Alarm. There were so many other people who actually knew how to disable the levels. But Thomas was selected for a reason.”

Lindsey sighs, her eyes red and puffy, and quietly starts telling her story. 

“Thomas was selected for a reason. But not for the reason you think. You see, Thomas was one of the few carpenters chosen to feverishly work for four whole days, to end the idea of levels at all. They were told that the levels were unhealthy for society and the growth of humans. They poked and prodded with wires, changed the programs of the levels to allow them to be permanently discontinued. There were five of them. Everyone else but the Elector and those five carpenters knew zilch about this plan. When they finally succeeded, they were to report to the Elector himself. But those four other rats of people fled, leaving Tommy the only one to report to the Elector. Those four people literally left Triwall Sector. We still don’t know why. Anyway, he was driven to the Elector’s private office, where he told him they were successful in disabling the levels. The Elector flipped the switch that would wipe out the levels totally. Tommy left the office, proud of his accomplishment, but scared of the chaos that would happen.”

Lindsey clears her throat and wipes her eyes.

“This is where things go wrong. On the way out of the office building, Tommy said there was a thwack on the floor. A thump. He rushes back to his personal room where guards are already surrounding it. He stands on his tip toes and sees a petrifying scene. The Elector’s body is in a pool of blood. A slit in his throat. A knife lying next to his limp hand. The rancid and rusty odor emanated from the blood. Thomas tried to rush away, but someone grabbed him from behind, and told him to change, then come right back. He left, and then that’s where he ran into you, Alana. And so, Thomas’ death is not actually your fault. The Elector was not supposed to end his life. Thomas was not supposed to see that. The reason Thomas was given a death penalty is because he had seen the true cause of his death and was deemed untrustworthy to keep the secret. My husband and I, now you, are the only people who are aware of this. But it still saddens me. It really does.”

My eyes are overflowing with tears. I give Lindsey a hug. Thomas was right. It was him. “Him” could be anyone. It could be Thomas, who was part of the Elector’s death. But I will choose to think of Him as the Elector. The Elector did it himself.

The Negative Side of Stereotypes

When I was in eighth grade, I was on the phone with a friend and she was telling me about a seventh grader who took an eighth grade honors math class. This shocked me for two reasons: one, because of how smart he was, and second, because he was not Asian and did not fit into that “smart” stereotype. The “smart” stereotype that a certain group of people were smarter than others had gotten in my head and almost brainwashed me into thinking and believing that. Stereotypes are used all over the world and can cause many conflicts. It can negatively affect someone because stereotypes can cause unwanted failure and can refrain someone from being their best self. 

There are many outcomes of stereotyping, and a big one is that stereotypes can cause a lack of success. They have high and/or low standards and society expects people to reach and accomplish that standard. For example, a stereotype could be that boys excel at sports. This sets up a standard and an expectation that everyone expects from all boys. However, if a girl becomes good at a sport and is better than a boy, people are shocked. If a boy isn’t good at sports, he may feel defeated and disappointed that he could not reach that standard or expectation. On the flip side, if the standards of stereotypes are too low, it does not push the person to try harder or to be better.

Furthermore, stereotypes can refrain someone from being their best self. An example would be a stereotype threat. According to the article, “The Good, the Bad, and the What of Stereotypes”, a stereotype threat is defined as, “People who face a stereotype threat are always in fear of doing something that could potentially confirm a negative stereotype.” People have trouble truly being themselves due to the anxiety or fear that they might fit into a disliked stereotype. On the contrary, if you do fit into a stereotype, people expect you to only be that stereotype. For example, as written in “The Good, the Bad, and the What of Stereotypes”, if you are a class clown, people always expect you to be funny. So, if you are upset, people expect you to hide it because you are the class clown. Additionally, a physiological source, “What is Stereotype Threat,” gives evidence stating that, “Keller and Dauenheimer (2003) showed that girls’ reports of frustration, disappointment, and sadness accounted for poor math performance under stereotype threat.” This is all because of stereotypes and the “level” the person must reach because they are a certain race or gender.

Although some people may agree with this, others would say if you fail to reach people’s expectations, it can help the person learn and try again. This is a valid point, however, if you disappoint someone’s expectations, it can cause indifference and cause them to stop trying to meet everyone’s expectations. Another opinion about stereotypes is that there are some positive and uplifting stereotypes. For example, the “all Asians are smart” stereotype. While this stereotype may seem positive, if there is an Asian who may not be as intelligent, it would make them feel unacceptable to society. Also, stereotypes could be biased to a group. The other people who aren’t included in the stereotype can become overlooked or feel like they’re being left out.

All in all, the negative effects of stereotyping could include failure and can cause one to hide who they truly are. The high standards of stereotype leaves people with unwelcomed frustration and disappointment. People do not show their real personality because they are afraid that they will be wrongly categorized into a stereotype. Meanwhile, some may think that some stereotypes are positive, but it is most likely only positive to a certain group causing the others to feel unwanted. The day I called that friend and figured out about the seventh grader made me realize the powerful effect of stereotypes. Hopefully, the future generations will ignore all different stereotypes and prevent them from being used so that they won’t have a similar situation as I did.

Bibliography 

Prince, Karen. “The Good, the Bad, and the What of Stereotypes.” Taylor’s College 14 

May 2020 https://college.taylors.edu.my/en/life-at-taylors/news-events/news/the-good-the-bad-and-the-what-of-stereotypes.html

Stroessner, Steve and Good, Catherine. “What is Stereotype Threat.” Adapted by R. Rhys 

reducingstereotypethreat.org pp.10 

https://diversity.arizona.edu/sites/default/files/stereotype_threat_overview.pdf

Dystopian Utopia Chaos

Thousands of years ago, the earth developed and developed with human safety and entertainment as the main goal because people on earth wanted to make it a better place. In their minds, if people were safe and happy, then what could go wrong? The world would be perfect. But unfortunately, by trying to create a utopia, they created a dystopian society, which people eventually realized was boring and nothing was ever happening. So people decided to smash it all, giving up everything for freedom, unpredictability, and overall chaos. But that was 10 years ago, and now everyone is living well, if not safely.

Semkantrigorenem gets up and starts walking around camp, trying to remember everything about himself just in case a stronger blackout comes to him. He is from tribe Shampenk, and he is 26 solstices. He was only 6 solstices when the collapse came. Although he is too young to remember what life was like before the collapse, he can find bits of information about it whenever his tribe wanders somewhere else. From the information he gathers, it seems like it was a very boring place where nothing ever changed and people lived twice as long as normal. Then, Semkantrigorenem remembers that he is trying to make a list and so he continues thinking. After a while, he decides to go back inside where Gem lets him in. He walks toward their main tent and goes in as a discussion on whether or not to raid a smaller tribe nearby rages. 

“They are smaller than us, and we need the supplies,” one side of the argument declares.

“Ok, let’s say we raid them, then people could just raid us as easily,” says the other side.

“But there isn’t even another tribe anywhere between here and the horizon.” 

“But we should at least always be prepared for another attack.” 

Semkantrigorenem ducks his head out of the tent now, knowing that this could take hours, but he is also a bit anxious because he has passed the age of joining raids and helping to defend against them. Although, there have not been any raids recently, so this would be his first time. When he stops thinking about this, he realizes that he has made his way back to his tent and is now standing at the entrance. Suddenly, he can hear a commotion inside. He tenses, pulls a dagger from the folds in his clothes, and carefully makes his way around the tent to the back. He presses his ear against the fabric and can hear someone inside grunt, as well as a lot of crashing sounds. Almost as if someone inside were searching through his tent. Before he can do anything about it, the person inside opens the entrance and dashes out. Semkantrigorenem, quickly but stealthily, dashes out in pursuit. After what seemed like hours of weaving through the tents, the person arrives at the barricades surrounding the temporary camp and starts to scale them. Semkantrigorenem then sees a small bag attached to the shoulders of the thief.

“Oh no you don’t,” mutters Semkantrigorenem. Before the thief can make it half way up the barricade, Semkantrigorenem throws the dagger. It hits the thief on his back, just missing the bag and whatever was inside. The thief recoils in surprise, losing hold on the wall and sliding to the ground. Semkantrigorenem jumps on them and tackles them back to the ground. Unfortunately, they have a dagger and they blindly attempt to stab him, but Semkantrigorenem is stronger than the thief. He grabs the dagger out of the thief’s hand and pulls back the thief’s hood, revealing a small, sickly boy, maybe 20 solstices or so. When he looks in the thief’s bag, he realizes that the only thing in it is food. Then, he blacks out.

Semkantrigorenem blinks and opens his eyes. He looks around and realizes he is in the medicinal tent. He is also bandaged in a few places where the thief may have struck. He tries to sit up, but groans and lies back down. On hearing this, one of the healers comes in. 

“Are you alright?” she asks sweetly. Semkantrigorenem nods and the healer gently applies a cloth of warm water on his head. She then looks at him, most notably where he was bandaged. “If it is not too much trouble, may I ask what happened to you? I saw you in a blackout covered with stab wounds.” Semkantrigorenem sighs and looks at the healer. 

“There was a thief that stole something from me,” he starts, “But it was just a boy carrying food. And then I blacked out.” The healer nods and takes the cloth off his head. “How… How long was I unconscious?” The healer thinks for a moment and looks back at Semkantrigorenem.  

“Three days,” she responds. He stares at her unbelievingly.

“What about the raid? Did the tribe go without me?” he asks quickly.

“Yes, they left last night and have not returned yet,” the healer replies. This is not that surprising to Semkantrigorenem because raids usually take quite a while whenever the tribe has a chance to go on one. The healer gives Semkantrigorenem a brief check-up and informs him that if he drinks a lot of water he will be fine. With that, the healer releases him from the tent and Semkantrigorenem walks outside. But something seems different. He notices there is a sudden decrease of people around the camp. He quickly scolds himself for allowing himself to have another blackout because now they are becoming more and more frequent, and lasting longer and longer. Eventually, I might not even wake up from one, he thinks to himself.

Later that day, he sees a band of people coming towards them from the south and runs out to greet the rest of his camp.

“What happened?” Semkantrigorenem asks. “During the raid.” The group tells him that they had raided it with ease, only suffering one casualty on their side, although a few were wounded.

That night, there is a feast in celebration of the raid and mourning of the lost tribemate Selewitzki Hor. During the celebration, Semkantrigorenem tries a strange drink that makes him feel funny, but it is bitter, and he does not have much. Eventually, he gets so tired and he makes his way back to his tent. It is still a mess from when the thief came, but Semkantrigorenem does not care. He falls on a blanket and falls asleep watching the sun rise.

He wakes up in the middle of the day, still tired and with a sudden headache. It is probably nothing, Semkantrigorenem thinks to himself. I was out late at night and had a weird drink. However, once he goes out, almost everyone else has an even worse headache or is still asleep. He learns that they will be leaving soon and that he should pack up, so that they do not leave without him. So, Semkantrigorenem heads over to his tent and starts to pack up inside. As he is packing, a large but skinny dog comes into his tent and starts sniffing for food. Semkantrigorenem slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hunk of bread. He tears off a piece and throws it to the dog, who hungrily snatches it up and looks expectantly at the remaining bread in his hands. Semkantrigorenem tears up the rest of the chunk and throws it to the dog bit by bit. Once the entire thing is finished, Semkantrigorenem tries to approach the dog.  As he gets closer, the dog sniffs him but immediately then bolts outside, presumably looking for more food. Then, Semkantrigorenem remembers that he is supposed to be packing, and so he continues to pack.

Once he finishes packing and the rest of the camp is ready to move, they decide to stay a little bit longer to have a third meal, and after that they will go. They decide to go northeast because they remember there is a body of water over there to clean and fill their water skins. The rest of the camp is glad to hear this because they are starting to smell and are running low on water. 

Later in the day, everyone helps prepare for the feast again. They start eating, drinking, laughing, and getting ready for the trip. But halfway through the meal, the course is a dog on a large plate, surrounded by different vegetables and spices. Overall, it looks delicious because meat is hard to come by and as such everyone is always grateful for it. Semkantrigorenem realizes that the dog being served here is the same one he had fed a few hours ago. The realization makes him sick, but he does not want to look childish, so he does not complain. He goes up and gets a slice and a few vegetables. Even though he might throw up, he still decides that he will eat a tiny bit to satisfy his hunger and everyone else at the feast. Once he bites into it, he blacks out. 

The end.

Terms and Pronunciation: 

Semkantrigorenem – (sem-can-trig-ore-nem)

Shampenk – (sham-pen-kh)

Gem – (sh-em)

Selewitzki Hor – (sell-eh-wit-ski-hor)

There are two solstices every year

My Deep, Dark Secret

RANDY

Stella, I have a secret. Now don’t freak out, but you need to listen to me. I…
(Beat; sighs.) 

I’m not exactly human. I know, I know it’s a shock, but I’m a penguin. 

He turns around 180. When he faces the audience, he’s wearing a beak.

RANDY (CONT’D)

Yeah, wenk, this is my true form. Please don’t be mad, Stella, this took a lot of courage to tell you, wenk.

RANDY waddles to a stool on the stage.

RANDY (CONT’D)

I don’t have a limp, Stella, I just am a penguin, I have little penguin toes. I have to get special shoes made, wenk wenk. Why do you think I exclusively eat fish? Why do you think I cry every time we go to the penguin exhibit at the zoo? Why do you think I refuse to see the seals? Stella, baby, I’m the same man! I’m just not exactly the same species, wenk. Why? Why? Stella, the reason anyone does crazy things, for love, wenk! For love. I still love you, Stella. 

(Lowers his voice; breath shaking.)

 I still love you.

(He lets out a little penguin cry.)

RANDY (CONT’D)

(At a whisper.)

Wenk.

BLACKOUT

The Summer Breeze

The summer breeze whistles through my hair 

It swims through the grass and trees

Makes the gleaming sun looks like a gem, so rare

And dances on the waves in the seas

Down on the beach, umbrellas shake

Knocking over ice cream, as if it wants the treat

And in the valley, wind darts across the lake 

Water splashes as the wind dances to the beat

But the summer breeze must transform

Another wind must interfere 

The draft still enters, but more like a storm

For fall, at last, has finally appeared

Thank You, 1844!

I’ve been swimming competitively for eight years, but I’m not here to tell you about a whole eight years worth of swimming. I am here to tell you that swimming and other sports have an enormous impact on athletes who struggle with mental health. I want to spread awareness about this by sharing my story.

At the age of eight, I began to consider myself a swimmer, but I had been swimming since a day in 2008 when I was two and a half years old. On that day, I remember the sky was cloudy, and the water was cold. My uncle had taken me to the local pool in Hopkinton, Massachusetts. Filled with so much excitement, I quickly ran to the bench, threw down my towel, and jumped into the pool. I didn’t officially know how to swim yet, but I kept trying to stay afloat, kicking my legs as hard as possible. I slowly tried to get from one end of the pool to the other. Watching from the deck, my uncle had a slight look of glee in his eyes as his toddler niece tried to swim across a 25-yard pool. 

Three years later, my mother put me in swim lessons at my local YMCA. I was already able to swim across the pool. The instructors placed me in the group level called the Minnows. But surprisingly, swimming twice a week for one hour was not the highlight of my week. I dreaded going, and I was more enthusiastic about gymnastics and basketball practice than swimming. I was more interested in playing in the pool than working on my technique. Also, I was not challenged in my group — some of the children still needed floaties or the instructor’s help. As a result, I did not want to be there, and I felt restricted rather than free in the water. 

I graduated from the Minnows group as a five-year-old and tried out for the YMCA swim team. Though I did well, my age got me an automatic rejection. I moved up to the Flying Fish group and swam in the meantime, waiting for the next tryout date. I was six years old and ready to be a part of something bigger. I was still doing gymnastics too, but it did not feel the same as swimming. Trying out was pretty easy, as all we had to do was swim 25 yards and do a couple of starts on the diving board. Making the swim team felt so great, and I started to reminisce about the joy of being in the water. 

Swimming had become my outlet. Although I was just eight years old, I was expected to be more independent than most kids my age. I had to take car service to practice because my parents were not very involved as they worked very stressful jobs and had to commute. I would be home alone from when I got back from school until 9:00 at night and would often have to eat dinner by myself. Though my dad would work from home when he was not traveling, he also suffered from mental health issues and went into dark moments. That was a lot to handle, but the feeling of being with my teammates and going to practice was my way to clear my head. Even today, I use swimming to clear my head when I am going through something. Thank you, 1844! 

To clarify, I thank the year since, according to the Washington Post, this is the year that  Europeans started taking swimming seriously as a sport instead of just relying on breaststroke. Swimming has made such significant improvements as a sport. Before 1844, swimming was considered an “un-European sport.” But fast forward to 2012, and six-year-old me was playing a sport in which the British have 71 medals. 

Many advancements have been made over the years, and now the four main strokes are Butterfly, Backstroke, Breaststroke, and Freestyle. Backstroke, with its perpetual movement of the arms, always reminds me of how fast-paced my life is, and I enjoy being fast. Swimming has done so much for me as a sport, providing a mental and physical release, like a starting beep. The aerodynamics of gliding and moving in the water provided an adrenaline rush. 

My first swim team practice gave me chills; I felt like it was destined from birth. My parents named me Le’har, which means waves, so it felt like they knew from the beginning too. Press the fast-forward button once more to the present day — the 2021 summer Olympics, where athletes have conversations about sports and mental health like they never have before. And it’s only the start.

The starter has always been one of my favorite parts of swimming. It is one of the most critical jobs in a swim meet. An official standing on the side of the pool near the flags, holding a little microphone walkie-talkie, says, “Swimmers, step up!” and then presses the button. The starter is a part of swimming that represents the two-way street of anxiety and freedom. There is so much tension until you are on the “block.” But once you hear the buzzer sound, it gives you a sense of release. Hitting the water, doing your breakout, taking the first breath is all a part of the thrill and excitement of swimming. Kaplow! The race begins.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Excused

Many Harry Potter readers don’t question Lord Voldemort’s actions. They just accept the fact that he is evil and kills at least 20 people, if not hundreds more, and move on. However, I believe that there is always an excuse, or at least a reason, behind everything — even the actions of an evil wizard. That’s why I want to delve into Lord Voldemort’s crimes and why he commits them. Although Lord Voldemort’s actions are wrong, he has reasons for them. Some of them could be valid, others might just be interesting to explore.

The first reason is that Lord Voldemort is traumatized and twisted by his parents and circumstances in his early life. Even in the orphanage he grows up in, he already expresses some odd behavior, as you can see from observations he makes in the sixth book of the series, saying, “I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.” (The last two sentences are especially alarming.) Secondly, his lack of a conscience makes it easier for Voldemort to consider killing in service of his goal of immortality. The extent of his crimes and murders demonstrates a profound lack of compassion. This is worth considering, since insane people are also not held accountable for their decisions, and I posit that his lack of compassion is evidence of insanity. And third, he galvanizes the wizarding world to fight for everyone’s safety, including muggles and half-bloods. Although this is a reason that can be explored, I would not say it justifies Voldemort’s actions. Sure, those communities get their acts together, but it isn’t worth all the deaths that Voldemort causes. So let’s get exploring.

Lord Voldemort starts off life in an orphanage after his mother dies in childbirth. This is because his father has abandoned him and his mother, even after realizing that she has been pregnant. This may have been his mother’s fault as well, however, because she has used a love potion to make Voldemort’s father love her. Eventually, she can’t deceive him anymore and lets it wear off, and when he comes to his senses, he leaves. She can’t live on without Tom Riddle and dies. Virginia Zimmerman, a scholar at Bucknell University, writes in her article “Harry Potter and the Gift of Time” that “[both] Harry and Voldemort suffered from the loss of parents at a very young age. For Harry, though, his mother died to save his life; for Voldemort, his mother died because she could not live without Tom Riddle” (qtd. in Emily Anderson). Although Harry and Voldemort have similar situations at the beginning of their lives, Harry’s mother cares for her family, as opposed to Voldemort’s mother, who only seems to care about her husband. This small difference may have led to Lord Voldemort becoming evil instead of good as well as leading him to resent his parents. Once Lord Voldemort is old enough to understand what has happened, his hatred towards muggles (non-magical humans) and half-bloods (half-wizard, half-non-magical humans) grows. In the second book of the series, Voldemort says, “Surely you didn’t think I was going to keep my filthy Muggle father’s name? No. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

 After learning about his past, Voldemort later goes on to kill his father and his father’s family. This sounds brutal, but as I said, Voldemort doesn’t have that much of a conscience. He kills easily, which shows just how messed up he truly is. He goes on to kill more people in order to obtain Horcruxes, which allows him to split his soul and store it safely in objects in order to become immortal. In order to further understand Voldemort, I tried to recreate the story of how Voldemort’s first Horcrux is created. His first Horcrux is a plain, dark diary. It looks old, but it feels smooth and worn. It smells musty and dusty. Lord Voldemort, who is still Tom Riddle at the time, buys it from a Muggle store. I doubt there is much that is significant about Lord Voldemort obtaining the diary at the time — its importance comes later. In Lord Voldemort’s fifth year at Hogwarts, he manages to open the Chamber of Secrets, which is a secret chamber created by Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts. A basilisk lives inside of it, a deadly monster that can turn people to stone with its gaze. He uses it to attack several students, including a girl who is always crying in the bathroom. After using it to kill her, he embeds part of his soul in the diary, making it into a Horcrux. Voldemort’s personality is expressed through the cruelty in which he kills in order to get his first Horcrux. However, if there had been another way for him to achieve immortality, he would have chased it that way instead. He wants immortality, and he is going to do anything he has to in order to achieve it. In the first book of the series, Voldemort says, “There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.” In the very first book, Voldemort already shows that he believes that he is not evil, but the most powerful person alive and deserving of immortality. He is blinded by his goal and does not care for anyone. He uses anyone he could to get what he wants. Something else that could contribute to this worldview is the fact that killing in the wizarding world is so easy. All you have to do is mutter two words and a person would instantly die. Because of this, it is a lot easier to be detached when killing someone. It wouldn’t feel as personal as stabbing someone or something. Honestly, I don’t know if it makes a difference (I myself have never killed someone) but it’s a thought. Of course, killing is wrong, but Lord Voldemort doesn’t see it that way. In sum, Lord Voldemort isn’t killing these people because he wants to — he is killing them because they are in his way. He views people as obstacles rather than individuals.

The resurgence of Lord Voldemort may have been unfortunate, but one way it is actually advantageous is because it allows the wizarding world to come together in order to fight him. The incumbent Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, is extremely incompetent. He is driven out of office because he fails to recognize that Voldemort has come back. He thinks that the announcement that Voldemort is back would hurt his career. As the fourth book says, “‘You are blinded,’ said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, ‘by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow up to be!’” From this, we can gather that Dumbledore recognizes that Fudge is not making the right preparations and tries to tell him as much, but still Fudge refuses to do anything. Eventually, it is too late, and Cornelius is forced to resign after it is revealed that Lord Voldemort has returned. In the long run, I think this led to a better wizarding world because the next Minister of Magic is more competent. However, without Voldemort, the wizards will likely grow complacent and will not be ready if another threat appears. Lord Voldemort is the main threat for a while. Without him, the wizards would not realize smaller crimes are being committed. Eventually, the criminals behind these small crimes may grow bolder and commit larger transgressions, and there would be another large crisis. An example is the unscrupulous case of Rita Skeeter, a journalist who abuses her powers as an unregistered Animagus (an animal shape-shifter who abuses her ability to spy on private conversations). A whole industry of Rita Skeeters would indeed cause a large crisis.

Although Voldemort should not be forgiven for his actions, I think they can be understood. Voldemort is twisted even as a child, changed by his trauma, which is why he commits all these horrible crimes. He feels no remorse and thinks of every terrible crime he commits as a stepping stone towards immortality. In the end, he helps the wizarding world get their act together and makes them step up to stop him. Although his actions cannot be forgiven, we can at least understand the reasons behind them and the effects they have. I hope this essay was able to show Lord Voldemort’s actions and crimes from a different lens. Will you be able to forgive him? Nah. But maybe you can at least understand him.

Works Cited

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Arthur A. Levine Books, 2005.

Zimmerman, Virginia. “Harry Potter and the Gift of Time.” Children’s Literature, vol. 37, 2009, p. 194-215. Project MUSEdoi:10.1353/chl.0.0814.

Whatever Happens In The Dark

There are three types of small towns: the happy-go-lucky town, the murder town, and the normal one. Our town just so happens to be the last one. 

We all go to one school, shop for food at one store, eat out at one restaurant, and buy clothes at the same department store. It’s all very simple. 

All of our grades are very small, so they’re squished into one class per year. However, if you ask one of us what it was we did or learned last year, we won’t know. None of us know. All we know is that we went to school and learned something. As far as we know, we get taught the same thing every year. 

My name is Claire. I live in this town, like all people do. We all know there’s nothing else out there, and we’ve accepted it. It’s just miles and miles of grass. So you can imagine the surprise when our teachers announced we would be going on a “field trip.” 

None of us knew what a “field trip” was, so it had to be explained. Basically, it’s when you get on a yellow bus and drive somewhere other than here. That would be fun if there was somewhere else to go. But there’s not. 

“Where would we even go?” Nathan asked one of our teachers, Ms. Harper. 

“Outside of the town line,” she said. “Obviously.” 

We all exchanged a look. Was Ms. Harper going crazy? 

But nevertheless, we all packed our lunches and got on a bright yellow bus the next morning. 

I sat next to my friend Kira. Across from us were Emma and Sammi, who brought candies for us to share. But Jake, the brute, stole them. He and his pig friends Lucas and Finn ate them all. It was disappointing, but Sammi is always prepared. She brought extras, and we were sure to keep them hidden. 

“Does everyone have their things?” Ms. Harper asked. 

“Yes ma’am,” we all chorused. 

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, and the bus door shut. 

We all jumped. 

“We’re off!” Ms. Harper said.

The bus began to drive, and we were all a bit nervous. Here we were, in this large yellow thing that hardly seemed safe, crammed together like a can of sardines. 

“Kira!” someone called out (I think it was Shawn). “How high can you get your leg?” 

“Yeah!” someone else cheered. “Do it!” 

It was no secret that Kira was the most flexible person our age, perhaps in our town, and we all took great pleasure in watching her stretch every which way. 

Kira lifted her leg up past her head and then back down onto the brown seat. Everyone on the bus cheered and clapped, and Ms. Harper stood up. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the town line! Prepare for some… changes.” 

Kira, Sammi, Emma, and I all held hands as the yellow bus crossed the town line, and drove past the sign that read, “Thank you for visiting! Come again soon!” 

That’s when we heard the scream. That’s when it all came flooding back. 

It was pure chaos. People were tripping over each other, trying to get to the bus door, but Ms. Harper snapped her fingers and banished us all back to our seats. 

“Enough!” she commanded. “You will speak one at a time, just like you’ve been taught.” 

“Let us go!” Charlie pleaded. “Please, we’ve done nothing wrong!” 

Ms. Harper smiled, and we all turned a shade whiter. “Neither did the other children, but you’ve been chosen.” 

Emma started crying. “Please!” 

“You!” Lucas roared, standing up and pointing at our ‘teacher.’ “You’ve brainwashed a whole town, and you expect us to sit quietly and twiddle our thumbs?” 

There were sounds of agreement, and Ms. Harper waved her hand. A layer of skin grew over Lucas’ mouth, and he screamed silently. 

I gasped and covered my own mouth. 

“You have been chosen by the Merciful One! Like all the children before you, you will meet your fate!” Ms. Harper said with a wicked grin. 

“Let us go!” Sammi cried. 

“The other children had similar reactions when their memories came back, but none of them escaped. None of you will either.” 

Emma stood up and threw a gumball at her, then another, and then another one until the whole bag was empty. Ms. Harper’s face was red with rage. 

“You dare to hurt me? Me, the Merciful Lord’s messenger? You will pay, girl.” Ms. Harper cackled loudly and Emma screamed. She clawed at her throat, and her pale skin began to grow black. 

Sammi screamed and tried to run to the back of the bus, but she fell in the aisle before she could reach the back door. 

An invisible force dragged her to the front, and then suspended her in the air. Her blue eyes became red, then black, then white before completely dissolving before us. She began to twitch before she, too, was engulfed in blackness. 

Emma was still struggling on the seat, and Kira was trying to help her. She touched her ashen arm, and then the darkness spread. Kira screamed, and then fell onto Emma’s body, becoming a corpse herself. 

I covered my eyes as I heard Emma’s crying grow louder and Jake’s screams of “get her!” eventually turned into him choking. 

Just like those other children, we would go missing. We would be wiped from the town’s memories and replaced with new, shiny versions of ourselves. Just like those other children, we would be eradicated. 

I couldn’t let her do this. I couldn’t. My friends were all dead or would be in a few moments. 

So I uncovered my eyes and ran. I ran to the front of the bus and tackled Ms. Harper to the ground. She screamed her horrible scream, and I fought the urge to cover my ears. I took off my shiny black shoe and hit her in the head with it over and over again until her wriggling stopped. 

I searched the dashboard for something to open the door, and after what seemed like an eternity of endless button pushing, one yellow button made the door swing open. 

“Quickly!” I shouted, running down the little steps. “Run!” 

I had expected to hear people shouting for joy and running to safety, but there was nothing. The screams and cries had stopped. There were no sounds of joy. There was only silence. 

I slowly walked back into the bus and saw nothing. Nothing at all. My classmates were gone. My friends’ bodies were gone. Ms. Harper’s body was gone from the floor. I was alone. 

I walked up the aisle and searched the seats for anyone who might have been hiding when I heard the noise. A person. Someone was clearing their throat behind me. 

I turned around expecting to see someone to help me, but I fell to the ground. Ms. Harper was standing there, large black wings stretched out. Her eyes were white and her nails were long and ragged. Her sharp teeth were stretched into a terrifying smile, and her hand was curled around a knife. 

“Poor Claire,” she cooed. “All alone.” 

“Please,” I said. “Please don’t do this.” 

She tutted. “I thought you knew better than to run, my dear. I always thought you’d know not to look into the dark.” 

“Let me go,” I begged. My blue dress had been torn, and I was trembling like a baby. 

“I thought you knew,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that whatever happens in the dark is none of your business. But I was wrong. You, like all children in that filthy town, don’t know any better.” She stepped closer to me and knelt to the floor where I was cowering. “Now you may join them, my dear Claire. That is my final gift to you. Hopefully there, you will know not to fight your destiny.” She gave me one final smile before it was all black. 

Ms. Cressida Harper walked back into the town later that day with twenty-two children that looked just like the ones she’d left with. But they weren’t them. Fortunately, no one would know but her. Just like every year. 

The yellow bus was parked in a lot and left for the next class, and Ms. Cressida Harper walked into the cafe where she drank a cappuccino. She smiled at the waiter who brought her the drink and smoothed out her yellow and red dress. 

Ahh, there really was nothing sweeter than the darkness.

The Otherworld, Book IX: The Shadow Legion

Trigger Warnings

  • Death
  • Animal Death
  • Burning People (though not graphic)
  • Death of a Loved One

Prologue

“Producat in flamma.” 

Clufa walked over to the edge of the cliff, a small flame flickering in her hands. 

“Junge currum suum fortitudinem.”

It began bouncing around her. Clufa didn’t mind. She was harnessing it, after all, so if it touched her, it would do nothing to her. She peered at the edge and saw the shadowy being.

Clufa didn’t bother to hide a small smile creeping across her face. She faced the man, and from behind her, she felt a cold chill. As she turned, Altzeroil let out a small breath.

“Facite hoc meum,” Clufa concluded. She grabbed the flame and, with a flick of her hand, an enormous flame appeared above her. She peered out to the edge of the cliff, and in an instant, she threw the flame towards the cliff. An\ huge explosion from the other side was heard, and Clufa could do nothing but grin.

As the smoke cleared, Hana walked over to the edge. A flower came onto her hand. She beamed at it. Clufa groaned, not having much more patience for her easily distracted little sister.

“Hana,” Clufa said through gritted teeth. “The wizard, remember?”

“Oh, um, right.” Hana quickly withdrew her flower. She stretched out her hand, and a large vine came from their cliff towards the other that Clufa had blown up.

Clufa heard a couple of shouts from the cliff, and she knew that they were planning on evacuating.

Altzeroil drew his staff, and instantly, a large trail of ice grew from their cliff to the other, creating two paths. They didn’t really need the paths, of course. Altzeroil was just doing that to be dramatic, because what would life be without that?

Altzeroil levitated from the ground and began floating to the other side. Hana followed on her own vines (she was the only one of the three who couldn’t fly), while Clufa, being the impatient brat she was, flew like a rocket to the other side. As soon as she got there, she found the closest human she could and grabbed their collar.

“Where is Divino?” hissed Clufa, a flame flickering in her hand, getting dangerously close to the human’s head.

“I — I know nothing!” cried the human. “Please, have mercy!”

“Mercy is for cowards,” Clufa hissed, and she dropped the human, letting him fall down through the fog. She faced the rest of the humans. “You have two opportunities: surrender Divino and die together, or I will destroy you all now and give you no chance to bid farewell to your loved ones.”

“Clufa, please!” Hana reached the cliff. “No one deserves to die alone.”

Clufa rolled her eyes. “Hana, just find Divino, and we’ll be over with this.”

Altzeroil reached the other side. He looked across the humans, grinning.

“Altzeroil, NO, we do not have TIME for this!” Clufa spat.

“Please, just one?” Altzeroil asked. “I haven’t tortured anyone in weeks, I want to torment just one of these humans.”

“Oh, Altzeroil, don’t be horrible,” hissed Hana. “These humans are merely trying to protect their home — they aren’t the ones we’re here for.”

“But if we can’t find him, what else are we going to do?” Altzeroil muttered. “We’ve been searching for weeks. I’m not in the mood to go looking again.”

“Then don’t,” a powerful voice echoed from the edge, and the three primordial wizards turned and saw Divino, standing with a strange magical aura surrounding him.

“Finally,” hissed Clufa, and she summoned her staff. “Occidere,” she said, and a blast of fire spewed from her staff and hit Divino… but his aura protected him.

Clufa roared in fury and flew over to him. She tried to manually strike him down, but the second she got too close, the aura around Divino blasted her backwards. She immediately got up.

“How is this possible?!” Clufa screamed. “You’re a MORTAL!”

“It seems we mortals are capable of more than you thought we were,” growled Divino. “Surrender, Shadow Legion, before I’m forced to use this.” He raised a small globe in his hand.

Clufa let out a small scoff. “You plan to trap us in the limbo dimension? Pathetic fool, don’t you know that we are the primordial wizards of the ELEMENTS? We cannot be defeated!”

“Correction — you can’t be killed,” said Divino. “You can, however, be defeated and locked away for millennia to come.”

“Then it seems all we must do is keep you from using that,” Altzeroil said with a grin. “From inside your protection aura, you are unable to use that thing. You must come outside to face us, and to do that, is to risk death.”

“Some things are worth risking,” snarled Divino, “so that you can’t bring out your genocidal apocalypse!”

“Your kind has abused the magic that we gave you,” growled Clufa. “You use it to torment other creatures and even some of your own kind. You do not deserve this power.”

“That’s hardly a valid excuse to destroy and remake everything!” Divino cried.

“Everything will be as it was, with one thing changed: you will no longer have magic,” Altzeroil explained. “Everyone will only be dead for a few moments, so calm down.”

“We can’t trust you, not after what you did,” Divino growled.

“Then get out of your shell and fight us!” Clufa yelled, more fire erupting from around her.

Hana hopped towards them, grinning.  A large vine carried her upwards, and she gazed down at her siblings and Divino.

Divino, to Clufa’s slight surprise, chanted an incantation and the aura around him vaporized.

Clufa wasted no time. She raised her staff and an enormous fire erupted from it, and it struck Divino.

However, Divino was prepared, and he conjured another shield to deflect her power as he conjured his item. Altzeroil noticed this, and flew over, attempting to grab it, but in the nick of time Divino grabbed Altzeroil and blasted him with the object.

Altzeroil was highlighted with white magic. He gave a yelp as his form suddenly vanished.

He’s in limbo, Clufa realized. That man… his magic worked!

“Altzeroil!” Hana cried, looking horrified.

Clufa let out a frustrated growl, but as she attempted to attack Divino once more, Divino leapt upward to Hana and attacked her with it too.

Hana immediately vanished as well and all her vines disappeared.

Clufa scoffed. “Looks like it’s just you, and me then. Once I destroy you, I will release my siblings,” she growled.

“If you destroy me,” corrected Divino.

“Or if I do,” another voice came from the sky, and Clufa looked up in time to see a woman encased in blue armor floating in the sky. She gazed down at them.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, ZADUS!” Clufa yelled.

Zadus came down to the ground. As Divino launched at her, Zadus simply grabbed his arm and held her hand inches away from his neck, holding a spell in her hand. “Surrender, Divino. You can’t overpower me.”

“We cannot let you unleash the titans,” Divino said.

“And you think you’ll be able to stop me?” Zadus questioned, stepping closer. “May I remind you that I have the power of the cosmos?”

“Then your weakness is down here,” Divino said, and he blasted Zadus with the object. Of course, it did nothing, but the second Clufa went to attack Divino, he leapt at her and her magic hit Zadus instead, suddenly encasing her in amber.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” cried Clufa. “HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!”

“Perhaps it’s destiny,” Divino admitted. “Perhaps the time of the primordial wizards has come to an end.”

With one more blast, a ball of light hit Clufa in the chest. Clufa had the luxury of seeing her spirit shoot up to a space unknown as her body went completely limp.

When Clufa opened her eyes again, she was in some white room. She saw Altzeroil and Hana in the room as well.

“What — what happened?” growled Clufa. “Where are we?”

“We are in the limbo dimension,” Altzeroil answered. “That wretched wizard put our physical bodies in stasis and imprisoned us here… It will take us millions of years to return to the physical realm, if we are able to at all!”

“Then we will wait for millions of years,” Clufa declared. “Zadus has been imprisoned in amber, and she won’t be released until we release her. We will wait until the balance of magic has been altered, and then… we will break free.”

“You know, on the bright side, we have each other,” Hana interjected. “And we can still use our magic here, and it’s just the three of us! So we can be as chaotic as we want!”

“That does sound fun,” Altzeroil admitted. “What do you think, Clufa?”

“I think this will be a long prison sentence.”

Chapter 1

That was the end.

I guess not the end of the story, because, well, you’re still reading.

But that was the end of the reign of the Shadow Legion… at least for now.

See, my name is Ash. I was a sorceress who lived about three million years after the reign of the Shadow Legion and have lived for about two thousand years since. Lucky me, right?

Not exactly. Since apparently I was violating the rules of “disrupting connection between magic, risking releasing ancient beings, blah blah blah,” I was imprisoned… no, not in an alternate realm, but in my own house.

Exactly how humiliating can a defeat be, especially for a powerful sorceress? I personally can’t see how it could be any worse than this.

But I’ve been wrong before, so I really don’t know.

Anyway, you’ve probably read a bunch of other stories about stuff like heroes saving their world from some kind of big threat that’s going to cause catastrophe, and the heroes are flawless and perfect snowflakes who are never questioned and always save the day.

And you probably find that annoying, don’t you?

Well, if you do, I have good news for you! I’m not biased towards the winning side. If you really want to know why books are always so biased towards the heroes, it’s because they’re the ones who won. But here I am, someone who lost, with no hint of bias towards those who’ve won!

Why?

Because, as you can guess, I’m a little irritated with how my life has turned out!!!

You know, trapped in my house, forced to give anyone who wanders here some blessed magic powers so that they can think they’re some precious little snowflake who has done no wrong.

But anyway, enough of that. I did my research, I stalked the limbo realm… and I know about the Shadow Legion. And I can tell you about them because I’m sure you’re wondering: what exactly happened to them? And is there any chance that they could come back?

In short, they were trapped in limbo to keep them from becoming titans and remaking the Fantiverse, and yes, there’s a very good chance that they’ll come back because a magical connection was severely altered in another world.

If you want a more detailed explanation of what’s happened, well, that’s what I’m here for.

So yeah. The Shadow Legion.

Clufa, Altzeroil, and Hana started by redecorating the limbo realm, at least the part of it they were imprisoned in. I guess they figured if they were going to be imprisoned there, they might as well make it just a little bit hospitable.

They each stuck to their own corner most of the time (except Hana, who had literally no regard for personal space, and honestly, I respect her for that) but had meetings in the center and often could temporarily break the connection between their plane of existence and the physical realm by communicating with those below.

Yes, limbo is above the physical realm. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.

Anyway, so a couple of things happened in the million years they were imprisoned — namely that they did a LOT of manipulating.

And I mean, A LOT. All of them, even the temperamental Clufa, were pretty much experts by the end.

Perhaps I should give a couple of examples?

Well, here’s one.

(Please pardon the way it’s written, I was just taking notes on what was happening, so it’s written in script form.)

FREIZA

Daemones magnanime nomini tuo me benedicite mihi scientiam.

A large pile of smoke appears, and from it, a shadow that is shaped like CLUFA appears. The shadow is orange, with a redhead and yellow limbs.

CLUFA

Greetings, young wizard, and thank you for communicating with us. It’s been so long since we’ve had contact with those from the world below.

FREIZA

It’s an honor to meet you, master of the flame.

CLUFA

The flame is an art anyone can learn, but it is true that I am the creator of it.

CLUFA bounces around a couple of flames in her shadow form to show what she’s doing.

FREIZA

I’ve summoned you to ask: how may I topple the Wizarding Committee?

CLUFA

(scoffs) So there’s a wizarding committee now? Love that these pathetic humans pretend they’re the ones in control of the magic and try to hide that they have primordial wizards lurking over them right now.

FREIZA

Indeed; I wish to topple them, and take control of this world.

CLUFA

I can help you, and I’d rather you than the Wizarding Committee rule. But may I ask just why do you think you’re worthy of this?

FREIZA

Because I’ve studied magic for far longer than they have, and I work hard to learn it for myself rather than greedily taking it from others.

CLUFA

You’d be a step up from them, I’ll give you that, little cat. Just what kind of animal are you?

FREIZA

Tiger, technically, though most just call me a cat.

CLUFA

Yes, I can see that.

HANA

OH MY GOSH, THERE’S A CAT???!!!

CLUFA

Hana, shhh, I’m TALKING to someone, and we have to make a good IMPRESSION. PLEASE go back to your corner and… play with plants or something.

HANA

But… but it’s a CAT!

CLUFA

Just summon a cat of your own! Can’t you do that?

HANA

No…

CLUFA

Well… can’t you make a sculpture of one?

HANA

I’VE ALREADY MADE NINETEEN THOUSAND FIVE-HUNDRED SEVENTY-SIX, I WANT TO SEE A REAL CAT!

CLUFA

Ugh, fine, come on.

HANA’s shadow appears in the smoke. Her’s is green all over with a few lighter shades of green in her limbs and head.

HANA

OH MY GOSH HIII!!!

FREIZA

Um… hello I guess.

CLUFA

Okay, you saw the cat, now please go. 

CLUFA pushes HANA away, and her smoke disappears.

CLUFA

Hi. Sorry. My sister’s crazy about cats. Runs in the family, I guess, since cats are one of the only species my brother doesn’t like torturing.

FREIZA

That is… um… quite alright. ANYWAY. I’ve been told that you can bless others with your power.

CLUFA

You’ve been told correctly.

FREIZA

Well, I want to know if you can do that. If you can give me that power.

CLUFA

Can I? Yes. Will I? Maybe. It depends on what you do for me.

FREIZA

What can I do for you?

CLUFA

I am currently in the limbo realm, and I need an external force to help me escape. That’s where you come in.

FREIZA

Oh?

CLUFA

Yes. You must alter the balance of magic so that the barrier between limbo and the physical realm is shattered — only for a brief moment, mind you — but enough for three demigods to escape.

FREIZA

You’re demigods?

CLUFA

Well, we call ourselves that, but, technically we weren’t born to a god or a human, so… JUST LISTEN TO ME!

FREIZA

Yes, of course, um, sorry.

CLUFA

Now, I will bless you with some of my flames, and you may be my host. With this power, you must destroy the Wizarding Committee.

FREIZA

Hold up, hold up, what do you mean, ‘host’?

CLUFA

I mean, the Shadow Legion can use any willing sorcerer as their host if they’re in limbo, to shatter the barrier between worlds. That is what I plan on doing with you, but I need two others.

FREIZA

Fortunately, I know where to find two others. But why should we believe you?

CLUFA

How else do you plan on getting this power?

FREIZA

Hmm. Very well. Grant me your strength.

So yeah.

That’s all I remember from that scene because a bunch of humans came and asked for a bit of magic, and of course, I had no choice but to say yes because of this ANNOYING CURSE THAT KEEPS ME HERE FOR ETERNITY.

Anyway, I suppose that leads into a little of what happened, right? Clufa eventually possessed Freiza and used her to start creating havoc in the Wizarding World (the planet in which that was located).

But there is a lot more to this story. Why? Because many unexpected things happened on the journey.

For one thing, the Wizarding Committee was, in fact, toppled, but not because of Clufa or Freiza. It was because of the citizens of Tulgey Wood, who waged a massive attack, allying with Gnome and Cat Island in order to achieve this. It resulted in two major casualties (not counting the Wizarding Lord, whose death was the goal).

As you can imagine, it caused some shaking of the realms, but not enough.

It wouldn’t be until several weeks later that a true shaking would occur…

Chapter 2

Ah. You again.

You certainly are hungry for more information?

Greedy human.

Assuming you’re human, of course. I really don’t know at this point. Last week I heard that a strange creature with purple eyes and black fur was the one who struck down the Wizarding Lord at the cost of his own life.

Guess that means more than just humans have large intelligence now?

Not that humans are very smart, of course.

Anyway, I won’t jump to any conclusions, and I’ll just give you what you came for.

So a few things happened in the three weeks before they were released. Some external things involving Clufa manipulating her way into getting out with her siblings, but I must say, much to my surprise, observing these demons actually turned out to be a really interesting character study!

I almost feel like I’m watching a movie when I’m watching Clufa, Altzeroil, and Hana all together (maybe a horror drama sitcom? I don’t know), because their interactions and clashing personalities are just delightful.

Take one night, for instance.

Clufa was conjuring some kind of magic aura that was causing tension in limbo. Guess she thought that would lead to some magic misconnections, but if she actually read the books like her brother did, she’d know that would be pointless, as nothing that happened in limbo impacted the world below.

As she was doing this, she was suddenly interrupted by a large bush that took the shape of a cat, that suddenly pounced on Clufa, and bounced off her, destroying her incantation.

Clufa growled in frustration.

“Sorry!” cried Hana, running by Clufa, chasing after the cat. “Lost pet!”

“Hana, what did you do?!” Clufa barked.

“I finally learned how to bring things to live!” Hana answered enthusiastically. “I created a cat, made of leaves! He’s now my best friend ever and for all eternity!”

“Well, can you please just take it away from here?” demanded Clufa. “I’m trying to cause balance shifts from here!”

“You realize that’s pointless?” Altzeroil questioned sassily. “Nothing that happens here impacts the physical realm. We can cause an earthquake, and the physical realm will be untouched.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot, since no one else is trying anything!” Clufa responded irritably. “Now, WAIT.” She closed her eyes and spread her arms out. “Omnis virtus mea, et adducere magicae.”  A yellow string appeared between Clufa’s hands. She began circling her hands around each other, as the string began vibrating. “Utere ea ut conteram nos.” She began levitating, and when she opened her eyes, they were glowing. She looked down and brought her hands inches apart. The string turned into a ball. “Claustra perrumpere!”

Clufa threw the magic ball down the limbo barrier, but it simply bounced off and hit Clufa in the head as though it was a basketball. Clufa fell down, clutching her head, as the ball evaporated. Her eyes stopped glowing.

“Clufa!” yelped Hana, hopping over to her sister. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Clufa answered, shaking off the pain in her forehead.

“As I said,” muttered Altzeroil, levitating down, “that was pointless. It got you hurt, and it could have gotten one of us hurt.”

“What have you been doing?” Clufa demanded, getting up. “I’ve been trying to get us all out of here, you’ve just been floating around your precious ice palace and reading stuff, being a nerd!”

“That’s a compliment,” Altzeroil replied with a sly smile.

“IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE!” Clufa roared, losing her temper again, and a bunch of fire erupted around her. She levitated into the air, glaring sharply at Altzeroil.

“Clufa, calm down,” Altzeroil told her. “You’ll burn Hana’s things, which isn’t very polite.”

Clufa muttered as she levitated down and the fire died away. Clufa walked away to sulk her magma fortress.

“Um… was it something I said?” asked Hana, nervously clutching her cat.

“No, dear,” replied Altzeroil, floating back to his ice palace. “It’s no one’s fault.”

Fun, right?

Clufa was constantly throwing temper tantrums, yet at the same time was the most productive of them all, Hana had the IQ of a rat while she was probably the nicest of them all (not saying much), and Altzeroil was the sassy best friend who thinks he’s better and more chill (get it?) than everyone.

It was almost like being in limbo brought the best out of these people, which is interesting, because personally, I became a lot more insane while in this prison. I used to be much more level-headed, I guess you could say (though the people who imprisoned me here will probably tell you otherwise). Now, I’m pretty chaotic, so yay. They’ve gotten a lot closer and developed more antics. I guess not being alone definitely served a role in it.

Anyway, guess you’re done with all this “FUN FUN” stuff and want to get to the actual interesting stuff.

Fine, you cranky person.

Later, though. I need to get my sleep. Goodbye.

The Goose is the Garden

The goose is the garden

Is becoming overgrown we need to trim the weeds

Take over the driveway

Is really falling apart

From you I can’t seem to think 

About the mountains outside the window

Casts a shadow on the ground

Is made of water 

Reflects the clouds

Are shaped like a wolf chasing sheep

Escaped again the German shepherd 

Is so cute though how can you blame

Me every single time 

I see the milky way I think of all the milk I’ve spilled

The beans

For dinner do you mind if we have them again this week

Has been weird without you

I am nothing.

My Bright Blue Dreams

Editor’s Note: This story references self-harm and contains homophobic characters who use offensive slurs. 

Chapter One

Hello. I hate the word “hello.” I hate the word “shower.” I hate the word “cheese-stick.” I hate the word “hate” most of all. It puts a bitter taste in my mouth, and that’s why I hate it so much. Jeez, here I go again, thinking of a word that makes the sides of my mouth droop down even more. The teacher turns around to the class to see my scathing expression. 

He laughs. “Rain, does the scientific advancement of the printing press really make you want to burn the world down? I happen to think it is a very important part of history, and I would appreciate it if you give it some attention so you won’t have to go to summer school, despite the printing press’s pure and utter boringness.”

The nerds in the class laugh. I fake a little smile, but when he turns around again, I give such a goddamn dramatic eye roll at his goddamn obnoxious comment that my goddamn eyes hurt. I put my head down on the desk and wrap my arms around them like a little comforting burrito. Due to ordering a small instead of a large coffee this morning, I pass out until the bell rings, and I have to force myself up. 

I try not to meet the stares of people in the hallway because keeping eye contact is an extremely laborious process. Only when I get my life saving energy drink in 3rd period can I have the mental and physical motivation to cover myself with a plastic bag and suffocate the true person I am. To be the Rain that everyone loves to see. No one wants to be friends with a broken, sassy, gay boy. 

Chapter Two

Lunch comes around, and I am forced to sit with my friends and laugh and smile and wink at girls and act like a complete and utter jerk. You see, everyone wants to be me, everyone wants to have my friends, everyone wants to have my sense of humor, everyone wants to have my girlfriend, everyone wants to have my popularity. I wish I could give all of those things — except for the humor, of course — away. I wish it was as easy as giving someone a birthday present. But alas, I am known for not being a generous person, so maybe, just maybe, I keep these dreaded parts of myself because I like being able to taunt people about the things they don’t have. 

My friend, Brandon, snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Get out of your dumbass head, bro. Is it stormy in there, Rain?” he says, very amused by the extraordinarily idiotic pun that he made with my name.

Everyone at the table cracks up, and Brandon lightly shoves my head. They all go back to talking about who has the hottest girlfriend. You see, I never space out, I always listen — I can be in deep thought, but I will always hear what everyone else has to say. That’s the only way that I have been able to withstand these stupid conversations for so long. 

After my friends finish talking about girls, they move the conversation to one of my most dreaded topics: who can list the most reasons why Gregory is a f*g. The thing that perplexes me most is how I contribute the most to this conversation topic whenever it is brought up. With each fiery, disgusting word that comes out of my mouth, my throat burns more. And that burning of my throat travels down my body to my heart, my stomach, my legs, arms, feet, and everything else. When it travels everywhere, that’s when I act like the stupid jerk I am expected to be.

Chapter Three

Eventually, the school day ends, but I have to stay back in detention with Ms. Peder’s class because apparently drawing dicks on the whiteboard is “inappropriate.” I personally think it’s just gay. Either way, I drag myself to the classroom, but upon looking into the room, I stop dead in my tracks. In the back row of the seats are these blue, magnificently bright eyes shining though shiny, windswept hair that is dark as night, but an inviting kind of dark, a dark you want to explore. 

Ms. Peder clears her throat. “Rain, come in already, we don’t bite.” 

I reply with something smart and bitchy that I say purely out of instinct, but I don’t really realize what I say because all of my brain power is focused on not blushing and not staring at this boy. I hobble into the room and almost trip over a few desks until I find my favorite seat. This seat is right next to the window, and through that window you can look out into the pile of rubbish, overly enthusiastic lights, and broken but loyal people that come together to form what we like to call New York City in the 1980s. 

Looking out of this window distracts me from blushing and thinking about the guy right behind me. It’s kind of mesmerizing — the crowded landscape feels so small from the 5th floor, it makes me feel powerful. So I just sit there staring and craving to feel this power more intensely and craving to feel control at least over myself until the hour is over and I am free.

Chapter Four

As we get let out of the classroom, I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around. I jump with surprise as I see those bright eyes again. He gives me a gentle smile.

“You never thought that you’d talk to one of us nobodys before, did you, Mr. Popular?” He says this in a very sly, unashamed but extremely cute and somehow flirtatious way.

No no no no. He’s got this all wrong, I don’t want this popularity, I don’t want any of this. I just want to escape. I really hope he can see that. I really hope he is joking. 

I mumble, “I — ”

“Save it.” And he smiles through one half of his mouth, winks, and walks away.

I stand there and stare as he leaves until I realize how dumb I look and how if anyone saw me gaping at this boy, my reputation would be ruined. But isn’t killing this reputation that I have what I want? Why am I so afraid of getting what I want? Maybe it’s because you can’t take back what you let out. The words of your truth will be permanently branded on your forehead for all to see.

Sometimes I wonder why I fear permanence when I practice the art of it, when all I want everlasting change, when I try all I can to secure something for the eternity of my existence. Hypocrites, aren’t we? Like writing on the bathroom wall, “Don’t write on the walls.” We fear becoming total hypocrites. But when we are what we fear, that’s when something even greater than permanence overtakes us. And that thing, that feared thing that we become, that dreaded thing is called being human.

It’s unavoidable.

Chapter Five

I head out of school, longing for something to clear my mind, not to erase it or change it, but just to clear enough space for happiness and satisfaction. So instead of doing what most people my age do, which is drugs, I lug my cans of spray paint with me in my backpack to the place that I always go to when I have this longing. You see, I bring spray paint with me most days at school because I never know when I am going to need to use them to distract me from my overflowing thoughts.

Chapter Six

I walk to the subway, past the guys sniffing cocaine on the stairs, past the turnstile, onto the platform. I press my back against the pillar on the platform based on habit so that no one can push me into the tracks in front of the train and smile as they watch my body get crushed. I don’t want to offer anyone that amusement.  

I get out of the train and drag myself up the steps. I walk and walk and walk and eventually stand below my destination, gazing up at it. I check behind me as I walk into the alleyway. Once I reach the end, I climb onto the dumpster and jump to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape. Upon hoisting myself up onto the fire escape, I start my exactly 284 step journey to the top. I climb up hearing the familiar and calming clank of my footsteps on the iron rungs. 

Eventually, at step 107, I get to the roof, but I don’t stop there like I used to when I was younger and afraid. So I run and leap from this roof onto the next. I live for the thrill of that jump, knowing that there is nothing under you but trusting that you will be safe. 

I use this momentum to jump onto the wall on a higher part of the building. From there I walk along the wall until I reach a ladder and from the top of that ladder, I carefully step onto the brick oasis I love more than my home. 

Underneath me is a pretty large brick floor and roof for whatever rats are living in the building. In front of me is a brightly lit, but not too obnoxiously bright, sign. The word “Pepsi” is spelled by these white cursive lights. Behind the sign is a brick wall about 12 feet high. On this wall is a mural that I have been creating for the past 3 years. Every week I come up here once to add patterns or images depicting what I wish myself to be, or what I wish the world to be. In my head I call it the dream mural — it’s what I dream to see if I were to kick that wall down and look out at the world. It is my own world, it is under my control, I can create anything I want and I can destroy anything.

If I turn around away from the sign, away from my dreams, I will see the city and its vastness. I will see the lights of buildings, cars, and the moon. It feels like standing at the edge of the world.

Chapter Seven

I decide to plug and unplug the Pepsi sign, making the light flicker. After a minute of flickering it to the beat of the song that is stuck in my head, I look across the street and see the sign spelling out “Cola” flickering to the same beat. I close my eyes in disbelief, but when I open them again, I see that sign flicker in the same way. Yes, that sign always flickers, but I swear, this time it is different. I smile at the thought of someone across the alleyway doing the same thing, and I suddenly don’t feel so alone. 

I look to the side of the sign and my heart skips a beat at what I see. I rub my eyes but when I look again, I see the same thing. To the left of that sign, I see the same two bright fluorescent eyes gazing back at me. I see a smile light up on his face. Not caring if I am imagining this or not, I smile back. 

I lift up my hand and begin to wave, but as my hand goes up, the light from the sign across the street flickers to black, and I am left waving at this big city. Little insignificant me, waving to this expanse of so much that is so much greater than me. But this time I am satisfied because I know somewhere in that city are those blue eyes, and at that moment, those blue eyes are mine.

Chapter Eight

I will never forget that moment, seeing or not seeing those eyes, because that was the last time I ever saw them. The next day at school I searched the halls, but I couldn’t find him. The principal said that he wasn’t coming back to school. No one really knew where he went, but there were rumors that he had to run away from home that night because he was gay or that his neighbors chased him away or that his father beat him to death or that he left without motive. No one will ever know what happened to him, and I will never know if I actually saw my bright blue dreams that night and his smile that illuminated the city stronger than all of those overly enthusiastic lights. 

The End

Opal Shore

“You’re going to be late for work!” 

I pull up my swim trunks and pat my hair, as if that will keep it down. I’d hardly call my job at the Opal Shore Beach Club a job at all. I’ve been a member since before I can remember. Our family has been members for decades. Generations. My grandfather obtained one of their ultra-exclusive memberships back in the 60’s. He passed it along to my parents in the 90’s. One day, probably within the next ten years, my dad will pass grandpa’s membership to me and my siblings, and we’ll continue going with our children. So on and so forth.

Today, I work as a lifeguard, but rarely act like one. I basically get paid to sit in a high chair, get tan, and ogle girls in bikinis.

My mother’s in the kitchen wearing an apron. Her cheeks upturn into a radiant smile when she sees me coming down the stairs. I grab the lunch she made for me, kissing her on the left cheek, as it glows like a sunbeam. 

“Don’t forget your pendant,” says mom, as I leave the house on another sun-splashed day for work.
 

But first, I untuck the chain from my shirt so mom can see it. The gold cross is an unofficial uniform at the club.  Opal Shore is all white and Christian. I kid you not. And, my town is equally segregated. Sure, private clubs can choose to accept and reject anyone they want, but it’s odd that every member of Opal Shore is a rich, white, Anglo-Saxon protestant. Just saying.

So, I get in my car, and drive out of my garage onto a street lined with identical houses with spacious, elegant lawns. My car was gifted to me a year ago on my 16th birthday. What’s even more cliche is that every family on my street lives in carbon copy homes, with carbon copy cars, kids, even dogs. I pull into a parking lot chock full of luxury cars, many sporting MAGA and NRA stickers. Opal Shore wasn’t the Hamptons, but we’re pretty close; albeit seventy or so miles west. And, the people in both communities act the same I guess, except for my mom. Today at Opal begins like any other. I make my way down to the shore, drop my stuff at the lifeguard tower, say hi to my boss, and flex at some girls. Working at Opal has gotten me a nice tan. Plus, I need to stay fit for football season, which starts in a month. Everyone at the club knows one another, and, like me, the other lifeguards play on the football team. A few have graduated from high school and attend college.

I watch the waves crash through my sunglasses, while working on my tan. I can tell the members apart since I’ve been an Opel member all my life. However, if you were new to the club, everyone looked the same. The male members sit in lounge chairs by the ocean drinking beer, while the women gossip. Young children build sandcastles or swim in the ocean. Honestly, this job is pretty boring. I’ve only “saved” one person the whole time I’ve worked here, and they weren’t even drowning. To pass the time, I usually ogle the pretty girls when there aren’t many people in the ocean. Yeah, OK, maybe this sounds a bit cliche, but what else can I do? 

Everything was same old same old until I noticed a girl I never saw before. She’s wearing a polka dot, two-piece with frills tied at the sides. She’s striking, with long black hair that coils up, bouncing when she walks. To get a better look, I lower my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose. Club members were staring at her and her family. I was pretty pleased by the sight, but no one else seemed to be. The drunken laughter and gossiping from the adults completely stopped, with all eyes on this girl and her family. They weren’t actually on Opal’s property, but on the fringes of the club adjacent to ours.  Honestly, I don’t get why everyone was giving them the stink eye. They were just enjoying the beach like everyone else.

Boss drives up on his beach motorcycle seconds later, a vein popping from his forehead. Someone must have called him, and he hates getting called. He walks up to the lifeguard’s chair. 

Although I wasn’t the youngest lifeguard at Opal, Boss and the older lifeguards still call me “Junior.” When I was 14 and started lifeguard training, I was short, scrawny, and willing to do anything asked of me. I was naive and went with the flow. My mother always told me to form my own opinions, but the moniker stuck.  So, unfortunately, I’m still Junior. 

“Hey, Junior. Do you see those people over there?” Boss Langdon says, his voice low and scratchy. 

Mr. Langdon moved to our little town on Long Island from Manhattan, and his uptight accent stuck. He points to the family having fun and minding their own business.

“Them being here is going to be a problem, Junior.” 

I didn’t really understand, so I just nodded. I didn’t want to get fired. Boss grips his lanyard, while disgust strains his face. 

“These Jews come around here, disrespecting the Lord’s name, wearing them damn six- pointed Jew-stars around their necks.” 

Boss’ voice grows louder. He doesn’t care that others overhear him. A couple of white guys with beer bellies within earshot mutter anti-Semitic slurs. It’s not like I haven’t heard them before in jokes, just never directed at people. 

I notice the riptide pulling this family closer to our shores. This was actually fine, as the law clearly states that the ocean is everyone’s property. So, Opal Shore doesn’t own it; just the sand on our beachfront. Even so, our members aren’t happy. The more this family drifts toward us, the angrier our members get.

The striking girl with the polka dot bikini, as well as her mom and dad exit the water, while a little boy, whom I assume is her brother, remains in the surf. He’s scrawny, and his swim trunks are several sizes too large. And, while I don’t think it’s smart leaving him alone in an ocean with a splash of riptide, I say and do nothing.

A little later the surf gets rougher.  Opal members take their children out of the water. But, the scrawny little boy remains.  By now, the tide has pulled him in front of my chair.  For a moment, I doze off, having nothing important to do, or girls to ogle.

Suddenly, I’m awakened by the voice of a screaming child. 

“Hey, mommy look, look!” 

I perk my head up to see what’s happening. I spot the little boy, the riptide pulling him farther out than moments before. He’s clearly struggling, with arms flailing. I look for his family, finding them tanning and chatting. His mother is walking in the opposite direction.  I look at our club members. They should be helping, but no one is moving. They’re ignoring him! I realize my time as a lifeguard has come. But, for some reason, I freeze. All my training has led to this
moment. My swim trunks remain glued to the lifeguard’s chair. 

A beach motorcycle rides up behind me. Great timing. 

“Junior, tell me why I got another call?” 

Boss puts his hand on his forehead, casting a shadow over his eyes. 

“Junior, that’s the Jew kid, right?” he says while squinting into the sun.

“You have no obligation to get him, Junior.” 

He puts his hand on my shoulder. I swivel toward him, surprised and aghast. On the one hand, I knew I didn’t have to save anyone who wasn’t a member of our club. On the other, wasn’t it basic human decency to save any drowning person, be they a stupid member or not? 

“Junior, you look like you’re about to stand up, don’t even think about it.”  His grip on my shoulder tightens.

I look back out, scanning the ocean. The young boy appears and disappears, bobbing up and down beneath the waves. His tiny lungs prevent his screams from reaching the shore. I once again look at our club members. They’re listless, uncaring, unbothered, disinterested, and heartless.

Boss glares at me. Everything is happening lightning fast, but to me, it’s all in slow
motion.

My hand holds the rescue buoy without feeling it. My brain frantically races from the drowning boy, to my heartless Boss, the other lifeguards, club members, football, school, home, and my mom —

My mom. She always saw the best in this job, and in me. She was so proud I’d be saving
people, even though I saw lifeguarding as an excuse to get tan and watch girls. Mom would want
me to do what’s right. Still, if I lost this job she’d be so disappointed.  We didn’t need the money,
but it wasn’t about that.

Screw it!

I grab the buoy and stand up. 

“Junior! If you go out there, you come back without a job!” 

I throw my sunglasses in Boss’ chest. 

“God, will you please shut the hell up?” 

I run, dive into the water, and swim out to the boy. His head pops up less often, as the riptide pushes me away. I keep swimming until I reach him. 

“Grab onto this, buddy,” I say, as I push the buoy into his hands.

The boy’s grip is weak, but he holds on while coughing up a ton of water. 

Towing the boy, I swim back to shore, ignoring the piercing, furious stares of my Boss and Opal Club members. The kid’s family thanks me profusely.  I dismiss it, patting the kid on the shoulder. I’ve never seen the Boss so mad. 

“You’re fired, Junior. I’ll be sure to tell your mother about this.” 

“Fine,” I respond.  “But, know I’d rather lose my job than disappoint my mom, and myself
by letting someone drown. Isn’t that what lifeguards are supposed to do?”

I return the buoy, grab my shirt, and start walking toward my car. 

“Yeah, keep walking, leave the club, and don’t come back,” members murmur amongst themselves. 

So, I drive out of the club’s parking lot, likely for the last time. Of course, I’m scared what my mom will say when she learns I got fired. But, I have a feeling she’ll understand. No one else would, of course. Mom was always the exception. I turn on the radio, flipping the control until I hear a song everyone my age was listening to. 

I suddenly relax and smile as I drive home in my generic car, past the generic houses and lawns, with the generic adults, kids, and dogs. 

I smile, because my mom is no longer the one exception in town.

Creation

(Italics are Jesse’s out loud thoughts while reading the essay.)

(Bold is the stage directions.)

Jesse is writing their college essay to the admissions officers of their dream college. They’re sitting on the campus of the college they’re hoping to get into called UCLA. They’re typing on their computer that is set up on the grassy dirt.

JESSE

From the start, I didn’t know where the hell I belonged. I probably should delete “hell.” I don’t think the admissions officers would appreciate my steller word choice. From the start, I didn’t know where I belonged. Now the sentence is bland, but I’m not using any cuss words just in case the officer reading my essay is ultra-Catholic or something. 

(Jesse stands up with their laptop clutched to their chest and starts to type more aggressively as they stand on the grass.)

I kept walking back and forth over this invisible line from the girls, who at that time were all obsessed with colored powder and sticky stuff you put on your lips for fun, which I never understood; and the boys, who would do very repulsive things like punch each other until one of them bled, and tackle each other over an oddly shaped ball (which I later found out was a football). I never understood that because if you liked someone and wanted to hang out with them, why would you want them to bleed? Why would you want to see them hurt? 

(Jesse starts pacing around the field/campus, still with the laptop clutched against their chest.)

Not everyone at my school was like this, but the people that would catch your eye in the hallway did those things and persuaded everyone around them to follow their lead and be part of their clique. I won’t name names since I’m not using this essay to tattletale. Rather, there was one person that led the clique with not an iron, but a gold fist. He or she, because it was only he or she, I guess loved to be and act old fashioned since all he or she wanted was “normalcy.” The last four years I’ve been asking, what’s normal? What is normal? I’m genuinely curious to see if anybody or anyone has an answer to this. A legitimate answer. If our teachers were really trying to teach us that everyone is different, then how come the word “normal” even exists? If everyone said that they were a genderless blob, would that be considered “normal”?

(Jesse stops pacing.)

 To be clear, practically all of my grade was one big clique of people that dressed in clothing I couldn’t afford and acted in a repulsive manner. They just didn’t seem to have any care about the people that didn’t fit their “ideal style,” whatever that meant. I spent most of high school pretending I was talking to some friends on the phone, reading numerous gender studies books like In Their Shoes by Jamie Windust, and desperately trying to find clothes that wouldn’t make me look like a girly girl or a jock. In my school at least, there was no in-between. The in-between was something I was trying to create, but no one was joining me because my bet was that they were scared of everything besides the status quo. 

(Jesse’s voice gets louder with more passion to it and they put down their laptop and walk to a nearby rock that’s on the field/campus and climb on top of it.)

I knew I had to do something. Not for me, not for my friends, but for the people out there who had similar feelings as me. Who had similar thoughts and desperately wanted change. On the very last day before spring break, (I’m currently writing this during break), I stood on the wobbly cafeteria table and asked the question to everyone who would listen, “Who am I?” One responded that I was a loner, one said genius, one said try-hard, yet no one said I was a man or a woman. I took note of that and responded, “No one here has said I am a man or a woman. I was expecting someone to mention what my gender or sex might be but no. 

(Jesse’s voice gets even stronger and louder with more passion and they start pointing at the invisible people in the crowd from the rock they’re standing on.)

None of you said anything about that. I was expecting someone to say I’m a guy for the way I dress or I’m a girl for my hobbies and interests. I believe the reason none of you mentioned that is because deep down you all know that everyone deserves to define themselves how they want to. Everybody. Every BODY. Who you are is who YOU are and not who somebody else is. Someone else is a woman, someone else is a man, some go by she/her/hers, some go by he/him/his, and you want to know who I am; what I go by? They/their/theirs, I am them. Respect that and I’ll respect you.” 

(Jesse walks back to their computer, stretches their hands and back, takes a big sigh, and sits down comfortably. Jesse’s voice softens.)

The amount of love and relief I felt afterward was tremendous. I felt more relieved than after I took the PSAT! One single moment I’ll forever remember and cherish is when that person with the gold fist looked up to me, smiled, nodded, and clapped along with everybody else. I knew right then and there I made at least some change, a good change. I didn’t fix the world, I didn’t fix everything, but what I did do was make a small yet huge improvement in my community that will very much spread to other communities and places around the globe. 

(Louder typing sounds.)

To whoever is reading this essay, thank you. Truly from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Whether I get into UCLA or not is honestly not my number one priority. My forever number one priority is inclusivity of every single body. Thank you.

Jesse hits the submit button on their laptop and gives themselves a round of applause as they stand up and take a deep breath. They did it. 

How To Persevere

Perseverance is something that everyone should want or have. It helps us reach our goals. But it’s not that easy to just start to persevere. In this short article, I hope I can teach you more about perseverance and how to implement it into your life. 

First, what does it mean to persevere? Who perseveres and how? According to Dictionary.com, perseverance means to have a “steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.” It is a quality that most “winners” and successful people must have. For example, let’s say you are taking a really hard test in school, and you forgot to study the day before. You keep going and keep trying even though your work isn’t great and you will ultimately fail the test. You keep on going and trying your best, even though the test might be challenging. You try to keep away your thoughts of how you will do on the test, and just keep trying and not giving up. 

Frontline workers, especially now, must persevere a lot through their work. If they do something wrong or if they are treating a challenging patient, they must persevere and not quit during the most challenging events. They need lots of motivation and perseverance to do their jobs. As previously mentioned, it is a quality that most “winners” and successful people must have. The most successful people such as Steve Jobs, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, etc., also need lots of perseverance in their jobs, too. If something went wrong, or if something was challenging, they didn’t just end and quit there. They kept working towards their dreams, towards what they wanted, and never gave up. If they simply gave up, they would never be the famous successful people they are today. 

Now, let’s answer the question you all were waiting for. How do we teach ourselves to persevere? How do we implement the ability to persevere in our lives? First, you should encourage yourself. One of the cancers of progress is negative thoughts and negative self-talk. Negativity wants you to feel sorry for yourself and doubt your abilities to succeed. Think of yourself and your work positively. Never follow the path of, “If I failed one part, I failed the entire thing.” Nothing will ever get done on this path. Another piece of advice I can give you is to identify your goal or your “why.” Know why you are going for this goal and how it benefits you or others. Make sure the goal is meaningful to whatever you are doing. When starting a new project, know what you will do, what your intentions are for this, what you want to finish, etc. Finally, and this kind of goes along with negative thoughts and self-talk, don’t think negatively of the past or the future. Don’t let your past mistakes stop what you’re doing now. Live in the present. Try not to think of the future as a bad thing, too. Don’t get attached to what you do. This makes you have a greater fear of losing it and makes you doubt yourself more. 

All in all, perseverance is a very important quality to have and also may open up new opportunities. It might be hard to persevere at first, but I hope these few tips helped you to teach yourself what perseverance is and how to use it.

The Facility

Blurb

John has always been a curious person but now he has gone off the rails. Follow John and his two friends, Ash and Echo, into the world of horror…

John

*Crack* Twigs snap under my feet, lightning cuts through the sky, rain pours down, drenching me in water. My friends, Ash and Echo, stand under a tree. John, Echo, and Ash have known each other for years and will stick together no matter what, or so it would seem… 

“Are you sure about this?” says Ash. 

“It could be cursed… ” says Echo. 

“*Pfft*, it can’t be cursed, I’m sure that it was a glowing red crystal,” I say, annoyed. 

“Yeah, bu — ”

“No buts, ands, or whos,” I say, frowning.

“Alright, let’s just do this fast, okay?” squeaks Echo as we walk into the cave. The stalactites make the cave look like a monster with big fangs. I walk in first and inside is a gleaming crystal. 

“Wow!” I say, shocked. I walk over to it gingerly, almost as if it can disappear. I touch it… 

Suddenly, I hear voices, my body starts to shake violently, and my mind goes blank… 

Echo

“J-John, are you okay??” I say, frightened.

“The John you know is dead and now I am born anew,” says John, the crystal now implanted in his chest. “HAHAHAHA,” laughs John menacingly, and as quickly as it all started, John lunges forward with such inhuman speed. Ash doesn’t even have time to scream. John grabs Ash by the legs and pulls him farther into the soot-black cave as the screams of Ash slowly fade away…

I stand, frozen in place in pure horror… I blink and I go sprinting down the cave.

Ash

“Ughhh…” Why does my body hurt so much!!! I open my eyes. I am in some kind of large tube and in front of me is John.

 “John, why are you doing this!!!” I yell. He does not reply. 

Instead, he says, “In a few seconds, I will fill that tube with liquid nitrogen and you will slowly freeze to death or drown. I wish your insignificant friend luck for he will not make it far, HAHAHA!!!” The liquid nitrogen slowly fills up the tube until it gets to my waist…

Echo

*Huff* huff* Where is he?! I think, wildly running down the hall. I turn the corner and the walls are a stark white like a hospital or a facility… I slowed. Why is there a facility here in a cave?! I think, confused. I start running again, then I come into a room full of these big tube thingamabobs (Thing-a-ma-bobs) and there is Ash in the biggest one! He is banging on the glass and yelling something but it’s muffled but I can tell it’s something bad because his face is all scrunched up. “Don’t worry, Ash, I’ll get you out of there in no time!!” I say, more sure than I feel. I look at the keyboard next to the tube.

 “Uhhhh… ” I push a big red button in the center and suddenly a hole opens up in his tube and he gets sucked in. “ASH!!!” I yell, but a hole opens up in the ceiling and he falls on top of me. 

 “Oof!” says Ash. 

“You’re okay!” I say happily 

“You should not have done that,” says Ash.

“What?!!” I say, mind blown. 

“Because Johns here… ” Ash says, pointing out a shattered glass window at a glowing red light around the corner of the hall, slowly getting closer. “Quick, hide!” says Ash as we hide under the table. 

Ash

My heart is pounding so hard you can probably hear it from a mile away. John opens his hand and a giant sledgehammer appears in it with a smaller crystal in it. “You cannot hide!!!” John says like a psychopath. He brings down the sledgehammer to the table with such strength that it shatters like glass… time seems to slow, shards of wood cut through my clothes and into my skin, then it comes down on my head, the sledgehammer, and my mind goes blank…

Echo

My body hurts so much and my vision has become blurry, but then I focus. I see Ash crumpled on the floor, a puddle of blood getting larger around him. I turn to see John. He smiles so evilly, the corners of his lips almost reach his ears. I stare, horrified, as he laughs deeply and coldly. 

“What has happened to you, J-Jo?” I can’t even say his name anymore after what just happened.

 “I will spare you for now,” he says, then walks away. I slowly crawl out from under the rubble. I look at what remains of Ash. 

I will finish this, I think with a sudden feeling of power… I yell out a name, John.

Echo

I run down the seemingly endless corridors. “Which way is the exit?!” I say aloud, my voice echoing down the halls, but then I see the unforgettable cave entrance where it all started. It has only felt like a couple of minutes but with the golden light of day beaming through the teeth-like opening.

I sprint at full speed. I run and run with all my memories gushing past me — John, Ash, and me playing basketball in the park. I run all the way home. I kick open the door but then when I open it, there is only the cave. I run in, not looking around and when I do I realized I am trapped in, looking behind me as the mouth-like cave entrance closes, shutting me in. Then I see the glowing red light of a crystal as the thing that John once was brings the hammer careening down onto my skull as everything goes black. 

To Be Continued… 

Fast Forward

One day, there was a little boy who was playing computer games with his brother. He saw a clock on the computer, and he said, “What’s this?”

His brother said, “I don’t know, you should press it.”

He pressed it and the computer started glowing. When their mom said, “Thing 1 and Thing 2, the food’s ready,” they said,

“Coming, Mom.”

They ate and they were eager to get back to the computer to figure out why it was glowing. When they got back upstairs, they saw a glowing beam that had numbers on it. He looked at the computer and saw a timer. He and his brother saw 10, what is this?! 9, what’s going on?! 8, 7, oh no! I don’t like this. 6, 5. “Make it stop!” his brother pleaded. This is cool, he thought. What if it puts us in the game or something? 4, 3, 2, 1. There was a big boom and their whole room and everything inside of it was floating including them!

They yelled for their mom, no answer. They noticed a globe and it showed their mom and them playing video games but on their watches and phone it said 10:00AM but the globe said it was 1:00AM so they thought, how could this be? Either we’re in a dream or we’re in the future. They were very confused. 

The brothers were arguing over what happened and who was responsible for the time warp. The boys went to their phones and they checked where they were on Google Maps. They were in Australia! Their family didn’t live anywhere near Australia; they lived in the United States. The older brother said, “What if we got transported to a different state?” Both checked their calendars. It wasn’t 2021 anymore, it was 3031! They freaked out and then calmed down and said, 

“We need to get back.”

Drew, the younger brother said to CJ, the older brother, “this is so cool!”

CJ was trying to act cool and stuff so they tried to get in a glass prism but it did not work. They tried kicking the glass, punching, breaking the globe, but nothing worked until the floor started to crack from all the jumping! Both looked down. Once they realized what they were falling into, they were as still as a dead mouse! CJ said, “Don’t move a muscle.” But then the glass was still breaking slowly. The glass could not hold their weight any longer. 

Praying and hoping it was not what they saw, they were falling into a big pile of lava!!! They were screaming, “Mommy!” All of a sudden, they heard a very loud noise and then saw an Air Force plane, what a miracle! The plane picked them up and dropped grenades into the lava. 

At the moment the brothers wondered what they were doing, a lava monster named Corrupt was going to war with a supernatural lava monster. So far, he’d done a lot of damage. He blew up a few towns and flooded a bunch with lava. So far, those were the towns that he’d tried attacking. Some towns were surrendering. That was why the lava monster wanted to rebuild his community. 

The plane landed and they hopped out and said, “Gentlemen, please state your position.”

The brothers said, “We were doing fine.” 

The soldier asked them to confirm their division. The bros said, “We are from Division 1.”

They said, “Oh, so you guys are from the O.G. Division? You are so young,” the soldier said in a daring but cautious tone. 

The bros said, “We are from the past and we’re 30 years old. The O.G. Division made a time travel machine to stop the lava monster. Trial tests showed that it worked.” 

The soldiers allowed the boys to pass. The boys finally located their house and went to it, but when they got there, their house was one of the houses that had been burned down and destroyed and the only thing left was the bro’s room, a tv, a couch, and a couple more pieces of furniture and accessories. They stared in shock as they watched the lava monster burn and destroy another house. 

K was the first bro and J was the second and their last names were Day. Together, they were K.J. Day. The lava monster was at least 30 feet high and had lava spitting out of him.

When the monster tried speaking, he sounded like a swerving car. The lava monster was so strong and powerful that he lured 13 men and women army people and he himself killed them all but left one to live so he could tell the tale. That night, he went to his house and burned the building down.  

They went to their couch and sat down and tried thinking about their house, and slowly things started appearing so they thought harder and everything was there. They heard their mom yell, “Kids, time for dinner.”

Shocked, they could hear C.J. Day stutter and yell, “C-c-c-o-oming.”

Later that day, their alarm went off and they said they did not set alarms. What’s going on? 

“The alarm said it’s your gaming time!”

They responded, “Okay, hold on. Are we back home?” To confirm, they checked the time. They were in 2021 and back home. 

The next day, they saw some of their friends looking at them weirdly like they should not be there. They said, “What’s going on? What happened? You guys are not supposed to be here.” 

They whispered, “You got into a car crash the other day and are supposed to be in the hospital recovering.” 

After school, their friends went to show them their room and they saw people who looked exactly like them and everything. They thought they were cloned in 3030. When they approached, their clones turned into 2 small lava monster pets! They wondered if they started the lava monster war! Then they heard them saying some weird words that sounded like: sacrifice the hot water! Sacrifice the hot water!

The bros saw something red start to come out of the bed and there was a portal that looked like it was from the future. Lava monster was in his cave attacking just like in 3030. What if the monsters were from the future? Running to their house, they started game planning. While planning, they started getting off track and playing video games. Their access line was suddenly cut off! The United Forces came on the screen and said, “Evacuation is mandatory! Leave the city immediately! We will compensate everyone for everything they have lost in the evacuation. You can’t bring anything but family and friends.”

Hopes and Dreams

We, the successors of this country

Are grateful for being born in a country

Where there is freedom and democracy 

Where anybody can become president

Where you can be

My hopes and dreams are to become a president

Of a free country

Where you can say what you think

This country is not perfect of polished

This country is not striving

But is moving forward blindly

I hope this country will 

Accept people from different countries and cultures

People with different backgrounds and beliefs

We still have miles to go

Before we are perfect

But we are not trying to be perfect

Nothing is perfect

We should welcome people

But right now we aren’t

We have to start a new chapter in our lives

We have to treat everyone like Americans

The Candy Fairy’s Skateboard

My life story, or at least the part of my life story you’d be interested in, begins where a tragic story might end — with the digging of several holes. Before we continue, I will assure you that this story is nothing like that, but if you’re looking for a story with that kind of drama and sadness, please ask your librarian to refer you to the tragedy section. With that out of the way, let’s get back to the story: I ran frantically around our miniature backyard, waving and digging with my plastic shovel like a maniac, my brain bubbling full of hatred and loathing for my older brother. Although this may seem like a funny anecdote from your end, I can promise you that it was a horrendous experience, for me, at least. A week ago, Ben, my older (and devious) brother, told me that if I buried my candy in the ground and dug it up again a week later, a majestic candy fairy would exchange it for money. I thought this was an extremely clever plan and did exactly what Ben told me to do. I even put a card in the hole to tell the fairy how much I charged for the licorice. However, after I dug the loot back up, all I found was the card. On the back, in my brother’s handwriting, read:

Sorry, but I’m not very liquid right now, but tHAnks for tHe cAndy! – C.F 

Now, after completely destroying the backyard, I finally had to accept the truth: the whole thing was a huge scam! I sat down on the now ruined lawn and began to cry. Like a guardian angel, who can sense sadness and despair, my mother came flying out the back door to comfort me. It was only until she dried my tears that she noticed the wrecked backyard. 

“Goodness me, Marley! What in heaven’s name happened to the backyard?” she exclaimed, as she scanned the destruction. The flowerbed was half crushed, the grass was nearly all torn up, and the cherry tree in the corner, the only nice thing in the entire neighborhood of bleak houses and cheap grocery stores, had a groove in its trunk, most likely from my shovel. 

“Ben happened!” I pouted, waving my shovel and breathing heavily in the humid summer air. I told my mom about the whole ordeal, expecting her to grow angry at Ben for teasing me, and unleash her whole sympathetic lecture about how her older siblings teased her when she was a kid. However, to my astonishment as well as disgust, she started laughing. At first it was a small snort, then a giggle, and all of a sudden she was laughing so hard that she pressed her hands to her stomach and doubled over, giddy tears streaming down her face.

“Mom!” I exclaimed, shocked and feeling extremely betrayed.

“I’m sorry, honey, but you have to admit, it was kind of funny.”

“What???” I said, in complete disbelief, “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am, Mars. Here.” She reached for my hand. “I’ll prove it.”  

She grabbed my hand and helped me stand up. 

“Where’s Ben now?” she asked.

“At the pizza place with his skateboard,” I said, “He was going to head to the park afterwards.” 

“Good,” she said. “Let’s catch him there before he goes to the skateboard rink.” 

I followed my mom with a new bounce in my step. As we walked through the neighborhood, I thought of the ways Ben would get punished. Maybe he’ll get grounded, I thought hopefully. Or no candy for him for a whole month! The pizza place was probably the nicest thing around our neighborhood, besides the park. And even then, that was saying a lot. By the looks of the paint job and the dirty tile floor on the inside of the shop, you could tell it hadn’t been cleaned in years. When we got to the pizza place, instead of finding Ben prancing around eating pizza, we saw him sitting dejectedly at one of the tables, his arms wrapped around his skateboard, his pizza to the side, forgotten. When he looked up at us, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before. Tears. My mom rushed over.

“Sweetie, what happened?”

Ben wiped the tears from his eyes, “My skateboard,” he said, holding it out to us. “It broke.”  

My body was shaking with rage. Mom had promised that she would punish Ben for using me, but now she was comforting him, drying his tears. The only thing that stopped me from throwing a full on tantrum was the skateboard. I loved fixing things, and recently I had been breaking things on purpose to put them back together. (The last time I did this was on the vacuum cleaner, and I lost the airbag, so now we don’t have a vacuum cleaner anymore, as well as something for me to fix.) My curiosity took hold of me, and before I knew it, I was bending down to have a closer look. I winced. One of the wheels was almost torn off, hanging by one measly nail and a whole lot of hope. 

“Dad would have been able to fix it,” Ben spluttered. “He made it himself, but now he’s gone… ”

“It’s okay,” my mom tried. “We can get a new one–”

“No! This is all I have left of him, I won’t throw it out, broken or working.” Ben hugged the skateboard to his chest, still crying. I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. What was I even doing? Would Dad want me and Ben to fight each other?  I looked down at my feet. 2 minutes ago, I was all for seeing Ben down in the dumps, but now I could see that he was just like me. He missed Dad as much as I did… 

  “I-I think I can fix it,” I said, surprising myself. I always had the innate ability to fix things, and in the hot summer days it was hard getting through all of the boredom. My only friends were the nuts and bolts in my toolbox. When Dad was still alive, I spent a lot of time with him in the workshop, and hopefully I learned enough to get the wheel back in place. After walking home to our run-down neighborhood, I thought about the tools I would need. I thought of it as what Dad would have done. Though as I slowly made progress on the skateboard, I later had to begrudgingly admit that it had been fun. A day later, I handed the cherished skateboard back to Ben, grins on both of our faces. Ben took the skateboard gingerly, turning it over in his hands. Then he looked back up at me. 

“I have a thank you gift,” he said, looking back down at his feet. 

“You do?” I said, my heart pounding. Maybe he’ll apologize. Or he could buy me a slice of pizza. Or he could let me have a go at his gaming computer!

“Your licorice was delicious,” Ben said with a smirk. “I have to go meet my friends at the park sooooooo… bye!!!” And with that, he retrieved a bunch of black licorice wrappers, stuffed them in my hands, and ran out the front door before I could even react. I stumbled back into my room, numb with anger. I felt like punching Ben in the face. After all I did for him, and he couldn’t even give me a simple thank you? Throwing the useless wrappers into the trash can, I turned around to collapse on my bed. But I couldn’t, because there was already something on it. A kit to build your own bicycle. To the left was a note.

I staShed my emergency supply of licOrice in your desk dRawer: you aRe going to need a lot of energY to build this thing – C.F 

P.S  AND did you know THAt if you doN’t rub your Knee a thouSand times your nose will fall off? 

Before this story ends, I would like to inform any youngsters who are reading this that if you don’t rub your knee a thousand times, your nose will not fall off. However, I will point out that burying money instead of candy will grow a money tree, which will give you far more profits than exchanging candy for money. With that said:

THE END

On the Multi Regional Theory of Human Evolution

Nowadays, researching is a walk in the park compared to what it used to be like. Instead of having to go all the way to a library to find books with limited information on a subject, the seemingly endless expanse of information on the internet is at our fingertips. However, researching online still can be difficult, especially if you don’t really know what you are doing. A ton of things can go wrong, from using an unreliable source to not being able to access files, to just not asking the right questions. Personally, I think I am decent at finding information online — I generally check the sources I am using and I can make my questions specific enough to get fruitful results — but sometimes, I can get downright stumped on a topic; for example, when I tried to understand the Multiregional Theory of Human Evolution (MRE).

I tried to research MRE to write an essay about it (and, of course, because I was curious to know what it was). I could have chosen literally anything in the world and I decided to choose something that I knew absolutely nothing about. This obviously made the topic all the more irresistible to me, though. I had originally thought about writing the essay on ancient China, as ancient civilizations are just so fascinating. During my research into this topic, I stumbled upon the mention of a small ancient primate found relatively recently in China that gave some evidence for a theory of regional evolution (which could very well be different from MRE), and somehow found that the most interesting factoid in the article (again, probably because I knew nothing about it), after which I decided I would write about this rather than ancient China. I am sure that, even though there would be more articles with more information than MRE, a paper on ancient China would have been very involved and confusing too. The idea of a different theory on the evolution and migration of modern humans was intriguing to me. Of course, I understood that there were multiple theories on the topic (as there are on every topic) but I hadn’t ever explored an alternative to the Out of Africa Theory of Human Evolution (OOA). The OOA was taught at least every year of the three years of middle school, if not more, at the very beginning of the social studies curriculum, and is the generally accepted theory. I find it’s important to keep an open mind to new theories and ideas, as our understanding of the natural world can drastically change at any time. It also allows us to expand our thinking, keeping us away from the mental box that contracts thought saying, “This is the only way.” Keeping an open mind could lead to new, more accurate hypotheses, furthering scientific knowledge in general. Keeping an open mind in everyday life is also important. One must be able to try to understand and accept different viewpoints and opinions, even if they don’t match up with one’s own ideas of the world. Learning about MRE would increase my boundaries of understanding human evolution, and science in general.

Based on my understanding, MRE is an alternative theory to the evolution and migration of modern humans (Homo sapiens sapiens) to the more widely accepted OOA. It originally stated that humans (including archaic, meaning old, hominids and modern humans) did have some common ancestor, but evolution into modern humans existed when they were separated in various regions of the world. In other words, different groups of hominids evolved into modern humans simultaneously. In this theory, Africa had no specific role in human evolution. This theory was revised several times, eventually, agreeing with the Out of Africa Theory that Africa indeed did have an important role in human evolution and that Homo erectus (an earlier version of H. sapiens) evolved in Africa, migrated to various areas of the Earth, and then the various groups evolved into modern humans simultaneously. While OOA has the most support and evidence of these kinds of theories, MRE has an increasing amount of fossil and genomic data as supporting evidence.

Finding this much information was not exceedingly difficult, but diving deeper into the topic proved much harder. The only source that gave extensive information about MRE that I could actually understand was Wikipedia, and that isn’t really a great source. Anyone can post on Wikipedia, and, while it is good for getting the general idea of a topic, it’s not an appropriate source to cite for an essay or project. However, Wikipedia does give a useful place for sources, but those that I found from the multiregional theory page were hard for me to use. Some were books that one had to purchase and look through, some were PDFs with extremely small writing, and some were just too complicated for me to understand. Other sources were limited and were also hard to understand. In addition, I was often unsure if I was reading outdated or untrue information. MRE had been revised several times in the past, and I wasn’t quite sure how the theory had gradually evolved (even though I did know the general starting and ending ideas). I had also read in an article of complaints that science reporters had misinterpreted MRE when it had originally come out, so that furthered my skepticism of the articles I was reading. Because my grasp of the concept was so limited, I couldn’t know if I could trust what I was reading in the articles.

I should have known that attacking this difficult concept would be challenging, possibly too challenging because of the way I attempted to understand it. The easiest way, and possibly the only way, to learn something new and complex is to utilize the ever-useful method of reductionism. Reductionism is basically taking apart a complex idea or machine, learning how the smaller parts work, and then putting the smaller parts together to understand the larger concept/machine. Instead of using this method to understand MRE, I tried to figure it out all at once, which spelled disaster from the very beginning. First, I should have elaborated on what I already was relatively familiar with: OOA. As previously mentioned, this theory is the more accepted theory explaining human evolution and migration and is taught in schools. I would have to understand evolutionary genetics enough to understand the “Mitochondrial Eve,” a common female ancestor of almost all of humanity. She is hypothesized by scientists to understand the similarity of human mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA). I would have to understand morphological and osteological differences among hominids, primarily between modern humans and other hominids. I would have to understand different archaic and modern hominids (not in very much detail, just what they generally looked like, where they lived, and how they interacted with humans). Of course, to understand all of this I would have to go through more reductionism for each topic, which would take a lot of time and effort. To get a better understanding of what each theory actually is or isn’t, I would have to get at least a basic understanding of multiple theories, including MRE, OOA, the hybridization model, and the assimilation model. To the average onlooker, these models may seem more or less 99% the same, and, to be honest, some of them are very similar. However, even knowing all of these things would not give me all the information there is to know about MRE and other theories on the same topic.

I was unable to understand MRE to the extent that I wanted to, but I don’t regret trying. Staying curious allows one to be open to new ideas, which is beneficial to both the scientific world and the world in general. Gaining knowledge opens us up to more areas of the world and allows us to make connections among things. Being able to properly research something is an important skill that everyone should be able to use, especially in this day and age. In addition to the multitudes of factual information found on the internet, there is probably an equal amount of incorrect information. Knowing when to be skeptical of and when to trust a source prevents one from believing untrue things. From attempting to research MRE, I learned the hard way that you can’t just understand a topic, particularly a hard one, if you don’t know its basics and that you should be prepared to put a lot of time and effort into learning about it.

After PBJ

Hi. So this is what happened AFTER I finished making my PB&J sandwich. Okay, I bet you have NO idea what I’m talking about, so let me tell you EVERYTHING. Okay, so anyway, I love PB&J sandwiches. And last year, I wanted to make one. And it was super hard because someone stole my peanut butter, and I lost my jelly and bread, AND I didn’t have a knife! So I had to go get a computer and find the person who stole my peanut butter, eat a bug so the cops would get out of my way, go to a murder scene to get a knife, and get locked in a trash can to find the jelly. 

ANYWAY, I found the person who stole it and I took it from them. And they got REALLY mad, like actually REALLY mad. They came to my house and they started yelling at me, but THEY were the one who stole it FIRST! So I don’t know what their problem was. Anyway, I just shooed them off my lawn and went back to sleep. But, when I woke up, I SAW HIM STANDING RIGHT ABOVE ME, AND HE WAS SMILING LIKE A CREEPY CLOWN. I’m now wondering how long he stood there, smiling at me sleeping. Anyway. 

Right next to me was my leftover sandwich, so I took one last delicious bite, and then THREW the sandwich at him. Then he was like, “Blah blah blah, you got peanut butter on my shirt!” And he stormed out.

Then, a few hours later, he was back, and this time he had a shovel, and he started digging my lawn. Like, who does that?! Who digs out someone’s lawn!? And so I went up to him and I said, “Sir, this is my property, get out now.” And then he said, 

“Well, that’s my peanut butter, so give it back now!” And I just shooed him off again. 

And THEN he came back because the door was accidentally unlocked since I was binge-watching anime and didn’t have time to think about the door. And when he came back, he quickly put a sack on my head. And maybe he’s a pro or something, because in like two seconds, he trapped me in the sack! So that’s where I am right now, in a sack. So I heard some rustling going on around me, and I’m pretty sure he was looking through my stuff to find the peanut butter. And then I chuckled, I would NEVER leave my peanut butter out in the open after what happened last year. The peanut butter was actually in my pocket.  

TO BE CONTINUED…

Villainous

Prologue

It was 8:00 pm. The sun had already set, and cool shadows masked what was happening below. They stood there, in the shadows of the bridge, watching something happen below. 

 A small rowboat, with one young man standing in the center, slowly drifted to the middle of the big waterway. The man’s shoulders were shaking slightly. He was sobbing, fighting back tears. As if he were afraid of something, someone. 

He continued to row down towards the city. His feet were chained down to the bottom of the boat, the metal glimmering in the faint moonlight. In the back was a large metal irregularly shaped sphere, and it brought down the back of the boat by a great amount. He reached the city. The figures watched from the distance as he slowly picked up the heavy-looking object and held it to his chest. Looking back once more at the two on the bridge, he outstretched his arms, tears streaming down his face, though a calm look present, as if he had accepted his fate. The sphere blew up into fire and smoke and pieces of metal flew everywhere. The sound of the explosion seemed to go off after it blew up, but it screamed in their ears, even from the distance. The railing vibrated uncontrollably. A large chunk of metal flew from somewhere in the dark smoke and clanged against one of the stilts of the bridge. The explosion from the bomb in his hands had covered most of the city, and London blew up and perished in black smoke and fire and heat. The taller of the two on the bridge grinned. He turned around and leaned on the rail. He took out a knife and started carving a stick. 

“And that’s how you do it, brother.” The shorter brother stood stiffly, staring into the black smoke. There were faint screams and sirens. The sky turned into an orange-red color with dark clouds rising into it which blended nicely with the color of the destruction happening below. The taller paused his carving and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He shrugged it off and left him. He seemed uncomfortable. The taller brother sighed, shook his head, and continued to carve his stick. When he finished, he dropped it in the water and left the bridge too, going after his brother.

In the water sank the articulately carved stick. It wasn’t actually a stick, it was two sticks that had been bonded together. It had four sharp ends and cuts that made it look like some sort of symbol. It was shaped like a plus sign, but wasn’t exactly a cross. There were sharp lines and edges, but through it all, you could see the two distinct letters. R//V. It fell to the bottom of the waterway, and folded into the darkness.

The Watchers in the Shadows

Chapter Three of The Watchers in the Shadows

Will slammed the locker door. My head felt like hot iron rods were searing into my brain. 

“Will,” I groaned. “Do you have to be so loud?” 

He grinned and he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not my fault that you’re hungover. You know we aren’t supposed to drink when we are on a mission.” 

I massaged my temples. “It’s been five months. That’s like five years of intense agony for even a high functioning alcoholic like me.” My stomach lurched as I reached for my hairbrush. I ran toward the trash can and started puking my insides out. My throat was covered in what felt like liquid fire. 

“Good, get all that poison out of your body before our shift starts,” Will called out from the lockers. “Nova, you know this is a good lesson for you. It’s better just to not drink at all than feel horrible in the morning.” 

I wiped my mouth and rolled my eyes. “Well, not everyone is a goody two-shoes like you. Just because you are allergic to fun doesn’t mean everyone else is.” 

Will grasped his heart, pretending to be hurt. “I have fun. Like work is fun, the kids are fun… I have fun!” 

I snorted. “That doesn’t count. Plus, you really think this is fun? We have been on standby for months now. Everyone else gets fun assignments, and we are stuck babysitting a cold case.” 

I buttoned my uniform and reached into my locker for my gun. 

“Maybe, if you followed the rules more, then we would get a cooler assignment,” Will replied, tying his boots. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Following the rules is boring. Plus, you do it all the time and you still got this crummy assignment.” 

Will sighed. “Yeah, I guess that’s true, but they wouldn’t have given us this mission if it wasn’t important.” 

I checked my watch, 12:31 A.M. “Hurry up. Our shift started a minute ago.” Will stood next to the door. 

“I’m waiting for you, not the other way around.” Will grinned as I playfully punched him. 

“Come on, loser. Let’s get to work”. 

We walked out of the locker room and made a beeline for the entry corridor. The sounds of our footsteps echo off the smooth white walls. Before we even turn the corner, I could smell the distinct scent of her watermelon bubble gum. Great, it’s Kair and Reynolds. 

Will shot me a quick grin. I frowned and mentally prepared myself for our shift. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was those two. 

As we turned the corner, Reynolds grinned, her bubbly pink hair ending in spikes. “Hiya! It’s been too long since we’ve had a shift together. Aren’t you pumped?” 

“Not long enough,” I muttered under my breath. 

Reynolds tilted her head toward me. “Didn’t catch that but I’m sure you’re as excited as I am!” 

I winced. Her high pitched voice was hell on my hangover. Kair stood in the corner, one fist clenched and the other right above his holster. 

“Will you shut up for once in your life, Reynolds?” Kair snapped. His permanent frown deepened.  

Reynolds let out a high pitched giggle. “Sorry about him,” she pointed at Kair. “Someone didn’t get their morning coffee.” 

False. They were always like this. Reynolds’s high energy levels matched with her bubbly personality was a bad match with Kair’s anger issues and introverted personality. How these two ever became partners was a miracle to me.

Kair slammed the wall. “I told you to SHUT UP!” 

Reynolds looked concerned. “Are you okay, Kair? It looks like you need a hug.” She reached her arms around him, and then he smacked them away. 

Will laughed. How he could find this entertaining was beside me. It was just plain annoying.  

“AHem.” I turned around to see The Lady standing there. Her face stretched out thin, like paper. She tapped her clipboard with her pencil. “Kair, Corrin; and Reynolds, Nemphis, your break is over, prepare for your second shift.” She turned her gaze toward me and Will. “Thorn, Nova; and Porter, Will, your first shift starts now.” She then proceeded to stiffly walk down the same hallway, her high heels tapping softly. 

Reynolds rested her arm around my shoulders. “Yay! Time to work!” Her voice was tinged with that signature excitement of hers. Her bubble gum scent was even stronger now. The artificial, sweet watermelon was starting to give me a headache. 

 I peeled her arm off of me. “Alright, let’s not do that again.” 

She grinned. “‘Kay!” She skipped off into the front. 

We walked off to the staff door in a group. Our footsteps and Reynolds’s constant streams of excitement echoed through the normally eerie quiet. My headache soon died down to a constant, numb pain, and finally, I could think clearly. Time to get to work.

“Uh, hey, Reynolds, did they ever figure out what happened to that redhead girl?” I slipped in casually, keeping the tone nonchalant. 

She stopped for a second to think. “Hmm. I don’t think so. Oh god, I haven’t thought of her in a while. Hope she’s okay! Oh, and you can call me Nemphis! No need to be formal all the time.” She flashed me a quick thumbs up and went ahead, skipping down the hallway. 

Will shot me a nasty glare, and shook his head slightly. I opened my mouth to argue. Will pointed his chin slightly toward Kair. He looked more aware than usual, his eyes though, still pointed toward the ground. 

I clenched my jaw. We would finish this conversation later. 

We reached the staff door, a large hulking slab of grated metal. Reynolds was waiting patiently; well, that was an overstatement. More like she was doing this awkward little jiggle. Better than her usual racket, but still as annoying as ever. I looked over my shoulder at the others. 

“So um, who has the key?” I asked. Reynolds popped her gum loudly. Will twirled the keychain around his finger. “I do, cause unlike someone, I remember my responsibilities,” Will replied. 

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. “Oh whatever, just open the door.” 

He walked over and the door opened with a click. We walked through the doorway and entered a long hallway. 

“So, who wants the southside and the northside?” Reynolds asked, her big, doll-like, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. 

Will’s eyes met mine. “Uh, we’ll take the southside, if that’s okay with you guys,” I spoke up. 

Kair shrugged and Reynolds gave me a toothy smile. She clapped her hands with excitement. “Excellent! We’ll meet you after dinner. Have a nice day!” She then proceeded to skip down the hallway. Kair slouched and followed her. 

I massaged my temples. God, those two were insufferable. 

Will chuckled. “Those two are great.” 

My left eye twitched. “Are you kidding me? Those two are the most annoying human beings to ever exist.” 

Will laughed. “They truly are the best.” 

We turned the corner. This was one of the new hallways. 3sw, if I wasn’t mistaken. 

“So how many renovations do you think there’s going to be? I mean, it’s been at least three in the past week,” I asked.

Will turned to face me. “I’m not sure, but I think they’re planning something big.” 

“Why’s that?” Odd of Will to do this type of thinking. He was more one for thinking in the moment. 

Will raised an eyebrow. “There’ve been 16 big renovations in the last month, 32 minor renovations, fewer and fewer kids are being brought in. How could something big not be coming?” 

I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but it was just hard to believe that something around here was actually going to happen. 

We turned the next corner. Oh, it’s her. In front of us stood the girl. Her blond locks were as pristine as ever. Those cold, dead, blue eyes seemed to stare into my soul. 

She quickly tucked something into her blazer as she saw us approach. She smiled, not an actual one. It didn’t reach her eyes, the type that only she could pull off. 

“Hello there, can I help you?” Her motions were stiff, as if her joints and bones were made out of metal. Creepy. 

Will cleared his throat with a sudden cough. “No need, we are just passing through. Carry on.” 

 She relaxed her smile, a look of relief washing over before she could contain it. She walked swiftly past us, her shiny blonde curls bouncing behind her. 

I shivered. Something was off about that girl. She may look normal to the glance, but that was just an act. She lacked qualities that made someone human. Her eyes dead-looking, her motions always calculated, never reactive, and, of course, never a hair out of place. A husk of a person. 

Will shook my shoulder. “Hey, come on, let’s get out of here.” 

I snapped back into reality. “Oh… yeah. It’s just that girl… there’s just something off about her,” I stuttered. 

Will snorted. “You know you say this every time you see her. Every single damn time. And I’ll tell you again, the same thing I tell you every time. Stop it. You’re freaking me out.”

I relaxed as a tightness left my chest. I squeezed my palms. “Alright, let’s go. But I’m seriously considering investigating that girl. 

Will muttered under his breath, “Every single damn time.”

I elbowed him. 

He laughed.  

Approximately three minutes later, we reached our destination. I locked the door as we walked into the common room. I leaned against the door as Will cleared the cabinets. 

“Weird. The books aren’t in the same order as I left them.” Will pointed to a stack of books in the corner. 

“One of the kids probably shuffled it up when they were looking for some light reading,” I responded. Will gets like this sometimes. His detective mood, as I like to call it. He gets overly cautious or suspicious over the smallest of details. Never leads to anything, but it is entertaining at the very least. 

“That’s what I thought too, but none of the books are missing.” Will scratched his cheek, deep in thought. 

I shrugged. “So? Maybe they just didn’t find anything good to read.” 

“Hmm. I guess so,” Will mumbled. He didn’t look convinced. I tugged his sleeve to get him back on track. 

“Hurry up before someone wonders what we’re doing here.” He nodded quickly, and started to carefully remove the rest of the clutter. 

There it was, glued to the cabinet panel. The shining yellow button, right out of grandma’s sewing kit. Will pressed down on it, and with a click, the trapdoor opened. 

Below the keypad, the screen displayed today’s motto: Only the strongest prevail. 

I winced. Why this one?

Will clenched his jaw. His face stiffened and cast hard shadows. He quickly typed in the answer: Auckerman.  

Should I talk to him about it? No, we had more important things to worry about right now. 

Will crawled through and leaped down into the tunnel below. I followed after him. We walked in silence, our footsteps echoing through the dark tunnel. I twiddled my fingers nervously. Will looked okay, for the most part. He wasn’t talking or anything, but he wasn’t having a meltdown either. 

We turned the corner and I reached for the metal wall. 

Will grabbed my wrist. “Wait, someone’s been here.” He pointed at a scrap of paper on the floor. Will reached for the slip of paper, and read its contents. 

“Meet me in the attic, 12:00 P.M. Don’t be late.” He crumbled it up and slipped it into his pocket. 

Wait, what? Why would someone make contact now? Especially now? More importantly, who? 

Will looked equally as shell shocked as I was. Five months. That was how long it took for this assignment to get interesting. If this were a mountain, this would be the peak. And well, it would only go downhill from here. 

Will looked deep in thought, his eyes glazed over as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. 

I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hey, snap out of it. Let’s get into the lab first, before you start doing any deep thinking.” 

He nodded in response and stepped back. 

I took a deep breath and focused. A deep tingling shot through my left arm, and my right arm numbed. I bent my left arm’s fingers to test it out. Power coursed through my veins. Excellent! I dug my hand underneath the metal plate, the pads of my fingertips pushed against the width of the metal. I flexed my fingers, the metal slab driving effortlessly into the groove above. 

I flashed a smile at Will. “After you.” I gestured to the now revealed room. 

Will mocked a bow. “Of course my lady,” he said with fake graciousness. He walked into the room.

 I giggled. Will could be fun when he wanted to be. I shook the tingles from my left arm, my right one regaining movement. 

I walked into the lab. Various handbooks were stacked in the corner, and two well-worn swivel chairs were placed in front of a long desk and monitors, some relaying information, others just displaying camera feeds. A lit lantern hung from the ceiling, and our gear was piled in a corner. 

Will sat down on his chair, his eyes glued to the communications monitor. 

“Something wrong?” I asked. Will usually wasn’t this attached to communications, mostly because he didn’t really have any friends, at least none that he was particularly close to. 

“Uh, no. But that’s just the thing. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing about this new message sender,” Will replied, he sounded utterly confused. 

“Should we tell HQ about the message?” I said. I mean, I had no idea what to do. Surely, HQ would have answers.  

Will paused for a second, thinking. “No, I don’t think so, if this was an enemy then why wouldn’t they just stake it out and ambush us. But it also doesn’t make sense that HQ didn’t tell us about it either,” he said thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” I started dramatically, “someone’s gone rogue.” 

“Actually, that would make sense. I mean, it’s simply obscure for someone who doesn’t already know about this place to find it. Plus, there’s the passcode at the trapdoor. They obviously either couldn’t open the last door, or didn’t know there was more,” Will replied, taking my response seriously. 

I checked my watch, 12:30 We would have to hurry up here before someone noticed we were missing.

“Hey.” I nudged Will’s foot. He looked up from the monitor. I tapped my watch. “Dude. hurry up, we gotta go do our job.” He nodded, and quickly sent a message. 

“What did you send?” I asked. 

“Just asked HQ to send a message to make sure our receiving systems are working. Just to confirm this mysterious note leaver isn’t working on HQ’s orders.” 

  “Oh, okay,” I replied. “Are you ready to go?” He nodded again. 

We walked out of the room, and with a gentle nudge, the metal wall came crashing down. 

I inspected it for a moment, looking for any signs of strain or cracks. As perfect as ever. I flashed a thumbs-up to Will. He turned away, and started walking back up the tunnel. 

I grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, wait, we never finished talking about what happened back there with Kair.” 

He looked disgruntled. “You already know why I reacted that way. Do I really have to elaborate?” 

I balled up my fist and gritted my teeth. “Actually yes, do tell me why what I did was so wrong.” 

Will opened his mouth, “One, this is a reconnaissance type two mission, we aren’t permitted to investigate. Second, we are to report any unusual activities, which we did. HQ didn’t permit us to move forward with anything. Third, I’m in charge, not you. Fourth, on top of breaking the rules, you jeopardized our position by asking such blunt questions. If it was anyone but Reynolds we’d probably be captured, found out, or worse.” Will raised an eyebrow. “Explain to me how your actions weren’t wrong.”  

“But… but I just know there’s something deeper to this! I don’t care what HQ said, this is important,” I replied in protest. 

I mean, how could he just let an opportunity like this slide? A girl mysteriously disappeared from a virtually inescapable house. Any sane person would want to know what happened to her. Even if it did break some stupid rules. 

“Hey!” Will raised his voice, the tone angry. “We were given orders and we will follow them. Even if it goes against your hunch. Understood?” 

I looked at my feet. “Understood.” 

We walked in silence through the tunnel. The rest of the day passed at a snail’s pace. My nerves increased the closer it grew to 12. 

11:00. 

11:30. 

11:40

11:45 

I looked over my shoulder at Will. He was standing in the corner fiddling with his gun. I tapped my watch slowly. 

He looked up at me. “You know there’s no use obsessing over the time. All we can do is wait.” 

“Well, we could get a headstart, scout out the attic, maybe a little bit of investigating. What’s the point of just sitting here, let’s put our time to use, even if at the end of all of this it turns out to be pointless,” I suggested. 

Will shook his head. “No, if this mystery person was smart enough to find the tunnel, they wouldn’t be careless enough to leave anything to chance,” he replied, deep in thought. 

“Alright, if you say so.” I wasn’t convinced, but I trusted Will’s judgment. It has saved me plenty of times before, and I’ll count on it again. 

11:50

I tapped my watch again. Will was walking down the hallway before I could say a word. 

I speed-walked after him. “Hey, at least give me some warning next time,” I whispered into his ear. 

“Oh, um, yeah, sorry about that. Just had a thought though,” Will started. “Well, what if this mystery person slipped in recently? That would explain why we haven’t had any contact before. And, well, do you remember what Reynolds said at lunch today?” 

I blanked. “Uh, no. I tend to tune out whenever she starts talking.” 

Will ignored my comment. “Well, she mentioned this new kid, about 17. He was brought in earlier in the morning, before our shift.” 

It started to click in my head. “Wait… isn’t fieldwork permitted at 16? It could make sense that he would be the mystery person we are looking for.”

Will grinned. “That’s what I’m thinking! It didn’t click until now, but when Reynolds told me his name, I thought it sounded familiar.” 

“What’s his name?” I asked. 

Will smiled again. 

“Braylon Kramer.”

Lost at Sea


Prologue 

Hiding from that terrible woman was what we did every day. Hiding in a pocket of darkness, wrapped around each other. I would say something stupid, she would giggle, and I would use her silky, pinkish-tinted blond hair to cover my red face. She didn’t mind, it would only cause us to become more entangled in one another. That was our thing. Our daily routine, you could call it. 

Being in the foster home for as long as we had, it was hard to feel loved, so when you had a friend, you would never let go. But we were different. We were closer than just best friends, choosing each other over getting chosen. 

In an orphanage, Emy would be the obvious choice. She was tall, blond, pretty, and shy to the bare eye. Once you got to know her, she would reveal her feistiness and confident nature to you. 

I reach out my hand and sweep the precious strawberry golden locks out of Emy’s soft, olive, freckled skin and prompt her chin up. She shyly looks down at the base canoe and giggles to herself. When she looks back up at me, I smile to let her know that she is safe with me. She bites her lip and for a second, I regret making the first move until she smiles back at me with the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. The crystal clear sea sparkles with manta rays and dolphins swirl around us as we lean in.  

Her soft lips gently press against mine as the warmth from the sun makes it seem like we will float on the playful waves forever, as her tongue brushes against my teeth and slips in as she puts her hands on my neck and pulls me closer to the point where I can feel her heart race. I grab her waist as she tugs tenderly at my collar, she wraps her legs around my body and I sit down, still holding her waist with one hand but put the other hand on the bench so I don’t fall over. We sit there with the sparkling waters, kissing as we continue to melt into the sunset.

Chapter One 

Emy pulls away and gazes into my eyes only a few inches away from my face as I take a breather. I only half get my breath back before she runs her fingers down my short, deep brown hair and places her hands back on my neck, she pulls me off the ledge I was sitting on, to the bottom of the canoe. I look up at her as she slowly squats down. Our eyes are locked as she sits in a W stance on my lap. In this moment, she looks so beautiful that I can’t move or even breathe. She slowly pushes me down with her palm in the middle of my chest. In a movement, she now has her hands on both sides of my head, she leans forward, hopping onto her knees, coming into an adapted plank. 

In that moment, as we stare into each other’s eyes, and our body heat keeps us warm under the ever-darkening sky above, I am glued to the ground, and her arms locked in place. 

Until she does move. And yet again I am scared she has begun to regret this. She then starts laughing, and I feel relieved, but then concerned. Finally, I realize how strange this situation is, and how stupid my face must look. I also loosen up, and begin to laugh with her.

Emy lowers herself to kiss my cheek, and I pull her into a hug to safely plop her down next to me. We giggle, and look up at the stars. As Emy tries to point out constellations, I think about my life. Better yet my future — with Emy of course, she is my life. I think about this moment. When we go back, will we forget this? If we go back, will we be transported back in time, to before we had experienced this feeling? Do we have to go back?

Of course, we do. I’m not stupid, we don’t know anything about the real world. We would completely start over, a clean slate, you could say. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Starting over. A life with her. Nothing could be more perfect. Nothing.

I quickly shove the idea out of my mind, and try to think of the present. And what I can do to make clear to her that this date isn’t an experiment, or a summer fling, and that she is my everything, and I want to be her everything. Before I can think of what to say next, my heart has beat me to it. I sit up, and Emy looks at me, a tad bit confused.

“Emy,” I say, barely a whisper. Emy senses something off, so she also sits up. I look away, embarrassed, and I almost can’t continue. She puts one hand on my shoulder and uses the other to hold my hand that I am not leaning on. We lock eyes and share a small smile. The warmth flows in from her kind touch, and I now don’t see a reason to not say it. 

“I love you, Emy. I have for as long as I can remember. And not just as friends or family, my love for you goes deeper than that. You are my life and have been, always.” She releases from me, and looks shocked. She seems like she is about to say something, but I guess I will never know. Because right there and then, the canoe is flipped over, and I hit the water with a smack.

~ ~

The water isn’t clear anymore, the tide seems high when it is only deeper from an essence, pushing the sand around, so it is blurry and there is a shadow cast around us. 

Wait, us? Where is she? I open my eyes wider, the burning sensation where sand and saltwater mix up in your eyes covering up the feeling of something coming up behind me. 

There is a minute where I see her with her precious golden locks floating in the water, and her eyes are closed while sharks circle around her, giving me only a few glances at her. All of a sudden, she opens her eyes. The sharks dash away, as I look closer, I see she is looking slightly over my shoulder with a blank expression other than a slight look of anger, and a bit of evil in her eyes. I flinch, and a little bit of air escapes me, but I stay calm. I look closer, her eyes normally ivy green are now a deep magenta, I rub my eyes, not believing what I’m seeing. I open my eyes, hoping that it was just a mind trick because of all the sand and seawater, and that she would be her normal self again, but when I open my eyes, I don’t see her. I look all around but I can’t find her anywhere. 

Where could she have gone? Suddenly, something warm and furry brushes my neck. Could Emy be playing a trick on me? I turn around, hoping to laugh it off, pull us up and figure out what happened. 

The smile fades from my face as I see a slimy tentacle that is connected to a much bigger, bulging figure with rows and rows of jagged, rusting, moldy teeth that has deep, red blood gushing out of its mouth, making the water around me darken as the blood flow starts to pull me towards the monster. It takes me a second to figure out what I am going to do, but when I figure it out, my petrified state only leaves me spazzing out. 

Without warning, the tentacle latches itself to me and squeezes almost all the air out of my lungs, its nails claw at my bare skin, leaving bloody bruises all over me. 

I still can’t see Emy, so with the last of my breath, I yell for her. Still no sign of her, and that is the last bit of oxygen inside of me. With the water filling my lungs and pumping the last bit of air out of my system, I go limp, and my world starts to blacken…

Chapter Two

I awake with a squeak. Sitting up, looking in all directions, not knowing where I am, my familiar den with dark purple curtains on the moldy window that looks out into a brick wall (beautiful view) has been replaced with dim crystals and rocks to create a shaded cave which I am in. I have been washed up in this cave, it is clear to see, the only question is… how?

Clearly, I came in somehow, but where could I have come from? I look around, seeing no obvious exit, and wonder if there was no exit where I could have entered. I slowly put my shaking hands on the ground and push myself up, removing some of the excess dirt and sand from my clothes that smell heavily of seawater. I touch my fingertips to the edge of the wall that I am closest to, and start walking around the perimeter of the spacious cave, feeling all around to make sure a hidden door is somewhere around here.

Halfway through, I start to get really bad headaches, they start getting so bad that I collapse to the floor, hands clenching my head, screaming so loudly that some crystals fall off the ceiling, but I can’t hear, having this migraine hurts so bad that I can’t hear anything. It starts getting so bad that I keep starting to blackout, but have it pass just as I start to faint. Then, as fast as it comes, the brain-crushing headache finally passes for good. I let out a sigh of relief and unclench my hands from my head revealing blood, (yikes). I quickly wipe that on my shirt and get up and cautiously start tracing the walls with my fingertips again. Soon after that, I fall unconscious as memories flood back. I start to remember what happened on the previous night, the ride, the kiss, and the monster. I now also remember small memory clips of how I got here. I see myself rising and then falling, and then another clip where I scream, and then the echo of my voice causes rocks to rain on me. That’s probably why I fell asleep. I look on the ground, yep, these are the rocks that hit my head. I look back up, must have been a nasty fall, sharp boulders, and slimy moss surround the opening of the cave which would make the attempt of my escape fairly brutal.

  Once, twice, five times, I try. There are blisters, bruises, and cuts all over my body, making the purpose of climbing halfway up and then falling down because my arms are about as thick as a stick, then brushing myself off and giving myself a pep talk, saying that I am going to get all the way up and that I am not going to give up halfway, but of course, I would manage to give up.

On the sixth try, I hear a neutral-toned voice say, “Oh, you should probably give up, you’re never going to get out anyway.”

“Well, I think I will with love as my determination,” I manage to grunt as I pull myself up to a rock that I didn’t see before.

“Well, it’s your fault we’re in here,” she snarls. For some reason, that freaks me out and I fall to the ground. Brushing myself off (again!). 

“C’mon, man, I was farther than I ever went before!” I mutter, still not turning around. “I mean, I was right there, I could have reached up and — ”

“Carna,” she whispers. The only person who calls me by my real name is Emy. I whip my head so fast around that my neck starts to hurt.

Chapter Three

“E-Emy? It’s really you? Oh, Emy, are you okay?” I exclaim. ”I’m so sorry,” I whisper, coming closer to her. I reach both my hands behind her neck and pull her even closer for a kiss. Only for her to push me away and flash her magenta eyes at me and say, 

“Stop being so nice like you were to my mom when she didn’t expect you to be gay.” Her eyes look into my soul. It is that moment when something inside of me sinks. Just then, the ceiling comes crumbling down. 

“Emy, what’s going on!?!” I breathlessly scream through the pile of deadly sharp boulders that have come down and just barely missed me. The rock rises and scatters across the walls and the empty space that used to be the ceiling. “E-emy. Emy, please, j-j-just tell me what’s g-going on,” I whimper. She just makes a half-hearted attempt of laughter.

“Hahaha, ha. That’s like what your mother said to me when you didn’t have the guts to tell her that you were lesbian, instead, you ran off like a little baby and hid in some shelter or some crap like that, leaving me to lie to your helpless mom, making me seem like the bad guy when you’re just sitting around doing who knows what, having me do all your dirty work,” she screeches in my ear with a look of either pure disgust, or pure hatred, maybe both.

“Em, I — ” I say with all intentions of apologizing, until she cuts me off.

“Oh don’t ‘Em’ me,” she scoffs as the rocks that I totally forget are there start flying across the cave with a flick of her wrist. “You are the one who convinced me to steal my dead parents’ boat just to have it flung around in the open ocean.” Then, as if I were mad at her, I yell back at her, hopping around trying to avoid the flying rocks.

“You did not steal the boat, you borrowed it.” Realizing how wrong I am with every word I say, I hesitate, allowing one of the rocks to knock me off my feet.

“Oh really, taking it against my mother’s command and then trashing it would not be considered stealing?” she squeaked, her hand now throbbing back and forth, sending boulders smashing into the walls, making everything fall on us.

“Emy, you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that, or anything else. I shouldn’t have been a baby, and hideaway, I should have come clean to my mother and told her I was gay, but that doesn’t mean you should make this whole cave come down on us.” Emy doesn’t stop. 

“Emy, please, I-I-I love you.” Emy falls to the ground and the rocks drop. “Emy, are you back?” I whisper, shaking as I carefully step forward. She rocks back and forth and starts shrieking. While the color drains from her face, a ghost-like figure starts to separate from her face, but just as the demon is about to leave, it gets sucked back in her, giving the color back to her face.

“No!!! Emy will never come back! She is mine forever. She willingly gave me her body,” The demon snorts. “And now I will destroy you.” Emy’s body starts glowing brighter and brighter until she is blinding me. I close my eyes as the cave goes down.

Chapter Four

As soon as I open my eyes, I see that I survived another rock attack, by jumping in a crevice right before the walls come down on me, but what about Emy? Sure a demon that wants to kill me is possessing her, but I still care about her. Would a human body survive if a demon is possessing it? I don’t need the answer ‘cause little do I know I will be finding out soon enough. It starts with a low rumble, and as it gets louder, the rocks start shaking, Then it starts to get to the point where the noise becomes screeching, and the rocks fall out of place. Soon, the location where I am standing becomes discovered by the demon, and the treacherous sea monster waiting to feast on my flesh.

“Hi?” I whisper stupidly, hoping to make up with the monsters. For a second, nothing happens and I think that it is over. “Oh good, I thought I was going to die for a sec — ” 

First, I feel it, another burning sensation, except it is on the outside, then I see it, the flaming red fireball melting anything around us (even the rocks). I panic as my skin starts peeling upwards and the ground starts to suck me in.

“Ahhh!!!” I yell as I jump away from a drop of boiling rock liquid from the raging fire that makes holes in the ground bigger than me and Emy combined. What to do when standing in the middle of a burning fire under a pile of melting boulders? Then I see it, the small opening created by the screeching noise would be the perfect hideout. I crawl through only to remember that is the only way out, and the only way for the fireball to get in, so I am going towards the threat with my near red skin that is still on fire… oh well, can’t go back now, the fire still in there has melted the rocks over the hole and now has solidified. Great.

Before I know what to do, I am whisked up into the clouds by the easily recognizable barf-colored tentacle. Only this time, if I don’t get out soon, my ribs will probably crack. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t kill me, I know that I have been a terrible person while I have been trying to keep my life together, Emy has helped me see the error of my ways, and I hope to change for her and for the better of me.” The monster’s grip on me loosens. I try to shoot a hopeful glance at Emy, but she has disappeared. I look at the creature’s black shadow of a body, and stare dead into its beady red eyes as its glow fades slightly. “Please, I don’t want to die here, I want to be at home with Emy by my side when I finally nod off. Don’t you?” The last thing I see before I fall to my death is the red glow coming back to its eyes.

When I open my eyes again, I am in Emy’s bruised arms at a nook in the still-standing section of the cave, the crystals shine against Emy’s soft smile, forgetting whatever demon was inside her for a moment or two.

“How long was I out for?” I whisper, brushing a golden lock out of her scared face.

“For only a few seconds,” she replies, holding my hand to her face. I pull her into a tight hug. Realizing that I just fell from the sky, I panic and pull back.

“What’s wrong?” Emy asks, loosening her grip on me.

“How am I not dead? Am I dead?” I yell.

“What? No, you’re not dead, why?” she questions, looking concerned.

“The fall. When I fell, wait, did you catch me?” I exclaim. She smiles at me warmly. “Wait! What about the demon, did it leave you alone? Did you defeat it?” I ask, hope in my eyes, while also pushing away as far as I can still being in her arms.

“Well, not — ” Emy cuts herself off, 

“Exactly,” the demon voice finishes. She falls, dropping me. She holds her head in a circling motion.

“Emy, pull yourself together!” the demon voice inside her screeches, making her shiver uncontrollably.

“No! I will not give in to you!” Emy yells, trying to separate herself from the demon. Seeing this, and not knowing what to do, makes me hate myself, it is horrible watching this, but I can’t just leave her to fend for herself, what type of heartless monster would do that?

With this destruction, whooshing noise becomes louder from a small section of the cave, but I don’t turn because I am too busy trying to figure out what to do.

Then, something starts illuminating the same dark and damp part of the cave that is not destroyed by the demon. Abruptly, white flames erupt from the illuminating section of the cave, blowing up the whole place and leaving rusty white spots in that area. Ouch, that must hurt insanely. From the dust comes the terrorist sea monster, which has a look of hunger in its eyes. I guess it has come to take my soul, too. 

I watch, petrified, in fact too much so I can’t even hear the constant battle between Emy and the demon. I look down, sensing a tickle that is constantly getting worse. I realize that the fire has gotten to me and my skin has been rotting for at least five seconds because the fire has some sort of acid chemical reaction that is eating at my skin. If I didn’t feel it before, I definitely feel it now, the pain of it tearing through my skin, even muscle is too much for me to handle, even with it slowing down, it is eating at me pretty quickly. With some muscles gone, standing is not an option, I fall back, hitting my head, hard.

“Uhhnn!” I moan, rubbing my head. “Ahhhhhhhhh!!!” I scream, the pain of my muscles overwhelm me with absolute and utter pain! If that isn’t enough, the Kraken-like creature is now charging at me. I try to get up, but all I can do is sit still. Sitting stiller than stone, wondering what to do with my seemingly last few moments on Earth. I build up the courage to say my last words. 

“Through everything we have gone through, we have stayed together. I have always loved you Emy, even before I knew I did. Through thick and through thin, you have always been there for me, and I love you for that but I’m just sorry that I have not been the best to you these past few years, and I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me for that, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you!” I cry as life fades away from me. With that, I close my eyes, hoping my death will be an easy transition to Heaven or, more likely, Hell. Lying, running away from home, and making my girlfriend do all my bidding for me will not get me into Heaven.

Chapter Five

Thump thump, thump thump.

Is all I hear.

 My heart beating, everything else is silent.

 Scared to open my eyes. Cold all around me, I shiver. 

Scared to open my eyes… I do anyway.

Chapter Six

Slowly, my eyelids open to see my bare, scarred feet, drenched with blood. Confused, I quickly look up and see the same cave I was just in but only, the creature is leaving the cave, looking satisfied. Maybe the shot did hit me and I’m dead. That would make a lot of sense, and why is Emy sleeping? Nothing really made sense. If I’m not alive I wouldn’t get the honor of Emy in my living Hell, unless I got into Heaven. (But we all know what the chances of that would be after all that I’ve done.) On the other hand, I would still doubt that sleeping is the last thing she would be doing while she tried to battle the demon. 

I walk over to her, and look down, seeing a big tear of fabric near her torso. I feel my jaw drop when I can see deeper than just her skin, but before any sounds can come out, I feel the warm, heavy breathing of something behind me. The moistness, and height of where it came from make me freeze. I gather up courage and slowly turn around.

The Kraken thing looks at me as if it were grinning. I feel as if there were something building up inside of me. To my surprise, it doesn’t feel like fear, it feels more like anger. A deep rage burns hotter and hotter inside my soul. Suddenly, I do not think that Emy is sleeping anymore. I don’t feel like she is safe.

And I have a strong feeling it has something to do with the Kraken. I feel it with each heave of its breath, and every time a basketball-sized glob of drool falls to the stone floor we are both standing on. I sense that it knows something I don’t.

In the moment of stillness, the Kraken suddenly gets impatient for a reaction, and it swings at me. Somehow, I manage to dodge the attack as if I know it will happen ahead of time, and with even more anger fueling my actions, I charge at the oceanic beast, and manage to throw it across the cave in one fell swoop. 

As soon as it hits the ground, it vanishes in a cloud of dust. I don’t even take the time to process how in a flurry of wrath, I have not just lifted, but thrown the foul creature who had probably weighed about a ton all the way across the cave.

Not even a little bit. The first thing I do is check on Emy. Being able to take a closer look, I realize how much damage was actually done.

Chapter Seven

“God! Emy, this is bad. This is really bad!” I panic. She then wakes up, and looks at me with a sad smile, as if she has already accepted that there is no hope. 

“But…” I speed up, trying to put on a brave face. “If we get you home now, we can patch you all up, and we will be alright! I-I-I mean you will be alright.” 

I start to pick her up, but I stop when I realize she feels very limp in my arms as if she were barely even there, but she is there. All the way there, so I try again. This time, I try to ignore the emptiness within her and get her out of there as soon as I can.

I stop when I feel her small, stone-cold, hand against my arm. I look down to see her warm eyes politely asking me to put her back on the ground, so I do. How can I deny my dying girlfriend’s request even if it means a zero percent chance of her survival?

NO! There is no way she would have me stop trying to save her. She knows what would happen to me if she stops breathing, she knows how much she means to me… but does she? 

What am I even thinking? Of course she knows. She also knows what I could do to save her. That’s why she stopped me, she has a better way to save herself, a faster way to secure her survival.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?” I ask, energized. She looks at me as if I had asked her if she wanted to do jumping jacks while fighting a bear. “You know… to save you and all?” I feel my voice get all scratchy, and I swallow hard to push down the bad feeling that has started to arise. She opens her mouth to say something, but without even realizing it, I cover her mouth.

I have just asked a question, but I don’t let her answer. I don’t even know why.

Yes, I do. I don’t want to hear what she has to say. I know it will be something bad. I KNEW IT THE WHOLE TIME! Ever since I saw her there, I’ve known she is losing to the universe, I’ve known she is slipping away, I’ve known she is almost gone, I know…

… she is almost dead.

Chapter Eight

Her eyes are wide but understanding as I release her mouth from my tight grip. My hands go up to my face and I rub my eyes. Hard. It hurts, but I hope I will see a different image when my eyes defog.

“Hey!” Emy tries to yell, but fails due to lack of breath support. Her failed attempt causes another wave of emotion that blows through me. I can see her readjust as she looks at the pain on my ever dampening cheeks.

“Hey,” Emy whispers this time. “Don’t do that.” She gives me a partially disapproving look. I look at her, confused, and she removes my hands from my eye region. I sigh, a bit relieved knowing that she still cares about me even during what could be her final moments. She also sighs, and brings my trembling hands to her face. I restabilize, as her warm breath slowly comes in, and out, from her subtly parted lips, onto the backs of my hands. Which she has placed on her cheeks to which her slightly pointed nose pokes out in the gap between them. It is slightly uncomfortable, but I don’t really notice. How am I going to get through her eventual departure?

“Carna?” she whispers into my hand.

After this, Emy and Carna share a moment where Emy tells Carna that she loves her but that she has to go on without her and, with that, Emy dies. Carna then finds some wood on the beach that she pulls together and puts a sail on and has to find her way home from being on this island in the middle of nowhere. I guess you could say that she was lost at sea 😉

Ott: Part One

Chapter 1

Lunging, leaping over logs and trees, the pitter-patter of light footfalls was eerily absorbed by the misshapen flora. Something was running. A huge noise sounded behind the runner, a noise reminding the four-legged runner of the danger. A huge golem-like pillar of stone and crystal, quickly folding its form into a shape that’s strange, and yet relatable to a tiger. The runner was interested, and yet terrified. The runner then made a decision. Veering from its path, it went to an area. Here, the trees seemed to take all hope from most creatures, and the area was forever coated in a thick, sickly green mist. He had spotted it earlier, and had quickly sketched a design on a special medallion that all tribe members took as a precaution. It looked akin to a piece of amber, its center now shining. The golem creature stopped on the edge of this patch of woods. Its bright eyes blazed, a beacon of golden light, with a hint of aqua blue and red, before it padded its way back into the woods.

Ott, for that was the four-legged runner’s name, stopped on the far side of this evil patch and thought about his life. Before he became a fully fledged member of his tribe, the Amberpatch tribe, he had thought of its scout option as perilous, but thrilling. Ott loved what he did, of course, but things certainly weren’t easy. Especially for his species. They were the kornads, and, while very much sentient and intelligent, they sometimes felt out of place. Were the small, weak kornads really supposed to be here? Ott often pondered this question. Now his primary thought was, What was evolution thinking! (Of course, he didn’t think in English. It would be silly to believe that kornads, a species from another world, would think in a language they had not ever heard of. No, the kornads thought ((and spoke)) in the aptly named language kornadin, which will be translated.) His second thought was, I need to get back to the grus (village). Indeed, he did, for he was in uncharted waters, so to speak, and was in serious trouble unless he could get back to the Amberpatch village (grus). Ott knew this full well, and began to navigate homeward.

The sky was pale blue and had a fluffy aspect, and judging by the cloudless sky, nobody would have guessed that the day could have taken any bad turns. A pale orange was peeking over a now purple sky when Ott finally settled down. Climbing up a now not so foreboding evergreen, he thought on the events of the previous week. They were tracking a malfunctioning shape golem. These creatures were ‘tamed,’ so to speak, by the Amberpatch village, by feeding them a magical amber-like substance they called ‘thren.’ This put them into a state of pacification, which was mutually enjoyed. The shape golems loved thren, and could develop bonds with the Amberpatch tribe, and the Amberpatch tribe loved the comforting presence of the giant pillars of earth, and could also bond with golems. The comfort of the golems was normally understandable. The bonds between golems and Amberpatch were often so strong, that they would defend each other with their lives (or for golems, spirits), thus it was obviously comforting to have a friendly, extremely powerful, ever-shifting, mound of minerals and stone, from ages gone by in the bowels of the earth. There were, however, exceptions, occuring before the bonding of golem and kornad. One such exception fled from the Amberpatch village, into the woods. The elders of the village (as well as the inhabitants formed a democratic/oligarchy hybrid government) turned from hope that the golem went to a watchportal (a rift usually leading to the Deren mountains) or ran across a boundary bordering a neighboring village’s territory, to fear of the golem that replaced the peace. Ott and the other master scouts had been sent to monitor the golem. In his nook in the evergreen, Ott now wished he had his golem. Understand that golems are not comforting for no reason. All respectable full members of the tribe had golems, and they are extremely strong, capable of deadlifting over 300 times the weight of the evergreen that Ott was now sitting in. They are only truly destroyed if their heart of thren is removed, this being the reason that they consume so much. The bigger the heart, the stronger the golem (an interesting tidbit could, and will, be inserted here: if a golem reaches a certain age, possesses certain traits, and has a big enough heart, it can ‘ascend.’ This turns the golem a bright amber color, with a tinge of color based on the traits that it ascended with. Only two cases have ever occured where a golem has ascended). Also, their heart can only be accessible if the golem’s body is utterly destroyed, and its traits are somehow reversed. Anyhow, Ott was wishing for an incredibly fast mount and companion, and this was ideal for his golem. Called Goran, Ott’s golem preferred (remember, they are shape golems, they can be whatever shape they are inclined to be, but everybody has their favorites, and golems are no different) to be a huge bird, incredibly quick with the ability to send an electric pulse (Goran was made of a special electrical ore found deep underground) into things he pierced with his talons or formidable beak. He was always shining with a comforting glow, which was, though Ott was denying it, very vital. He was not afraid of the dark. 

This, however… this is nothing natural, he thought somewhat wryly, on an occasion when he almost succumbed to this dark, halfway through the night. He was far too close to the evil, hope-sucking glade. Touching his amber necklace, a gift from his family, he drew hope from it, even as it grew warm and started to glow. His thoughts unclouding, he shook the last strands of drowsiness. He began moving away from the glade, back toward his village. The darkness drew back, surprised that its prey had not succumbed, and realizing that it never would. Then that malicious presence fled back to the evil places of the world, having come to the conclusion that it had no power over Ott. Ott realized, as the presence was lifted, that he had won a small victory. He also realized, somewhat discouragingly, that he had still not attained complete safety. Complete safety would only be attained when he made it back to his village. Poor golem, he thought, remembering the chase that led him into the glade. What a great honor it had attained, but so lost. He remembered its coloring. It let me go. I know it’s an ascendant, it let me go.

Chapter 2

Thinking about the rank of the golem, he suddenly felt saddened. Based on studies of golems, he agreed with most of the Amberpatch scientists that an ascendant golem with no kornad bonded to it was incredibly sorrowful, and as shown by its behavior, would flee, becoming aggressive toward all creatures. It only wanted kindness, but when finding none or little, it became enraged. Ott, once or twice in the night, thought he faintly saw a golden glow, and a glint of aqua blue eyes. He had already thought about bonding with it, however, it was very rare that anyone could have 2 bonds. They were called the golem-loved, and by the nobles of the kornads, were thought of as greedy. Nobody really thought of the nobles well, as eventually most of their golems turned orange with an access of exposure to its master’s powerful greed. However, the nobles somehow managed to retain power, and often doubled as famous merchants. This was most likely why they were tolerated, thought Ott, as the sun began to glimmer through the dew laden forest. His kornad eyes noticed the beauty of the sight, and he made a decision. He drew out a large portion of thren from a nearby crystal using a pick that all scouts needed in order to provide for their, in this case nonpresent, golems. He delicately broke the slightly cylindrical golden substance in two, then cut (yes, cut, with a knife he had on him for precaution, thren is of the consistency of gold, and can be cut) it into smaller pieces, spending hours carving them into snowflakes, and leaves and drops of water as well as other nature related objects he could recall from memory. This was for two reasons. One, golems perceive time and effort, as well as emotion, as caring and happiness. Two, golems always want a specific shape. This is a way they learn, and there will always be at least one emotion (or element, the two are interchangeable when it comes to the heart of golems) that the golems will have at any one point, and they enjoy canceling it out, as it gives them peace. Ott carved an access of snowflakes and mini fires. He did this for a reason, too. He felt that anger and sadness could be combated with ice and fire. He faced toward the last position he had seen the ascendant golem, and layed out the pieces, making sure to put the fires in the back. He didn’t need an ascendant following him that was angry. After laying them out, he continued his journey picking up a few more bars of thren (thren, unlike gold, is very light. Also, if you were thinking he was foolish to add weight to his pack, then hush yourself. Remember, Ott is a professional. If you ever doubt him, try not to, as there is an equal chance for you to be wrong as to be right).

Over Ott’s next few nights, he felt the golem following him even more closely. He kept feeding it and he began to feel its anger lessening. As he neared the mountains (Ott was too far away from his village in order to go back the way he came, and therefore, went to the mountains in hopes of finding a watchportal), he felt the air becoming frigid, and a layer of frost began to coat the rocks and the wind started to pick up. He now had a requirement for fire.

On one of his firewood-gathering expeditions, he saw something gold glint in the trees. He went stiff, not sure whether to expect caring or another chase. The ascendant golem walked close to him. Unsure whether to run, he put an extra bar of thren in front of the tiger-like golem, the golem merely nudged it back to him with it’s tiger-like head. Returning to his senses, and realizing it did not mean harm, he drew a few large snowflake shaped pieces of thren. He had spent an entire day on it, ending up leaving behind only two. It nudged his hand and his hand tingled with heat, and an electrical feeling filled them. He fed the thren carefully to the huge tiger of earth and a sound not too different from purring rumbled from its throat. He wondered if his doubts about forming a bond with two golems were well-founded. From that point forward, the golden golem came closer and closer to his campsite, and by the time he reached the base of the huge mountain, covered in dark green forest that faded to a pearly white snow, with blotches of orange and brown from the softly curving rock formations lining the peaks, the golem was staying in his campsite. He fed it thren, and whenever he fell asleep he could feel the now calming warmth of the ascendant golem, and a soft buzzing filled the air (akin to bees, but not quite as violent). This humming and waves of heat coming from the pines and sturdy aspen (though not of the species of earth, mind. Remember – different planet, different plants, you get the idea) around his fire and shelter. Also, Ott excelled at shelter building in the wild, only using natural resources. Here is a description of a more long term one. He took a piece of a crystal (not thren, and yes, the crystal was on the ground, and the base is only shale, a fairly brittle rock, and easily broken) and flintknapped (to put it primitively, banged rocks together to make sharp rocks) a long slice out of the sturdy crystal (called yunzite) and cut (with his knife, the knife is very well made) wedges out of the slice, and attached it to a stick, making a saw. Then he cut down the aspen (different genus!) nearby to make the base of his structure. Then he laid more logs on the base (he pounded the base in upright) to make an elevated structure to which he added fern walls and a roof. He headed along the base of the mountain range until he figured he was in the middle. He then made a more elaborate structure, a small log cabin, using tools he made out of kunzite. He was, however, worried. Extremely dangerous things that had no name, or were too dangerous for their name to be used casually. Things that could easily tear through 12 feet of metal, much less 10 inches (or 30.48 centimeters, or 18 olges, which is the form of measurement in Ott’s world) of wood. At least, he thought, I have a golem around my campsite, and an ascendant golem, no less

On the 7th night into his wait for a watchportal, he heard an unearthly gurgling outside his cabin. A rumble shook the structure. Ott went outside through the back door, and as he prepared to peer around the side, another gurgle came from whatever was outside and a snort, a short ragged one. When his eyes almost peeked around the wall, he heard another snort and was pinned to the ground. A nameless fear overtook him as a giant shape slithered out and distinct fangs began to draw closer to him. He surely would have been finished if not for one factor. A golden glow began to shine, quickly coming closer, and the dark shape turned and lunged at the light. The light grew almost blinding and Ott could make out the shape of a golden tiger, or something that looked like one at least, slashing at the dark shape. An unearthly howl arose from where those awful fangs were and the shape went limp as it was blasted across the campsite. Ott, reeling from the light, approached the dead creature. He had a vague memory of seeing one before. It had killed the golem it was attacking. It was one of the few things that could truly kill a golem. This golem defeated something that nothing is meant to defeat.

In the next few days, he allowed himself to be outside at night, recognizing the danger was removed. This allowed him to gradually improve his shelter, until the point where it felt like a cabin in the woods. He made a small shelter near the edge of his camp, which was now well defined, and used it as a place to make and store food for the golem that was always nearby. It occurred to him on the 12th night that the golem was developing a bond with him. He did not feel bad about it. His other golem, Goran, back in the Amberpatch village, was of an accepting type, and as he began to discover traits of the ascendant, he learned that they were similar in more ways than he first thought. Goran and the ascendant would be close friends, that much was apparent. In the evening of that day, he heard the humming associated with watchportals. The ascendant golem’s golden ears (or what looked like ears) perked up and he bounded forward, curious. Ott followed him. When Ott caught up, they began a small hike to the source of the humming. As they passed through the trees, Ott thought it would be alright to tell the golem about Goran. As they came closer to the humming, Ott realized something. 

“I just now realized something,” he said curiously. “I’ve never asked what your name was.” 

Gradually, the golem responded, “Roont.” 

The golem said this cautiously, as if these were his first words. 

“Roont,” Ott responded, trying to hide his moderate astonishment. He was not too surprised, as he already suspected strongly that he had bonded to Roont. However, only golems with bonds can speak, and only with the kornad they had bonded to. This was his final proof that Roont had bonded to him. Coming upon the watchportal, he noticed something strange about it. The land beyond it looked unfamiliar. Putting this off as simply distortion, he walked through, Roont trailing behind him.

To Be Continued…

Some Dumb Stuff I Made Up

Once there was a 21-year-old dude named Jamie and he really wanted to go to the movies with his friends, but his dog AJ ripped up all of his money. This wasn’t something AJ usually did, but it was bad timing because that morning, Jamie and his friends were going to go to the movies. 

So he had to go ask some random dudes on the street for some cash. 

“Could you spare a dollar?” he asked every person who walked by. 

They all gave him a dollar each so he had 15 dollars and the ticket cost 17 dollars.

Just then, it started thundering outside. Jamie tried to come up with a strategy to come up with those extra two dollars. His favorite video game was GTA 5, which gave him an idea. He had to rob a bank, and steal two dollars. 

So he went home and got his airsoft gun and he went to Wells Fargo. He was really nervous because he was afraid to get caught, but the bank was practically empty when he got there so there wasn’t a lot to worry about. He robbed the two dollars from the bank. He ran home because they were going to see the movie at 6:30 and it was only 2:30 so he needed to kill some time before the movie. 

He fed AJ and gave him some water when he got home. He forgave him because he knew the dog didn’t know any better. 

Then he met his friends Johnny, Billy, and Timmy at the movie theater in Manhattan. And then he realized that before he robbed the bank, he texted his friends and already told them that he didn’t have enough money, so Johnny said that he would pay for his ticket, and that was when he knew, he got a free ticket. “Thanks, my boy,” Jamie said.

“No problem, my g.” 

The banker was so shocked that Jamie robbed the bank for only two dollars that he didn’t even do anything about it. Jamie learned to be patient and not be in a rush all the time.

Ally and the Broken Wing

Ally is a bird. Ally wants to fly, but her wing is broken.

For almost all her life, Ally has tried to fly but fell each time she tried. One day, she felt like she would never be able to fly again. On that day, she decided never to practice flying ever again. A week later, Ally saw a boy whose legs were paralyzed, trying to walk across the Beluga Bridge, which is as long as a real beluga!

That’s impossible! Ally thought. He can’t do that. His legs are paralyzed!

Ally was curious about what was going to happen next, so she continued to watch. The boy started walking, but fell on his third step. He hurt his face and was about to cry. But something changed. He looked different. He looked determined. He continued walking across the bridge. Even though he fell and was as slow as a turtle, he still kept walking.

Why does he continue to walk? Ally thought.

Once he got to the end of the bridge, a crowd of people hugged him and told him, “Great job.”

When they were praising him, a woman said, “Why did you do this? We thought you couldn’t!”

The boy replied, “At first, I thought the same thing. I fell every time I tried to walk, and it felt like I couldn’t do it. But then I noticed a quote in my hospital room. It said: never give up. I read the quote and decided not to give up on walking. Then, I read in a magazine about the Beluga Bridge, and decided to walk across the bridge. The first time I fell, I felt like crying and giving up. But then I remembered the quote. That quote was the reason I got through and was able to cross the bridge.”

Never give up, Ally thought. That day, Ally walked away with that quote in her mind. The next day, she decided to practice flying again. She practiced and practiced until her red wings became so wet. While she was practicing, a veterinarian saw Ally. The vet thought, That bird has a broken wing! I should fix it! And so the vet did! Ally was so happy that she cried tears of happiness!

“Thank you so much!” Ally said with her fixed-wing. And for the first time, Ally flew faster and higher than the other birds.

Leslie for President

I was made for this moment. Two days ago, I never would have thought that I would have the guts to do this. Just the thought of all my classmates staring at me sent shivers down my spine. The announcer called out, “Leslie Gellerstien, please come up to the podium.” I stood up, clutching my paper, and marched up to the front of the room. I can do this, I thought. 

Walking up to the stage, I saw Emma out of the corner of my eye. She waved and gave me an encouraging smile. Actually, she was the reason I was here in the first place. I made a tiny wave back.

Running for student president was a big move for me. I was known as the quiet girl who got good grades on tests, but not in participation. My competitors’ faces faded away and I floated up the steps to the stage. I could do this!

What happened next was extremely random and weird. First, the ground started shaking. Then, everybody started freaking out because it was actually a very big tremor. Outside, we also heard people panicking and cars beeping their horns. Suddenly, part of the roof fell down into the top balconies and a creature with a lion head and the body of a bird came crashing through the ceiling. It was very bizarre, and for a moment everybody was frozen in shock. Then the thing roared and everybody started jumping out of their seats and pushing each other to head towards the exit. 

I, however, stayed in one place and stared at the creature as if he were a misbehaved kitty wrecking a glass vase. Eventually, he met my eyes with his own. They were gold and red with little orange specks all over them. I made my gaze fiercer and fiercer. On the other hand, his gaze seemed to be getting weaker and weaker. I kept wearing him down like that until he slowly started to back away. With my eyes, I tried to communicate to him to go or else. I didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t go, but I was assuming it wouldn’t be good for me so I kept staring him down. Suddenly, he opened his yellow wings and flew away into the sky. From then on, I wasn’t known as the quiet girl anymore. I was the girl who saved everybody’s lives.

Luca’s Timer

Luca rubbed the timer imprinted on his wrist. It was currently April 7th. 

312h

It was stuck at 312 hours. 312 hours. In 312 hours, it was his birthday. So what was this timer, you may ask? Well, this timer was not for his birthday, that’s for sure. This timer actually had nothing to do with Luca at all. This timer was for his soulmate. Kai White. But don’t tell him about the timer. He can’t know about that yet.

Luca was completely aware that Kai was his soulmate. The only problem was that Luca didn’t love Kai. Luca loved someone else. But that can’t be, you might be thinking. Soulmates are soulmates forever, through thick and thin, and life and death! That’s what you were told, at least. Luca Davis is in love with another person. Will King stole his heart. Or, he thought so.

Will was his favorite person to be around. Not so much anymore though, but I’ll get into that later. They spent many long, beautiful nights together under the stars and shared many important moments. Luca used to not care about Kai in the slightest. Or before, if he did, he showed no sign and put it in the back of his head to where the thoughts he had about Kai could get lost forever in the hormonal world of his mind.

***

Kai was suffering from one-sided love. He knew Luca would never love him back, and he gave up trying. 

753,360h 

You might question the fact that the timers on each other’s wrists were so different. The reason for that is quite simple. But I’ll leave you to figure that one out. Because the reason is vital to the ending of the story, and I can guarantee it will not be a good one. These boys are very different, but oh so similar in so many ways. Kai just loves to stare at Luca during class, when the teacher is distracted, he can get into the foreign jungle of tangled daydreams about him and his soulmate. 

This whole soulmate thing is a sick and twisted ideal. Especially when your soulmate loves someone else. Kai’s heart aches whenever Luca shows affection towards Will. He feels like a piece is missing. But he tries to not let it affect Luca’s relationship. Because if Luca’s happy, he’s happy. 

***

311h

Luca noticed the time on the timer was suddenly different. This is not the first time this happened, as Luca has had this timer on his arm since he was little. It was always counting down, and he could do nothing but wait until time’s up. It seemed an hour had passed since he last checked. It was the only mysterious thing about his explosive personality. He took it upon himself to google it.

What happens in 311 hours? 

The answers he got were no help at all. They were things like, ‘Dial 311 for NYC tax service!’ or, ‘The state of New York, 311’. Besides his birthday, he really couldn’t think of anything at all. Luca called Will in hopes of the redhead being in some help to this mystery. Alas, that was not the case.

“What happens in 311 hours, babe?”

“I don’t know, what happens in 311 hours?”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Is it?”

“No, I’m dead serious. What happens in 311 hours?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I can look it up for you.”

“I tried that already.”

“Why is 311 so important?”

“It just is. Nevermind.”

“Alright. I love you, Luc.”

“I love you too.” Saying that felt weird to Luca. It felt forced, like he no longer meant it but he had been doing it for so long that he couldn’t stop. Like a drug almost, except without the feel-good part. Luca hung up the phone and sighed. He loved his boyfriend, yes, but recently he seemed to have… fallen out of love? 

Is that the right mix of words?

***

Kai noticed sometimes that Luca likes to tuck a strand of hair behind his ears. Kai wonders how that is even possible, considering Luca’s hair was short. Kai knows that even though Luca will probably end up getting a soulmate reassignment, he’ll probably never find another soulmate. Or maybe he will, but the chances of that are really slim. Especially since he lost the love of his life so young, he is 16 years old. But just seeing that Will can put a smile on Luca’s face makes his heart drop to his feet. It’s been picking away at him slowly. It’s unclear how much more of it he can take. He doesn’t worry though, he knows everyone will have a happily ever after. But that’s not how life works. Everything can change. His whole life could turn upside down, and he’ll never be the same Kai and he knows it. But fate chose not to do that to him yet. So he’ll just have to wait everything out and see what happens.

To be continued…

Shoes

As I looked out the window, the 6 train was getting close to my stop, 77th street, with the usual EEEEE OOOOO sound. Getting off the train always made my heart race because I thought of it as the “critical moment.” In order to be ready to go to the main world, I looked at myself in the mosaic-built number: 77, and smoothened my hair down. Next, I gently tucked in my shirt, so that the coffee stain was not visible, and again flattened my messy, morning hair. “Decent,” I whispered under my breath, and walked up the subway stairs onto the sidewalk. Walking on 77th street always feels like paradise. As I look into the stores’ windows, I see shiny coats, bright-colored lipsticks, pants with big fancy logos, and many other flashy, Upper East Side items. I always dreamed of having a fancy wardrobe, I would be a whole different person, I would feel different, but as I walked closer and looked inside the window my jaw dropped. 

“$203.99 for a pair of shoes?” my inner voice exclaimed.

Looking at my watch, I realized that it is already 8:15, school started in 5 minutes and I had 6 more blocks to walk! I rushed up East End Avenue and ran as fast as I could possibly run, not letting anything around me make me stop. In the corner of my eye, I saw a big black van, it did a sharp turn my way. Looking up, I saw a red street light, my vision started to blur and blood started rushing to my brain, I suddenly lost control of my body and didn’t know where I was. “Probably will be marked late,” I thought.

I woke up to a loud beeping noise, it hurt my ears, so I tried getting up, but I couldn’t, because I couldn’t feel a single part of my left rib cage. I looked around.

“Where am I?” I called out. 

Managing to turn my head, I saw my mother and father sitting on a bench next to me. I had never seen them like this before. Mom’s face was swollen up and her eyes were red, like they were when grandma had died. Dad was holding mom’s hand, and as manly as he was, I also saw a worried look on his face.

“There’s been an accident, Kiki. Are you feeling alright?” said my dad in a soft and gentle voice.

“Thank God you woke up!” exclaimed mom, crossing her hands over her chest.

Suddenly, I started remembering: the black van, the red light, the shoes, East End Avenue. It was as if the puzzle pieces were somehow coming together to create a picture, a memory. I  laid back down onto the pillows. The pain in my side started to grow again. Through the glass door, I saw a man in blue scrubs and a white doctor’s jacket. He seemed very busy and sleepy, but once he opened the door into my room, he put a bright smile on his face.

“Kiara, how are you feeling?” inquired the doctor.

“Fine,” I answered as energetically as I could.

“You did great in the rib cage repair surgery this morning! The nurse will check on you again tonight, but it looks like you can be discharged soon!”

Surgery!? Ribcage repair!? I suddenly felt trapped. 

Get me out of here! I yelled inside my head, knowing that if I actually yelled, I would probably be brought to the psych wing of Lenox Hill instead of being discharged. Again, I started to feel weak, and giving up on my thoughts and worries, I closed my eyes. 

It was a normal morning, I was sitting in the kitchen biting into my morning toast (slightly hot with melty butter). 

“Time to get going, Kiki!” said my mother, sitting down at the kitchen table, putting down my jacket and my backpack on the chair next to me.

“I’m not 6 anymore, but thanks, Mom,” I responded, picking up my bag and jacket. 

Like always, I walked on the dirty, gum-covered sidewalk of 34th street and entered the smelly, underground world in which I traveled every day to get to school. There I sat, thinking about nothing at all because, well, it was the morning and I am NOT a morning person. When I arrived at 77th Street,  I quickly looked into the numbers, checking out how I looked today. I was my usual morning self, my curly hair poofing out of my head, my eyes still sleepy. I quickly fixed that up and began trotting to the place I was intending to go.

I opened the heavy, early 20th century doors of my school, entering the massive building embellished by a green sign, Chapin.

“Hi, Kiki,” said my friend Lili, greeting me in the lobby.

“Hey,”  I responded, stepping closer to Lili and walking up the stairs to the 5th floor with her. As usual, it was torture, because we weren’t allowed to take the elevator, and it was even worse in the morning, I was never up for this physical challenge. As we entered the 5th floor I saw the usual group of girls talking by their lockers, in other words, my friends. We smiled at each other, because even though it was morning, we were always glad to see each other.

“Where did you get that shirt? It’s super cute,” asked my friend, Sammy.

“Well, sorry, I don’t reveal my secrets,” replied Lili, making all of us laugh.

I lifted my head from the laughter and was ready to go to class. I looked around to say bye to my friends, and to my surprise, saw Sammy making a weird face. She was looking somewhere near me and seeming as if she just ate the grossest thing in the world.

“Ewww, Kiki, what is that on your shirt!” she exclaimed, pointing down to my waist.

Shoot! I completely forgot about my stain! What was I thinking?!

“Ewww,” agreed Lilly.

The other girls joined in and laughed, pointing at me as if I were a circus animal.

I wished that I disappeared. How was I not paying attention in the subway?! 

Suddenly, my vision started to blur and I saw the black van, the red light…

I woke up breathing hard and sweating. I still heard their “ewws” echoing in my head.

“Is everything alright, honey?” asked my mom gently, leaning towards my hospital bed and touching my hand as she would always do when there is something going on. 

I was not in the mood for talking, but I was glad that there was someone to comfort me after the nightmare. The thoughts of it still couldn’t come out of my head though. I couldn’t bear that feeling of shock, of being scared of nothing, when there were actual things to worry about. The pain in my side was like sticking a knife in my body every time I took a breath. I tried to take shorter breaths, but that only made it hurt more. 

As the doctor planned before, the nurse came in and checked on me.

“How is everything going?” asked the nurse politely, leaning over my hospital bed.

“She has been in a lot of pain,” replied my father, worrisomely.

The nurse gently touched the area around my left lung. I grunted from the pain. It was as if there were a million guns in there, shooting me.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine, I will just quickly get Dr. Firn, who was on your case from the very beginning,” the kind nurse assured us.

Dr. Firn came into my room and examined me yet another time. After a while of feeling different spots, and asking me where it hurt, it seemed as if something was on his mind.

“Kiara, unfortunately, I have to tell you that there was a complication from the surgery. Since you had a severe rib injury, now you have developed pulmonary contusion,” said the doctor, informing my parents and me. He seemed very nervous and unhappy to break us the news. The clipboard he was holding was shaking the slightest bit and he began to bite his lip. I always thought being a doctor was hard. How hard is it to tell your patient that something is terribly wrong with them, that they are going to die?

I cried out, but that caused me a lot of pain. “There is no way this is happening to me,” I thought, “this is all a dream.”  But unfortunately, this was nothing like a dream, it was reality, I had a pulmonary contusion. What on Earth even is that? Beside me, Mom was on the verge of crying. I knew she didn’t want me to see her weak, to see her in pain too, but she couldn’t help but let some tears out.

“I know this is very hard to hear,” said Dr. Firn compassionately. “Since Kiara’s condition is basically a bruise in her left lung, right now, all we will do is wait for it to heal, and in the worst-case scenario, use a ventilator if she is short of breath,” he informed us.

“About when will it heal, doctor?” inquired my dad in a slightly shaky voice.

“It depends on how the process will go, but your daughter will probably recover in 5-7 days,” he replied, handing me a bright red lollipop. I know the doctor was trying to make me feel better, but, I’m sorry, that was the least I needed right then, especially with this lung thing I had. 

I felt like an animal in this hospital, all I did was sleep, grunt, listen, and eat nothing but strawberry flavored Jell-O. My parents always wanted me to be a good student, to be wise academically, and in life, right then I felt like I was doing the opposite. I felt useless! I understand now why everyone was feeling so bad for me, maybe I should have even felt bad for myself.

At the hospital, time seemed to pass very fast. My theory is that if all you do is eat Jell-O, take painkillers, and sleep, time is nonexistent: no worries, just lying down in a stupid hospital bed. 

5 days later, a different nurse came in. This time she was not so smiley and gentle, but after examining my lung, she concluded that I could be discharged. Even though I still had some pains in my side from time to time, I still wanted to end my long visit at this zoo. I could finally go back to normal! Go back to the place I was raised in, the place I belong!

Riding home from Lenox Hill gave me extreme deja vu. It seemed as if I had already been on that specific train, and sat in that specific seat. I was creeped out by how visually it reminded me of somewhere I’ve definitely been, and the spooky part was that I didn’t know if I actually had been there.

When I entered my apartment, I could already smell the scent of spices and carpets. Even though it usually didn’t occur to me as the best smell in the whole world, right now it was what made me happy.

“Kiara, since we know there has been a lot going on, your father and I have bought you a surprise,” said my mom, taking my hand and bringing me into the living room. What could it be? I thought to myself. I was intrigued, but knowing that my parents usually get me lame stuff like books and pencil cases, I didn’t keep my hopes too high.

On the couch in the living room, lay a box. It was neatly packed and lined with a fancy red rope.

“Thanks, Mom and Dad! You really didn’t have to do that,” I thanked them before opening the box. They smiled, and I was glad that I made them happy. I gently untied the rope and opened the box. My breath stopped. Inside lay something I didn’t expect at all, the reason for my injuries. I couldn’t stand on my feet anymore, and collapsed onto the couch. “The shoes,” I whispered.

He Laughed like the Ocean

        

The tide pulled the water closer to my feet

He threw his head back

And bellowed

He laughed like the ocean

I sifted the sand through my fingers

Knowing what would happen if

I too

Did not laugh

He tries

I think he does

I know he does

I hope he does

But his heart was as cold as the Hudson River

Maybe even colder

I chuckled

There was no joke

I, like a child;

Asked to go into the water

The sun was setting

Every movie ever told me this was supposed to be romantic

But it’s not

He nods and and I jump up

Slowly walk towards the water

A woman stares at my scars

And all the ways he marked me

He tries

I think he does

I know he does

I hope he does

So I started running

Farther away from him

And closer to God

Or what I hope was God

I ran till my feet could no longer touch the sand

I kept swimming out into pinkness

That water was deeper than snow

Not colder

Just deeper

 

What Separates Them All

The air around the harbor blows every which way, cool gusts of wind sending the waves that lap by the shore into a frenzy. The summer sun sinks into the sky, replaced by dark clouds that settle on the horizon, as a light breeze shifts to colder, increasingly high temperatures, frigid enough to make the hairs on Farah’s neck stand up. Everything around here changes in a fraction of a second. The ripples in the water become choppy waves in a matter of minutes, the palm trees once static sway with such motion that they nearly blow over.

Farah detests it. The unpredictable weather breaks fishermen’s boats into halves, endangers the lives of the children swimming by the cove — making the entire village regard the sea with apprehension, despite centuries of the two living side by side.

She spends a month in the miserable seaside town every year. Any major city or outpost is hours away, and the nearest airport is nearly a day’s journey. The coastal village couldn’t be further away from any form of modern day civilization, isolated at the very tip of the Mediterranean. Neither is there any cellular service, and Farah quickly finds herself buried in boredom mere hours after her family’s arrival.

A clap of thunder startles her, and she turns away from the sea, just as a slow patter of rain can be heard as it drums against the roof of the house. Fanning an arm on top of her head to shield herself from the increasing speed of the downpour, Farah makes her way past the dock and up the coastline. Poor weather calls for hazardous conditions, and a night cooped indoors. She reminds herself that she’s only got twenty nine days left, and picks up her pace to make it back inside before she’s soaked to the skin.            

Farah can see the warm crackle of the fire and her family seated in a circle by the hearth through the window of the house, her younger cousin sitting below the easy chair as their grandmother weaves through Laila’s hair, her nimble fingers forming a neat plait that lies down her back. Her cousin enjoys their month in the village by the sea to an extent that Farah can’t understand. She holds a parallelled view — she can just remember the recent years of never looking forward to their summer vacation along the coast of Turkey.

The very truth is that when she’s here with her family, she never feels more out of place. Farah looks like them all, her tan skin and thick brown hair only a few shades lighter than the surrounding community. She can pretend she fits in all she wants, but she knows she does not. Her tongue can’t twist to form harmonized vowels or thick rolls of Ks and Rs, all everyone can hear is the voice of a foreigner. Her family attends the mosque every week, and Farah can merely hum nonsensical syllables that she strings together, can never blend into the way her relatives pronounce everything with such grace, as if the beautiful words can just roll off of their tongue. The fact that Farah is not bilingual is the defining factor that separates them all.

She wonders if her family is ashamed that she doesn’t speak the dialect like they do. They’d never fully accepted that fact that only one of Farah’s parents were Turkish, and her mother’s passing had made their relationship strained altogether. Farah’s grandparents had worked so hard to get Farah’s mother through her years of schooling, had risked so much to help support her when she moved overseas, and losing their daughter had left a heavy mark in their lives. Farah, the only child of her parents, was the last remaining bit that her grandparents had of their mother. Had she failed them for having the inability to hold on to what her mother had passed on?

When her grandparents looked at Farah, they saw the very same girl who’d stood in front of them decades ago, waves of dark hair framing her face, almond shaped eyes, exact matches to theirs. When they saw Farah, they saw the hope of the future their own daughter had had in her, the one who blazed trails and set a new path for herself, outside their bubble of home. But when her grandparents saw Farah, they also saw what they’d lost, and maybe Farah was too painful a reminder for them to see.

***

Farah greets her family and makes her way upstairs, her footsteps quiet thuds against the wooden floorboards. She shares a bedroom with her cousin, the very one that used to be her mother’s. The photograph by the bedside table makes her lips tug into a small smile — it’s one of her rosy cheeked mother, beside her two brothers, and Farah’s grandparents. If she looks at it close enough, she can see the resemblance of herself. When Farah’s mother was alive, Farah would share this room with her parents every summer. Her anne would sit by the floor of the closest and laugh with Farah, and the two would pour over old photo albums, and she’d show her the window that she’d rigged in her teens to sneak out at night without her parents knowing. Farah stands in the very same place she once did with her mother, seven years ago, thumbing through the old dresses of her mother’s that line the inside. She pulls one out and holds it to her nose, because if she tries hard enough, she can smell the familiar scent of rosewater and saffron, a comforting memory.

At the very back of the closet is a dusty pile of schoolbooks, ones Farah’s mother saved to teach her Turkish as a child. The covers are stained and pages are missing, but staring at the same images she did as a four year old help her formulate syllables she tries to sound out together. Learning Turkish isn’t too hard of a task, but only spending one month in Turkey doesn’t give her much time to learn the language properly. She forgets everything she learns once she gets back home, and she hasn’t met one person in her town who’s Turkish beside her. Farah knows that it’s hard for her father, but she’s caught in the middle. She looks nothing like anyone in the States, nothing like her father, and while her looks bear similarities of those around her when she’s here, she’s regarded as the yarim turk, the half-white Turkish girl.

Merhaba, Farah,” Laila passes a warm smile to her cousin, “wanna come downstairs with me? Baba brought new rolls from the market, and they’re toasty.” She glances down to where Farah flips a page of the textbook, “Hey, I remember those — Auntie Zehra used to teach us from them, right?”

She puts her back against the wall, facing Farah, “Here, I’ll help you — repeat after me! Baba will be thrilled to hear you say this.” She passes Farah a cheeky grin, “It’s, uh, merhaba kaltak.”

Minutes later, when Farah repeats the phrase to her uncle, his eyes go wide in surprise, and Laila’s brother has to conceal his laugh behind the table. He gives her a bemused smile, “Don’t let anyone else ever let you say that, Far. And don’t take lessons from Laila.” Laila is in peals of laughter, and Farah’s cheeks flame a bright red. But her uncle’s twinkle is bright as he tugs at her braid. “I’d be happy to teach you some — your mother would’ve loved to hear this.”

Farah rolls over on the bed that she and Laila share, just as her cousin nudges her. Laila’s voice is quiet, as to not wake the household, and her gaze drifts to the photograph that stands on the table, “What was his name, Farah?”

Her eyes close and her throat tightens, but she breathes a quiet response, “Imran.”

Laila reaches out to grip Farah’s hand, “I would’ve loved to meet him, Far.”

“Yeah.” The Mediterranean breeze flutters through the open window and blows stray hairs onto Farah’s face. “I would’ve, too.”

The warmth of her cousin’s embrace is comforting, and Farah lets out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d holding. Seven years ago, Farah lost her mother, and her miscarriage had meant that Farah had also lost a brother. And the only thing she has left of them are the people with her now. If she can’t push herself to bridge that gap between the people she loves the most, then her family is going to be one more thing that she loses, too.

Her grandfather takes her out on his fishing boat the next morning, their quiet ritual of Sunday mornings. The salty sea air wafts through the breeze as he pushes the boat far out into the cove, as it bobs along the waves. Farah glances up towards the cloudy sky and hesitates before passing him the paddle, so that she can swim out to climb aboard. She wades in knee deep, and the fog settles across the sea, just enough so that she can still see where the boat floats on the sea.

As soon as she makes her way across the beach, the waves swell in size, and cascade abruptly against the rocks. Worry etches across her features as a clap of thunder echoes in her ears, and the summer sun seems to disappear under the expanse of dark billows in the sky.

Farah lets out a scream as the heavy seas overturn the boat, and her grandfather is swept under by the current. She keeps a trembling finger pointing at his exact spot, not wavering her gaze, to keep track of where he is. She shouts in broken Turkish and curses every bit of her bones for not taking the time to memorize the shouts of help. The calm sea seems to turn angry with rage, and the light hues of blue turn dark and stormy, reflections of the clouds overhead, the storm settling on the horizon. Farah doesn’t stop yelling even when her voice turns raw, consumed by the sound of waves crashing against the rocks — the dangerous, sharp landmarks that will kill any sailor if they’re thrown against them. Her knees buckle under her as the villagers run towards the water, her nails digging into her palms, and she sinks into the sand, a quiet sob escaping her throat.

Farah stays by her grandfather’s side through the night. The boat was torn apart on the rocks, and he’d washed up on the shore, bruised, bloodied, and battered, but with a wisp of a heartbeat still sound in his chest. They’d called the doctor and cleaned his wounds, letting him rest, but Farah didn’t dare to sleep.  She kneels by his bedside now, helping take shifts with her uncles and grandmother. The events of today register in her mind that the family she’s taken for granted for so many years, are the ones she could never imagine losing.

Her grandfather doesn’t stir for days, and neither does Farah, spending her hours tending to his needs and pouring over the dusty Turkish textbooks piled in the corner of her mother’s closet. Her uncle helps her, and her skills in the language increase more than they ever have in the past fifteen years. Because now, Farah truly has a desire to learn. When her grandfather wakes, he slips a wrinkled hand into hers, and she squeezes it gently, tears pricking her the corners of her eyes.

“You’re just like your anne, jaan,” he whispers. “You make me smile, just like she did. Your mother was wonderful. My Zehra was her own person,” his voice catches as he lets out a waver, “just like you are.”

Farah slides under the covers, next to her grandfather and wraps a gentle arm around him as he falls into a peaceful sleep, the warmth of his embrace just like her mother’s. The language that divided Farah from her family also brings them together, and as her eyes drift close, she realizes that just like the people she’s with, she might grow to love the idea of this home.

***

The salty summer breeze whips at her skirts, and Farah lifts her son up onto her hip, as they gaze out at the sea. “This is Turkey, jaan,” Farah smiles softly, and presses a kiss into his curls, ones very much like hers.

Where Farah stands is where her mother did, decades ago. And when little Imran’s fingers curl around Farah’s thumb in joy, Farah looks at the house behind her and down at the sands that seep between her toes, the water that washes against the beach. It used to be a reminder of what Farah lost. But now, it’s just a reminder of what has changed.

 

The Bathroom Mirror (Excerpt)

The next day, Mary woke up to find a note on her bedside. Of all things, her sister thought this was the most appropriate. Love letters on how much she missed her. Mary snatched the paper from her bedside and opened it. You have been warned. If it had been written in any other way, then maybe she would have taken it seriously, but the font Helvetica? Really? She was worth way more than this basic font. She discarded the paper where she did everything else: underneath her bed. Getting out of bed would have usually been a problem, but today it just felt like that day. She jumped onto her very gritty floor and nearly slid. She still slept with socks on, like a weird person. She glanced in the mirror as she headed to school, simply because she was that weird person who slept with their clothes for the day already on. You only ever realized this if you lived with her. From past “friends,” Mary had learned that telling people she poured her milk before her cereal was probably not a good conversation starter, unless she wanted to be teased mercilessly.

Besides all of that, Mary was walking to school with someone following her. Every step she took and every block she turned, she felt a presence there with her. She burst into a sudden sprint to school, and at the door she was greeted with a familiar face she hadn’t seen in quite a while. She was not sure if she should be mad because he never texted back or happy that Josh was finally back. He ran his hands through his thickly gelled hair, and she rolled her eyes. No greetings were needed, as they were back to talking about Josefin’s abnormally big ears. Secretly, she felt bad. Who was she to judge? But she was just so glad Josh was here, that she didn’t really care what they were talking about.

Finally, the elephant in the room was addressed. “So… where were you… all this time?” Mary said casually.

“Oh you know, just taking care of business,” Joshy struck back. Afraid to make things too awkward, Mary let it be at that. What business? Mary wanted to ask. What could be so important that you would just leave? And right after that whole mirror incident too? This was getting complicated, and she didn’t want to get too deep into it, so, again, she let it go.

The rest of the day, she went from class to class as if nothing was happening. But there was still a presence that she could feel following her. She kept looking back so hard that her neck started hurting. Her whole experience of just being was super eerie. Like when she had that weird dream of being in that girl’s body and that man… Mary didn’t understand why this was happening to her. Or why it would happen to anyone for that matter. In her confusion, she did what any other teenager would do and Googled it. She didn’t really know what to type, not that anyone had ever talked about being through this, so she looked up Bloody Mary. She saw what she expected. A Wikipedia page on how Bloody Mary died. Murdered in a dungeon by her caretaker, Harold Green. Chills ran down her back. Slowly, she was able to piece things together. She got up from crouching on the bathroom floor, as she smelt the girl in the next stall completely gassing the place. She scrunched up her face and ran out of the bathroom. Everyone knew the school bathroom was for meeting, talking, dancing, possibly peeing, or even making Snapchat stories if you were that girl, but no one ever actually used the bathroom.

With her face flushed, Mary ran to last period, her phone lodged between her books. She was probably the only girl too paranoid to leave her stuff in her locker.

 

Michael (Excerpt)

   

Chapter One

 

Daniel took a breath, stepping off the subway. His flight from Seattle had just landed, and he was able to catch a train that went straight from JFK Airport to New York City, his old home. Though he hadn’t visited the large city since three years ago, when he did live in the area, he still felt like he belonged there. He used to believe he did belong there, as all of his friends and connections were there.

His mother was able to get him a plane ticket and arrange for him to stay at his friend’s house for a week or so. Daniel was excited and could barely sit still on the flight. Texting and calling weren’t the same as seeing his friends in real life. He walked down the street, avoiding the crowds, while turning off airplane mode on his phone.

Daniel stopped as he noticed that he was there, at his friend’s home. It was arranged as a surprise for Percy, one of his good friends. He wondered how much they had all changed. They must have changed, hadn’t they? When he left, they were only eleven years old, and now he was fourteen. He was shorter back then, and he had changed his hair since then, and he wondered how much they had changed.

He wondered how much Michael had changed. Michael, his best and closest friend. Michael, the one who had drifted the farthest away from him after he moved. He couldn’t wait to see him. Daniel had decided on visiting him in the first few hours of his trip. He wanted to hug his best friend like he hadn’t in years, tell him all about life in Seattle, and see the people he had grown to know as part of his family.

He walked up the stairs, pressing the buzzer that was on the wall. He immediately got access, and a feeling of nostalgia ran through him as he looked up at the darkly lit stairwell that he remembered so well. He quickly climbed up the old stone stairs, his feet making soft thumps as he scaled the three stories it took before he was standing there.

Daniel stood in front of the door he remembered. It was a red door with a small peephole. Some of the paint had chipped off, showing the dark wood that was hidden underneath. He took a deep breath, swallowing his nervousness, as he knocked on the door three times.

“Mom, I got it!” Daniel heard someone say, who sounded very familiar. Though the voice was deeper and louder, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his old friend’s voice. The nervousness climbed back up his throat as the door swung open to show a shocked Percy.

“Daniel?” Percy asked, his voice quiet and shocked. Daniel smiled, looking his friend up and down. He had gotten taller, much taller (though Percy always had a few inches on Daniel when they were younger, he was at least half a head taller than him now). Percy’s hair was still the same dark brown, and his eyes looked like a more vivid hazel than they did three years ago. Percy wore a red T-shirt and jeans, and old, worn, black Converse that looked exactly like the pair he had worn when he was younger, though they couldn’t have possibly been the same as his feet looked five times larger than they were in the past.

“Hi, Percy,” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice steady when really it was shaking with excitement. Percy enveloped him in a hug, and Daniel hugged back, knowing he missed the feeling of his friend’s touch.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming back?” Percy asked as he pulled away, punching Daniel in the shoulder, causing him to yelp.

“Hey!” Daniel said, rubbing his shoulder. “It was a surprise. Your mom helped set it up.” Percy turned around and glared at his mom, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her phone out and blinking, signalling it was recording.

“Wow, Mom, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Here, come in. So, are you staying? You’ve honestly missed so much.”

“I think I’m staying for a week or two,” Daniel said, dropping his bag next to the door. He stepped into the apartment, which looked the same from what he could see. The light wood floors and cabinets on the walls were the same, and the kitchen looked the same — white cabinets and countertops, which looked good in Percy’s mom’s opinion (though Percy disagreed, as he had thought that all their science experiments they had done when they were younger would ruin the cabinets).

“How’s your mom’s job going?” Christine, Percy’s mother, asked, referring to the reason that Daniel had moved away from them in the first place. She handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Good, she says that she really likes it, and it pays well, so she thinks she’s going to stay there for a while,” Daniel said, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, frowning as it scorched his tongue.

“You always make it too hot, Mom!” Percy exclaimed when he took a sip, sputtering at the unexpected heat.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I just turn on the kettle and that heats up the milk, not me!” Christine said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m going to take the dog for a walk. You two can catch up.”

Daniel looked at Percy in surprise. “You got a dog?” he asked. Percy had always wanted to get a dog, but he never could because his older brother Charlie was allergic.

“Charlie’s twenty now, and he moved to college. He’s actually in Florida right now, enjoying the nice, warm weather while we have to suffer in this cold,” Percy said, scowling. “But that means I get to have a dog.”

“What kind of dog is it?” Daniel asked, looking around, now noticing the dog bowls and kennel in the living room.

“A small one, some kind of mix. That’s what the breeder said, anyways,” Percy shrugged as the door closed, signalling they were alone in the apartment.

“And how are the rest of them? Jace and everyone else?” Daniel asked, sitting on the couch in the living room.

“He got another guinea pig, two actually. And a lizard gecko, and a few more fish,” Percy said, counting the animals that their friend had gotten. They called Jace the Animal Whisperer, because he always had at least five different kinds of animals, whether it be guinea pigs or snakes.

“How’s Michael? I haven’t talked to him in a while,” Daniel asked, causing Percy to frown.

“He moved. Somewhere in Oregon, I think.” Percy sighed, taking a sip of his drink, his mood lowering at the mention of their friend across the country.

“Really? When? Why?” Daniel asked. Percy shrugged, sinking into the couch as he took another sip.

“About a month and a half ago. I don’t know why he moved. One day he just disappeared, and we didn’t hear from him for a week. Then, my mom got a call saying he had moved to Oregon,” Percy explained, putting his empty mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

Daniel thought back to a month and a half ago. A month and a half ago, he was still in Seattle and texting his friends daily. But a month and a half ago, his messages and calls weren’t being returned from Michael. And then a month ago, his messages weren’t being delivered and his calls rejected. Maybe that was why, he had lost his phone or gotten a new one.

“My messages haven’t been sending to him since then,” Percy exclaimed, revealing a problem similar to Daniel’s. “My mom just thinks he got a new phone, but I think he would’ve told us before they disconnected his old one.”

“We should go to Oregon then!” Daniel said with a small, playful smile, causing Percy to laugh.

“Sure, ‘cause my mom would totally allow that five minutes after you stepped off your plane to New York. And we don’t even know where he lives!” Percy laughed, the mood lightening.

“Sure, but we could find out, maybe. I want to talk to him!” Daniel declared. “We need to get the group back together.”

Percy frowned. “But Daniel, you’re going to be here for barely a week. And how would we be able to find him?”

“Maybe the landlord of his old apartment knows something,” Daniel speculated. “Or his cousin! His cousin lives in Greenwich Village, on Fourth Street. They’ve got to know something.”

“Do you really wanna do this the second you get back to the city?” Percy asked. “We should at least go and surprise Jace. We can’t leave him out of this.”

“We’ll do that first. But please, I haven’t seen you guys in three years. It should be four of us, not three of us and one of them missing,” Daniel pleaded, seeing the conflict in Percy’s eyes.

“But Daniel, it was three of us and one missing for three years,” Percy said, causing Daniel to frown. “We never saw you, and we still managed to have fun. Sure, it wasn’t the same, but isn’t different good? What if neither of them have information?”

“But what if they do?” Daniel asked. “It can’t hurt to try, right?”

Percy sighed, standing up, and Daniel cheered in victory.

 

Telekinesis Boy

My name is Igor Parentheses Daily, and the moment I woke up today was the first day of the rest of my life.

When I woke up, my phone was on the other side of the room. I didn’t want to get up to reach my phone, so I imagined the phone flying into my hand and thought, That would be cool, so the phone got up and flew into my hand! I was so surprised that I dropped my phone. At least that turned the alarm off.

When I got on the school bus, I decided to test whether it was a dream or not. I went to say hi to my best friend, Daniel. We had been friends since we were three. We loved to play pranks on our other friends.

I went up to him and hollered, “Look! It’s a bird!”

He didn’t fall for it. He said, “I am not going to look.”

I replied, “Okay, suit yourself. It’s not my bag that’s being flung out the window.”

He turned around to see that his bag was hovering in the air, about to be thrown out the window by an invisible force.

Daniel responded, “Nice. Wait, did you steal my levitate-a-bag ropes?”

Suddenly, I felt nauseous. I realized that using my powers is hard. It also takes a lot of energy out of me. I would only use my power in small amounts from then on.

In gym class, our teacher Mr. Schwarzonator told us that we had to run the pacer. I decided otherwise. When he pushed the button next to the light switch, the program started.

“Get on the line,” he barked.

I got on the line just as the announcer started to speak. “The fitnessgram pacer test is a multi — ”

I was just thinking, The fitnessgram pacer test is a blah blahblahblah blahblahblah blah blah, when the announcer announced, “On your mark, get ready, start!”

I just stood there. Didn’t do a thing.

When Mr. Schwarzonator shouted at me, “Start running, Daily!” I still remained motionless. When he reached to blow his whistle, I moved it to the other side of the room. Now, it was Mr. Schwarzonator’s turn to stay motionless. By then, all the kids had stopped running and started high fiving me.

One asked, “How did you do that?”

Another questioned, “Wait, wait, wait. Did you steal my rope that I use to throw whistles across rooms?” It was probably the highlight of my day.

The next day, I decided to try and figure out how I got these powers. I searched my memory for what I did two nights ago. I started from after dinner.

First, I did my homework. Second, I took a shower. Third, I watched some of my favorite TV show, The Boss. Don’t see anything that could have given me superpowers then. I went back further, to around lunchtime. First, I went to boring classes. Second, I went onto the nice, little, abandoned cliffside that had ghost stories about it. Third, I went home to eat dinner. Which one could it be? I went on a limb and decided that it was probably the ghost-storied, abandoned cliffside. I decided to go back there the next day to find out more about my powers.

The day after that, I went to the abandoned cliffside after school. I saw these glowing, green rocks, but they weren’t green like grass, more like that part of the ocean you don’t want to explore. I picked one up and studied it. It was shaped unlike all the rocks I’ve ever seen. Instead of being circular, it was jagged. If someone told me it was a moon rock, I would have believed them. Then, someone knocked me unconscious.

I woke up in a lab, held down on a chair, and took a look around. There was a wooden desk in the corner, which looked unused and forgotten about, but that wasn’t my real concern. The sharp-looking tools on the desk were my real worry. I wasn’t going to get tortured! I looked at what was holding me down. It appeared to be a simple zip tie. I made the knife on the table fly to me and tried to get it to cut the zip tie, but it hit me instead! Owowowowowowowow! That hurt, but luckily, it was only across my arm, it didn’t stab me. I realized that without being able to see my restraints, I couldn’t move the knife toward them without risking it stabbing me. I had to take the chance.

I started to move the knife very slowly out of my plane of vision, hoping to keep it in control. It hit me, and it hurt, but as it hit me, it cut into the zip tie. I kept on cutting, and after three minutes or so, the zip tie broke. I decided to pretend like I couldn’t move even though I could, to throw off my captors.

After 15 minutes of this, an intimidating man walked in. He told me, “I want to learn about your powers.”

I replied, “Let me go!” Then, I tried to trip him using my powers, but he seemed to be able to deflect it.

He looked amused. “Well, well, well, someone is trying to use their powers. Sadly, this room dampens them, so no telekinesis for you.”

I didn’t believe him. “Well, that’s kind of funny.” As I stated this, I telekinetically picked up the extra zip tie behind him. I continued, “Because… wait, why can’t you move your legs?”

Mid-sentence I had zip tied his feet together. It was hilarious! He tried to walk backwards but tripped on the zip tie! When he fell back, I zip tied his hands together. Now that he was stuck, I stood up, zip tie free, and started out the hall.

Since this facility captured and zip tied me, I wasn’t eager to explore, so I just tried to find a way out, and while I was searching, I saw hallways among hallways of rooms looking identical to mine. I promised myself I would free those people later. I did eventually find the exit, at the end of the only hallway with no attached rooms or hallways, then left the building. After a couple of minutes and some asking, I oriented myself to the city and took a taxi home. When I got home, I decided that I would find the people that the scary guy worked with and turn them into the police, using my powers to help.

When I woke up the next day, I pulled my phone from across the room with no effort and realized that my powers were improving. I had so many questions about them. How did I get it? Is it like a muscle, so that I can improve it while using it? Does something generate it? I wanted to solve all of those mysteries, but first, I had to defeat that man. I am going to call him TG, for That Guy.

After school that day, I went and tried to find the lab, but was unsuccessful. I was shouting and was so frustrated that I couldn’t think straight. When I got home, I was watching a random TV show, then a Star Wars ad popped up. It showed Yoda telling Luke, “You will only find what you seek when you stop looking,” and I knew what I had to do.

On day five of having my powers, it was Friday, so I got out of school early and had more time to search. During school, I tried to develop my powers. In gym class, instead of moving Mr. Schwarzonator’s whistle across the room, I tried moving bigger things. While we were playing basketball, it was Daniel, a new kid whose name I forgot, and me versus the best kids at basketball in the grade. There was Peter, whose dad made him play at least two hours a day everyday since he was three. There was Coby, whose Mom played professionally for 15 years, and finally, last but certainly not least, there was Jack. Jack was six feet and six inches and was the only sixth grader that could dunk. He could also make any shot, as long as it was closer to the hoop than the half court line.

We were severely outmatched, with only two minutes left on the clock and my team losing by 15 points, but I had a plan. When the other team got the ball, they immediately passed to Jack, which they had been doing for that entire game. He got it and started going down the court, fast as a lion. I pushed the ball away with telekinesis, but made it looked like Jack just tripped. It went out of bounds, and my team got the ball. I took it out, passed it to Daniel, and told him to shoot, even though he was at half court. As he shot, I telekinetically moved the ball into the hoop, giving our team three points. I did this for the rest of the game, giving our team the ball, then making ridiculous shots. By the end of the game, we won by nine points.

After the game, Jack asked me, “Did you steal the ropes that I use to make ridiculous shots?”

After school, I set my plan in motion. I went near the cliff with the rocks and didn’t do a thing, like in gym class. I just stood there. Suddenly, I heard a movement in the woods and turned around to see my most fearsome foe. That guy! I faced him, ready for battle.

He said, “You know, Igor, I generate your power. It was me who originally found the stones, so I have the ability of telekinesis. It was also I who told the ghost stories about the cliff to keep everyone away from them. The only reason I didn’t knock you out the first time you came here was because I wanted to see if the stones still had any power in them. Now that you’re here, I assume they do. And you cannot defeat me, because I can stop generating the power, and you won’t have them anymore. The only downside to stop generating the power would be that I would no longer possess it, but that won’t matter if I am in jail. So, I will give you two options. Forget this ever happened and you can go about, freely using your power, and having a good time. Option two is that you fight me and die, or I will go to jail and you won’t have your powers. So what do you chose?”

I answered, “I choose the one where you stop making all of those incredibly long speeches.” Then, we fought.

At first, he had the upper hand because he had had his powers for so long, but I was catching up, countering his attacks and sometime putting in my own. Granted, we weren’t actually moving when we were fighting, just standing there, using our abilities and looking like statues.

After a couple of minutes of dodging and countering, blocking and dodging, he finally pinned me to a tree and muttered, “Don’t try anything funny,” but as he said this, I pushed him back into a different tree, so it sounded more like, “Don’t try anything fuuaaaaa!” Once he was pinned, he cried out, “Remember. If you take me into the police, I will turn off your power, and your life will be as boring as ever.

After he told me this, I had a split second decision to make. Do I want my power more than justice for that man? I was so startled by this decision that That Guy had time to get up and knock me unconscious once again.

This time, when I woke up, I was pinned down on a cold, metal table, with little droplets of water going down my forehead every five seconds or so. “This must be to distract me, so I can’t use my telekinesis,” I muttered. I also had a blindfold on, probably to keep me from seeing anything to move to cut myself lose. This was going to be hard to escape.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in my ear, “I know you’re awake. It must be hard to not be able to use your power after five amazing days of having them, but I can’t have you trying anything.” It was That Guy. He continued, “Guess what, Igor? I finally decided to just pull the stones from the dirt. I really don’t know why I didn’t do that before. Now, I don’t need the power I have now, because I can figure out how to take more from the rocks. You know what that means? No more powers for you!” And with that, he left.

Suddenly, I felt my power being drained from me. It happened so precipitously, like it was a bullet being fired from a gun. It was so painful, a bullet ant would have empathy. I made a decision in that moment. I would get my power back and stop That Guy. I realized that my arms could still move, even though I was chained to a table. I took off my blindfold and realized that the only thing holding me down were zip ties on my feet, which I quickly undid and went to the door. That was unlocked too. It seemed that That Guy didn’t care about me now that he took my powers. Good, that would make it easier to take his.

As I started out of the faculty, I decided to free some people along with me. The first one I freed was a timid, little seven-year old, and she told me that her name was Kira. When I asked her what her power was, she told me that she could control computers by hacking them with her mind. I asked her if she could see things on a computer other than data, like videos, and she said she could. I asked her if she could find glowing, green rocks on the security cameras, and she answered that she could and then gave me directions to them. I knew this was a long shot, but I asked her if she could remotely open everyone’s cell door, and she told me she could, but that wouldn’t undo the bindings. I was fine with that. I told her to open all of the cell doors, then free as many people as she could, and get out of there. She wished me good luck, and off I went.

I started down the path that Kira had instructed me to go to, but soon realized that whenever she said left, she meant right, and vice versa. This was going to be harder than I thought.

After a couple wrong turns and plenty of backtracking, I finally got the hang of remembering to reverse rights and lefts. When I reached the room they were allegedly in, I searched for the green rocks. The room was small enough that it wouldn’t be a major challenge to find the rocks, but my only problem was that the room was very crammed, with too many drawers to count, and materials strewn about. This might take a while.

Suddenly, I heard a loud alarm blare through the facility, and a soothing voice said, “T-minus 10 minutes until self destruction sequence initiates.”

After five minutes or so of hurried searching, with me looking at my watch all the time to see how much longer I had, I saw something green and shining under a tarp, so I decided to search it. When I lifted up the tarp, I heard a snap. It was a tripwire! I dove forward, trying to avoid whatever could hit me, but nothing happened. I was in the clear, for now. I went to the green rocks, and when I picked them up, an anvil fell where I was standing before I dove forward.

Suddenly, I heard a voice say from behind, “Well, well, well. Looks like someone wants their powers back. The only problem is, I will touch the stones, and then I too, will have powers.”

“I don’t want my powers back, I have my powers. If you haven’t noticed, I am holding the stones,” I replied.

Then, I used all of my brain power to push him back as hard as I could, and he flew into the doorway horizontally, so that his head and legs took the brunt of the impact. He started to get up, grunting, and I hit him again, this time focusing the push on where he hit his head. He screamed in pain, and then fell unconscious.

The computer voice spoke again, “T-minus two minutes until self destruction sequence initiates.” I looked from That Guy to the exit, then back to That Guy, and then lifted him with telekinesis, as if he were on an invisible gurney. Because I had to focus on holding him up, I put the stones in his lap so that my hands were free. Then, the computer said, “Self destruct sequence initiating.”

At first I was afraid, I was petrified, is the beginning of a song from the ‘70s that my parents like to listen to, but it is exactly how I felt. Afraid and petrified, but when nothing happened, I relaxed. Then, the room I was just in exploded.

I started running as fast as possible, with rooms exploding behind me as I went. This was very difficult because I had to maneuver That Guy out of the way as well. When we entered the hallways, filled with rooms of people, the explosions stopped, and I started to free them.

Then, the computer voice announced, “T-minus 30 seconds until next stage of self destruction,” and I almost panicked, but somehow managed to keep it together.

When I freed all of them, and told them to run for their life, the explosions in the cells started again. I started running, but for a split second saw a kid, maybe six or seven, held down in a room that I missed, and I knew what I had to do.

I think I had maybe five seconds until his room exploded, so I used that time to undo his bindings, throw him out of the room, telekinetically, of course, then, when the bomb exploded, I absorbed it in what one could call an invisible force field. I somehow didn’t die, so I ran out the room to the little boy. I didn’t have time to tell him what was happening, so I simply said, “Follow me.”

We started running as fast as we could down the hallway, the explosions going on around us. Suddenly, the computer voice announced, in between explosions, “Stage three of self destruction initiating.” I heard a distant explosion. Suddenly, the ceiling started shaking, and where we had been a second before got smashed by falling chunks of ceiling.

The six-year-old and I started sprinting, me occasionally sidestepping to avoid rubble that would have fallen on me, but the six-year-old just ducking under it.

He asked me, “Why are you sidestepping?”

I didn’t respond and kept sidestepping. We approached the last corridor until the exit, but we had one problem. It was filled with rubble, blocking our path. I focused my mind and tried to think of something peaceful, like trees moving in the wind, dancing, with the sun lighting them up, but in a good way, that makes you wonder why not everything is like that, and then, I lifted up the entire corridor.

It was so excruciatingly painful and stressful on my mind, I would not have been surprised if I lost my powers the next day. I almost dropped That Guy, which would have killed him in his condition. I wondered what the six-year-old’s powers were, but I had to stop because I had to put all of my energy into lifting up the hallway. I started to walk slowly through the corridor, and the six-year-old followed.

He said, “That’s awesome! I wish I could do that. By the way, my name is Aaron. Nice to meet you.”

I grunt-responded, “My name is Igor. Run until you reach the end of the corridor.”

But he, oblivious to the danger, said, “No, it’s fine. I’ve handled worse than falling building before.”

“Huh?” I replied, not having enough leftover brainpower to realize that his power was invulnerability.

We went on, with Aaron talking about how he loved pancakes and occasionally telling me a bad joke. He was really energetic. After what seemed like a lifetime, we reached the exit and stumbled out of the building, me exhausted, Aaron cheerful. What I saw before me was not superpowered children, but scared children, so I helped them. I went around to each and every one of them and asked if they knew their address, and if they did, told them to wait. If they did not, I asked if they knew their parents’ phone number. Some were older than me, the ones that just asked me where we were so they could find their way home, so I told them, and they went, but some stayed behind to help me.

Half an hour later, everyone was home. That Guy, whose name turned out to be Dexter, was going to trial. I asked the cops to not tell my mom that I was in danger, so they didn’t. Luckily, it was only six o’clock. I went home and took a shower immediately, so my mother wouldn’t ask what happened. After dinner, I started watching the final episode of The Boss, but in the middle, I realized that I would have to get rid of my powers. Because I put the stones on Dexter’s stomach, it gave him powers, but I got them first. I assumed that if I got rid of my powers, Dexter would lose his, so I had to do it. I focused all my willpower and imagined the power seeping out of me, and then, I tried to move my phone with my mind, but it wouldn’t work. I had lost my power.

I continued the show, and it ended without warning. The boss had just retired and was no longer stressed about anything. He was simply sitting on a lawn chair, on the side of a beautiful lake, with trees moving gently, like a dance, in the light breeze, and the sun setting slowly, yet beautifully. It was a very serene moment. Then, just as precipitously as my powers vanished, and my life returned to normal, the show cut to black.

 

Animals in Captivity

According to the Zoo Statistic, about 751,931 animals are living in institutions, and many of them are killed each year (Statistic Brain, 2017). Researchers have noticed that African elephants in zoos have lifespans of about 17 years, while wild ones live for about 36 years (Curiosity Staff, 2015). This is a massive difference, which means that zoos, where people collect wild animals in parks or gardens, are not beneficial to animals. Therefore, animals should not be held in captivity, as it harms them physically and mentally.

Starting off, many people say that the animals living in zoos will suffer physically and mentally, as their social needs are not the same or can’t be met in human society. Though some zoos do try to improve their conditions, zoos around the world differ in quality and in techniques for protecting their animals. An aquarium in Orlando called Sea World got a dolphin named Betsy who was previously in perfect condition and healthy. However, once Betsy arrived at Sea World, she started eating irregularly and quickly died (Sentinel Orlando, 2016). This conveys the fact that animals are not adapting to the institutions because they are held captive from their own lives, so there would not be any decent point in caging them. Adding on, people are harmed by keeping animals in captivity. There are incidents where dolphins kill workers or elephants critically injure people. It is a risk for them to be in zoos or aquariums, as these accidents are caused by the animals not being where they are originally supposed to belong.

Going on, multiple sources state how expensive zoos and aquariums are and also how they are a waste of resources to human civilization. Spending the money to create a “similar-looking” animal compound is less beneficial for overall conservation efforts. That same money could be better spent in a more centered conservation project. Some zoos spend upwards of $1 million a year just to maintain a single exhibit (Orens Shayna, 2017). There is a difference between having animals inside a small room with translucent walls for people to watch for entertainment and having them in places that focus on animals and their safety with much more freedom. According to Newsela, the San Diego Zoo in 2014 spent more than $10,000 on just advertising, according to its public financial statement. Like stated before, many institutions waste big amounts of money on things that are useless compared to other things the money could be spent on.

Furthermore, numerous zoos can’t provide enough space, so either way there isn’t a sufficient point in keeping animals when they could be free and live wherever they wish.

Tigers and lions have around 18,000 times less space in zoos than they do in the wild. In other words, zoos are not suitable for animals. There are sicknesses and diseases animals get from being too claustrophobic, which worsens the population. The territory becomes dirty and bacteria grow, making the animals become sick. Some say that keeping animals in captivity allows the animal population to be stable and stops certain species from being endangered. However, this is not the case. When animals are kept in small spaces, they become stressed, which causes them to not breed or reproduce. Having all the animals in captivity won’t prevent animals from being extinct and instead will be worthless.

All in all, animals should not be held in captivity, as it both harms animals and makes them suffer, since the human environment differs from their own habitats. Furthermore, there isn’t be any purpose, and it is a waste to keep animals in captivity. People come to zoos for enjoyment, and though these animals are stunning, their feelings and their lives are not the same in captivity.

 

Works Cited:

Orens Shayna. “Issue Overview: Should we have zoos?” Newsela, 2017. https://newsela.com/read/overview-zoos/id/28237/

Sentinel Orlando.SeaWorld won’t breed, replace unusual dolphins.” Newsela, 2016. https://newsela.com/read/seaworld-dolphins/id/14791/

Statistic Brain. “Zoo Statistics” Statistic Brain Research Institute, 2017. https://www.statisticbrain.com/zoo-statistics/

Curiosity Staff. “Do Animals Live Longer In Captivity?” Curiosity, 2015. https://curiosity.com/topics/animals-in-the-wild-versus-in-captivity/

Annabelle F. “Animals Should Not Be Kept In Cages” The Bell Magazine, 2014. http://thebell.global2.vic.edu.au/animals-should-not-be-kept-in-cages-annabelle-f/

 

The Purple Guard

Chris looked out at the barren desert, seeing nothing but sand. No trace of the Pobergontoply rock. He had hiked so many miles and still hadn’t found the Pobergontoply rock. He needed it in the next five weeks to bring back to HQ to get turned into a bomb to cover the Red Square with red blood. He took out his advanced tech to scan for the Pobergontoply signatures hidden deep within the sand. He had been searching for months and still had nothing. HQ would kill him if he didn’t have the rock.

The Pobergontoply rock was a rock from space that was super rare, and recently, a Pobergontoply meteor fell into the desert, but the meteor was so small that no one saw it fall. The organization Chris worked for had secret intelligence systems all across the world and were looking for Pobergontoply and noticed the rock fall. The Pobergontoply rock could be turned into a bomb that could completely decimate a country the size of France, and when dropped at the right spot, could destroy Russia’s capital and more.

Chris was part of a group known as the Purple Guard and was working to stop communism by toppling communist countries and destroying and killing countries and people that practiced communism. Russia was currently their main target and needed the bomb to destroy them. The KGB didn’t know anything about the plan or the Pobergontoply bomb, and the Purple Guard needed to keep it that way. Before becoming part of the Purple Guard, Chris was part of the CIA. What people didn’t know, was that the CIA secretly supported the Purple Guard, and Chris was sent by the CIA to observe progress.

After many long hours, the scanner started to beep.

Chris jumped up off his camel and frantically grabbed a shovel. He started digging, but after going down about half of a foot, he couldn’t dig farther. He dropped his shovel and scraped the sand off the hard surface. For the next few hours, he dug around the hard surface, and when he was done, he saw a smooth, shiny metal surface. He dug deeper, to pull out the rock. Two minutes later, he heard a low rumbling noise. He ran back as a huge metal creature rose from the ground. The creature was fully made up of metal, definitely a robot. It had a huge trunk and two long pointy horns Its large eyes were gleaming purple. It was an elephant, but it was way bigger than any elephant Chris had ever seen.

He pulled his computer out of his pack and quickly opened it. He hacked into the robot creature’s programming and found that it was sent as a gift to the Purple Guard by the Verlerbofs. The Verlerbofs were aliens who lived under the surface of Mercury. The Verlerbofs worked with the Purple Guard to overthrow communism. Looking deeper into the programming, he saw that the creature was programmed to eat any humans it saw. Chris began to get scared, but he then noticed that there was a way to control the elephant, and that was to sneak up to the robot and press a button hidden on the belly of the robot.

He crept forward as the elephant shook sand off its body. He crept closer, and suddenly, the elephant spun around, facing him. He knew that if he ran, the elephant would run after him, catch him, rip him apart, eat him, and kill everybody on the planet. He knew that his only choice was to run at the elephant and go for the button.

He dashed forward. The elephant swung his head, and the elephant’s trunk hit him, and he went flying backwards. He quickly got back up and ran at the elephant. The elephant began to swing his head, and Chris slid as he winced in pain from where he had hit the ground. The elephant stomped its, feet kicking up dust and creating mini earthquakes. Chris saw the button and reached out for it as his foot was impaled by a Pobergontoply horn. His vision blurred as he felt blood spilling out his leg. With a final jolt of energy, he pushed the button. The world went black.

Chris woke up to find that all his wounds were healed. He felt no pain on his leg where the elephant had impaled him, and he saw no blood staining the clothes he wore. He sat up to see the elephant facing him. A million thoughts whizzed through Chris’ mind. How was he healed? Did the elephant heal him? And most importantly: what should he call the elephant if he could control him? It needs a name!

He looked up at the elephant and asked out loud, “What should I call you?”

A clear male voice answered him.

“Call me whatever you want to call me.”

“Okay… Then I’ll call you Ray.”

“Okay.”

Chris asked another question. “Did you heal my leg?”

“Yes I healed your leg, and I also ate your camel.

“Uhhh… Okay. Well, can I ride you?”

“Okay.”

Chris stood up. He realized that he was in a dilemma. He needed to bring the Pobergontoply back to HQ, but in doing so, he would risk the friendship between the Purple Guard and the Verlerbofs. The Verlerbofs definitely didn’t want them to disassemble the robot, but the Purple Guard needed the Pobergontoply to create the bomb to make Russia go boom. Chris thought for a while but still couldn’t find a solution.

Chris had only come up with three options, ask the Verlerbofs for permission to disassemble the robot, bring Ray to the Purple Guard, or to go rogue and abandon the mission and be hunted by the Purple Guard. Being hunted by the Purple Guard was never good. They tortured and then burned people alive that disobeyed them.

Chris decided to bring the robot back to the Purple Guard. He hopped on Ray and rode across the desert. He rode all the way close to China where he made the elephant into a little sculpture. Throughout his journey with Ray, Chris grew very close to Ray. He took an air taxi to Hong Kong where he then went underground to the Purple Guard Headquarters hidden behind a secret door in the sewage pipes.

When he entered, he took in the familiar sights and smells of HQ. Computers sitting in a half circle around the door, a huge screen on the wall facing the entrance, and smaller rooms on the right and left sides of HQ.

He said hi to boss Luigi who asked where the Pobergontoply was. Chris reluctantly showed him the elephant. He knew that by giving Ray to Luigi, he would lose his friendship with Ray. He showed Luigi that the Pobergontoply elephant was a robot sent from the Verlerbofs and that he could control it. The boss told a guard to send it to one of the side rooms to be disassembled and then shipped to Italy to be turned into a Pobergontoply bomb. Chris lowered his head in defeat knowing that if he didn’t give Ray to Luigi, he would never get revenge on Russia for what they did to him. Chris went to a room behind one of the siderooms and then went down a long hallway, and at the end of the hallway, he entered his room.

When he entered his room, he saw his bed tucked into a corner of the room with a wardrobe across from the bed. The was also a chair, a TV, and a desk. He set his stuff down on a desk and looked at the photo that was on his desk. It was a photo of him and his brother the day his brother left for Russia. That day was 19 years ago. He remembered the day when the Russian government sent back his body. That was 17 years ago. He remembered seeing his dead body, he remembered burying him, he remembered enrolling in the CIA, and he remembered promising that he would one day destroy Russia. Now that was becoming reality.

Chris spent the next month preparing to be the pilot for the mission to destroy Russia (Mission 78). Chris insisted on being the pilot for the mission. He wanted to be the one to destroy Russia. And plus, this would be his last mission with the Purple Guard. After this mission, he was going to go back to the CIA. In this time, Chris thought about Ray and what they might do to him. The bomb was shipped back to Hong Kong five days before the mission was scheduled.

Chris took off. He flew his plane over China. As he flew over the target, he pressed the big red button. With a burst of speed, he turned his plane around. He heard a loud boom! He knew he had succeeded. He landed back in China 50 minutes later. The mission was a success. Most of Russia was now destroyed, and most importantly, Russia’s communist government was destroyed, and Chris had gotten his revenge.

For the next few days, the Purple Guard celebrated the destruction of Russia.

Ten days after the mission, a message from the Verlerbofs was transmitted to the Purple Guard.

You stupid losers!!! You killed our elephant, and your petty race will pay!!! We will come for you!!!

The Purple Guard began to get worried. They started setting up armies all over the planet and started to ask other countries to do the same. Two weeks after the message was transmitted, 37 spaceships were spotted. Right after that, the sky all over the world was darkened by millions upon millions of human shapes falling from the sky by parachutes. The next morning, Chris almost fainted.

Millions of humans were walking like zombies and grabbing or killing anyone that wasn’t a zombie. He took out a gun and opened fire on all the zombies. The bullets seemed to bounce off their bodies. The zombies all simultaneously turned on him and began walking towards him. He took out out a knife and threw it at the zombie. It pierced through the zombie, and the zombie fell down. Chris realized that bullets wouldn’t kill the zombie, but anything made of steel would pierce the zombies. He rushed at the zombie holding his knife. He stabbed all the zombies and moved on to other zombies. He told other people that things made of metal would kill the zombies, and soon, he had gathered up almost all of the survivors in an effort to make the zombies leave.

After three years of hiding and fighting their way through hordes of zombies, finally, the zombies left in their spaceships, but more than 79% of Earth’s population had been killed.

Chris led his group of people through the zombie apocalypse, and now they needed to start over. Chris started settlements of new cities and towns on the ruins of big cities. Chris easily became the leader of the new civilization he had started, and soon he had created a successful nation. But after 29 years of ruling his new civilization, Chris died of a mental illness, something like PTSD due to his horrific experiences with homicidal undead aliens from Mercury. His country continued to thrive even after his death.

 

Alice’s Choice

The air was filled with the taste of something creamy and buttery — cake.

Alice glanced up at the large, maple table overshadowing her, and then at the oversized, empty glass bottle laying beside her. The smell of cake wafted from above, and Alice knew that the delectable dessert was on top of the table. Doors of all variety and size adorned the walls, and the ceiling, well there was no ceiling at all! Instead, high above her was a long hole with a miniscule hole of light at the top. From what she could see, the sky was turning vermillion, as day was slowly engulfed by darkness. This must have been the hole she had fallen from, Alice realized.

How had everything gotten so big? she wondered. She recalled the tangy taste of the liquid she had drunk from the glass bottle, and then the tight, squeezing sensation that came after as her surroundings gradually grew larger and larger.

Alice crawled towards the bottle, its surface catching light and shimmering as she turned it over. The words drink me were inscribed on the bottle’s side, and she hugged her knees wondering what had just happened. Curiosity raced through her, ensnaring her mind in wonder.

Getting up, Alice paced around the room, examining each door. The doors had to lead somewhere, anywhere from here. Eventually, she came to a small, locked door her size, with a shiny door knob and gold paint peeling off from the door. An abnormally large keyhole was fitted above the door knob, and Alice could hear strange sounds coming from it, like a jungle. The sharp scent of something floral wafted from the hole, enticing her to come closer. Alice had to know what came behind it.

She scanned the walls, searching for anything that could help open this door, her eyes almost passing over a black key shrouded in the shadows. She picked up the key, about the right size for the keyhole, and the cold weight in her hands calmed her. A strong, metallic smell came from the key, permeating the air with the smell of iron.

The metallic scent reminded her of the smell of the pots and pans she would deal with at home. Everyday, she would wake up early to help her mother cook, but not out of goodwill. Her daily activities would include cooking, cleaning the house, and other menial tasks. The act of doing the same tedious drudgery every day eventually resulted into feelings of boredom and even resentment towards her family.

Alice realized that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to return.

“I don’t want to go back,” Alice said to herself.

“Nobody’s making you go.” A croaky voice rang out from the shadows, as a tall, green body stepped from the darkness.

A frog stood, fully clothed in a burgundy, satin suit. Shockingly bright spots of lime dotted his skin, and he twirled a wooden cane between his hands before finally setting it down and laying his webbed fingers on it. A black, silk top hat rested on his head, and his large, translucent eyes peered at Alice, who was staring back with wonder.

“What’s the matter, child?” The frog bent his knobby knees to lower himself to Alice’s level.

“I’m conflicted, I suppose. I don’t know if I should try to find my way back home, or continue exploring this… wonderful land,” Alice confessed.

“Well, why would you want to go home?” the frog asked.

“Because I know that place, because it’s familiar, and it’s home, and… and all of those things,” Alice said.

“But… ” the frog prompted.

“But this place, it’s so new. It’s so different from what I know. Everyday at home is the same thing over and over again; it’s driving me crazy,” Alice said. “And this place, it’s so full of wonders and things that I just have to explore.”

“Then, stay here,” the frog said, spreading his webbed fingers. He raised his foot and stomped on the floor, sending waves of dust flying, and revealing a small trap door in the floor.

“But I might want to go home!”

“Then, go home,” he lifted the door.

“But I want to stay and go explore this land!”

“Then, go!” the frog bellowed. He jumped into the hole, his voice echoing below the moss-eaten floor.

And then Alice was alone again.

She looked at the key, before setting it into the keyhole and turning it. The resulting click resounded throughout the large room. She set her hand on the doorknob and twisted it, pushing open the door.

Outside was a ravishing forest. Different types of flowers populated the sylvan landscape, and the sky was roofed by vast trees. The sun-dappled ground was covered with moss and ivy, and the forest smelled of petrichor and pine. Cool humidity settled on Alice’s skin, and a flock of birds flew past her. She soon realized they were not birds at all, but a deck of cards flying in the air.

Alice stood in the doorway. She could feel the allure of magic and wonder drawing her in. She lifted her foot past the threshold ready to set it down, but hesitation clouded her thoughts.

Alice knew that if she went back home, she would never have a life of imagination, of wonder, of freedom. This was the first time ever that she could have a change, a decision to make. Setting foot in this land would mean no more days of listless boredom and endless monotony.

But what if there were things, dangerous things, that could harm her in this land? Well, she just had to take a chance, didn’t she? The only thing holding her back from doing something new was her own doubts. It was a bet against herself, Alice realized. She brushed past her doubts and breathed in, ready to begin a new life in this land of wonder.

Alice took the chance and stepped into the forest.

 

Germany

       

“Why can’t we leave this place?” Michael said.

“Why would you ever want to leave East Berlin? You have everything here. Food, school, medicine. Why would you ever want to leave?” his parents responded.

“I want to see the outside world!”

“Outside world? Pfft. Now go to bed before the Stasi comes to whip you!”

He went to bed without questioning it. He had seen people get whipped to the point of bleeding and get beheaded for more serious crimes on top of a platform that was right in front of the Brandenburg Gate, where the scandalous West Germans over the wall as well as the public could see it happening. These people were people who tried to escape through the wall or tried to steal something and survived but got beheaded (head melted off with a very powerful laser) on a daily basis. After he thought of this idea, he got up quietly and got on his computer. He searched on Deutschesuche and searched how to leave Germany. His computer started freaking out and spewed warning messages saying, Warning. Leaving Berlin will result in death or severe punishment. Do not attempt to do so. You have been warned.

He hoped the government wouldn’t find out what he searched, but they controlled the Internet, so he thought they might have already known and would come to arrest him the next day. He heard footsteps and instinctively fell on the bed to pretend he was sleeping. The door opened with a creak behind him, and he heard his mom whisper, “I think he is asleep,” and closed the door behind her.

The next day at school, he asked around with the teachers and students about how to leave Berlin. It was like the word “leave” didn’t ring a bell in their head. Besides the one or two people who whispered to him about how people got punished and beheaded for trying, the rest just stared at him blankly and said, “What?”

When he asked his friend Fritz, he said, “Shhh!! Don’t ever say that in public! If the Stasi gets wind of that, they’ll kill you and your parents at Brandenburg gate! No questions asked.”

He thought he might have already alerted the Stasi that he wanted to escape because he had basically asked everyone in the school. People had been known to rat out their friends and family so they would get a reward or a promotion in school or work. He couldn’t even trust his friends or parents. They could have easily turned him in and not blinked an eye. One lead he could follow was an old baker, a friend of his when he was little, who owned a bakery down the street and had tons of books in a secret closet. He used to read Western stories to him. But when he escaped through a tunnel that he built under the shop, which only he knew about, he found that the bakery was abandoned along with the books and the tunnel. He had not visited the place since.

A few blocks down the road was the bakery, an old building around when the cruel Nazis were around. The third and second floors were bombed out and boarded over the sign and the windows. He went to the back of the building and opened a dusty door, which creaked. He walked down the stairs to the basement. If you looked at the basement, there was nothing wrong with it. There was a pile of boxes in one corner and three sacks of flower in the other. But he knew there was a small tunnel just behind the pile of boxes. He moved the boxes with some effort and stared down the long, damp, and low tunnel. He crouched and moved forward. It felt like forever, but finally he made it to the end of the long tunnel. He came out in an old building’s basement. He could tell it was a basement because of all of the house junk that was lying around. He climbed up a hatch and got onto the street.

He heard, “Hello.” He understood that was English. He had made it.

 

Summer Bod: An Analysis of Body Image and its Impact on Young Women

Marilyn Monroe once said, “To all the girls that think you’re fat because you’re not a size zero, you’re the beautiful one. It’s society who’s ugly.” In the cruel environment we live in today, society’s wrath of a constant strive for perfection gets intentionally strung and tightened on the necks of so many young women. The media take a condescending pull at the puppet strings that control our lives, teaching people to not love and appreciate themselves but to instead strive for an image that a nonexistent monster (named society) created. Because of this horrible creature, self-esteem is threatened through advertisement, lack of representation in entertainment, and social media.

The dominance of the advertising industry uses a force-feeding strategy to commercialize a product by first demonstrating the idea that there truly is a problem to begin with. This mainly exists cosmetically with a constant strive to be “beautiful.” This endorsement approach not only sets unrealistic expectations, due to constant photo editing, but can even cause eating disorders for many young women. During a February 2018 photoshoot with a Riverdale star, Lili Reinhart, pictures of Reinhart were taken and photoshopped for Cosmopolitan Philippines’ monthly issue. Not only did this action bring outrage to the star herself, it also brought many unrealistic expectations for young girls across the country. With expectations being labeled as what makes you cosmetically “beautiful,” people often look to products the advertisers are trying to sell on the ads, even if there was never a true problem to begin with.

A lack of diversity and rendition in the categories of race, economic standing, and sexuality also leads to an overall decline in self-esteem. According to the Thrive Global website, “[A] lack of representation is isolating — it causes one to perceive themself as ‘different’ and unusual. Minorities and marginalized groups need to know they are included and celebrated as a regular part of the world.” (Thrive Global). In addition to this existing in the entertainment industry, social quarantine exists in the cosmetic industry. When selling foundations, many makeup companies across the world lack specific or even any darker toned products. When Rihanna’s Fenty beauty foundations were released, the darker shades, which were in a greater and more specific scale, sold out everywhere on the first day. This amazing accomplishment proved how more cosmetic diversity was needed but also how wrong beauty companies who believed that darker tones wouldn’t sell were.

Lastly, social media and its constant grind for attention has taken a toll on self-esteem in its own way. With each notification scientifically designed to release a chemical called dopamine, the system of followers, likes, and comments strikes a yearning to receive attention through “likes.” So, many people today constantly compare themselves to others with more likes or followers, which often leaves them with a feeling of worthlessness and a decline in self-appreciation. According to The Huffington Post, “60% of people using social media reported that it has impacted their self-esteem in a negative way” (HuffPost). In addition to this impact, social media also leaves people at a strong reliance on approval from others, even if it is through a screen.

Society’s wrath on so many young women creates a hankering to be superficially beautiful. Through objectifying ads, not enough delineation, and Instagram’s (and other networking sites’) hierarchical platform based on how many taps your photo received, my generation’s obsession with being prepossessing and personable has come to a high point in time. If we continue on this route, it will soon become impossible to see the true beauty in ourselves and in others.

 

Works Cited

https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/blog/the-influence-of-the-advertisement-industry-on-childr  en-and-eating-disorders

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/why-on-screen-representation-matters_us_58aeae96e4b01406012fe49d

http://time.com/4459153/social-media-body-image/

 

Little Lemon

Once upon a time, in the village of sugar lemons, Momma and Poppa Lemon had just announced the arrival of Lester the Lemon. Even from miles away, you could still hear Lester crying while his parents were celebrating. Sugar Lemon Land is all yellow and happy. There are positive quotes everywhere. The water is bright blue and sparkling. Everyone knows everyone.

“Lester, sweetie, don’t cry,” said Momma Lemon. Sweet lemons normally learn to speak right when they are born, so Momma could tell something was wrong. Speaking was an important aspect in sweet lemon life, because they need to communicate if they lose a sugar crystal or if a drop of juice gets squeezed out of them. If any of those problems occur, they will be taken to Sugar Sweet Lemon Rescue Center and get fixed, and if they don’t get fixed, they could have a permanent scar or injury forever. At day care, Lester was the only lemon who could not speak, and the teachers couldn’t give him what he needed. Ten different teachers came, and not one of them could teach Lester to speak. On Lester’s first birthday, a big surprise appeared. Lester spoke, and his first words were…

“When can I eat the sugar cake?” Momma and Poppa were overjoyed. At day care, Lester started making friends now that he could say “hi” or “what’s your name.” Lester was about to turn two when another obstacle came along.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday… ” sung Lester’s friends. At that moment, Lester realized something. He saw that all his friends were sugared, and he was the only lemon that was sour. He suddenly felt so alone, so different. He ran into his room and shut the door. Back in the living room, Momma and Poppa were deciding whether they should talk to Lester or leave him be.

“I can’t believe he found out this way!” exclaimed Momma.

“I know, on his birthday as well. Let’s get him a sugar suit!” said Poppa.

“Are you crazy?! That would make Lester feel even worse!” said Momma. Up in Lester’s room, he was lying in his bright yellow bed, reading The Yellow Book: Volume Two. Then suddenly he thought, It’s okay that I am different. It means that I am special. I will prove that I am the same, maybe better than those sugar lemons! And with that, Lester jumped out of bed and opened the door. He looked at the better picture.

Even though sometimes Lester was left out, he also didn’t have to deal with problems like losing a sugar crystal. But Lester wanted to enjoy sugar lemon activities. He wanted to play Don’t Lose Sugar Hopscotch and Sugar Swimming Class. His friends included him as much as they could, but sometimes they just couldn’t. His parents tried to sugar him, but the sugar fell right off. There was also one problem. Lester couldn’t smile. He was sour. He wanted to, but he always had a bitter, mean look on his face which gave him a threatening appearance, even though he had a kind heart.

So for a few more years, life went on in the same way. He graduated from middle school, high school, and college. He got a job as a chef making banana pie and other yellow foods. Then one day, Lester did something unforgettable. He saved someone from going to Sugar Sweet Lemon Rescue Center. So here’s the story. It was a normal day, and Lester was taking a walk along Lemon Lane, and he saw a little lemon eating ice cream. Suddenly, he saw a sugar crystal fall off of her from the lemon peel. It was like in slow motion. He jumped and caught the crystal and put it back on her.

“Thank you so much, sir!” she said.

“You’re welcome. Make sure that doesn’t happen again!”

Soon, every lemon knew. News spreads fast like a busy bee. Lester became famous. He received huge amounts of money, which he donated to charities to help find new cures for illnesses, such as rotton sugar disease and such. He got the Sugar Award for saving a little lemon and when he got the reward, he smiled. A big, fat, non-sour smile.

 

John the Cow, Escape Artist

The cow was named John. He loved to play with his master named Ron. Ron was a good master because he could be playful like when he patted John on his head, but he was sometimes bossy. Ron would also whip John. John was brown with white spots. One day, John was thinking about running away. He knew his master would know that he ran away by morning, but that would give him at least five hours to run. So that night, John started to escape. He ran and ran until it became dawn. He was so far away from his home that he did not know where he was. It was still countryside, which told him that he still was not away from his master. He continued to roam around until he stopped at a small village. He was curious because he had never been to one before. He walked up and down the street until he felt tired. He went to one of the alleyways and fell asleep.

Sleeping in the alleyway was dark and cold. John was used to the warmth of the barn. When he woke up, he was in a truck. Had his master found him? Where was he going? These questions scared him, so he tried not to think about them. When the car stopped, he could make out the word Slaughterhouse. He was going to get killed. He had to find a way to escape. When John clomped out of the truck, two men grabbed him and dragged him to the slaughterhouse. He got put in a locked cell, so he could not escape. He guessed that he had 24 hours to escape before he got slaughtered for meat. He had to come up with a plan, and quickly, for his life. Just then, a person shot a tranquilizer dart in his body, and he fell to the ground.

While John was sleeping, he had a dream about a plan that would get him out of the slaughterhouse. He would break the door of his cell open with all his might, then when the security came, he would go out the back entrance where there was no security because that was where the food got loaded up and shipped to markets in the country. He would run to the nearest ranch where he could blend in and sleep for the night, and maybe even make a friend to help him in his journey of running, though he would not give help to them after they ran with him. He had the perfect plan, all he needed to do was execute it.

At midnight, John broke the chain of his cell and started for the back entrance. He was met with security at the back end to his surprise. He tried to back away, but one of the men saw him.

“Cow!” he shouted and started chasing him.

John’s only chance to escape was to go through the main entrance which was heavily guarded. At least the guards at the front did not know what was happening. He had the element of surprise. John ran at full speed toward the gate which shocked the guards. At the last possible second, he jumped the fence and ran away from the slaughterhouse.

John started to roam around, trying to find a barn to stay at. He wanted to find a cow who would help him in his travels. At 9:00 P.M., he finally found a small barn to sleep in. It was a little smaller than his original barn, but it would do fine. Quietly, John crept into the barn. After he lay down, sleep overcame him, and he dozed off. In the morning, John woke up and looked at the other cows. When he talked to some of them, nobody wanted to run away with him. Saddened by this, John skipped breakfast and headed on his way. As he walked and enjoyed himself, he started to wonder what he was going to do now that he was free. All he wanted to do was to live in peace and not get captured. Suddenly, another cow came down the road. She was white with brown spots, and she was pretty.

She asked, “What are you doing out here?”

John said, “I am on a mission to stay away from captivity.”

“I hate being stuck in a barn. Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind,” said John cheerfully.

“I escaped by jumping the fence because I was curious what you were doing,” said Stephanie.

John and his friend Stephanie began talking about their lives and how they got to this point in life.

“I was born on a farm that was very small. My master’s name was Shawn. He was a well-caring man because he would always give me enough food to eat. He would tend to me every time I mooed, and I liked him. One day I mooed, and he did not come. This was strange because it was nearly noon, and Shawn should have been awake. Then, an ambulance showed up. I heard the sirens like it was my master calling. I figured out that the ambulance had taken my master to the hospital. I loved Shawn, and I didn’t want him to die.”

Stephanie told John that she had been living in the barn for five years and had never seen the real world. Stephanie and John decided that they wanted to live together, so John got a job killing weeds. He saved up five hundred dollars to buy a big shack.

John was living in a big shack with his wife Stephanie in Oklahoma.

“I don’t want to live in the small room,” said John. “I am bigger than you Stephanie.”

“But I want to be in the bigger room,” replied Stephanie angrily. “I’m staying here and that’s final.”

“You are being more bossy than Ron,” replied John angrily. He just wanted to get over it. “Fine. I’ll let you have the bigger room.”

“Thank you.” Stephanie put her hoof around his head and gave him a hug.

“I remember the old days when I hated my life. Those days are over now, and I have a new future ahead of me that I am waiting for us to explore together.”

 

Sandy VS The World

It was a cold, windy day in December. Sandy was huddled into the corner of the barn. The barn was empty except for her. The owners did not keep it very tidy, as there was hay scattered all around, and her deer poop was also scattered. The roof was crumbling, and the paint was coming off the walls. It was pouring outside, with thunder and lightning that made Sandy scared. She tried to make herself comfortable, but she couldn’t. She kept shivering, her teeth chattering. She wished she wasn’t alone. She wished there was someone, anyone, to hold her close and tell her it would be okay. Sandy knew that it wasn’t. Something was off, something happened, something was wrong. The owners did not like other animals, they only liked deer. The owners were not like any other owner Sandy knew. Sure, they fed Sandy and took care of her, but they weren’t the same. For one thing, the owners did not like other animals, only deer. They also rarely went outside of their property, only to buy groceries and other things like that. On top of that, they treated Sandy like a dog, which in some ways was good. Sandy learned how to be civilized and stay calm while someone pet you. She learned how to eat dog food, much to her dismay. The only thing that wasn’t like a dog was that she lived in a barn. She figured this was because the owners did not have much space in the house. She was used to this and was not ready to leave her home and be a normal deer like everyone else.

***

When Sandy awoke, the air was clean and bright, almost like last night didn’t even happen. The sky was blue, clouds were white, Sandy was calm. She walked to the front of the barn and used her nose to push the door open. The ground was wet and when Sandy took each step, the water flew up into the air like a bird. She walked towards the house. Her head was held high, trying to keep positive. She again pushed the door open with her nose. The owners always kept the door mostly open so Sandy could get in. They didn’t fear that she would run away. She pushed it open and saw her owners. At first, Sandy thought they were sleeping but when she stepped closer, she saw the owners’ face, their eyes fully closed, not wanting to open ever again. Their fingers were cold when Sandy put her head on them. Their faces were wrinkled but looked even more wrinkled than the last time she saw them. Then, Sandy started hearing rain. Then, thunder and lightning. Sandy jumped onto the bed with her dead owners and cuddled, wishing they were still alive. She stayed there for a little while, not knowing how long. Then, she got up and walked out of the room and onto the first floor. She walked out of the house and into the barn. She cuddled in the corner just like last night.

A few hours later, Sandy saw a stick pushing at her body. She looked up and saw a man with sunglasses and a blue uniform. He stopped pushing the stick into Sandy’s body when he saw that she “woke” up. The man was moving his mouth, but Sandy didn’t understand what he was saying. Then, he pointed outside of the barn. Sandy stayed still. The man pointed again. She stayed where she was. Then, the man took the stick and slapped it onto Sandy’s back. Sandy whimpered quietly. She stood up and slowly walked out of the barn. The man growled and left too. Then, he closed the barn door and locked it. Sandy saw yellow tape around the house, her house. She started running towards the house, but another man in a blue uniform stopped her. He also pointed her away, so Sandy left. She walked into the forest and kicked the sticks off the ground. The leaves fell on her face when she walked. Sandy sat down on a rock. Soon, it started to rain. She didn’t move under the tree. She let the rain drip on her skin. The rain moved down her back and onto the floor. Sandy just stayed there, not moving. She was scared, sad, and angry. When she finally did move, she wandered around the forest looking for food, any food, so that she could survive. Soon she saw some berries hanging from the trees. She lifted her head up and ate the berries. They were a little raw, but good enough for her to eat. She ate more berries until she was full. The berries made her a little drowsy, but she powered through and looked for water. She found a lake nearby where she was. She started licking the lake rapidly, leaning more and more forward. She was becoming careless, and soon enough, she fell headfirst into the lake.

Sandy couldn’t swim. She had tried to learn in the small river near the house. It resulted in her almost drowning and a wet house. Now she tried to remember the weird motions her owners had made to tell her how to swim. There was one that made a motion like scooping ice cream. Sandy tried that one now, and realized her limbs were too short to make the motion. Then, she remembered one where you made your hands go up and down frantically. She liked that one more. But soon she was too tired to do that one, and the lake was moving too fast. Sandy worried what would be beyond the river or if it went forever. She hoped it would be a big rock that would stop Sandy from moving and would allow her to go to shore. Unfortunately, that was not the case. When she came to the end of the lake, she saw that there was a waterfall. As she got closer and closer, she frantically tried to hold onto shore or at least not fall into the waterfall. Her hand fell on a piece of grub, and she managed to pull herself mostly up from the water. As she was about to step her foot on the land, a large wave washed her back and under the water. When she finally did get up from the water, she saw the waterfall just a few feet ahead of her. She knew she was doomed, so she closed her eyes and waited.

When she fell off the waterfall, her body was a mess. Her arms were frozen from the water, and her legs were cut from a rock in the bottom of the lake. Her body was soaked, her face scratched up. When she hit the water, her whole body slapped on it, hard. She was suppressed under the weight of the water. She pulled herself up and was very relieved to see land in front of her. She walked onto the land, bruises and all. At least she wasn’t dead. She found a leaf to cover her bleeding. She took it and laid it on top of her body. She let the blood ooze out of her leg and onto the leaf. Sandy ripped some of the leaf off and with some sap from the tree next to her, she put it onto her leg. Her owners did this to her when she got hurt, which was a lot. Sandy slowly stood up and walked, or rather limped, to the edge of the forest. She didn’t care what the man in the blue uniform had done to her. She wanted to be home and safe. She sneaked around the house and into the back door. She knew that the men wouldn’t know to come in this way since it was covered in moss and grass. When Sandy walked in, she saw men all over the house. She didn’t care though. She was done with the forest. She stayed low and avoided them as much as she could. She walked up the stairs where they were all huddled around the fire. Sandy went up to the owners’ room. The owners were not there. Sandy wished they were there, sleeping in their bed with Sandy between them, just like it was when Sandy was a baby.

A sudden knock jolted Sandy awake. Sandy quickly moved under the bed. Through the blankets she saw another person with a blue uniform, this time a woman. She heard moans and things that she couldn’t make out. Then, the officer started walking around the room, almost looking like she was looking for someone or something. The officer was getting closer and closer to Sandy until she was at the bed. Sandy’s body was shaking uncontrollably, The officer’s head slowly moved downward until it saw Sandy. Sandy jumped, and her head hit the bottom of the bed. Her body felt lifeless for a second until the officer grabbed her and carried her out of the room. Sandy was strung over the officer’s shoulder and carried outside of the door. The officer laid Sandy down on the pavement. She pet Sandy’s head softly. The officer took out a first aid kit and took out a bandage. She softly put it on Sandy’s head to stop the bleeding. For a while, the officer sat there beside Sandy until she had enough strength to stand up and go back into the forest.

***

Sandy was wet, cold, hungry, but most of all, alone. She didn’t want to be in the forest, but no matter what she did, she always ended up there. It was like the forest wanted her forever. Sandy knew she wasn’t meant to be in the forest. She was meant to be in the barn or in a house! Sandy was walking around the forest, perhaps to get some exercise, or to clear her brain of the horrible things that had happened to her. Her feet scratched the dirt down below. She focused on the different footprints. Large, small, large, ahh! Sandy had bumped into something. She looked up and saw herself? No, it wasn’t herself. It was another deer? It had brown marks on its nose and blueish eyes. The deer had the same color fur as Sandy but instead of having white spots in the back, it had a fully brown coat. Its ears were much bigger than Sandy’s but had the same shape. The nose was also bigger than Sandy’s but had the same color. The other deer grunted and brushed past Sandy, but as it did, Sandy tripped on a small rock and fell on top of the other deer. The deer grunted again. Sandy sheepishly stood up and shook the leaves off of her body, but instead of the leaves falling on the ground, it fell on the other deer. The deer grunted. Sandy saw a tree nearby with berries that she could store for the winter. The deer was watching her as she opened her mouth and started to bite the berries. Just then, the other deer pushed her away from the tree and shook its head. Sandy understood, she wasn’t supposed to eat that berry. The other deer took the berry and held it in its hoof. Sandy stepped forward. The other deer pointed to some black spots on the berry. Sandy nodded. The deer signaled to follow. Sandy followed. The other deer walked to the middle of the forest. Sandy saw a hole in the ground. She assumed it was his barn. The other deer jumped into the hole and disappeared. Sandy stood still for a moment, and then she too jumped into the hole. The hole was dark and only lasted a moment until she came to the deer’s barn. The barn was dark and wasn’t especially cozy. It had some moss in the corner, probably for sleeping. Another hole was there for going up. When Sandy looked up, she saw the ground, nothing more. The other deer lay down on the moss and closed its eyes. Sandy stayed where she was and sat down. She thought of her owners, how they held her close when she was scared, how they made her feel warm and cozy inside, how they taught her everything she knew which apparently didn’t help her in the wild. Sandy decided to wake up the other deer since she was bored. Sandy lightly tapped the other deer on the shoulder. The other deer jolted awake and groaned. It looked up at Sandy who was looking down at it. It slowly stood up until it was fully standing on the floor, then it started to move across the barn and up the ladder. Sandy followed, but the other deer stopped her, almost to get rid of her. Sandy waited until it was fully up the ladder and couldn’t stop her. Then, she too went up the ladder. The other deer was drinking water on the lake. Sandy was thirsty too, so she got some water too. She was again becoming careless, just caring about water. Then, it happened again. She fell in, but she didn’t. The other deer had stopped her. It had grabbed Sandy’s leg and pulled her up to land. Phew! Sandy knew she needed a protector, but she didn’t want one, so she just left. Into the wild.

Sandy shivered in the cold. She saw a man in green and white carrying a weapon of some sort. She had seen it on the owners’ wall. Sandy tried to hide from the man but soon enough, the man saw her. He quickly pushed something that made a bullet fly past Sandy’s face. Sandy’s face went pale when she saw it make a hole in the tree behind her. She couldn’t even see it anymore, only the hole that it had made. She wondered what would happen if it had hit her instead. She didn’t want to know. Soon another bullet was shot, Sandy ran as fast as she could. She didn’t want to run, but she had to. Her legs started moving as soon as the second bullet was shot. She soon was out of breath and had to stop. More bullets kept coming. Sandy shivered again but not because she was cold. The man came closer and closer, his weapon slowing him down. Sandy whimpered when she saw the gun aimed right at her face. She waited for the moment, but it didn’t happen. She looked down and saw what had stopped it.

The other deer had sacrificed its life for Sandy. Blood oozed out of the deer’s chest. Sandy felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She took a leaf and sap even though she knew there was no hope. Sandy looked up and saw the hunter. He aimed at Sandy, and Sandy realized he wanted the other deer for himself. Sandy ran away in fear, although she would miss the other deer a lot. She ran out of the forest and still saw the yellow tape and blue uniforms. She saw the woman policeman that had taken care of her and walked over to her. The woman smiled as Sandy put her head on her neck. The woman then looked at Sandy seriously and started to carry her through the streets. Sandy didn’t feel alone anymore. She felt welcomed and loved. The officer stopped at a house labeled 491. Sandy had learned to read from her owners. Endless hours and hours of letters and words finally paid off. The street was dirty mostly. She saw some stray dog near the trash can. She saw dirt on a lot of the houses which somehow made Sandy feel more welcome. The officer obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but Sandy liked that better. The officer opened the door and stepped inside. The officer started to write something on a piece of paper. The officer held it up for Sandy to see. It read welcome home.

 

19 minutes

I woke up in the morning to realize that my alarm clock hadn’t even gone off yet. It was only four in the morning. Meh, who cared? I would be early for work. Plus, I was the head of the company, no one could get mad at me for being early — right?

Wrong. My assistant publisher was always screaming at me, like, “Grant! Don’t forget your meeting at ten o’clock sharp!” Blah blah blah. Now, I know that I talked about her as if she were annoying, and don’t get me wrong, she was; but she was a real lifesaver.

One time, I had planned a meeting with the president of France, and I totally forgot about it. But thanks to her screaming, I didn’t miss it. Today though, I’m not here to tell you about how dumb I could be sometimes, because today I’m going to the Amazon rainforest. I was flying to a lab where they tested on plants — or, that’s what they said. I was here to find out if that’s what they really did.

Nine hours later, I was at the Harper Labs Plant Experimentation Center. First of all, the place was huge. I don’t mean like the White House huge, I mean like if the Empire State fell over huge. I was twenty-three, and I was the most famous reporter in the world. That meant I’d seen a lot of things, but never something like this. They had hundreds of thousands of plants everywhere. If they were trying to hide something, it was one hell of a cover story. Dean — the man who scheduled all of my interviews — broke me out of my daydream.

“Grant, Grant!”

“Huh,” I replied like an idiot.

“Your interview is in a half hour, so pull yourself together!”

“Sure, dude,” I replied. Dean acted all tough, but on the inside he was a total softie. I’d actually known Dean since I was 15. He was 17 at the time, but we were — and still are — best friends. Dean told me that the name of the man who was going to give us a tour of the lab was Jaden William Smith. When he came to give us the tour, I was quite surprised to find that Jaden was actually a man in his mid-thirties, tall (about six foot one), with light blond hair and green eyes.

“Welcome to Harper Labs. My name is Jaden Smith, but you can just call me Jaden.”

“Thank you for having us,” I replied, slightly in awe.

“So, you ready for that tour?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Please, just call me Jaden.”

“Okay,” I replied.

 

After about a half day of the tour we, ended like this.

“This is the experimentation room,” Jaden said, pointing to a room on the right, “and finally, this is the testing room.”

“What are all those rooms?” I asked, wondering why he hadn’t shown us those rooms.

“Oh, just boiler rooms,” he replied.

I wasn’t convinced, so I said, “Why do you have so many?”

“It’s a big building.”

“Ah I see,” still suspicious.

“Dean,” I said, “can I have a word”

“Sure, wassup?”

“Well, you know the boiler room?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I don’t think they’re boiler rooms.”

“Why?” he asked curiously.

“Well, why do they need so many boiler rooms in the Amazon?” I told him.

“Big building,” he suggested.

“I don’t think so, let’s check.” I walked up to the door and turned the knob.

“Damn, it’s locked. Dean?”

“On it,” he replied. What most people didn’t know about Dean is that he studied in the police force. Nobody knew why he became my interview assistant. If anybody asked him why, he would just say that he didn’t want to talk about it. Thanks to his experience though, he knew how to open locked doors.

We couldn’t be seen, so I told Dean to stop. I went over to Jaden and asked him where the bathroom was. “Two hallways to the left,” he said. I thanked him and called Dean to come. When we got to where he said the bathroom was, we kept walking until we got to a boiler room. Dean worked his magic, and the door clicked. The first thing I noticed was that it was freezing in there. This was no boiler room. The next thing I saw were shelves, thousands of them, lined with a purple liquid. The room was huge, as if it took up half of the lab, but how could that be? We had already seen two-thirds of it. Then, I realized that this room was far bigger than that. It stretched about four floors down. I looked at Dean to see him staring at everything through slitted eyes.

“Dean,” I whispered. “This can’t be a la –”

Beep! Beep! Beep! A loud alarm went off, and then we heard a voice over the speaker. “Evacuate the premises quickly. We have had a leak in sector 1382 C.”

“What the… ” I was confused. What was sector 1382 C? What type of leak? I checked my watch, and it was 6:22. Then, I was reminded of the evacuation. Dean and I dashed out of the place and into the hallway. It was chaotic. People were running everywhere, but as a reporter, my job was to find out what was happening. I started running against the tide, Dean on my back, until bam! I lost consciousness for a moment. When I came to my senses, Dean was standing in front of me with a woman. She resembled my sister Claire. Wait. It was my sister Claire. She helped me up and told me to follow her. She led us into a strange room with lots of strange looking animal statues.

“Claire! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, brother. I work here.”

“What! You told me you were a travel agent.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. We need to get out of here.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Ugh. Fine. This isn’t a lab for plant experimentation.”

“Yeah, I realized that,” I interrupted.

She continued, “It’s actually an animal mutation center.”

“What do you mean? What about the purple liquid. Is it — ”

“You saw that?”

“Of course, it’s my job to see what people don’t want me to see.”

“I knew it was a bad idea bringing you here. You find things out too quickly.”

“Well, can you explain to me what’s going on please?”

“Okay. Umm, so the purple serum is called a SeurgaGene Serum, and it’s supposed to help us speak to animals. The leak that you heard about over the speakerphone is referring to the serum.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“The serum is still in the testing phase, so there is no telling what it will do to the animals in the rainforest.” Just then, a huge bang hit the other side of the wall. I checked the door window. A huge jaguar was walking down the hallway. There was blood everywhere. The large animal was carrying two humans — dead humans. A man and a woman. Horrified, I noticed that the the man was Dr. Jaden Smith. He had blood on his neck and looked like he had died terrified. The woman I did not recognize, but I could tell that she had been a very good-looking woman, no more than twenty eight.

I checked my watch. 6:41. It had been 19 minutes since the leak, and the animals had already started to react. I ran to my sister and said, “Wha — ” She covered my mouth with her hand. I looked into her eyes and saw her fear. She removed her hand from my mouth and shushed me. By now, I realized that the animal has heard us. Claire showed us a secret exit, and we ran. I heard glass shatter, and I realized that the jaguar was following us. I turned to see the jaguar leap at me, and then I screamed. I closed my eyes and wondered why I was not dead. I opened my eyes and saw that the animal was on the ground.

“Is it — dead?” I ask, horrified.

“No, it’ll just be too weak to do anything for a few minutes. Now, let’s get moving,” my sister said, like it was obvious. We followed her outside, and that’s when we saw about forty animals waiting in front of the lab. They immediately noticed us, and Claire shot darts until she ran out of ammo. Crap, we were screwed.

“Run!” Claire shouted. If the other animals hadn’t noticed us earlier, they definitely noticed us now.

We ran through the jungle until we ran into a nest of anacondas. “SSSSSSStttttooooooo pp,” I heard a voice in my head.

“What? Who said that,” I said out loud.

“You are looking at us,” replied the voice in my head. I looked at the anacondas.

“How can you talk to me?” I asked.

“Yessss, now I suggest you run before I kill you.” He didn’t even answer my question.

“Come on, let’s go,” Claire shouted.

“Okay,” I replied. We started running. I looked back to realize to my horror that the anacondas were slithering after us. My sister stopped.

“Why did you stop?” I looked at her, panicking as I realized that the snakes were closing in.

I looked at what my sister was looking at, and I realized that we were on the edge of a cliff. A huge waterfall hit the bottom into a river. Jump. It was our only option. I breathed deeply and told my sister, “Follow me.” She looked at me confused, and then I jumped. I hit the water, and then I saw nothing.

 

Change It Now

I was walking home from school on a normal Wednesday afternoon. I woke up, ate a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, walked to school, and had a great day. I had aced my spelling test, and someone gave me a Fruit Roll-Up during lunch. My life as a second grader couldn’t be better. My mom said she would buy me ice cream after school because she was so proud of me, so we were on our way there. I thought nothing could ruin my perfect mood. But then, in front of me, I saw an evil man. He had a gray beard and a hunchback. He was wearing a long black coat that looked a size too big for him. He had just finished his milkshake, and he threw his cup on the sidewalk! I couldn’t believe it! There was a garbage can at the end of the block he was on, but he still threw it on the ground. How selfish of him! Now over my seven years of life I had seen people do this time and time again, and I always thought that I couldn’t do anything about it because I was just a little girl, but there was something about today that felt different. Maybe it was the fact that I had a little extra sugar from the Fruit Roll-Up, or a little extra confidence from acing my test, but I decided to go confront him.

I sprinted away from my mom, despite her screaming at me to stop. I stopped right behind this man and poked his back. He looked at me over his shoulder, and for the first time, I saw his full face. He had small brown eyes and chapped lips. He squinted at me, turned around, and mumbled, “What do you want.”

“Hello sir,” I said, trying to mask my fear. He squinted at me again. “Well, I saw you dropped your milkshake cup on the floor, and I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind possibly picking it up?”

“Okay, I guess I’ll do it next time.” He rolled his eyes and began to walk away, but I knew he was lying to me. So, I walked in front of him and stopped him again.

“What do you want now,” he said.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t think you are going to do it next time.”

“So? Why do you care? It’s not my job. There’s other people who can do that. Now let me walk home.”

I knew he was a stranger, and I knew I shouldn’t have even talked to him in the first place, but I felt the anger boiling up inside of me. This happened to me a lot. I would become furious at people like this all the time. Usually, I just ignored it, but instead, I exploded.

“No! You just don’t get it.” I was almost screaming by now. “It is nobody’s job but your own! You know that polar bears and penguins and even dolphins are dying because of you!”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Get out of my way, you little brat.” I was mad. I was really, really mad, but this man was scary, with his wrinkled hands that looked like they could knock me out in a second and his creepy squinting eyes. I decided to let him go. I walked back to my mom.

“Mommy! That man threw his cup on the ground and didn’t pick it up, even though I reminded him to!” My mom gave me this look that I got a lot. A pitiful smile, sad eyes. She looked at me like I was some crazy kid who didn’t understand the world. I hated it.

“Honey, it’s okay. He’ll throw it out next time. Also, what did I tell you about talking to strangers! It’s not safe. You’re just a little girl.”

She said it. Those words that I had heard time and time again. They made me so mad. I knew I was smarter than every grown-up who had said this to me, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“Okay, Mommy. I understand.” Suddenly, my day wasn’t so great anymore. I didn’t want ice cream. I walked the rest of the way home with a slump in my back that was almost as big as the evil man’s was.

I got home, went straight to my room, and plopped down onto my bed.

I wish I was older, I thought. Then, people would take me seriously.

Later that night as I was laying in bed, I was unable to fall asleep because I was consumed by my thoughts. I imagined what my life would be like if I was just a little bit older. Even just today would have been different. I bet that old grouch would have listened to me if I was a grown-up or even just a teenager. Sure, I might not get to eat Fruit Roll-Ups as much, and I might not get ice cream just for acing a spelling test, but that wouldn’t matter to me if people actually listened to me. But I knew I was still stuck as a second grader.

The next morning, I woke up, ate my Cheerios, and walked to school again. It was raining, but I didn’t have an umbrella, so when I got to school, I was soaking wet. School was fine. No Fruit Roll-Ups, though. I walked home with my mom, got home, and plopped down on my bed again. I lay there for a little while and thought. Then, I did what I usually did when I felt hopeless or upset, I talked to my sister. I walked to her bedroom and knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she said. “Hi, how’s it going?”

“Not great,” I admitted. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

I lay down next to her on her bed and sighed.

“What’s going on?” I wanted to talk to her, I needed to talk to her, but I thought she wouldn’t understand. She was in high school, almost a grown-up. People took her seriously, people didn’t ignore her. I decided to stay quiet.

“I bet I can help. I was seven once too.”

“Fine, but you might not understand. It’s just that nobody takes me seriously! They think that since I’m a little girl, I don’t know anything.” She looked at me for a moment.

“That’s not true,” she said. “People take you seriously! I know I do and — ”

“No, you don’t get it! It happens constantly. Like yesterday, I was walking down the street, and I saw this old freaky man throw his cup on the ground, so I told him to pick it up, but he didn’t! He just called me a brat and walked away!”

“Okay, so you might be right. People don’t take you seriously ‘cause you’re a kid. But that’s okay, you can just wait until you’re older, you shouldn’t have to worry about this. You’re seven! Have fun and make it last.”

“Fine. I guess you’re right.” I began to walk out of the room, but paused mid step.

“I have one more thing to say… ”

“What is it?” My sister walked back to my bed and lay down next to me again. I took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s just that, I think actually… um, I might be afraid of growing up… ”

“What? You just told me you wanted to be an adult so people can trust you to change the world or whatever.”

“I know, and I have been telling myself that. I thought that all of my problems would go away if I grew up, but that’s kind of why I’m afraid of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if when I do grow up, people still don’t take me seriously? I try to help people do the right thing, and they still say that I don’t know anything or that I’m just being stupid.”

“I don’t think that will happen. You’re so smart. I know it, you know it, and the rest of the world will know it soon enough.”

“Yes, I know I’m smart. And I’ve always thought that it was a good thing that I am determined, but Mommy has told me that sometimes I don’t know when to stop, and I don’t think that will change with age.”

“I think it’s great that you’re so perseverant. Sure it annoys some people, like that old grouch, but not me.”

“You have to say that ‘cause you’re my sister. If even my own mommy thinks it’s annoying, then it probably is. So maybe I just use my age as an excuse, because really I am insecure.”

“Well, I don’t know if you can say that for sure, and — ”

“No, I think I can. I haven’t told anyone before. I’ve barely even admitted it to myself. But you’re my sister, you know me better than anyone in the world. So tell me, will this ever change?”

“Well, I guess it kind of doesn’t. But it’s not just for you, it’s not just because you’re so smart and determined, it’s true for everyone. Whenever someone disagrees with you, they won’t listen. Sadly, there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“I think you can always do something about any situation. I’ve always thought that I don’t have to try to make a change yet, because it will be easier when I’m older, but now that I’ve realized that it might never get easier, I might have to do something now.”

“Okay, I guess you might be right, but what can you do?” There was a moment of silence Then, my face lit up. I had an idea.

“Well, even if I can’t make other people pick up their garbage, I can just do it for them. Maybe I can go and pick up all that garbage from the streets myself! I’ve been waiting for so long to help solve this issue, and I thought I’d have to wait till I was an adult, but maybe I can start now. I know people might not listen to me, but I can still make a change. I’m going to save all the polar bears and penguins and dolphins!”

“Alright, have fun! You can do it!” I was ready to begin. I didn’t care that it was raining. In fact, that just made me want to do it more. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a bunch of garbage bags. I went into the closet and put on a pair of stained yellow gloves that were a bit too big, because they were meant for Mommy. Then, I went back into my room and grabbed my swimming goggles just in case anything happened. I put on a rain jacket and rain boots, and sprinted out the door.

“I’ll be back soon!” I yelled. The door closed behind be with a slam. I stepped into the rain, I took a deep breath, and began.

There was hardly anyone on the street since it was pouring out, which made this much easier. I kind of got into a zone. Pick up garbage, put in bag, drag bag forwards. Over and over again. It might sound boring, but I actually had lots of fun. I imagined that each piece of garbage I picked up was a polar bear, or penguin, or dolphin that I was saving. I had no sense of time, because it was already dark out from the rain, but after a while my mom came out and told me it was time for dinner. I told my family about what I had done.

“I picked up garbage off the streets, and now all of the animals won’t die anymore.”

“That’s great, honey,” my mom said. She still gave me the look, but I didn’t care. I knew I was making a change no matter what.

That night, I fell asleep much happier than I had in a very long time.

The next morning was Friday, my favorite day of the week. Mommy always made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, so I had that instead of another bowl of Cheerios. It was still raining, but I was okay with that. And it was someone’s birthday at school, so we all got cupcakes!

When Mommy picked me up, she offered to get me ice cream since we never got it the day before, but I told her I wanted to go home since I was so excited! I had been looking forward to this all day. Again, I grabbed the garbage bag, the gloves, the goggles, and my rain jacket and rain boots. As I was running out the door, my sister stopped me.

“Wait! Can I come with you?”

“Of course! Yay!”

She grabbed her own pair of gloves, goggles, and rainboots. She threw on her jacket.

“We’ll be back soon!” she yelled, and we ran out the door.

We decided to go to a slightly different neighborhood today, just a few minutes from ours. We rode our bikes there, got off, and got to work.

It was great. We were soaked from head to toe, but we didn’t care. I told her about imagining each piece of garbage as an animal, and she laughed at me at first, but then realized that it was actually quite fun.

I looked around and realized how great this was. I was no longer making excuses, but instead making a change. I looked around. I saw the clean streets that almost looked like they sparkled. It was dark and gloomy, but still, I thought the neighborhood had never looked better.

 

Emery’s Revenge

Emery woke up in the morning with a yawn. Emery lived in a very small cabin near a mountain. He was the son of King Timothy, one of the strongest kings that were alive today. But he was only strong because of one stone that carried strength. He desperately wanted the stone, and he was jealous of King Timothy. King Timothy kept the stone in a mountain that had the strongest gusts of wind that would blow anyone off to their death. Emery hated his dad a lot, because he was weak.

“How can you not even lift an apple up? You should be ashamed of yourself, Emery. You’re a disgrace to our family!”

Emery was disgusted at how King Timothy insulted him every time he saw him. He wanted revenge, and he wanted to show who was stronger. But Emery first needed to know how he couldn’t lift something up that was really light, like an apple.

 

Emery trained hard so that he could reach the cave on the mountain to snatch the stone of strength. He knew hundreds of people died from climbing the mountain, so he needed to train hard and be the strongest he could be. Emery then could carry horses, and tables, with only one hand. But he knew he wasn’t as strong as his dad. The next day, Emery decided to start his journey to the stone. He knew he was strong enough for the journey. The tiring and dangerous trip to the cave was going to be two days, and Emery packed enough food and water for his trip. The journey had just begun.

 

Emery walked on a bridge over the river and saw a stranger standing on the bridge. He turned his head and saw Emery step on top of the bridge.

“Now who do we have here? Emery Farman, you really think you can climb this wall? Pffff. Loser. I heard you couldn’t even carry an apple! HAHAHAHAHA!” said the stranger.

“Who are you?” asked Emery.

“You’re as stupid as you look, Farman. I’m also here to get the stone, and nothing can stop me. Can someone weak like Emery Farman beat me in a fight? No?!”

“Then why don’t we fight here now?” challenged Emery.

Emery then took out his sword, and the stranger took out his sword too. Emery and the stranger then started to fight each other hard. The stranger then went for Emery’s legs. Emery blocked it and then kicked the stranger in the face. The stranger couldn’t keep his balance and fell to the ground. Emery then decided to kick him off the bridge.

“Bye bye!” Emery said.

The stranger then fell to his death. It was a good start for Emery Farman.

 

Emery saw the big mountain he was going to climb. There was a big amount of snow on top of the mountain. He then saw a small sparkle on top of the mountain inside the cave.

It’s the stone, Emery thought. Emery then stepped on the mountain, and he decided to take a path with a bunch of rocks and sand around it. Emery walked and walked. His legs were sore and heavy. Then, there was fog and mist everywhere. Emery then got hit by a gust of wind.

 

Emery was freaking out. His hand was on a piece of sandy rock. He was dangling off the mountain like a Christmas tree ornament. He took a few deep breaths.

“AHHHH!” Emery screamed.

Emery was tired and sore in every muscle of his body. He was back on the mountain. He then faced the same stranger right in front of him.

“Y-y-you’re not dead?!”

“What else did you think, Farman? Now I really want to kill you!”

The stranger then tried to kick Emery off the mountain. Emery then tripped the stranger, and put his arm around the stranger’s neck. This was Emery’s chance to finally kill the stranger. But then, the stranger disappeared out of sight.

 

The stranger was now making Emery furious. Surely there was another way to get rid of the stranger, Emery thought. Emery then decided to forget about what had just happened, and he just continued his journey. Emery was sure that the stranger was going to come back. He knew that the stranger wouldn’t just give up for the stone. Emery then felt drowsy. He knew he needed rest, so Emery made himself a sleeping spot and slept.

 

Emery dreamt of all the insults he heard from his father in his childhood. He also dreamt of all the misery he went through. He then dreamt of him getting kicked out of his father’s kingdom and of how he was really weak. He then woke up with sweat dripping all over his face. This dream was basically a nightmare for Emery. Not only did he wake up with sweat dripping all over his face, he was basically on the edge of the mountain.

“GAHH!” Emery screamed.

Emery took a few deep breaths and stood up and acted like nothing just happened. After that, Emery hiked and walked, and he felt the strongest glow ever in his life. He felt a loud buzz against his skin, and he also felt warmth. When he looked to his left, there it was, the stone of strength.

“Finally! Now I can show father who’s stronger.”

Emery ran up to the stone until a dark shadow appeared out of nowhere. I bet you can guess who it is. The man who annoyed Emery’s journey. The stranger.

“Hey, Farman! You should’ve seen the face you made when I disappeared. It was so funny!”

“What?! How can you not die!” Emery shouted.

The stranger then formed into the man Emery hated all his life. His father.

“Now Emery, you’re not going anywhere near my stone. You better get out now before I shred you into pieces.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I get the stone,” Emery said.

Emery took out his sword and put it on his father’s neck.

“So, you still want to kill me?” his father asked.

“Yeah,” Emery answered.

He then used all his strength to slice his father’s head off. Instead, King Timothy stabbed Emery in the stomach. The sword stuck through Emery’s stomach. Blood dripped everywhere.

“Goodbye, Emery,” his father said.

 

His father then left Emery’s dead body and disappeared. Emery groaned and groaned. He knew he would die in just seconds. He saw the stone of strength on top of a rock. It was glowing on a piece of rock. Emery realized that he could retrieve the stone in time before he died. Emery crawled with all his strength. His shirt was already soaked with blood. Emery then knocked the piece of rock down, so then he could catch the stone of strength in the air. It seemed like everything was in slow-motion now. Emery then extended his arm out with his final amount of strength…

 

The stone twirled around and around. The stone then fell between Emery’s fingers. Boom! The cave exploded in bright yellow. After the explosion, Emery realized that he was not dead. He felt stronger and more powerful. Emery then jumped off the mountain and brought the stone with him so that no one could ever keep the stone and retrieve the strength and power he had. Emery jumped off the mountain and landed in no sweat. Emery was ready, and now all he had to do was kill his father.

 

Emery entered the kingdom. People gasped and spit at him. They shouted insults and said that Emery was not welcome to his father’s kingdom. Emery murdered the people who insulted him in one second. People backed off and ran away and were scared of the new Emery. Emery then stormed into his father’s room and saw his father reading a book. His father gasped and was surprised to see Emery alive.

“Uh, uh, I-I am sur-sur-prised to see you a-alive, E-E-Emery,” King Timothy said.

“Hello, Father. Now I have one more thing to do. Kill you,” Emery said.

Emery then struck his father in one punch. Crack! His father collapsed, and his eyes turned white.

“You made my life miserable,” Emery said.

Emery then spit at his dead father’s body.

 

Losing or Letting Go?

 

Scene 1

(Open on the dining room. MOM and ALEX sit at opposite ends of the table. MOM is speaking passionately)

 

ALEX

(Slams cup on table) MOM, C’MON, PLEASE!?

 

MOM

WHAT?

 

ALEX

(he takes a deep breath) I don’t want to get into yet another fight with you, let’s just-

 

MOM

(interrupting) We’re not fighting.

 

ALEX

Then what are we doing?

 

MOM

We’re have a civil discussion.

 

ALEX

But what you’re saying is hurtful mom.

 

MOM

I’m not talking specifically about your stories, it’s CNN’s stories…you know, generally.

 

ALEX

It doesn’t matter. Everytime we talk you bring it up.

 

MOM

If you don’t want to talk with me, stop coming to our Wednesday dinners, I don’t care.

 

ALEX

Mom, (he groans) that’s not what I mean.

 

MOM

I just don’t see why you are making this such a big deal.

 

(MOM picks up the plates and walks offstage. MOM continue talking to him from the kitchen offstage)

 

ALEX
Because mom, you do this all the time.

 

MOM

It’s only because I don’t see why you need to work for that place, I thought I raised you differently.

(ALEX doesn’t respond)

 

MOM (cont.)

This would all stop if you just found another job, someplace more sensible. I really think you’d be a good lawyer.

(Silence)

I’m ashamed when I talk to my friends and tell them you work for CNN. It’s embarrassing.

 

ALEX

PLEASE JUST SHUT UP

 

MOM

(Pause. She walks out of the kitchen and stands over ALEX) If you can’t be respectful and…and civil, just leave, okay?

 

ALEX

Are you kidding? You’re gonna lecture me about respect.

 

MOM

I’m just…baffled, I mean, I would never ever tell my mother, or anyone for that matter, to shut up.

 

ALEX

You see how ironic that is, right? Because I would never tell my OWN SON THAT I’M ASHAMED OF HIS JOB.

 

MOM

I’m your mother, I’m supposed to help guide you away from bad decisions.

 

ALEX

I can make my own decisions mom, just lay off me a little.

 

MOM

Really? And what about when you wanted to marry that girl? A few years ago?

 

ALEX

That was-

 

MOM

(interrupting) You came to me for advice. So then you tell me you don’t need me.

 

ALEX

(pause) You know, I really should just go.

 

MOM

Fine, go.

 

ALEX

I’m just done fighting with you over stupid things.

 

MOM

So you agree that it’s stupid for you to get angry at me over this, because it really is.

 

ALEX

(he takes a deep breath) Okay, I’m gonna go now.

 

MOM

Do you? Answer me, do you agree that its stupid?

 

ALEX

SHUT UP, SERIOUSLY.

 

MOM

Don’t speak to me that way, not again. It’s your fathers fault you’re so disrespectful, I would never have raised you to talk that way.

 

ALEX
You don’t know where to stop mom.

 

MOM
I’m just saying, those weekends you spent at his place ruined you. I don’t understand why you had to-

 

ALEX

(interrupting) Why do you always have to bring that up?  

 

MOM

Because, I really think he had a bad effect on you, always cursing, and drinking and gambling.

 

ALEX

(pause. He smiles) You know, mom, I was actually thinking of flying out to Las Vegas to go see dad soon.

 

MOM

Don’t make empty threats.

 

ALEX
It’s not an empty threat, the flights are cheap and I’ve been wanting to see him again lately.

 

MOM
He’s reckless honey. I’m telling you as a bystander, not as your parent, thats a bad idea. Don’t you remember when dad told you to skip school that one time and come to see him, and you got suspended. He’ll…he’ll get you into gambling and you’re just-

 

ALEX

(interrupting) Again, mom, I can make my own decisions.

 

MOM
You’re not gonna do it, I know you won’t.

 

ALEX
No mom, I will do it, I’ll do it right now, right in front of you.

 

MOM

(pause. She turns around and walks to the kitchen. She continues doing dishes) Well, I honestly don’t care. I mean, you’re right it is your decision, so, if you want to go then you can go.

 

(ALEX sits back down at the table and pulls out his computer, starts looking at something)

 

MOM (cont.)

I’m just telling you, a few weeks with him out there and you’re gonna come back as a gambler and-

 

ALEX
(interrupting) I got it.

 

MOM

I’m just warning you honey, he’s changed since you were a kid. Back then he just drank, but, you know, he went to jail a few years ago.

 

ALEX

But I’m looking right now, one of the flights, leaving Saturday and returning the 18th is only 200 dollars round trip, that’s a bargain. All I would need to do is tell my boss that I’m taking my vacation days for the next two weeks.  

 

MOM

Okay, do it, go ahead.

 

ALEX

Okay, then I guess I’ll just get this one.

 

MOM

Wait! What’s the airline?

 

ALEX

Southwest.

 

MOM
Oh…well, if I were you…and again you can make your own decisions, but if I were you, I wouldn’t take southwest. It’s a little, how do I put it…downmarket?

 

ALEX

You know, I think I’m okay.

 

MOM

You sure? I have a pretty funny story about Southwest.

 

ALEX

Okay….?

 

MOM

So once, when I was about your age, I took one of the flights, and guess what?

 

ALEX

What?

 

MOM

They lost my luggage. (she chuckles fakely) Isn’t that just hilarious?

 

ALEX
Yeah, I guess.

 

MOM

I vowed I’d never take southwest again.

 

ALEX

Okay mom. I’m just gonna go ahead. I’m gonna book it, okay?

 

MOM

(she runs out of the kitchen)  WAIT! WAIT!

 

ALEX
Oh my god, what mom?

 

MOM
I just really think it’s a bad idea, please, please, please, just don’t go, I’m begging you, please, please…

(she is out of breath)

 

ALEX
Okay mom, okay, just sit down

 

MOM

(she sits down) I just…I don’t understand why you’re doing this, I just don’t understand.

 

ALEX
Mom, somethings obviously wrong, just tell me, why do you care so much?

 

MOM

I just don’t want you to go see him, I really don’t. I promise you, I won’t ever talk about the politics or your job ever again, I promise you, just don’t go.

 

ALEX

Why mom, really?

 

MOM

I don’t know, I guess I’m just jealous of him, you know that. You always came back from your weekend visits and said how fun it was…

 

ALEX

But…I deserve to see my own father.

 

MOM

No, no, of course-

 

ALEX

(interrupting) So, I’ll just go ahead

 

MOM

No, please Alex.

 

ALEX
MOM, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

 

MOM

You can’t go, I’m sorry, I won’t let you. (she slams his computer shut)

 

ALEX

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? I’M DONE HERE!

 

MOM
Wait, wait, stay, let’s just talk about something else. I heard there was a big win for the cavaliers last night.

 

ALEX

(he grabs his computer and his bag) See you in a few weeks mom, love you.

 

MOM
Wait…just…

 

(ALEX walks out the door, slamming it behind him. Blackout)

 

Scene 2

(Open on MOM sitting at the dining room table. She is on the phone, talking to her mom)

 

MOM

…and he just left. And I tried to call him later that night, and he didn’t pick up. I left four voicemails, FOUR! Right? So then yesterday, I get a text from him saying, “please stop calling.”

(pause)

No, mom, he’s being overdramatic and…and stubborn.

(pause)

Mom, I’m not at fault here. Why do you always take the other person’s side?

(pause)

I know mom… I’m just jealous of his father, he would come home from his weekend visits and talk about how fun they were. I can’t lose him.

(pause)

No, I’m not afraid of losing him.

(pause)

No mom.

(pause)

Mom, I’m not the one at fault here-

(pause)

That’s the problem mom. I know that I have to let him go, but I don’t want to.

(pause)

No, but I haven’t done anything wrong, I just love him, maybe too much.

(pause. She chuckles)

Yea, I do remember my rebellious phase.

(pause)

I guess so, but that was a different thing, you weren’t letting me live my life and…and always judging my decisions.

(pause)

I know that mom. Obviously, at some point, I will have to let him live his life…without me looking over his shoulder…oh my god, maybe you’re right mom.

(pause)

I just want to keep my eye on him…because, I don’t know, I guess I know that if I do, I won’t lose him.

(pause)

No, mom, I can’t let him go to Las Vegas, I can’t.

(pause)

Because, I don’t want to lose him to his own father. Maybe he’d start drinking and gambling, Maybe he’d never come back, I mean, he could go to jail or…I don’t know. Out there, who knows what could happen.

(pause)

I know you’re right mom, I’m afraid of losing him.

(pause)

And he’s not speaking to me. I…I’ve already lost him, on my own terms.

(pause)

What should I do mom?

(pause)

No mom, I can’t…I can’t.

(pause)

Wait, don’t go yet.

(pause)

Okay mom…love you.

(pause)

Bye.

(she hangs up the phone. She takes a deep breath. And then picks it up again and dials a number)

Hey Alex, I’ll buy you the tickets to Las Vegas…call me back when you get this.

 

The Path of the Soul

       

“Dargos and Herga. Rise. You are now one with the soul of nature.” Tapping them on the shoulder with his knarlwood cane, the cleric’s green and white robes fold as he ends the short and sweet indoctrination ceremony. Bowing to each other and the cleric, Dargos and Herga swiftly leave the auditorium of the city-tree.

“We are now servants of nature,” Dargos whispers excitedly to Herga, “and we have a place in this great city tree. The Forgag will provide us with everything we need. As one of them, we will have the chance to serve the soul of nature. I am so proud, and I can’t wait.” Entering the assignment center, Dargos and Herga rush to the desk of the old sage seated in the room.

“Welcome, Dargos and Herga. Your first assignment will be guarding against the Rogar. You must defend our enclave of nature against their advance. Their so-called progress encroaches on our land. As members of the Forgag, it is your responsibility to protect all of nature. Pick up your weapons and meet the rest of your patrol squad in an hour,” the sage softly speaks.

Bowing to the sage, Dargos rubs his hand against the soft wood of the room, feeling the pulse of the tree’s life. Turning around, Herga leans into a small knot in the tree. “Hlegor leg. Hlegor leg. Hlegor leg. Great soul of the tree, provide us with weapons,” she chants. Two swords of wood form out of the tree, and Dargos and Herga grab them both.

Rushing downstairs to the plaza where they’re going to meet their squad, Dargos looks out a window of sap. “Just look at the beauty. The perfection,” he says in awe.

Herga joins in with a, “And I can’t wait to crush Rogar scum.”

Dargos nods, but a shadow of doubt begins to creep into his mind. All he’s ever known is what the clerics have told him. “But not everything in the Forgag is perfect. You haven’t seen the prison blocks like I have. Maybe the Rogar aren’t as bad as were told,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“We’ve trained all our lives for the moment. I can’t wait.”

“Herga, can I let you in on a secret?”

“Always. What is it?”

“In the prison blocks, they torture the Rogar prisoners. Everyone of them captured is encased into the tree and slowly crushed to death while being ripped apart. That’s how the tree gets nutrients. There isn’t really a point, since the tree can get nutrients from the sun. It just likes the torture.”

“Good. The Rogar have it coming.”

Dargos bites his lip as they exit into the plaza. “Attention, guards. You two will be joining the assault team. Over there. After the rogar burned down our catapults, we’re going to destroy their labs in revenge. Two wolf mounts are waiting for you,” a brightly dressed officer shouts.

Hurrying over to the rest of the assault team, Dargos whispers to Herga “We weren’t told anything about an attack. Aren’t we supposed to just be guarding?”

“I, for one, am excited to attack. Let’s go kill some Rogar scum.”

Dargos just nods, biting his lip so it bleeds. The two mount the wolves as the commander begins to address the squad. “We are about to attack the Rogar, and I need to make sure you know what to do. What do the Rogar prize most?”

“Knowledge, sir!”

“What do you do if you see a Rogar?”

“Kill or capture, sir!”

“Good. Very good. Now, none of us have ever attacked the Rogar before. But knowledge gained when the last squad died… Oops. Anyway, information gathered from several secret, hidden, nondescript, and unknown sources tells us that their buildings are armed with fire shooting cannons that can burn straight through a wolf. Be strong and decisive in your attack. The Rogar are armed with strange and unrighteous mechanical devices. In order to beat them, half of our wolf riders will go straight into their compound as bait, while the other half will dismount and destroy their labs. But those who are bait, don’t worry. The soul of nature will protect you. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Then we strike at once. Onward!”

Rushing out of the gates of the tree, Dargos feels the wind blowing through his hair and the soft touch of the wolf’s fur against his skin. Tightly grasping onto the reins, Dargos confides in his wolf.

“Hey, boy. Listen up, okay? Did you hear what the commandant said about the Rogar compound? How did they get all that information? I feel like this isn’t the first attack, or there’s something they’re not telling us. Anyway, thanks for listening.”

As the squad crosses the bridge leading out of Forgag territory, they look at the horizon. The area right in front of their noses is a deserted wasteland, ruined by centuries of war. Scorched bodies of wolves, clerics and warriors in the traditional Forgag robes, Rogar creations, and Rogar agents litter the ground. The earth is scorched to a crisp. All around, houses are crushed to the ground. All that can be seen left standing are the waves of tombstones seemingly stretching endlessly. Dargos leans closer into one, reading the words on a single tombstone out of the many, bearing neither the Rogar nor Forgag emblems.

“Morie Yehar. C.E.730-C.E.738. Killed in a Forgag prison, for healing wounded Rogar soldiers. May she rest in peace for all the people she healed by such a young age. She will never be forgotten as long as we tread this land.”

Pulling away the vines covering the tombstone, a shudder goes down Dargos’ spine. He looks down at his wolf. A single tear rolls down his cheek, but it’s wiped away by the wind. Looking down at the Forgag emblem on his robe, it no longer stirs up the same pride in him.

As his squad slowly passes through the wastelands, Dargos drops to the back of the pack. He is no longer excited to be part of the Forgag. Pulling up to talk to Herga, at the front of the pack, Dargos leans over and begins to speak. “Hey, Herga! Listen up! Do you see those tombstones?”

“How could I miss them?”

“A lot of them were probably killed by the Forgag.”

“I bet a lot were killed by the Rogar too. Definitely more.”

Clenching his hand into a fist, frustrated by Herga’s blind devotion to the Forgag, Dargos falls to the back of the pack, yet again.

 

“Halt!” the commander shouts, “We are right in front of the gates to the Rogar lands. Once in there, everyone is an enemy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. The compound is about a mile into Rogar lands. There is one town along the way. We will stop there for the night and — ” The commander raises his fingers for air quotes. “ — respectfully mingle with the enemy citizenry. If you, um, acquire any objects while respectfully mingling with the enemy citizenry and/or cause immense destruction and pain to them, you will be pardoned of all of your crimes while fighting these heretic infidels who do not honor the soul of nature.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then let us begin.”

The commander unhooks his equipment from the wolf’s saddle and puts it on. Throwing a barbed vine up to the roof of the gate house, the commander pulls it taught. Climbing up the vine, sword in hand, the commander quickly scales up to the roof and silently slices off the guard’s heads, and he wipes the blood on the dead mens’ robes. Beckoning for two more men to come up, the commander pulls a little vial out of the pouch pocket.

“Now this here is a very potent sap-based acid. Just a drop or two on anything made of nature, like our wooden swords, will make them strong enough to cut through a roof or wall,” the commander whispers.

Crouching down, he smears a little bit of the liquid all over his sword, plunges it through the roof silently in the corner, and almost cuts out a whole circle, leaving it holding onto the roof by a little bit. Pulling out his sword in one hand, the commander slams through the roof, sword in hand, and spins 360 degrees. Killing all the guards in one clean stroke, he beckons for the other men to come down and sheaths his sword. The three men pull up the gate, and the squad goes through.

Riding along the countryside, the Forgag soldiers slice up the Rogar creations tending to the fields as they go along, and sow weeds into the ground. Collecting whatever supplies the Rogar had and breaking them, they ride into the Rogar town like kings. Dismounting, they quickly kill the local Rogar garrison with the loss of only two men and begin to sack and pillage the town. Knocking down houses, destroying equipment in items, looting valuables, pillaging, shops, murdering the local inhabitants, and just generally causing destruction. Staying for the night, they begin to turn into harsher, more crueler versions of themselves. Dargos runs around, desperately trying to find Herga.

“Arrg!” Herga yells, stabbing a local family through the chest.

“One second of cruelty, four lives ended.” Dargos mentions casually, but with a serious tone in his voice.

“They deserved it.”

“But you just killed two innocent children!”

“They must pay for the crimes of their parents.”

A fire begins to burn in Herga’s eyes.

“How does that justify killing? What makes their lives worth less than ours?”

“Because they’re Rogar,” Herga replies, with more than shadow of malice and cruelty in her voice. Beginning to hollar, Herga yells, “All Rogar deserve to die! I granted them mercy with a painless death.”

“Herga, snap out of it!!”

Getting down on his knees and begging with Herga, Dargos began to plead.

“Make it stop! All this bloodshed, for nothing. We have been taught from a very young age that all of nature is valuable. What makes the Rogar any less? What?!”

“Everything.”

Herga twists her heel, kicking dust into Dargos’ face and spits on the ground.

“You deserved that for even questioning the Forgag.”

“Enough with the looting and pillaging! It’s time to make camp for the night. In the name of the soul of nature, I hereby declare this town thoroughly destroyed and pardon you all. We set off tomorrow at four in the morning, sharp.”

“Yes, sir!”

Pulling the bedroll off his wolf, Dargos quickly sets up camp. Dropping it onto the ground, he clears the bloodstained dirt. Collapsing, he looks up at the bright starry night. Scooting over to let his wolf lie down next to him, he begins to whisper to it.

“Just look at the sky. It’s probably the only place here free from the blood. Why do we have to fight? They’re not so different from us. Underneath, we are all sort of the same. While there may be some differences, it’s not worth all this fighting. Who decided to divide the world into Forgag and Rogar anyway? Just look at this massacre. The little town here isn’t that different from the ones we saw in Forgag territory. There doesn’t always have to be a them and an us, a Forgag and a Rogar. Why can’t there just be people?”

Turning over, Dargos falls soundly asleep, dreaming of a world where there isn’t so much bloodshed.

“Rise and shine! It’s time to move out. Just leave the bedrolls. You won’t need them. We leave in five minutes! Five minutes!” the commander shouts. Shaking his head and slowly standing up, Dargos sees Herga towering over him.

“It’s our first battle! I can’t wait.”

“I can. This isn’t what I trained for, you know? A cleric’s supposed to heal people, not kill them. They had us sign an oath never to take lives. Now they send me into battle?”

“So you can heal people. Duh. You should no better than to question the Forgag.”

Sneering at Dargos, Herga spits in the dirt. Stomping off, Dargos climbs onto his wolf, leaning in.

“What’s the matter with her? Can’t she see what is happening? Urrg. At least you understand, boy.”

Pulling out his sword, Dargos sticks it into the ground and snaps it under his foot.

“I won’t be needing that.”

“Let’s move out! Everybody, we’re going!” the commander shouts and then hops onto his wolf. Riding out, the squad all mount their wolves and ride out towards the Rogar compound. “The right half of the company here will go straight in as bait, and I will lead you. Left half, you’ll be commanded by our loyal and faithful Herga. Praise the soul of nature!”

“Praise the soul of nature!”

Veering off to the left, Dargos charges forward with the rest of the pack, dismounts, and rushes into the Rogar laboratory. Pulling out the same bottle the commander had earlier, one of the Forgag soldiers smears it all over his sword, cutting through the wall into a Rogar lab. Nocking an arrow, another Forgag soldier shoots the two Rogar agents in the room, and they sweep into the building. Glass flying everywhere, they smash Rogar petri dishes, break beakers, and crack vials. Charging forward, the Forgag team rushes further into the building, wrecking as the go. Dargos, however, stays behind.

Raising his staff over two dying Rogar agents, Dargos begins to utter a powerful life saving incantation. “Alhost nep. Alhost nep. Alhost nep. Save these two agents.”

“Thank you. You are a very good man. But why are you helping us, since you are Forgag?”

“I’m not Forgag. I’m not Rogar. I’m just a human, and so are you,” Dargos declares, helping them up from the ground.

“Now, this special tree grows incredibly fast. Plant this seed anywhere, and it will go straight up through anything. Plant it below this Rogar laboratory. Dargos has a special spell to blow through the floor. Where is he? You two. Over there. Go find him,” Herga orders. “We can’t get down to the basement to plant the seed until Dargos gets here, unless we cut through. You two. Start cutting. I hope they find Dargos.”

Panting, Dargos frantically searches for a Rogar officer.

“Rogar officer! Somebody! Anybody! You need to listen! The Forgag are going to destroy your labs! The other team is bait! It’s a trap!”

Hwap! A blindfold and gag are thrown over Dargos’ head. He blacks out.

 

A blinding light shines into Dargos’ eyes.

“You betrayed the Forgag!” Herga yells into Dargos’ face. “Your petty warnings were worthless. We cut through the floor and destroyed the Rogar labs. You failed. Dargos, you are a disgrace to the Forgag. I pity you.”

Herga turns around and spits on the floor.

“Where are we?”

“In a house in the wastelands. You were so interested and horrified at the wasteland graves, we decided to have you join them. Goodbye Dargos.”

Herga sneers.

“I thought you were my friend. We’ve been raised together since we were born.” Dargos cries, tears gushing like rivers and flowing down his robe, pulling out the dye. Pools of now green tears form on the floor, flooding the half-destroyed house.

“We’ve never been friends. Merely accomplices in serving the soul of nature.”

Pulling out her sword, high above his head, Herga touches the sword onto Dargos’ chest. Heartbroken, Dargos’ eyes drop. He falls onto the floor. He sinks slowly into the pool of his own tears. His arms droop. His head falls onto his chest.

“Why? Why, Herga? Why?” Dargos chokes out through the tears.

“Because the soul of nature is above all, and you are a traitor. Goodbye, Dargos.”

Herga picks up her sword, brandishing the wood. Dargos looks up to see any hint of remorse in her eyes. All he sees is cold, hard hatred. Herga raises the sword high above her head and —

 

The Bower

        

She assumes for all she’s gladdened,

her mouth sugared and her frock patched with clementine stain

That her world is ripe joy.

 

We do not talk,

for the joy is hers alone.

 

Indulged by untimely dusk, she clutches JACK KEROUAC by the spine,

pages snapping into the silence.

 

The bridal moon turns a natural eye to the wild pools of sunflowers,

the bloodshot summerhouses and discarded Cola cans

and the air strokes like heaviest satin.

 

Ambling three slim fingers through her hair, champagne and tangled,

She does not discern me any more than the low cicada hum,

 

and I must consider if she is at all

 

Envy and Murder

Sweat trickles down my neck. Why am I here? How did it come to this? I stand over the body and let the moment sink in. I look at my hand and see a gun. I drop it. It clanks against the floor, echoing for what feels like forever. I turn to the shattered mirror and see the monster I have turned into. My usually neutral face is red with fury, in stark contrast to my pale body. My neat red hair is tangled and appears as if I have blood on my head. Maybe I do. My green eyes are so small and frightened, I almost can’t see the evil that rumbles beneath. I start to hear her dog bark.

My confusion is replaced by the fear that seems to seep through every bone. I pick up the gun and put it in the pocket. I pull down my shirt to cover the handle. I look at the body. The eyes are still open from the shock of my killing. I quickly turn and stumble to the bathroom. I wash my hands and turn back. My body tenses up as I walk closer to the body. I close the eyes of the murdered. The green eyes, so similar to mine. I thought killing someone would bring justice, but it doesn’t, it just brings regret. I look at the pool of blood. Betrayal is written all over it. But I am the one to be seen as crazy and unfair. What justice was I expecting? I pick up the body and carry it to the bathtub. My muscles are tense, and I feel the bones on my hands. I let the body sink into the bathtub, and I fill it up with water. I let the body get clean, and then I refill the tub. My hands shaking as I close the door. I take the dog as I leave because I don’t want the risk of anyone knowing what I just did.

The dog whimpers as I put the collar on him. I pick him up and let him see who I am. His eyes go wide because he knows me and knows what I did. Not many people kill their sister. I get him on a leash and walk out the back door. I sprint to the neighbor’s yard, and as I do, I hear a scream. I think of it being directed toward me, and I turn to run. My heart is beating in my chest, matching the beating of my feet on the sidewalk. I run to the corner and pull out my phone.

“Hello?”

“911, what’s the emergency?” says a lighthearted woman.

“My dog owner seems to not be opening the door, and I heard a scream.”

“Where?”

“Gerland Lane, house 67.”

“Thank you. And what is your name?”

“Phoebe.”

“We are sending people over now.”

I put my phone back in my pocket, but I realize it doesn’t fit. Oh no, I still have my gun. How suspicious would that be. I shudder and feel the sidewalk start to sway. I feel myself heave as I proceed to throw up on the hard gravel beneath me. I look at the ground, astonished, and the floor continues to sway. The dog starts to run and bark in circles. I pick him up as I wobble toward the nearest trash can. Since it is quiet and dark now, most people could hear the dog bark, but everyone seems to be asleep. I throw the gun in the trash. Not in my possession, not my problem. I’ll pick it up after the police leave. I glance around to make sure no one saw me, but since it is very late at night, no one is awake. Hopefully no one heard me. A chill shoots through my spine because I realize that the shot of a gun is very audible. I shake my head because that doesn’t point the murder to me. I don’t have the gun anymore. The police arrive about five minutes after I called them, and by then it is pitch black, except for the lights from one house half a block away and a single lamppost.

A single police car pulls up. I nod and walk over to them. A cop with a gray mustache steps out of the driver seat. The red and blue lights from the car show his face. He is obviously not happy to be here. I mean, who would be? It’s like 12:30 in the morning. I see his wrinkled face. His uniform is quite sloppy, and his badge is definitely used and old. The regular shine is lost. He must really know how to do his job. I try to calm myself down while talking to him because I don’t want to seem suspicious.

“Which house is the dog owner’s?”

“Well, actually, she is also my sister. I just did not mention that to the dispatcher. Sorry, I am just really worried.”

“Okay.” His brow furrowed when I said that.

“I just really care about her.”

He interrupts me and says, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure.”

“No, in the police station.”

“Oh, okay,” is all that I am able to squeak out.

He turns away from me to walk toward the house. I am silent, just letting my mind race with fears. He turns around and motions for me to go ahead of him. I swallow my fear and let my feet take me toward the police officer. He knocks on the door. No one answers. I knock this time. Again, no answer. I put on my mask of worry and knock one more time. He takes out a single key. Unlocking the door, I feel my heart beat for what feels like a thousand beats per minute. I hope he can’t hear it. We open the door, and it creaks. I step in first.
“Hello?” I shout. My words feel dull and fake as they hit the walls and echo so softly. He takes out a flashlight and looks for the light switch. I point to the wall, and he hits the switch. He scouts the first floor and finds nothing. I follow behind him and put on the emotion of fear and worry. He keeps glancing back. Does he suspect me? He finally reaches the stairs and starts to walk up.

“Should I follow you?”

“Yes,” he replies in a gruff voice.

I nod and continue to walk with him. We get to the top of the stairs, and I glance around the room and see that I left nothing suspicious around. I start to look around the room, and I hear a gasp. He saw the body. I rush to where I hear the sound and see him in the bathtub next to my sister. I open my mouth and realize there is a way to get out of his questions. I faint. I hold my breath, and my face goes red. My legs shake, and I drop. My head hits the floor. I’m…

I wake up on a hard bed almost worse than the floor. My eyelids flutter as I slowly get up. I see the cop that wanted to interrogate me. He looks at me as I yawn. I see him start to come my way. I debate fainting again but don’t have the chance.

“You up?”

“Yeah.”

And silence falls like a wet blanket.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Your sister was shot.”

“Oh my gosh.” I decide to put on the face of horror with a hint of despair.

My mouth drops, and my eyes get big as I command my face to become pale.

“We have a few leads,” he says.

“Really, who?”

“Well, first we must ask a few questions about you and your sister’s relationship.”

“Of course.”

He takes my arm and drags me to another hallway. I see a group of teenagers arguing in a room. I feel the fluorescent lights shining on me. I feel watched as I glance around. We walk for a good amount of time. Enough to make me not know how to get back to that bed. I see a room at the end, and it’s empty, and I realize I’m about to be interrogated. I suddenly remember, where is the dog? Oh well, never liked that mutt anyway. He opens the door with ease and motions for me to go before him. For the first time, I see his badge, and well, he is Officer Crumpy. What type of name is that? I step toward the chair. I suddenly see the chair buzz and fill with sparks. The room goes black. I blink, and it’s back to normal. What the hell?? I know I am going to have to sit in that chair. As I walk, my feet feel like they are going through slime. I go slow, and I feel my knees wobble. I reach the chair and sit down, and I block the image of me dying here.

He stands in front of me and walks around me as I just paint the face of confusion. He looks at me, and his brown eyes are deep and full of mystery. I just can’t tell what he is thinking. He asks, “Were you and your sister close?”

“Yes. We used to be closer, but we still talk very often.”

“Are your parents dead?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Like two years. It is still a fresh wound.”

“Why did you call her your dog owner on the phone?”

“Because I thought if I said sister they would think I am overreacting. I honestly thought that is better to explain.”

“You had the dog for how long before you decide to call the police.”

“Like an hour.”

“Did you call her phone?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay. Did you notice any other weird people around her?” he questions.

“Yeah, she has a boyfriend who is very sketchy.”

“Okay, well, thank you, and I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say.

I walk out, and he brings me to the exit. I smile. I could smell my freedom. Maybe I can get justice for what she did and what she always had done. What my parents couldn’t see. What my friends couldn’t see. What my own lover couldn’t see. She always gets what she wants. It was time to end that vicious cycle.

***

I knocked on her door. I saw the doorknob move, and she opened the door. Her strawberry blonde hair glistened in the sun. Her teeth shined so brightly, and her skin seemed to be glowing.

“Sister! How are you? I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too,” I said with a small smile.

“I mean, so much has happened! I got the promotion, and now I found the absolute man of my dreams. He has brown hair with little curls. His eyes are green. It is so beautiful.” She giggled while saying this. I felt my face flush, and my hands curled with envy. I pushed down the emotions and just decided to be happy for her.

***

It was a buildup. I love my sister. She just always gets lucky and takes everything, and that was my life. I wasn’t Phoebe. I was Bridget’s little sister. That wannabe. She always got the friends. Once they met her, they liked her more. Same with boyfriends. The final straw was when our parents died.

***

We were in the living room. She was dripping with tears. I was numb. Why didn’t I feel anything? What was this? I looked at her at her worst. Her face puffy, and I felt jealousy. Why didn’t I feel something? I painted my face to be as sad as possible. She looked at me and said, “It just feels so surreal. I mean, they aren’t even old, they don’t deserve death.”

“I totally agree.” I gulped down a smile. Why did I feed off her sadness?

“I’ll miss Mom’s cookies and Dad’s hugs. And how every time I was sad, they comforted me,” she said in between sobs.

“How they always believed in me even though they never said so,” I said.

“They cooked mac and cheese for us, my favorite,” she said while smiling.

“I always hated mac and cheese,” I said with fury.

“You did?”

“Yeah, they just liked you more,” I said with sadness.

“No they didn’t. I just needed more attention,” she argued.

I sighed. She just didn’t understand that I was not the favorite. I stood up from the couch and left her to cry. I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. I flicked the water onto my eyes. Note to self, learn how to cry. I came back into the living room and hugged my sister maybe a bit too tight as we sat in silence. All I heard were the sobs of Bridget. I loved her sadness, but I also envied it. What was wrong with me?

***

I feel the wind seep into my room. The window is open. I wonder why. I pull out my phone, and I see it says 3.00 a.m.. Only a day since my interrogation. Let’s hope they already closed the case. I pull out my computer and log in. My screen’s background is still a photo of my sister and me. I freeze from the shock. My computer falls from my lap onto the floor. The screen cracks through the middle. One side has my sister, and the other side is darker. It’s me. I see myself in chains, crying. I turn away and look back, and all I see is a cracked screen. I close my computer and pull the covers to my shoulders. I let the window stay open, letting in the cold from the outside to match the my heart. I drift off to sleep. I don’t dream, only fall into a deeper darkness.

Beeeeeep. I hear the alarm while it shakes, and then I slam my hand against it. It turns off. I look outside. Birds chirp outside. I feel a warmth come from within me. I don’t know how I feel about it, but it definitely feels good. Is this happiness? I smile, and this time, it isn’t from someone else’s sadness. I stretch and hear a dog bark in the living room. I go to it, expecting kissing and love. Nothing is there. I shake the feeling of guilt off of me. I go into the kitchen and prepare toast. I put a bit of butter and jam. I bite into it and feel the warmth spread through me again. My eyes flicker through the room, and I see strawberry blonde hair appear on the corner of my eye. What is my sister doing here? I feel more guilt rise in me, and again I push it down into the pit where all my rare emotions go. I quickly throw on a red blouse and some ripped jeans. I look in the mirror. I look like a normal, happy girl. A little like my sister. I run out from my apartment as if I’m leaving behind that thought. I run down the stairs until I get outside. I take a deep breath and punch into the side of the building. Even when dead, I compete with my sister. I look at my hand, and there are bruises on my knuckles and cuts on my hand from where I slammed down my alarm. With these cuts are my own wounds… But they are more mental. I decide to go for a walk, to clear my head. I walk around and just take in my surroundings. The houses are so perfect, so neat. The blocks are the exact amount of distance apart, with a trash can at the end of each block. It hits me. The gun. I start to pick up the pace. My fingerprints are on that gun. That gun is still in the trash can.

All the blood from my face seems to leave from my face into my legs. They start to wobble, and I slowly lose my senses. My eyes focus on the floor. I see the little bits of shiny rock between the bland gray. My legs regain their balance. My eyes drift up, and I see the house of my sister. How am I here? I blink, and I look down to see I am in the same place. I still have walking to do. What are these illusions? Am I going crazy? I start to run. Letting the wind pick up my hair as it falls behind me. I let my life be carried away by the wind. I let my feet hit the sidewalk. It is not fair! I close my eyes and feel my feet hit the sidewalk harder each time. My head lifts, and I open my eyes. I’ve reached the block. I can just feel how the air seems denser. Without my sister here, it seems dead. I feel like a trespasser. I look around me. The garbage truck. It’s right behind me. I sprint to the trash can and start to rummage around it. A glint of metal shines in my eye. The gun. I grab the gun. It feels heavy in my hand. It is a harsh memory. One I wish to forget. I pick it up and wipe it on my shirt. No more fingerprints. I scream. The man comes out from the garbage truck. He rushes over to me. I feel my face take on the emotion of horror. My mouth wide open.

“What is a gun doing in the trash?” I say.

“What gun?” he says.

“Look!” I say.

He looks in the trash and sees nothing. Nothing is there.

“What?” I scream.

Right there. I grab the metal object and out comes a water bottle.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“I think. I just need to breathe.” I look past the garbage truck man and see a group of police who seem to be interviewing people. My face flushes, and I turn away so they can’t see my face. I am going crazy.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I hear behind me, as I just walk away. My feet feel like they have bricks strapped onto them. Do they already have the gun?

***

I opened the screen door to the back. The sun beat down on me. I smiled even though it seemed a bit forced. My dad was just humming a song as my sister happily walked around picking up flowers. I closed the screen and noticed the swings were still, with no one on them. I galloped to the swings and let my face create a smile. I hopped on the swing and let my legs pump me to the point of flying. A warmth flowed in me. I almost never had this feeling. The first time I remember having it was when I turned seven, and my sister was in the hospital for breaking a bone. All my friends were singing me “Happy Birthday.” My parents were there, and they were paying attention to me. It was my day. If only every day was my birthday. It had been two years, and I’d felt it about ten times. It felt like a fire was starting from within you but a good fire. Not the kind that destroys. My memory was shattered from my sister’s talking.

“How are you going so high?” she said with her little ten-year-old voice.

“I just let my legs do the work,” I said.

“I’m so jealous,” she whispered.

I smiled so hard it felt as if my face were to fall off. This was the strongest warmth ever. I felt happy.

***

My phone buzzes against my skin. I pick it up.

“Hello?” I say.

“You left your dog here,” says the the cop.

“Oh, thank you,” I say. Relief falls from within me because I was expecting them to find the gun.

“Okay bye, come pick him up — ”

“ — Are there any leads?” I quickly say.

“No, we didn’t even find a weapon near the house,” he says. I hear him sigh.

“Ugh!” I start to mutter gibberish.

“Come pick your dog up soon!”

“Of course! Thank you,” I say, even though he already hung up on me. I smile. It seems like my sister might get what she deserves.

 

A Teacher’s Aid

 

Cast:

TEACHER: Jacqueline

ANGIE: Sara

FRIEND 1 and STUDENT 1: Lane

FRIEND 2: Storm

PARENT 1 and STUDENT 2: Annabel

PARENT 2: Arlen

MOM: Anushka

ADAM: Belinda

 

SCENE 1

Lights up on students leaving room and TEACHER. Blackboard in the back with a teacher’s desk. Bell rings.

TEACHER: Angie, can you meet me at my desk before you leave?

ANGIE: Ugh, Ms. Smith is calling me again. Gimme a second, guys. I’ll meet you at lunch.

FRIEND 1: Okay, Ang.

ANGIE walks up to TEACHER’s desk reluctantly.

TEACHER: Angie, I’d like to talk to you about your essay grade.

ANGIE: I know, I know already. It sucked. I’ll work harder next time…

TEACHER: No no, that’s not it. Your essay was actually amazing. The passion you put in it made it brilliant. You got an A+.

ANGIE’s face lights up.

ANGIE: Really? It was good?

TEACHER: Yes! The way you analyzed the relationship between Anne and Helen was amazing, perfectly showing the importance of Anne’s aid.

ANGIE: Thanks! Are you messing with me though? Because that wouldn’t be funny.

TEACHER: No, I’m not messing with you, but there has been something bothering me recently, and I believe this problem can be fixed.

ANGIE: Oh god, you’re not gonna mention my studying habits are you?

TEACHER: Listen, Angie. You have so much potential. Seeing how well you wrote your essay… I can’t let your talent go to waste like that. You should choose a career path that involves writing.

ANGIE: Go to waste? You think how I’m choosing to live my life is a waste? You have no place to tell me something like that. You don’t even know me.

TEACHER: I may not know you, but I can tell what kind of person you are when you don’t have a strong mindset regarding your future.

ANGIE: No you can’t! My future is my future, not yours to worry about. I’m sick of teachers telling me what to do and what will make me happy. Living for the future is such a sham. In the present, I’m much happier, and I know things will turn out good. Adam makes me happy, I don’t need any after school assignment to mess that up.

ANGIE realizes what she’s said and runs out of the room embarrassed.

 

SCENE 2

TEACHER: Come in, come in, students. I hope you all turned in your The Miracle Worker analysis homework last night!

Students fill in, empty chair where ANGIE sits — TEACHER doesn’t notice.

TEACHER: Alright, let’s do attendance, shall we?

TEACHER grabs paper and points at each student as she reads the list.

TEACHER: Mark, Julien, Kelly, Angi — Does anyone know where Angie is today? No? No one has seen her?

FRIEND 1 whispers to FRIEND 2.

FRIEND 1: I would skip Ms. Smith’s class if she was on my tail everyday, too.

FRIEND 2: Obviously. I heard that she tried to talk to Ang about Adam yesterday!

TEACHER overhears and walks to the other side, avoiding the friends.

FRIEND 1: Are you kidding me? Next thing we know, she’ll ask her about her dad!

FRIEND 1 and 2 laughs as TEACHER continues teaching without noticing.

 

SCENE 3

Room is dimly lighted at night.

TEACHER: Thank you so much for your time. Julien is a great kid, and I’d love to see more participation in my class.

TEACHER shakes parents’ hands.

PARENT 1: Yes of course, we’ll get right on it. Thanks for the feedback!

Parents leave the room as TEACHER greets the next person outside.

TEACHER: I’d like to see Angie’s parents, please?

Young man in late 20’s gets up and walks into room.

TEACHER: Hello, and you are?

ADAM: Oh, my name’s Adam, I’m filling in for Angie’s parents today.

TEACHER: Oh, I’m sorry that they couldn’t make it. Do… you know what happened to them?

ADAM: Nah, she doesn’t really like talking about it, sorry.

TEACHER: I’m sorry, then what is your relationship to Angie? Are you a trusted adult?

ADAM: Yeah, yeah, I’m just here ‘cause someone had to be.

TEACHER is visibly thrown off and at a loss for words.

TEACHER: Alright then… well… I’d like to talk about her grades.

ADAM: Alright, can you make it quick though? I got something after this.

TEACHER: Well, I’d really prefer to see where her mother and father are, because this will take a while.

ADAM: I already told you, that won’t be happening. We don’t talk to her mom anymore, understand?

TEACHER: But surely her father could come, so we can have actual discussions about Angie’s future, and not a quick meeting before you go off back to your own world.

ADAM: No, I already told you. Her parents couldn’t come, I’m an adult, so I’m here tonight because she’s forced to send someone to listen to whatever thing you are required to “help” her with, okay?

TEACHER is silent.

ADAM: So? Is she doing well? Do you have anything to tell me, or can we go now?

TEACHER: We? Is she here? May you please just bring her in, I have serious things to discuss with her.

ADAM: You know what, whatever it takes for you to leave me alone. Angie! Can you come in, and we can get this over with?

ANGIE walks in confused.

TEACHER: Is this person your parental guardian? Where is your father? I believe he would be better suited for me to talk to today.

ADAM: Babe, don’t bother with her. We did what we were supposed to, and now the school will stop emailing us. So let’s go, already.

ANGIE doesn’t acknowledge ADAM and focuses her attention on the TEACHER.

ANGIE: My father? You think you’d have a better discussion with my father? Well, he’s not here right now. He hasn’t been since I was nine. So please, for the love of God, stop bothering me about my life and leave us alone.

TEACHER gasps.

TEACHER: My goodness, I really am so sorry.

ADAM: Alright, let’s go Ang.

ADAM grabs ahold of ANGIE and walks her out the room as the TEACHER turns to her desk with a puzzled look on her face.

TEACHER walks back and sits while showing the audience a picture of her dad on her desk.

TEACHER grabs phone and dials.

TEACHER: … Mom?

Voiceover/offstage.

MOM: Honey, what’s the issue? Why do you sound so distraught?

TEACHER: I need to talk about Dad… Something’s been on my mind lately.

MOM: I thought you and I promised we’d push him out of our thoughts… Alice, it’s been ten years. Why are you thinking about him again?

TEACHER: I’m not thinking about him. I’m thinking about me right now.

MOM: What about you? I know you did some bad things to him, but you know he deserved it. You shouldn’t feel sorry for what you did, after all the damage he left on you. Why is this on your mind so much?

TEACHER: No, I’m not talking about that either! I’m talking about my future, Mom! What I could’ve become.

MOM: Oh, you sound crazy right now. Calm down, you and I both know what you did was the best for you. Now look at you, a happy teacher who teaches a beautiful group of kids. What more did you want?

TEACHER: I wanted to write. I wanted to write whatever I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. I wanted people to read my books and be inspired, I wanted to change people’s lives! Now, I can’t even help someone one-on-one. Dad leaving made my outlook on life completely change… I didn’t even graduate college.

MOM: Please, honey, don’t ever put yourself down like this. Your life right now is nothing to complain about, and I know you can touch the heart of anyone you wish to. You have me, someone to watch over you. You’re lucky to have my support.

TEACHER: You’re right. I am blessed to have you, and not everyone is lucky enough to say that. Thanks, Mom. Love you. I know what I have to do now.

TEACHER hangs up.

Knock on door.

PARENT 2: I don’t mean to interrupt, but am I in the right room? I’ve been waiting a while, but I didn’t want to bother you…

TEACHER: Oh yes! Yes! I am so sorry, come sit, come sit.

 

SCENE 4

Lights up on classroom. ANGIE walks in with friends.

TEACHER: Angie, I’m glad to see you again! Hey, can I talk to you for a second?

ANGIE: Oh my God.

ANGIE turns to friends.

ANGIE: I swear, this better be the last time she talks to me. If not, I’ll make it the last time.

TEACHER: So I’m starting a support group for people who… have some family issues. Surely you would like to join? Maybe it can help you steer in the right direction away from negative people.

ANGIE: For the last time! I don’t need your help! I’m not joining your stupid support group, and I’m not developing a stupid little “friendship” with you. I’m here to take your stupid class so my Mom doesn’t get emailed. Other than that, I’m just a regular student to you. Understand?

TEACHER’s face flushes.

TEACHER: Alright. Alright. I apologize. Please, go to your seat.

ANGIE hides her frown and heads to seat.

 

SCENE 5

Lights up on hallway with lockers.

ANGIE: Did you guys hear about Ms. Smith’s support group? Apparently she’s starting one… Weird, huh?

FRIEND 1: It’s probably because she has her own issues with her dad. My mom overheard a conversation with her and her mom… something about her dad leaving and messing up her education or something? I don’t really know.

FRIEND 2: Ew, why can’t she just let it go? She was in school like, a century ago.

Friends laugh.

ANGIE: I’m sorry, what? Her dad left her?

FRIEND 1: I don’t know, probably. She went on this sob story about how she wanted to be a writer. Kinda like you a couple years ago, Ang.

ANGIE: Yeah… well you guys go. I’m gonna head to my locker, I need to get my books.

FRIEND 2: Alright, see you.

ANGIE walks by TEACHER’s room and observes it, then walks away with a frown.

 

SCENE 6

(Time skip) Lights up on classroom with desks organized in a circle and students walking in.

TEACHER: Hello, hello, don’t be shy. This is a support group, this is your safe space.

Students get in the chairs,

TEACHER: So, third time around, are we all getting the hang of this?

Students nod in agreement.

TEACHER: Okay, who wants to start off first, today?

STUDENT 1: Well, I’m glad to say that I’m developing a way better relationship with my mom! We finally talked about the problems with my sister, and she’s also talking more with my mom about her anger issues. She’s really going on the right path right now.

TEACHER: That’s amazing, Evan! I know how much stress your sister put you through. Now you can take this time to heal together.

STUDENT 1: Yeah, I guess so!

TEACHER: Who’d like to speak next?

ANGIE shows up on side of stage and observes the classroom, but turns around doubtingly.

STUDENT 2 whispers to STUDENT 1.

STUDENT 2: Angie’s here… probably to talk about her boyfriend. Poor thing just got broken up with.

STUDENT 1: Oh, Adam? But they were so cute together.

TEACHER: Are you guys talking about Angie? Have any of you spoken to her recently? It’s been months since we’ve spoken…

STUDENT 1: Yeah, sorry to disrupt, though. We’ll be quiet now.

TEACHER looks at door and sees ANGIE walking away.

TEACHER: Would you give me a second, guys? So sorry, just one second.

TEACHER walks out of class.

TEACHER: Angie? Did you want to join our group? It’s really a safe space, trust me.

ANGIE: No, no… I don’t feel comfortable sharing…

TEACHER: Then just come and sit. You don’t have to share. Just come, and you’ll be welcomed. I want to help you, don’t you realize that?

ANGIE: Just because your dad left as well doesn’t mean you have this obligation to help me. Don’t think you’re the miracle worker or something.

TEACHER: How did you know that? And now that you do, can’t you see that I understand what you’re going through as well?

ANGIE: Yeah… but I’m not in the right place to join right now. There’s too much on my plate

TEACHER: Look, I heard about Adam. I know how much stress has been put on you. Having someone break up with you is hard. Your parents or another person in your family is your best bet to go and stay with. Trust me.

ANGIE: What? Adam didn’t breakup with me, I broke up with him. I’m done with all his crap, I’m heading in my own direction now. But… I just don’t know exactly what direction that is.

TEACHER: Did you try going back to your mother’s house? I don’t know exactly what happened, but she must be some form of help to you.

ANGIE: Not yet. To be honest, I’m scared. I don’t know if she’ll welcome me back in. I’ve been staying at my friends’ houses, and it’s been good, but I’m starting to get on their parents nerves… soon I might not have a place to stay. I really don’t know what to do.

TEACHER: Hey. Don’t speak like that. You and I, with the help of this support group, will get you on a better track with your mom. Trust me, I’ve been there. You’ll know what to do.

ANGIE: You think so? But there’s so many people. I don’t know how you could have time to help me with all of this.

TEACHER: It’s not going to be just me. It’s all of us. This support group is the best thing I’ve created, and it will be the best thing for you, too. These people are just like you. They are your peers, and they went through the same things you did. Now, they are all on a path to recovery while also helping each other on their journeys. This group would be perfect for you. Just join us. We’ll help, trust me.

ANGIE: Okay. I’ll join.

TEACHER: Hooray! Don’t be shy, just walk on in. These people are going to be your family now.

ANGIE smiles, and they walk in together.

Off stage you hear her introducing ANGIE to everyone.

 

Dull Blue Dresses

One Sunday morning, my mind felt like a cloud of haze and dust. I had only gotten four hours of sleep the night before, and I felt myself strapped to the covers, unable to rise out of bed. However, I was supposed to attend a dance party later that day at a dance hall, between 11:00 AM and 12:00 PM; my best friend, Renee, had sent an invite via Facebook Messenger to which I could RSVP, and told me that the cost of purchasing tickets was expensive. However, she didn’t send me a link to where I could purchase tickets. Therefore, I didn’t buy them to get into the dance. I also didn’t have an outfit picked out; should I wear a dress or a skirt? If I was going to wear a dress, should it be flowy and long or a pencil skirt dress? Oh well, I decided not to worry about that issue until an hour before I had to leave.

After thirty minutes of resting in bed and gazing up at the ceiling, I finally lifted myself up, slipped into my slippers, and walked out into the cold air of my kitchen, where a box of pancake mix enticed me and awaited for my mouth to devour it. I propped open the lid, turned on the stove to medium heat, put a seared pan on top, and gathered sugar, milk, eggs, etc. in order to make the batter. Once I finished whipping up all of the ingredients in one deep bowl, I poured the batter onto the butter-seared pan; the dripping of the batter was like a slow waterfall, dropping onto the pan and making a sizzling sound that was piercing throughout the kitchen. The sizzling sound kept ringing and ringing out until I used up all of the batter and made seven pancakes; I was ready to devour those moist cakes! However, you can’t have pancakes without the sticky and sweet goodness of maple syrup and the creaminess of butter! As I was pouring maple syrup onto the mountain of pancakes, my mouth started salivating and drooling, just like a dog. The last ingredient that I had to put on those pancakes was butter; I pulled out a stick of butter from my bare-to-the-bones fridge, cut it in half, and smeared it across the surface of the top pancake in the mountain that I had made. Now, the pancakes were ready to be devoured! I took one bite and was immediately in heaven; the sweetness of the maple syrup and the creaminess of the butter combined with the moistness of the pancakes was the perfect breakfast food for today.

I don’t really like to eat with other people because I don’t want to see them staring at me while I eat my own meals. I would rather just eat alone in the quiet space of my kitchen, mindlessly chewing and humming along to myself.

Ugh, why did I eat so many freaking pancakes? What was my reasoning behind this decision? Was I truly ravenous, or was I eating in order to bury deeply rooted negative emotions? I came to understand that I wasn’t starving after all; instead, the pancakes were filling an emotional void.

I checked my watch and realized that it was time to pick out a dress for the dance that I was going to in exactly thirty minutes. I looked through my closet, and I found three dull blue dresses, all of which were long and flowy; I felt insecure about drawing attention from strangers by wearing a shiny dress even though I desperately wanted to, so the dullness of the dresses exposed me less.

Did I really want to try on each of the blue dresses, though? The immediate thought of trying them on filled me with dread and agony. What if I didn’t like the person I saw in the mirror reflected back at me? I was afraid of confronting my own body in the mirror.

When I finally mustered up the courage to try on all three of the dull blue dresses, I realized that I didn’t like how they looked on me because of my figure. The dresses made me look like an overweight pig. To be honest, I didn’t want to go to the dance because I felt self-conscious about having random strangers stare at me; even though I was wearing a dull blue dress, people would still have noticed that I was there and would have judged how I looked in that dress. I especially didn’t want to see anyone I knew because then I would have felt more exposed and vulnerable. At the same time, I wanted to feel good in my own body and to be able to look like a goddess in a glittery dress that highlights my figure, and to have people compliment me on my looks, but I felt too insecure to show myself off.

I asked myself this question: Should I arrive late, or should I arrive on time? If I arrived late, I wouldn’t have to spend as much time at the dreadful dance. However, if one of my friends saw me, she would most likely accuse me of being late, and then I would have to deal with that internal guilt for the rest of the time. If I didn’t go to the dance, Renee would text me, asking me where I was. Ugh, I really, really just wanted to block the world out. Maybe I could just disappear from reality under my covers, in the exact same position as when I woke up.

Even though I wanted to hide under my covers, I realized that it was not healthy to isolate yourself. The real question was: Should I call Renee to tell her that I’m not going to the dance party? If I called her, she might or might not be angry at me for calling at the last minute. After a few moments, I mustered up the courage to make that phone call.

“Hey Renee, how’s it going? I’m calling you because I really, really, really don’t want to go to this dance party you’ve invited me to,” I said with my heart beating in my chest, feeling nervous about how Renee was going to respond.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Renee asked with a concerned tone.

“I’m just feeling extremely insecure about having people stare at me and judge me based off of my appearance. I know that this is a last minute call, but I sincerely hope you aren’t pissed off at me,” I replied with sweat beads forming on my forehead and my internal body heating up like an oven preheating.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. I understand that sometimes, crowds can be fear-inducing for many people. Just know that I’m here for you whenever you need someone to talk to.”

Upon hearing those magical words, I exhaled loudly, sighing with relief; the weight of the world had just been lifted off my shoulders.

“After the party ends, I would like to spend time with you. Do you want to get together with me?” I asked, with anticipation in my voice and hoping that she would accept my offer.

“Umm, I would love nothing more than to spend time with you, Annie! Do you want to go have lunch with me?” Renee asked.

“Let’s go get coffee instead. I’m still stuffed from breakfast this morning,” I said.

“Ah, okay. Let’s meet up at 12:30 PM! So excited to spend one-on-one time with you!” Renee excitedly replied.

I was excited to spend one-on-one time with her too.

 

Attack of the Potatoes

                     

Prologue

There once was a man named Bob, who was a homeless man in New York City, and he lived in a cardboard box in an alleyway. You might think he was a sad man, but he was perfectly happy with his life. Most of the time, he had two to three meals a day.

 

Story

I was walking in New York City. It was a nice and sunny day. There were lots of clouds in the sky, and it was 87 degrees with cool breezes, the perfect day. I looked around. Everything seemed normal, the buildings tall and bustling with people, and the subway stations were crowded. Everything seemed normal until I was walking close to the Empire State Building. People seemed to be frantically running away from it. I looked around, and I didn’t see anything. I went up to someone to ask if they knew what was happening.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you know why people are running away from there?”

“Yes,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “People are running away because there are tons of potatoes attacking people in the Empire State Building!”

“What?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

He must be lying, I thought. Potatoes are something you eat, not something alive! Since I didn’t believe that man one bit, I continued walking down Fifth Avenue. I was seven blocks away. Everything looked perfectly fine except for the people running away and shrieking. One person even tried to get me to turn around and run away, but I just brushed her off.

I was six blocks away.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” some man in a business suit holding a briefcase said. “THERE ARE GIANT POTATOES ATTACKING!”

Now I was as baffled as ever. Another person said the same thing! I wanted to confirm that it was 100 percent true, so I went up to another person.

“Excuse me, miss,” I asked. “Why are people running away fr — ”

“RUUUNNNNNNNN!!!” the woman screamed.

“But why are people running!?” I repeated.

She just ignored me and continued to run. I’m just going to go there and figure out what is wrong, I thought. I continued on my way, a half a block away, and I heard tires screeching. I turned around, and I saw big military Jeeps and FBI bulletproof trucks speeding towards the Empire State Building. I jumped out of the way and heard some man on the Jeep shout “Get out of here! This is a really dangerous area.”

“Okay, sir,” I replied.

I turned around and walked the other way for 30 seconds and then continued towards the building when I couldn’t see the army trucks anymore. There were no more people running away. They all left. The streets looked deserted like a ghost town. There were some phones on the floor, so I decided to take one. After all, it’s not like they would come back and get it. I heard my stomach grumble. I needed some food before I continued. Luckily, there was an abandoned hot dog cart with hot dogs sizzling on it. I also took a bottle of Gatorade for when I would be thirsty. I took a hot dog with a bun and spritzed some mustard and ketchup and sprinkled some relish on it. I turned off the stove so nothing would burn and continued on my way. I was two blocks away from the Empire State Building. I could hear booms and explosions and shots being fired. It sounded dangerous. But I didn’t worry that much. I’m a curious person, so I really wanted to see it.

Being curious is what got me fired from my job. I used to work for a restaurant, and the owner once asked me to drive his car back home. My boss had a Lamborghini, so I agreed right away. I got in his car. It was a green Lamborghini. I started up the car and went zooming down the road. While I was driving, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a red button. I love red buttons, so I decided to push it… and the car all of a sudden stopped. Everything went flying, including my boss’s favorite glass cups, drinks, and all sorts of food. Two cars bumped into the back of the car, and inside the airbags came out, and everything was a mess. The seats were stained with all sorts of food and drinks, the trunk was smoking, and the glass on most of the windows was cracked. I knew I was going to get scolded for hours by my boss, so I did what my instincts thought I should do. I ran out of the car and never went back to my job. As a matter of a fact, I saw a billboard on top of a building asking where I was. It read, Ten thousand dollar reward if anyone finds this man! and it showed a picture of me. I always felt really guilty for breaking the car and not owning up to my actions.

I was on the block of the Empire State Building, and I almost passed out… They were right! Potatoes were attacking the Empire State Building. Some potatoes were eating the bricks of the building, some were standing outside of it doing nothing, and some were shooting the building with some laser gun! I hid behind a trash can and watched them in horror. Then, I heard something behind me. It was like someone was panting…

“AAAHHHHHHH!” I screamed. There was a huge potato that was 15 feet tall and had branches sticking out like it was a month old.

Then, the potato said in a deep voice, “Hello, puny human, we have come from the planet আলু ভাজা. We have come to take over Earth because our planet’s resources have been depleted. We have been studying humans for 567 years, and we learned everything about you. Now it is time for your death.”

“Please don’t eat me!” I begged. “I just wanted to see why people were running away from here.”

“I don’t care, I do not have emot — ”

All of a sudden, the potato fell down, and I saw why. There was a man with a big machine gun that shot it!

“GET OUT RIGHT NOW!” screamed the man who looked like he was from the army. “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE, I WILL HAVE TO STUN YOU.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I will leave,” I replied.

I ran as fast as I could away from the war between humans versus potatoes. I got to East 32nd street. I turned off of Fifth Avenue and went towards Sixth Avenue. I still wasn’t done exploring and figuring out exactly what was happening. I made a turn onto Sixth Avenue and went back to the commotion. I saw a Forever 21 store with nobody inside. Clothes were spewed everywhere. I should get some new clothes. I haven’t gotten a new T-shirt and pants for a few years. I went inside the store, and I took a new striped shirt and blue jeans and put them on. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gun, like the one the man had when he shot the potato. I went over to the gun, and then I almost passed out. There was a man who looked like someone had taken a bite out of his leg. There was blood gushing everywhere. I felt his heart for a heartbeat, but sadly, there wasn’t one.

I grabbed the gun and went on my way. Then, I heard some footsteps, and I quickly ran behind a clothing shelf. I heard panting, just like the previous potato who tried to kill me. That must have been the potato who killed the man! Chills went down my spine. I heard the potato getting closer and closer, and then… I jumped out and shot it. The potato fell to the ground, and I saw what it looked like. It had small legs, like a cartoon character, and it didn’t have any arms. It must have some type of telepathic powers that allow it to carry things, I thought. It was a small potato, a few inches taller than me. Then, I thought of a genius idea. I would carve a hole for me to fit in, and I’ll sneak into the Empire State Building. I looked around, scanning my surroundings and making sure nobody was near me. I took my trusty Swiss Army knife and went to carving. The inside of the potato looked extremely unusual. It didn’t have any insides that would possibly allow it to breathe or speak. It was like magic! All the insides of the potato consisted of some whitish mush like in a normal potato. After 45 minutes of carving, I was done. I crawled inside the potato and filled the hole back up. I made sure to make it small hole, so it would be easy to fill up. I made some eye holes and a small hole near my mouth and nose, so I could breathe. I walked outside and continued my way towards the war.

After a few minutes, I saw the Empire State Building in sight. That must be their headquarters, I thought. There were approximately 20 potatoes with things that looked like guns from the movie The Fifth Element. The guns in The Fifth Element look long and tall, and they have all sorts of buttons and levers on the bottom. It also has different bullets/weapons that you could shoot. I need to think of a good excuse to get into the building… I know! I need a new gun. I think I saw some potatoes run in there without a gun and come out with one.

I walked to the Empire State Building, and a pickle walked up to me, and he asked, “Why are you coming in here? It looks like you need a gun.”

“Yes I do,” I replied in a gruff voice, trying to sound like one of them.

“Follow me.”

I followed him down the lobby, and we turned in to another hallway. I looked around. There were potatoes walking everywhere. I had sweat all over me. I was shaking, hoping that they wouldn’t find out the truth about me. If they did, I probably would die instantly. Everyone around me had a gun. After 30 seconds of walking down the hallway, we reach a room with two potatoes guarding it. The potato escorting me told the pickles something and brought me into the room. I was amazed. There were all kinds of things, like guns that had some blue substance inside a tube. There was even a rocket launcher! The weapon that caught my eye was a sword that looked exactly like a lightsaber.

Then, the potato asked me, “What weapon do you want?”

“I’ll take the rocket launcher,” I replied. I took it off the shelf and started walking out.

“Hey! Do you know how to use that weapon?”

“Ummm, yes,” I replied. “You just click the trigger.”

“Okay, you know how to use it. Now go outside and fight for our leader, মাস্টার আলু.”

“I will fight as hard as I can.” Then, I thought, Why don’t I kill him and walk out and try to kill the leader. The leader would probably be upstairs… I quickly grabbed the sword weapon and sliced the potato in half before he could say anything. I hid the two halves of the potato behind a shelf, and I walked out. I walked back to the main lobby, and I stood around, trying to look as casual as possible guarding the building. Why don’t I ask someone if they know where the leader is? I’ll say I need to tell the leader something important, and I can go find him and kill him. I once read in a book where they killed the alien leader, and all the aliens died. Maybe it will be the same in this situation.

I continued to pretend to guard, and then I saw a human. He looked like he was part of the army, and he had a small pistol like from Star Wars.

Then, the potato next to me screamed, “KILL THAT HUMAN!”

I didn’t know what to do. I could kill my own kind, and then I would die because they would think I was a human, or I could shoot him, and I wouldn’t die, but I would always regret it.

“C’mon! Shoot the dude!”

“Okay, Okay,” I replied. I decided I would shoot him. I pulled the trigger and closed my eyes.

Boom, the man turned into smithereens. I hope I don’t get arrested after the war… if we win…

“Good job. Next time, don’t wait, just shoot,” a random pickle said.

I still wasn’t sure what to use as an excuse to see the leader. I was so tired I could barely stand up, this costume was itching, and it felt like it was a million degrees in here. But I persisted. I knew that I had to continue if I wanted to help save Earth from this attack. I felt extremely regretful for killing that poor, poor man. If I ever met his family, I would give them whatever they wanted to make up for it. But it was a sacrifice for a worthy cause, saving the world. After 40 minutes of doing nothing, I thought of the perfect excuse. I needed to tell the leader, মাস্টার আলু (I remembered his name!) that I had an amazing way to defeat the humans. I would tell him that humans cannot live if they don’t have water and that the potatoes should steal it. It was a genius plan!

I walked back into the building, and then a voice behind me said, “Hey, stop! Get back here! You have to guard the tall structure.”

“I’m going to the leader, I need to tell him a genius plan I thought of to get rid of the humans,” I responded.

“Okay, you can go, just take the box cart that goes up and take it to the 42nd floor. If you do anything weird, we will kill you.”

Yes! I thought. I can finish my plan! These aliens are so dumb! I went to the elevator, and I got on with another potato. The potato looked at me suspiciously. He clicked floor 32. I wonder what’s on that floor. Then, at the worst time possible, the hand of my potato costume fell off. The potato in the elevator gasped.

“YOU’RE NOT REAL!” he shrieked.

I quickly pulled out my lightsaber, I was just kidding about putting it back. I stole it. I stabbed the potato, and I clicked the 34th floor and hoped nobody would be there. I ran out of the elevator, my whole body shaking. Phew, there wasn’t anybody there. I got out of my costume and hid the dead potato under a desk. It’s extremely weird when potatoes die. Their insides turn green almost seconds after they die, and they become lighter than a feather. I found some towels on the desk, and I dried up the inside of my potato costume. It smelled like the worst B.O. ever. After 20 minutes of cleaning, I got back inside. I was about to go to the elevator, but then I heard a bump. Oh no! Some potato probably saw me! Then, I heard a bump coming from across the room. I walked over to where I heard the noise, and I saw there was a human hiding in a closet!

“Please!” he begged. “Don’t kill me. I have a family! All I want to do is make money to feed and support my family.”

I felt so guilty, so I told him the truth.

“I’m not really a potato,” I whispered. I peeked my head out to show him that I wasn’t. The man breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just hide here. I’ll come back and get you when the potatoes are gone,” I advised and walked into the elevator… hoping that I won’t ever have to have an encounter like that again.

I was in the elevator, I clicked the 42nd floor, and it went zooming up. I took out my sword getting ready. There were probably around five to ten potatoes up there guarding their leader. I will go up to the leader and tell him the “amazing strategy” and then stab him with my sword. I tried to look as casual as possible, even though I was shaking and sweating like I just sprinted a 24 mile run. The door opened, and I saw a potato… but instead of being big like the other potatoes, it was small. It was an average size potato, like one that you would buy in the supermarket. It also floated, and it didn’t have any arms. Around the potato, there were five big potatoes, like from downstairs. They were holding a long staff that had some knife at the end. Around the knife at the end, it had lines of blue things that looked like electricity.

One potato asked me, “What do you want?”

“I know a weakness that the humans have. We can use it to defeat them,” I replied.

“Tell me, my fellow potato.”

Shaking and sweating, I walked over to the leader’s desk and told him the plan, “The humans need water to survive. If we take all of their clean water, they will all die out.”

“What a smart idea!” exclaimed the leader. “We will send our ships to steal the water.” The leader clicked some button on his desk and said, “জল ধরুন.”

“I would like to show my gratitude for helping us take over this planet by promo — ”

I grabbed the potato and ate it.

*Gulp.*

It tasted pretty good. After eating the potato, all of the other potatoes fell to ground, and their hands and feet disappeared, and they shrank to a normal size.

 

Epilogue

I heard cheering outside. I got out of my costume, and I looked out the window. There were tons of people cheering and clapping. I went back to the floor where the man was hiding and told him the good news. He started crying in happiness and hugged me. I went downstairs with the man, and everyone started pointing at the man who I found on the 34th floor.

I asked the man, “Who are you? Why is everyone pointing at you?”

Embarrassed for some reason, he replied, saying, “I’m really a senator for New York. I should have told you earlier.” Then, the senator found a couch and stood on it and started to speak, “I would like to thank this man for saving me and our whole planet.”

Everyone started clapping and cheering. I was so excited! I was going to be acknowledged for what I did! Soon, the police came and tried to control the crowd. Then, the news trucks came and started taking pictures and tried to get over to me and talk. Luckily, the police helped me from getting crushed by journalists. At the end, someone wrote a book about me, I got a job as a police officer, and I got a really special medal and five million dollars. But still, I will never be happy because I killed that man.

 

A few weeks later…

In Bob’s brand new penthouse on the top of a skyscraper in Manhattan, (which the president gave him as a gift), he was watching television, and he heard something that shocked him.

“Breaking news: one of NASA’s satellite dishes in Hawaii got an unusual radio wave that was not from a star, a planet, nor even from a black hole. It was from something that must have been intelligent. NASA turned the Hubble Space Telescope towards the radio frequency, and what they saw was astonishing. There was a ship, and it was coming straight towards Earth. While the spaceship was flying towards Earth, it went in a weird pattern that spelled the letters P, O, T, A, T, O. Scientists say it will reach Earth in approximately 666 years.”

I looked out the window and saw that the big screen in Time Square also was playing that same message. Oh no! There must be more potatoes coming to attack us!

The End (For now… )

 

A Love Letter to Myself

As my being develops and evolves in the world, so does my sense of self. The different layers that shape my identity each tell a different story, and looking back at my past experiences, I am not ashamed of who I have become despite the ever so present obstacles that face me and the countless other people that look like me.

My parents gave me the name Eliwa, having a strong significance in their native Gabonese language: Pongwe. This name signifying two elements, firstly the kingdom of God and secondly, lake. It is not a name that I cherished or valued at first. I thought best to keep my name Mirya-Anne, best to say I was Austrian if people asked me where I was from. I did not want to be reminded that I was black, that my roots were neither from Europe nor from the U.S but the motherland itself. Soon enough, I was correcting people as nicely as I could on how to say it or spell it. My anger towards this was masked by politeness.

At a young age, European ideals invaded my mind, and therefore unconsciously, my anti-blackness began to show. At night, I would dream for lighter skin and straighter hair. It seemed I was too dark for everything, that the hue of my skin was still not deemed acceptable in the 21st century. My ten-year-old self could not comprehend this, and I asked myself continuously if there was truly something wrong with me. Looking back at my younger self, a feeling of sadness floods my whole being, simply knowing the unhappiness that I felt towards being black. This is not something that I particularly mentioned to my parents or even my older siblings. It stayed hidden. This obsession with eurocentric beauty standards never surfaced or became apparent either. There was nothing I could really do or say to change it. This name, this history, this culture was ingrained in me permanently.

 

I remember being a small child in my predominantly white school, having been asked why my skin looked the way it was. Children shouted at my skin in the playground, deeming it ugly. I could not answer. My skin was seen as an anomaly for along time. Because somehow I was just so different from everyone else. I remember being the only black girl in my nursery room calling for my mom, hoping she wasn’t too far away. I think it was the feeling of being such an outsider that my younger self could not cope with. I didn’t speak. I didn’t play. My siblings who attended the same school tried to comfort me, but I was hopeless. Nothing could soothe me.

 

The first time I saw a black person die on my TV screen, I was 11 going on 12. His name was Trayvon Martin, and he was the same age I was right now, seventeen years old, ready to enter an unknown future, not knowing the tragic ending that would follow. Trayvon had a bright future. He was passionate about aviation and was loved deeply by his family and friends. My mother and I turned on CNN everyday waiting for the verdict that would determine everything. The day the verdict was released, I turned on the TV and saw in big bold letters, Not guilty. My head spun, and I thought to myself, This isn’t normal. He should be in jail. He killed an unarmed young man. I started to fear for my older brother and father. I thought to myself what if something happened to them eventually. Morbid thoughts entered my head once again, and it was a difficult task to try to block them out once more. The future seemed bleak for Black America. Trayvon wasn’t the only one. Hundreds of names followed: Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Sandra Bland etc. My naivety led me to believe that black women weren’t facing the same problems as black men, police men and women wouldn’t hunt us down, except they did. Sandra Bland wasn’t the first nor will she be the last.

 

Somewhere in my early teens, I had an awakening which I can largely accredit to social media and the manner in which they uplifted people like me as well as my older brother, the intellectual 22-year-old at the time who pushed me to read more about my history. Not only that, but after having visited the continent of Africa more frequently, I found a new appreciation for the country and its culture and most importantly the people. My parents made it known that we should always be proud of our black skin and our native country. The hole in me that I could not fill seemed to be filling by itself. My real roots were in Gabon (Ga-bon): the small country of one million people located on the western coast of Central Africa. Having attended the SDLC conference or the student diversity leadership conference, in December of 2015 I had been overcome with emotion. I had discovered my inner voice as well as a deeper connection to my community. I felt strongly about racism, and I felt strongly about white privilege as well as acknowledging my own privileges, such as my parents being able to afford my private school tuition. This was something I was thankful and grateful for.

 

Due to my passion for social change and social activism, I decided to pursue a career in law. This self-rejuvenation that had occurred had changed me for the better. Although I believe the process of the decolonization of these beliefs does not happen immediately, I felt this pride and peace in my own skin that I had never felt before. These recent events as well as my past experiences have sparked something in me, that I have never felt before, a want and a desire to involve myself, as a public servant. I have been described as someone with a heart of gold and an insurmountable amount of patience. I only hope I can put these qualities to good use.

 

Recently, I was sitting in the train on my way to school, when a young man approached me wanting to sit next to me. At first, I was apprehensive and felt uneasy. He asked if he could sit next to me and as soon as he sat down, he started talking to me about everything and anything, mostly about Africa and black people. He asked me where I was from, and I told him Gabon. He told me that he thought Africa was wonderful and I was lucky to be from there.

He then proceeded to compliment my skin color. He even delivered an interesting fact on the resistance of darker skin hues in today’s environment. I listened patiently to his words. This man that I had first judged as probably homeless. I soon started to regret my words.

He told me his name was Unique. I smiled. He said he was from Harlem, and as he left, I shook his hand, and he told me I was very beautiful. Hearing someone who had the same features call me beautiful, was unequivocally reassuring. Vanity was not something I necessarily prescribed myself with, but compliments about the physical appearance have a way of uplifting certain people, especially the downtrodden ones. As I sat back down to continue my journey, I thought how odd that this happened to me on this particular day. A man by the name of Unique had enormously contributed to my new state of mind. He represented for me this sort of guardian angel that you meet only once in a lifetime, having no relevant information on them except their name and destination. As he left to descend on Harlem, a smile crept upon my face once more reminding myself that I was enough.

 

Mercy

It was dark outside. Her blood and bones ceaselessly begged her to go back to sleep, but that’s about the only thing they seemed willing to do. She felt as though she needed a cup of coffee to give herself the will to get up and make coffee.

Iris Adley woke up.

 

“It is our collective goal to send our students into the world on a foundation of knowledge and character.”

 

She took a pod of coffee out of the box. Her grandmother taught her how to make a pot of coffee when she was five years old. Her grandmother had a bright pink drip coffee maker, and her coffee was strong and highly caffeinated and never watered down.

Iris started drinking coffee on her seventh birthday.

She had a coffee maker that produced a single cup of coffee, because she lived alone, and she made a single cup of coffee roughly twenty times a day. Her coffee was black and strong and forced her to stay awake.

 

“For it is my belief that the most important gift provided by this institution is not the education you are given, but the strength of character that you earn through your diligence.”

 

She slammed down the top of the coffee maker. The last time Iris saw her grandmother, neither could remember the other’s name, and they smoked cigarettes together and talked about God.

The next day, one of them died and the other disappeared.

 

Iris Adley was exceptionally good at disappearing. On the night of her high school graduation, she vanished, leaving her cap and gown in a pile in the parking lot. It seemed as though she had turned to dust and floated away. On the night her grandmother died, she disappeared again. She ran out of a hospital, grasping onto a glass vial and thinking about ghosts.

Both disappearances felt like escape acts.

 

She went back to bed and finished her coffee while staring at the single streetlight at the end of the road. Her house was at the end of a long winding road. There were two windows in Iris’ house, and you could see the streetlight from both of them.

It was much too early to be awake. Iris’s mug was emptied, and she continued to stare out the window.

 

“We are proud to send out students who do not run to keep up with the world, but instead inspire the world to follow them.”

 

Iris Adley never managed to eat breakfast. There was always the intention, often the desire, but never the will. She drank her coffee and watched her streetlight turn off and awaited the sun.

 

Back before Iris’ first disappearance, when they were apt to remember each other’s names, Iris Adley and her grandmother would sit on the back porch of an old house and talk about the sunrise.

They could never see the sunrise, but they talked about it as if it were there.

 

“Our students will not be passive in their view of the world.”

 

Iris was seventeen years old on the night of her graduation. Her birthday determined that she was always nearly a year younger than her peers. She was good at math and science and following rules. Her teachers liked to talk of potential. Iris held all of her potential in her hands, like it was tangible before disappearing.

She chose to disappear.

 

Another cup of coffee was filled and emptied in an inevitable way, and the sun began to rise. Iris closed the curtains over her two windows.

 

After her first disappearance, Iris became well-versed in the art of being forgotten. Her siblings and parents grew too far apart and away to be expected to remember anything. Her friends had become convinced of her turning to dust before becoming different people all together.

Her grandmother was the last to forget her; she was forgetting everything by then.

Iris was also trying to forget everything, but that was never one of her skills.

 

“It is our goal not to provide you a list of things you once learned, but to leave you with the education that you will carry throughout your life.”

 

Iris opened her heavy wooden door and walked outside. The air was crisp and light and cool, and it felt like the morning. The long winding road was painted with the golden glow of the sunrise. Iris could not see the sunrise from her house, but she thought about it as though it was there. The morning was bitterly cold and pleasantly warm at the same time, like the day hadn’t yet decided what it wanted to make of itself.

 

She was well-acquainted with cold days. She could remember the night of her grandmother’s death, running from a hospital. She remembered the sound of her feet on the frozen pavement, like ghosts tapping on window panes, and her labored breaths showing white in the frigid air like wraiths and cigarette smoke before they dispersed and vanished. She grasped onto her empty vial and thought that if she crushed it to dust, it would be inclined to disperse and disappear as well.

The vial, like most things, was never as good at disappearing as Iris Adley was.

 

“Because leading is not a matter of being the easiest and loudest voice to hear but instead being the truest and sometimes most difficult voice to listen to.”

 

Iris walked away from her house, mindlessly and deliberately wandering. Her destination was as clear as it was ambiguous. It was as real as running away from hospitals and as real as turning to dust, but really she wasn’t going anywhere.

 

On the night of her graduation, Iris Adley ran away because she wanted to be anyone. She wanted to be pulled away to dance and disperse like dust in streetlights. She wanted to be ambiguous and enigmatic, both real and pretend. She ran away because she loved escape acts. She ran away because she was young, and she was careless, and it seemed exciting. She was called a free spirit. She was called full of potential. She drank coffee. She got a job. She didn’t know what she was going to be. She wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Iris Adley walked toward a lone streetlight at the end of the road.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, they sat outside of a hospital smoking cigarettes and talking about God. Iris did not smoke cigarettes. There were long summer days of sitting on her grandmother’s back porch while packs of Marlboros appeared and disappeared in inevitable ways scattered throughout her childhood. She remembered her grandmother warning through lungfuls of smoke that her habit would kill her.

Iris did not smoke.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she smoked a cigarette because her grandmother didn’t know who she was, so it was like she could be anyone.

They were talking about God, but really they were talking about mercy.

 

It was the first time she had seen a family member since vanishing from high school, and she didn’t know how to act around people who once knew her but didn’t anymore. All she had done in her life was disappear, and that’s what she knew how to do.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she held a vial of something clear and deadly. Iris was good at disappearing, and it felt like mercy, like making the tough choice for someone who was weak.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she was thinking it was better to be gone than to be a ghost. The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she was smoking a cigarette even though it might have killed her.

 

She was thinking of a mercy kill, but really she wasn’t thinking.

 

“And a leader must take actions, even when they seem difficult, and a leader must make choices, even when choosing seems impossible. And a leader must be strong, even when they are weak.”

 

She ran down the street holding a glass vial. She had disappeared and reappeared, and she was a ghost. She was guilty, but she was a ghost. It was a terrible act of mercy, and there was no mercy left.

So, she disappeared.

 

Iris Adley walked toward a lone streetlight at the end of the road. She was thinking about making the unchoosable choices in life, and she was thinking about being a leader. She was thinking about running and forcing the world to catch up with her.

 

When she was young, she would sit on her grandmother’s porch for endless summer days. Potential was squandered. Desires were abandoned. Peace was not sought out, it was inevitable. Cigarettes were burned. Coffee was made. Months would pass. There was nothing to do, but there was nothing that needed doing. It was perfect.

Summers would end, and Iris would go home to her parents.

 

Her parents liked to talk of the future: caps and gowns and colleges. They always seemed to know what was happening and what to do.

Iris was never interested in such things.

But still, the summers would end.

 

She walked toward a streetlight.

 

When she graduated high school, she was walking away from everything. She was convinced that she could outrun death and despair and graduation speeches by performing escape acts in the parking lot. She was convinced that she could outrun the ending of summer by never acknowledging that it had started.

She didn’t want to make a choice. She chose to run away.

She chose to make a ghost.

She chose to walk toward a streetlight as the sun rose around her.

 

It felt as thought the world was catching up.

She was thinking. She was thinking about ghosts and cigarette smoke and light and dust. Dispersing, becoming nothing, running away. She was thinking about light.

 

The streetlight wasn’t on, but it felt like it was. She was drawn toward it. It pulled her toward the end of the long winding road. She was thinking about dust swirling around in the halo of the streetlight like it was being pulled to a single source.

 

She was thinking about mercy. The light drew her further from her house. She was thinking of endless summer days, but summers have to end.

It was impossible to outrun.

 

On the night of her grandmother’s death, Iris Adley became a ghost, but she was not the one who died. It was a terrible act of mercy, but it was a choice that she made.

She chose mercy, and she was forgiven.

 

“So march fearlessly into the word, today is the beginning of your future.”

 

The sun had fully risen, and the air became warm.

Iris Adley woke up.

 

The Art of Kidnapping

     

Before

Why do rainy days always bring trouble? Keira Keegan certainly didn’t know. She was just five. And reading War and Peace, of course, as beads of water dripped down the window of her room, splattering on the moist grass below. Her green eyes scanned the page as her short black hair fell across her face. Suddenly, she heard a piercing scream. Keira’s book dropped to the floor, and she pressed her face on the glass. A woman ran on the other side of the street, clutching a briefcase to her chest. A man chased after her, clearly trying to catch up to the fleet-footed lady. Keira realized that the man had produced the scream. Talk about an interruption, she thought and went back to her novel. But she still memorized her brief image of the speedy thief in her photographic memory, just in case. Keira was that type of person.

 

Quite a few years later…

Keira woke up on a certain Sunday in April to rain panging on the roof of 765 Haren Road at seven o’clock in the morning. “Darn you, sleep cycle,” she grumbled. But she resisted the urge to nap until noon and did her morning routine. As the droplets poured down, she remembered that day many years ago, with the woman and the man and the briefcase. Keira went downstairs and switched on the TV.

“We have breaking news,” Chuck Chuckerly, lead reporter on Channel 8 News said. “The famous artist Willam Magrotte has gone missing.”

Keira stood there, frozen in shock. “Welp,” she said, throwing up her hands suddenly. “Another thing that no one will be able to solve, just like all the robberies and murders before.”

An idea formed in her mind, though. Then I’ll solve this myself.

 

A Day Just a While Before

Willam Magrotte was working in his quarters. His apron was splattered with paint, and his immaculate mustache had a couple of specks of white on it. Another masterpiece was being born. He was just finishing up the tail of the animal on his new painting, La Vie du Chat, The Cat’s Life, when something fell in the workshop. Willam turned. The door was ajar. He saw a figure in the corner. In an instant, the artist had fallen and was bound to a chair, blindfolded and gagged.

 

Mondays

Mrs. Jane Ellison was a stickler for rules. Obviously, she resented the reckless Keira Keegan. Keira was always getting into trouble, with her tendency to talk back. Mondays were always the worst. All of Mrs. Ellison’s seventh grade students were snippy from the early times they had to wake up, a change from the lazy weekends when they didn’t have to hit the snooze button until noon. But especially Keira.

The 8 a.m. school bell rang, and Mrs. Ellison began to take attendance. “Aaronson, Addie. Abrams, Genevieve. Barnhart, Hunter… ” all the way up to “Kaye, Theodore” and “Keegan, Kei — oh, it seems that Miss Keegan is not here with us today,” the teacher said with a smile. But at that moment, Keira walked in.

“Ah, Miss Keegan. You’re here,” Mrs. Ellison said slowly. “I was just about to print an absentee report for you. However, I guess we’ll just have to settle for a tardy slip.”

“Well, you didn’t finish saying my name, therefore I didn’t have to say ‘here,’” Keira quipped, provoking laughter from her classmates. Mrs. Ellison turned red.

“Keira Keegan,” Mrs. Ellison snapped. “Take that back this instant!”

Keira didn’t though, because the PA system crackled. “Keira Keegan, please report to the janitor’s closet. Keira Keegan, please report to the janitor’s closet. Thank you.”

 

Trapped

“Well then, Miss Keegan. Take the hall pass. I trust you won’t be straying off anywhere?” Mrs. Ellison said.

Keira obeyed and set off to the closet, wondering why she was needed there.

The closet door was painted a drab gray shade. There was a grate on the bottom, with metal slats that provided ventilation. “That’s weird,” she mumbled to herself. “These weren’t here on Friday.” She noticed the jagged edges of the vent. A hasty job, she thought. She opened the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?” Keira called. Her voice echoed off the dirty walls. She heard a click and turned around. The door. She shook the knob. It didn’t budge. She was trapped.

 

A Sound

Willam Magrotte heard a sound. It was more than one, really. First, the opening of the door. It startled him. The only sounds he had heard since he woke up here were the noises of a school. It was definitely a school he was in, for the loud chatters and stomping of feet and creak of lockers opening and closing and the occasional shout from a teacher were unmistakable. But back to the sounds. Willam’s enhanced hearing allowed him to detect the slightest sounds, all the way down here in what he believed was a basement. He heard a small voice ask who was there. Then, a sudden shaking noise was heard. The artist knew there was someone there, someone that wasn’t his captor. He shouted out, desperate for help.

 

Got to Go

Mrs. Ellison was in the middle of teaching social studies when she seemed to receive a message on her smartwatch. The students stared, wide-eyed, at their teacher when the tinging beep blared around the classroom. Mrs. Ellison checked it quickly and put her assistant in charge of the class. “Urgent business,” she explained. “I’ll be back soon.” She left in a hurry.

 

The Captor

Keira leaned against the door, scratching herself on the jagged outline of the metal grate. What am I going to do? Mrs. Ellison is going to be reeeaaaalllyyy mad if I don’t get back soon, she thought. A shout interrupted her musings. “Aidez-moi! Je suis pris au piège dans ce sous-sol sale. Ce n’est pas un endroit pour un artiste!”

“What?” Keira asked, confused. But then she remembered the contents of a French dictionary she’d read in first grade. “Help. I am trapped in this dirty basement. This is no place for an artist,” she translated. An artist. Wait, so — the artist Magrotte went missing a few days ago. This person says he’s an artist. Magrotte is French. This guy is French. Yep. It has to be him.

“Are you Willam Magrotte?” she called to the direction of the plea. When she didn’t get a response, she resaid it in French. “Êtes-vous Willam Magrotte?”

“Oui!”

“Je vais vous sortir de là!” I’ll get you out of there.

Keira rushed to find where the voice had come from. Eventually, she found a door. It was rusty but looked strong. She tried the knob. No luck. But she felt a small rectangle above it. It seemed to be a small box that was painted to blend in with the door. She undid the lock and lifted the lid. It had a keypad inside. “One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more,” Keira read out loud.

“Not so fast,” someone said behind her.

 

Revelations

“Little Miss Keegan. Did you really think you could free my captive?” a figure shrouded in black said. The voice was quite familiar — Keira was certain she knew the kidnapper. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it here, you know.”

“Well, I know your code. I’ll free Magrotte.”

“Ugh, I forgot about that photographic memory. But my codes are unbreakable, you should know that. So I’ll let you go on your way. I have to be somewhere too.”

“Oh-kay?” Keira walked back to class, looking unnaturally calm. But on the inside, she was severely shaken by her encounter.

When she arrived back to class, Mrs. Ellison was waiting. But she seemed rushed. Her elaborate hair was disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled, a change from the neat creases that were the result of excessive ironing. “Nice of you to join us,” Mrs. Ellison said. Her glasses were lopsided.

“Well, considering that I was trapped inside a closet with a kidnapper… I think I made pretty good time,” Keira retorted. The class laughed uneasily. She slipped into her seat without waiting for a response.

 

Figure it Out

“Y’know,” Keira’s best friend, Raina, whispered to her. “Mrs. Ellison left the classroom just a few minutes after you did.”

“Really? That’s weird,” Keira said. She could always count on Raina to give her the truth, though.

All through her classes, Keira tried to make sense of the riddle she’d seen in the closet. One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more. One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more. One plus two plus three plus four… she repeated in her head. It definitely had something to do with math. That wasn’t a problem. She knew how to do calculus. She’d learned it when she was seven. But the math in this problem was easy. Too easy. One plus two plus three plus four was ten. But… what about the next line? Multiply by what? She had to find out.

“Hey, Raina, I need your help,” Keira requested at lunch as they sat down together to eat. “I have a riddle, and I think you can figure it out.”

“Sure, what is it?” Raina asked. She was a petite girl, with long blond hair.

“‘One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more.’”

“Well, one, two, three, and four add up to ten… Wait, in the second line, is it the number ‘four?’”

“No, it’s f-o-r,” Keira explained, spelling the word out.

“Hmmm… oh, I think I got it!” Raina jumped in excitement. “What if the ‘for’ in the second line is actually a number? So you have to multiply by the number four. That’s forty!”

Keira’s eyes widened. That’s it! I have the answer! she thought. She hugged Raina hard. “Thank you so so so so so so so much!”

“You’re welcome. But sheesh, you don’t have to be this excited, Keira, it’s only a riddle… ”

 

After School

As soon as the clock struck three, Keira rushed back to the janitor’s closet with her keys for a just-in-case weapon and a hairpin to unlock a door, if needed. She also included a small pen. Always be prepared. That was her mantra. Her parents wouldn’t mind if she came home late. They arrived back even later. As suspected, the room was locked. She stuck the pin in and jimmied it. It opened silently, and she stepped inside, immediately going over to the keypad. She entered the code four-zero in, and the door swung open with a hiss.

 

Another Sound

Willam made like an ice cube and froze when he heard the basement door open. Another sound had been heard. But was it his captor, or the French-speaker from this morning? He didn’t know, but he stayed silent just in case.

 

Lost and Then Found

Keira walked down the stairs to find an expansive room with nothing in it. Nothing but a person. A person that was strapped to a chair. A chair that was bound to the person with thick ropes. Ropes that were accompanied by a blindfold and a gag that had fallen onto the floor. Willam Magrotte.

She stepped towards him. “Monsieur Magrotte?”

“Oui?”

“I’ve come to save you,” she said in French. “Stay calm.”

“Je vais.” I will.

She untied the knots holding the artist to the chair and took off his blindfold. “How are you feeling?”

“Pas trés bien.” Not very well.

“Come with me. We have to go upstairs.”

“Wha-what happened to me?” he asked in broken English.

“It’s a long story. Just know that you have been saved.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Keegan?” a new voice broke in.

 

Whodunit?

Miss Keegan. Miss Keegan. Miss Keegan. It echoed through her head. Only one person ever called her “Miss Keegan.”

“Mrs. Ellison? Is that you?” Keira said as she stepped back. She whispered a command to Willam. “Montez à l’étage du bureau du directeur. Dites-lui d’alerter la police de venir dans le placard du concierge.” Go upstairs to the principal’s office. Tell him to alert the police to come into the janitor’s closet.

“Why, yes. I’m not surprised that you figured out my identity. But it would provide me a great convenience to tell me how,” her teacher replied. Keira noticed that Willam had managed to sneak past the distracted kidnapper.

“Well, someone called me ‘Miss Keegan’ this morning in the closet. And then Raina told me that you left the classroom after I did. And you called me ‘Miss Keegan’ again just now. So that’s how I know whodunit. But I do have one question: Who called me to this closet in the first place?”

“Very good, Miss Keegan,” Mrs. Ellison nodded. “Very good. That idiot the janitor must have done it. He was supposed to be my accomplice. I guess he’s gone rogue. He’ll be my next victim, after you, of course.”

 

Taped

Click. Keira pressed the top of her pen. A red light stopped blinking.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Ellison, you’ve been taped. I have your whole villainous monologue on this pen.”

“Give that to me this instant!” Mrs. Ellison reached for the writing utensil in Keira’s hand. Keira dodged and ran up the stairs past the teacher to ground level, Mrs. Ellison close behind, just as the cavalry arrived.

“Put your hands up!” the chief yelled. Mrs. Ellison didn’t obey.

“You really think you can best me? You have no evidence, other than that dratted pen this little girl has in her hand… ” Her voice faltered, for Keira was replaying Mrs. Ellison’s explanation.

“‘He’ll be my next victim, after you, of course.’” the crackly recording wrapped up.

The police arrested Mrs. Ellison immediately, reading her rights. “You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you… ”

 

A Good Job

“Kid, you did a good job today,” one of the officers said to Keira. “Mr. Magrotte told us everything that happened. You’ll provide some more evidence too, right?”

“Yes sir, I’ve got a photographic memory, and I’m not afraid to use it,” she replied.

“Good.” He clapped her on the back.

“Keira?” someone else said. It was the janitor, Steven, who had worked at her school for years. As the former accomplice of Mrs. Ellison, he was there to give some insight into what caused her to kidnap Magrotte. Of course, it was for the ransom money.

Steven seemed changed, though, as he led Keira to a corner. He’d lost his mustache. Well, he could’ve shaved, Keira thought. His voice was different. Well, people’s voices can change. The color of his eyes were brown instead of green. Well — she couldn’t think of an explanation for that.

“Keira, I’m not actually Steven, you know. The name’s Kingston, Ricky Kingston. How would you like a job in the spy business?”

“Well, sure. Just leave me a day or so to get prepared,” Keira said. She smiled.

 

The End

 

Twinkles

Once upon a time, there was a Mom. The Mom saw beauty in the tiny moments of life. Little glimmers of hope, of humanity. She called these moments twinkles. She said they were like tiny Christmas lights, each one beautiful on its own, but dazzling when on a string. She said they covered the evergreen of life with sensational, stunning sparkles. There was also a Dad. He called these same moments everyday miracles, or the small things of beauty. But he didn’t really care for the twinkles, and only followed them because of his adoration for the Mom. The Mom would point out every twinkle she saw to the little Girl, and they would light up haer chubby toddler face with joy. When the older gentleman on the subway helped a complete stranger, a teen, struggling with his tie, that would be a twinkle. When the local coffee shop gave all their leftover pastries to the homeless, that was a twinkle. The Mom said that when the little Girl saw a twinkle, her scattering of freckles would light up, like the Christmas lights, but tiny and random.

When the little Girl turned six, she decided that she wanted to create her own twinkles. She remembered how proud the Mom looked when the little Girl boldly walked up to her, Mr. Snuffles in hand and a glittery tutu around her waist, and stated her decision. The family made their first twinkle the next day. After buying practically every lemon in the supermarket and making a fool of themselves as they talked in high, foofy voices, they made lemonade. The little Girl was truly happy, smearing sugar and lemon zest on their faces and drinking half of what they made. Then the Dad came out and set up the old table from their closet while the little Girl made a sign: Lemonade! One cup for only a smile. The sight of people on their way to work using the smile that the little Girl could tell they rarely used was priceless.

I pulled the hood of my navy parka over my thick brown hair, shivering from the early March chill. Staring at my feet, I tried to shut out the dirty New York City streets around me as I made my way home from school. It was one of those days that could be called drab, dreary, dull or another derogatory adjective starting in a “d.” The winter lingered like a wet blanket, getting pulled away and then flung back on your head with sudden icy rain. School was okay, I guess. I used to like challenging myself, being an overachiever. Now it was just a boring routine that, no matter how many times I whined about, wouldn’t go away.

I tried to shut out the mundane world. I stared at my shoes. Black Vans with a white stripe. Used-to-be-white shoelaces, now grayed and fraying. A worn patch on the right side of the left foot, where a toe ring I used to wear rubbed it thin. I stepped hard into the sidewalk. Each footstep thumped. Just then, I heard my phone buzz. I pulled it out, rubbing the marble-patterned plastic case out of habit. It was my dad. His awkward, trying-too-hard-to-look-cool, selfie flashed on my screen. I picked up.

“Why can’t you text like any other person in the 21st century?”

“Hello there to you too, honey,” he responded, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“What is it,” I replied, not willing to submit to his perpetual cheeriness.

“Well, honey, I’ll have to work late again tonight. I took on another client,” he said slowly, articulating each word like he always does.

“Did you have to take on this person when you already work seven days a week?”

“I’m sorry, Ayah. I’m doing my best.” He says that a lot. I’m doing my best. “You are going to have to make your own dinner again. I’m sorry, honey. Ayah, please forgive me.”

“Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s not like I made my own dinner every day this week. But of course I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would understand,” he responded, completely missing the sarcasm. I hung up.

Once upon a time, three years ago to be exact, the Mom died. The Girl was ten years old. The Dad didn’t fall into a state of insanity, like in movies. He didn’t wear a bathrobe or bunny slippers, and he didn’t go through five boxes of tissues a day. In fact, once upon a time, the Dad didn’t fall into grief at all. He fell into work. Every day, he would be in the office until even after the janitor had left. He would work extra shifts, and every second of his time at home was spent doing paperwork. Once upon a time, one might have thought that the family was short on money. But although the Mom liked living a simple life, the family was always very comfortable.

I kept walking, wanting to get home and away from this cold Monday, yet dreading the pile of homework our teachers had dumped on us. “Happy is the heart that still feels pain. Darkness drains and light will come again. Swing open up your chest and let it in, just let the love love love begin.” I sang silently, playing the Ingrid Michaelson song “Everybody” that was stuck in my head.

Once upon a time, when the Mom died, the Dad turned to work. The Girl, not so little anymore, turned to music. Once upon a time the Girl used to sing for the Mom. She let her voice carry, and then made it soft and delicate. The Mom would listen, swaying subtly. To her own beat, not the rhythm of the music. She would wait a few seconds after the Girl had finished her song to open her eyes. But when she did, they would glisten with tears, bringing out the crystalline blue color everyone envied.

Once upon a time, the Girl, not so little, couldn’t find her voice. She did, however, find the clarinet. The Girl loved everything she could do with it, from soft jazzy tunes to quick, dancing melodies, like pixies in a field of flowers.

As I continued my walk home, I passed Sparrow Cafe. It was a beautiful, small business that was cherished by everyone in our neighborhood. The owners, a pair of seventy-year-old identical twins named Mary and Darla Sparrow, knew me well. Suddenly, I felt someone brush against my shoulder, forcefully. It was Lily.

“Hi, Ayah,” she said, her voice dripping with fake friendliness.

“Hi, Lily,” I replied, staring at her shoes. Pristine gold and white Adidas, the laces tied in a tight bow.

“Uh, did you, like, forget? It’s Lilyah,” she responded, a condescending smile stretching from ear to ear. Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot the stuck up girl named Lily forced everyone to call her ‘Lilyah.’ She said the name had more class, just like her. “Well, I guess I’ll, like, see you around,” she said. No way.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Lily. Lily was best-friends-till-death-we-shall-never-part with the little Girl. They spent every waking hour together. The year the Mom died, a few more girls joined ‘the group.’ But Lily and the Girl still remained best friends, although they began to broaden their horizons to other people. Or so the Girl thought. Once upon a time, the Girl had to call Lily. That night, that fatal night. The Girl could barely get a word out, barely explain that she had lost her soulmate. She could barely explain how much love and help she needed, now that her mother was gone. But instead of finishing the Girl’s sentences, rushing over to her house, Lily was polite and formal: “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s such a shame,” she said. All of a sudden, Lily had transformed into a stranger. The Girl would never know exactly what had happened. Maybe Lily felt uncomfortable with someone who lost their parent? Maybe Lily couldn’t handle dealing with someone who was going through such intense grief? Although the Girl could never truly know, she did know one thing for sure: once upon a time, Lily was no longer a best friend. Lily was now a jerk.

I stood outside the Sparrow Cafe for a moment, staring at the shoes of the people who passed. My phone buzzed again. I lifted the screen to see another call from Dad. I picked up.

“What is it this time?”

“Sweetie, I would really appreciate if you could be more kind when answering — ” I cut him off.

“Come on, Dad. Seriously?”

“Where is my blue-eyed princess, the one who would find the everyday miracles? Where did she go?”

“There are no more miracles,” I said, not even trying to deny that the glitter in my blue eyes disappeared.

“Yes there are.” Hearing the silence, he continued. “Well anyways, the reason why I called you is because of your grandma.”

“My grandma?” I was genuinely confused. Dad’s mom died before I was born, and Mom’s mom… she didn’t have the best relationship with our family. Mom had some huge fight with her, something Mom said she would tell me when I was older. I never met my grandma, except for a brief sighting of a woman in black at Mom’s funeral. Dad always said it was for the best. So what now?

“Well,” Dad paused and cleared his throat. I could almost see his Adam’s apple bobbing, “I thought it’s time for you to get to know your grandma. So I got in touch with her — ”

“You spoke to her? How? What?” He ignored me.

“She said she would like to meet. I was thinking we could go to a nice dinner sometime next week, and meet her there.”

“I can’t do that. No way. I’m sorry, but no.”

“I don’t understand? Don’t you want to know your grandma?”
“It’s betraying Mom. And it’s terrible. It seems like this grandma lady is suddenly swooping in. Maybe she’s glad that Mom is dead.”

“Come on, Miracle.” He had crossed a line. Only Mom was allowed to call me that. Only Mom. I hung up, angrily pressing the screen, missing the red button the first few times, as I wiped away a tear.

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman who were deeply in love. They desperately wanted a baby, especially a baby girl. But everytime they tried, it didn’t work. The doctors brought them the terrible news that they could never have a baby. Then, one day, the woman got pregnant. The doctors said it was a miracle the baby was in the Mom’s stomach, and an even bigger miracle it survived. So naturally, the Mom and the Dad named the baby Miracle in Arabic. To the Mom and Dad’s delight, they got pregnant again. Then something went wrong. The little Girl never knew what happened. They said she was too young, too fragile, too sad. All she remembers were the sirens, then flashing lights, red like the blood on the cold bathroom floor. All she remembers were the deep wrinkles in the doctor’s face, almost as deep as the pools of sadness that sank her. The little Girl was no longer so little.

I decided to enter into the Sparrow Cafe. I sometimes treated myself to their rich hot chocolate and light buttery chocolate croissant. Mom would say that the Sparrow Cafe’s hot chocolate was angel’s nectar. She always took me there when I had had a bad day at school, or was just feeling lousy. I added the croissant to the tradition after she died. The day of her death, I was sitting in the Sparrow Cafe. When I left, Darla handed me a croissant. “Give it to your Mom for me. From Mary and Darla.” Of course, Mom never got it.

As I opened the door, the warm air invited me inside. My ears were filled with the gentle hum of people conversing. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the delicate smells wafting from the kitchen. I could almost taste the flakes of sweet pastry, melting on my tongue.

“Hi, Mary,” I said, walking up to the counter.

“The usual, dear?” she responded, already getting out the little brown bag with which to package the croissant and setting it on the counter.

“Yes, please,” I responded

“Anything else, dear?”

“That will be all. Besides the hot chocolate, of course.” She started to prepare the hot chocolate, pouring the rich liquid in a paper cup decorated with drawings of sparrows. “Darla will ring you up, dearie.” I stepped down the counter to the vintage, blue cash register.

“Well, hello there, Ayah! Are you feeling alright today?” Darla said, peering at the wet streak on my cheek through her round, gold spectacles.

“Yeah. Thanks for asking.” I stared at the feet of the next person in line. A young woman, wearing slightly worn but still clean running shoes. Pink and blue Skechers with black laces. I took out my wallet to pay. Just as I handed her the bills, I noticed a tattered pink Post-it fall to the ground. Stooping down to pick it up, I could already tell it was Mom’s handwriting. Probably something stupid, like a shopping list. I stuffed it in my pocket as I went to a nearby table to wait for my order. I started thinking. How could Dad just betray Mom like that? Why are there no more miracles? Why are there no more twinkles? It’s not fair. I can’t do it anymore. No NO NO! By now, I was screaming in my head, clenching my fists with anger. I could see the bubblegum-sneakers lady looking at me. I’m done. I don’t care anymore. The twinkle lights went out. The tree is black.

My thoughts were interrupted by a tap on my shoulder.

“Oh, hi. Ms. Woodworth.” I stared at her shoes. Olive-green-gray heels, but not too high. Her foot, encased in tan pantyhose, was held down with an olive green strap and a gold buckle.

“Ayah! Fancy seeing you here!” Her gray ringlets shook as she patted my shoulder, and her soft pink sweater rubbed against my arm.

“Yeah, sure,” I groaned.

“What was that, Ayah?” She took a sip of the cup in her hand, wrapping the string of the chamomile tea bag around her finger.

“Uhh, I said ‘great coincidence!’” It was so easy for me to lie now. Mom used to say I was the most honest person she knew, but now, lying was part of my everyday life. Anyway, I didn’t care if she actually heard what Dad would call ‘my snarky remark.’

Once upon a time, the Girl’s Mom died. The school knew it would be hard on the Girl. They had their guidance counselor, Ms. Woodworth, help the Girl. She said, “You can talk to me whenever you need to. I’m always here.” She meant her office, a cozy nook in the otherwise chaotic public school building, filled with her snowglobe collection and a pot of tea always on the tiny stove. So the Girl went to her every day. But they never talked about that night with the sirens, or the hollow hole in the Girl’s heart. They just talked about everyday life. Like new shoes, or books. The Girl used to talk about this with the Mom. But now she wasn’t there. So Ms. Woodworth was the replacement. Once upon a time, the Girl went to Ms.Woodworth. It was a normal visit. The Girl wanted to talk about Lily, why she was being a jerk. But Ms. Woodworth didn’t let her stay. “Come back when you have a real issue. When you are actually dealing with the grief,” she said. “Other kids have more important things, rather than chit chatting about daily life.”

Thankfully, Ms. Woodworth now walked away, chuckling to herself as she went. I craned my neck to look at the counter. Where was my order? How hard is it to warm a croissant? Well, I might as well read the Post-it while I’m waiting. I pulled the now even more crumpled paper out of my pocket and carefully laid it on the blue mosaic table. I smoothed it out, running my thin fingers on the creases. It was a hastily scribbled haiku, definitely written by Mom.

Don’t drag yourself down,

With self-pity and anger

Remember twinkles

Darla called my name. “Ayah, your order is ready! Have a nice day, dear!” Rushing outside, I stuffed the Post-it in my pocket and grabbed the delicate paper bag and hot chocolate cup. I ran out of the cafe, shutting the door as I went with a slam that surprised even me, and was met by the rush of cold air. I started walking fast. Faster. Now I was almost running. Tears welled up in my eyes, but didn’t run down my face because of how fast I was going. I stared at the floor, shoes blurring past me. Teal Converse, white laces. Black loafers with a tangled thread. Gray sneakers with a lime green sole. Black high heels with arctic blue soles. Candy-apple-red wedges with a gold button. Ripped, unrecognizable shoes, one with only a sole. Panting, I stopped. I looked at the person in those shoes.

He was sitting on a greasy, old pizza carton, a threadbare, gray blanket on his lap. Why doesn’t he use the blanket? It’s freezing outside, I thought. Then, I saw it move. The homeless man carefully lifted the blanket to comfort a wailing baby, her small, red face streaked with soot. He held her up to his chest and gently patted the scrap of grimey bubblegum-pink swaddle that was wrapped around her, almost as if he were afraid to touch her, for she might break. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” He comforted her softly. His scratchy, hoarse voice barely made a sound. The baby’s wails only intensified. The homeless man looked up at me, making eye contact. His glassy green eyes were helpless, filling with tears that spilled over, dripping down his face. They drew a line of clean, exposing his weathered skin, washing away a stripe of dirt. Instead of looking away, like my parents always told me to, I stared straight at him. Suddenly, I knew why that haiku was in my pocket. It was fate. It was time, finally time, for me to create my own twinkle. I bent down, and carefully placed the steaming cup of hot chocolate on the ground in front of him. I held out the butter-stained brown bag with the croissant. He shook his head.

“Take it. Please,” I said, staring clearly, steadily at him, looking into his glassy eyes. He slowly reached up his hand, a filthy, torn glove almost falling off, and I closed the distance. Once the bag was in his hands, I started to run away, only stopping for a moment at the streetlight. I turned my head back and looked at him. His eyes were filled with a gratitude I had never seen before. He ripped a small piece of the still-warm croissant from the bag. A string of melted chocolate dripped from the pastry. He handed it to his baby. The cries dwindled. I called to him.

“Enjoy.”

 

An Attempted Rescue

The rocket stood there on the purple soil, black steam spiraling out from the top. It was night on the planet. It was always night there. Hundreds of stars hovered in the dark sky. They shined in Captain Powell’s eyes. Captain Powell and his men stepped out onto the mysterious territory.

“Where have we landed, Navigator Edwards?” Powell asked.

“Some planet,” said Edwards, looking around. “I think it’s uncharted.”

“Did we go to another solar system?” Powell said, confused.

“No, same one, it’s just we’re so far away from the Sun,” Edwards stated.

The planet looked isolated, with neglected mountains and a silent, purple lake that looked like grape soda. The only thing you could hear was the soft wind that would whisper to you and your very own echoes.

“I see something!” a crew member cried.

He was standing on a hill. He had a circular, large glass dome around his head. He also wore a big, white suit and boots. One of his legs was bruised and beaten. It was bleeding. What once was a pink, plump man was now pale and withered. However, his face was colored with excitement. He limped from the hill to them.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he cried. He then looked towards the shadows in the area. He called them. “Crew, people have come to rescue us!”

Four other men stepped out of the shadows, all in the same condition as the man.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” Powell questioned.

“I,” he explained, “am Douglas Williams of Earth, and this is my crew. We were supposed to land on Mars, but we crashed here back in 2050. We’ve been stranded here for years, and you have come to rescue us!”

Even time is different here, thought Powell. 2050 was a long time ago. These men are supposed to be dead. Maybe the planet freezes time for these people. Powell had a lot of questions.

“Well,” Edwards began, “our rocket crashed here, but we still have some fuel to take you back home! Tomorrow, it’ll be ready.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Williams turned to his crew. “We’re going home!”

They all cheered and clapped and laughed and joked. They felt alive for the first time in years. Now, they will finally be seeing their families and friends who thought they were dead.

“Is anyone else here?” Powell said.

Williams shot a frightened glance at his crew.

“Nope! No one here at all! Just us, ha, ha!”

“Okay.” Powell looked around the area.

 

***

 

Edwards went hiking through the planet, searching for new rocks and minerals while everyone was asleep. He went to a cave, and that’s when something happened. He felt someone touch his hand and say.

“Hello.”

He quickly turned around and was ready to fight, only to find a weak, injured astronaut.

“You must be new here,” the astronaut chuckled. “What planet did you try to go on. I’m Samuel Brooks and — ”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” interjected Edwards, “and you should know, you’re part of Williams’ crew who we’re bringing with us.”

Brooks turned red. “You bring Williams with you as you escape?!”

“Yeah, I — ”

“Don’t bring him. He’s an idiot, and he’ll do you no good!”

“But — ”

“He’s insane,” Brooks blurted out.

Edwards quickly turned his opinion. “Really?”

“Yes, isolation made him start to become aggressive with my crew. Bring my expedition, we tried to go to Jupiter in 2080, but we failed,” Brooks stated.

“Okay, meet us tomorrow morning at our rocket, I’ll tell the captain. We can only have one other crew on the trip, so it’ll be you.”

“Wonderful.”

 

***

 

The day finally came, the day to go back home. Brooks saw the rocket, and he and his men started to walk along the silver ramp.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. It was Williams, and he was angry. “Get off, Brooks. This rocket isn’t for you!”

“Yes, it is, we deserve it more!” Brooks said.

Williams tackled Brooks. “That escape is ours.” He gritted his teeth.

The men on Brooks’ and Williams’ teams started to fight each other.

But word spread around quickly. Waves of failed crews and expeditions of Venus, Mars, and Jupiter came and saw the rocket. They hit, kicked, scratched, and bit each other for it.

Edwards, Powell, and the workers were in the rocket.

“Which one should we pick?”

“I don’t know!”

A man entered the crowd. He held a grenade.

“Hey, Williams! Hey, Brooks!” He threw it.

It spun in the air, but accidentally headed towards the rocket.

“Don’t,” Powell cried.

Boom.

Powell, Edwards, their workers, and the rocket were gone. Their dead bodies were in the rubble. The planet’s residents stood there, stunned. They didn’t speak for five minutes.

They had trouble sleeping that night.

Robot Battle League

       

OOH, and Silo goes in the air as Wrecking Ball slams him again. Silo has difficulty getting back up, and Wrecking Ball smashes him down. Silo isn’t moving. It’s time for the five second countdown!

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND Wrecking Ball WINS THE ROUND! Good game, Silo, but it looks like you and your creator will have to wait until the next round!” the commentator boomed. Dianna and her best friend Luke walked towards the arena of the Robot Battle League, a fighting sport for robots, to pick up Dianna’s now broken robot.

“Don’t feel bad. It was a good design. You just need… tweaks,” Luke said, trying to cheer

her up.

“You say that every round, Luke. I’ve never won a round of the RBL, and with the championships coming up, there’s going to be thousands of people competing. Silo and I won’t stand a chance!” Dianna told him. They walked back towards the workshop. A Retina scan indicated that Dianna and Luke had returned. The gate opened, revealing small helper bots that were carrying around spare pieces of metal. Dianna placed Silo on the robot hand truck, where she started replacing his broken parts with fresh, new pieces of metal.

 

Dianna had always wanted to win an RBL tournament. It was the most popular sport, and from her window she could see giant, neon bulletin boards displaying the champions. She dreamt of being up there, representing her city in even bigger tournaments. Being the champion of —

 

“DIANNA!” Luke yelled. She opened her eyes. Silo was all powered up, and his light blue eyes flickered as they turned on.

“Hello, creator. Hello, best friend Luke,” Silo said in a calm, echoing voice.

“Silo, you can just call me Dianna. I told you a million times,” she said, chuckling.

“My apologies. Every robot’s programming requires them to call their makers ‘master’ or ‘creator,’” Silo said. He slowly walked out of the hand truck and rummaged through the boxes.

“What are you doing?” Dianna asked.

“Upgrade. Upgrade. Requiring USB database,” Silo beeped repetitively.

“Oh right,” Dianna said. She went into her pockets and plugged in a blue USB drive with

gray writing saying, Silo database. Every once in a while, robots required updates to refresh their memories. Dianna turned to Luke, who was asking a helper bot for a lemonade.

“Hey Luke, why don’t you enter the RBL too? It could be fun!” Dianna asked.

“No thanks. I’m not an engineer. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go against you,” Luke answered. Dianna nodded. Suddenly, a hovering, lime green oval shaped bot floated into the room. A recording of Dianna’s mom came out of the robot.

“Dianna! Time for dinner!” it said.

“Gotta go. Cya Luke!” she said, powering Silo down and placing him on the hand truck, before running up the stairs. Luke waved and walked towards his house.

 

When 10:00 hit, the arena opened for its late night battles. It was only one or two, just to test out the strength of your robot. Wrecking Ball was walking behind his creator, a snarky, arrogant kid named Sam. Sam spotted a masked cyberpunk leaning against the wall. Aside from his mask, he was only wearing black. His mask was metal and had two yellow pixelated eyes. Beside him was a small robot. It was smaller than any other robot in the RBL. Sam couldn’t resist the opportunity to crack an insult against him.

“Hey, robot face! Too scared to show yourself? Bet you’re real ugly. Hey, where did your robot come from, preschool?” he said, laughing. The cyberpunk lifted his head and looked straight at Sam.

The commentator started yelling out. “Sam and Wrecking Ball vs Korben and the Exterminator!” he yelled out. Sam laughed.

“The exterminator? Bet the only thing you ever fought was a bug, and you still lost!” Sam yelled, laughing. They both sat down and grabbed their controllers. Korben’s yellow eyes turned red.

“Exterminate,” he muttered. The Exterminator grew much higher. His right hand was

replaced by a gun, and his left hand became a sword. Sam stopped laughing. Within seconds, Wrecking Ball was destroyed. Or rather, Exterminated.

THE EXTERMINATOR WINS! Better luck next time, Wrecking Ball!” the commentator

yelled. Sam grabbed Wrecking Ball and looked at Korben, who was already walking away. Exterminator turned back towards Wrecking Ball.

“Target exterminated,” he said and went back to walking.

 

Beep! Beep! Beep! Slam!

 

Dianna hit her alarm and got out of bed in a flash. Today was the sign-up for the championships! She had to get there nice and early. Downstairs, she was greeted by a warm hello from Silo and a bowl of cereal, which she devoured in seconds. She grabbed Silo, and they ran out of the house towards Luke’s. She knocked on the door, and in a few minutes, Luke was there. It looked like he had changed from his pajamas recently, but he was still looking sleepy.

“Dianna, what time is it?” he asked, yawning.

“5:00. The sign-ups start at 6:00. Come on!” she replied, grabbing his arm and dragging

him outside, as he moaned for his bed.

 

They quickly arrived at the front of the arena. Thousands of people were already lining up.

“Dang it. I’ll never sign up!” Dianna complained. Luke grabbed her and Silo.

“Okay Silo, play along,” he whispered. He started yelling.

“Excuse me! This robot has a virus! The only way to cure it is to sign up for the championships!” Luke yelled.

“Yes. I have a virus. I am very sick and need to sign up,” Silo said. Dianna wrote her name in the paper. Everyone cheered. Dianna smiled. She was in!

Suddenly, Korben shoved Silo out of the way. Everyone moved, whispering and pointing.

“Silo, scan the man and the bot,” Dianna whispered. Silo’s eyes turned green, then back

to blue.

“Name: Korben. Age: 37. Bio: Never lost a round,” Silo said. His eyes became green again, then returned to normal. “Bot name: Exterminator. Bio: Destroyed every robot in his way,” Silo read out. Korben wrote his name on the paper. As Korben and the Exterminator walked back, everyone backed away in fear of being the next target.

“Okay. It’s okay. All we have is a… RBL champion with the most dangerous robot in the tournaments. Think of winning. Think of winning,” Dianna said. Suddenly, a helper bot put

up the list of who was fighting who. Dianna saw she was against Jonathan and his robot “Red Zone.” She felt confident. Everyone took their copies of the paper and walked back to their homes.

 

In the workshop, Dianna was still staring at the paper.

“Hey. Dianna! You’ve been staring at the paper for an hour. Let’s go play gravity throw or something,” Luke said.

“I can’t. This is the biggest tournament I’ve ever been in! I’ve got to upgrade Silo as much as possible. I’m thinking rocket boosters, laser cannons, plasma bombs, virus gas, anything!” she said. She grabbed some boxes and started rummaging through them.

“Do not worry, creator Dianna. I will download all the features myself. Go play gravity throw with best friend Luke,” Silo said. Dianna sighed and walked outside with Luke.

 

The next day, Dianna, Luke, and Silo were rushing towards the arena. People were already starting to sit down, and the fighters were preparing their remotes and their bots. Luke went to find a seat, and Dianna grabbed her remote control.

 

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME… THE CITY’S CREATOR AND HOST OF THE RBL… THE OVERLORD!” the commentator said. A giant screen with a face appeared. It smiled.

“Let the RBL begin!” it said. After a few rounds, Dianna’s turn came up. She sat down

and activated Silo’s “fight mode.” Red Zone jumped and landed on Silo. Silo got thrown backwards and hit the wall.

“Come on, Silo, where are your upgrades?” Dianna muttered. Silo got back up and

attempted to punch Red Zone, but Red Zone grabbed his arm and threw him against the floor. Silo got back up again. Red Zone punched, but Silo ducked. Red Zone tried punching again, but Silo still dodged it. When Red Zone attempted a third punch, Silo punched him in the face. Red Zone slammed against the wall. Suddenly, Silo’s eyes became dark.

“Upgrade. Upgrade. Requiring USB database,” he said.

“Nonononono!” Dianna yelled. Red Zone saw his opportunity and knocked Silo off his

feet.

Dianna looked at Luke, who had the USB drive in his hand. Luke tossed it to her. Suddenly, Silo was thrown up in the air, and Red Zone kicked him above Dianna. Everything moved in slow motion. Dianna’s hand went up and plugged the USB drive onto Silo’s back. Just before Silo hit the stands, his eyes opened, and he jumped back into the arena. A few people cheered. Red Zone ran towards Silo, but Silo grabbed him and slammed him on the ground.

“Let the countdown begin!

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND SILO WINS! Red Zone IS ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION! SILO MOVES ON TO THE NEXT ROUND!

Dianna stood there with her mouth wide open. She… had… won! She won for the first time in the RBL! She ran towards the arena where Silo was standing. She quickly deactivated “fight mode” and hugged him.

“WE WON SILO! WE WON!” she yelled.

 

After a relaxing period of watching the rest of the competitors fight, (Dianna’s favorite besides her win was Mega Mech vs Pyro, but Luke’s was definitely Rocket vs Blast-a-tron) Dianna, Luke, and Silo walked back towards Dianna’s workshop. Dianna powered Silo down, plugged him in, and put him on the hand truck. Luke went back home, and Dianna went to bed.

 

In the city’s central building, the Overlord was connected to millions of wires that were connected to millions of plugs. The Overlord controlled every part of the city. His pixelated face appeared on the giant screen. He watched the replays of the RBL rounds. He stopped as the beginning of Silo vs Red Zone. He watched as Dianna plugged the USB drive. He watched as Silo beat Red Zone.

“Interesting,” he said. A smaller screen went in front of him, and a camera view of

Dianna’s workshop shot into view. He looked at Silo’s powered down body.

“Nobody knows the true nature of the RBL. I believe that young fighter will soon find out my secret,” he muttered. The screen lifted, and a door opened revealing a smooth titanium robot. “Soon. Very soon,” he said. He laughed, and his face disappeared from the screen.

 

Saturday was Dianna’s favorite day of the week. She had all day to work on Silo, and not to mention, her parents always went out all day, so she had the whole house to herself. Luke couldn’t come, as he and his parents were going shopping. Dianna was disappointed, but she just went down to her workshop. She powered Silo up, and his light blue eyes flickered open.

“Hello,” he said. Dianna smiled. Silo’s warm welcomes always made her feel better.

“Hey, Silo. What do you wanna do today?” she asked.

“Well I — ” Silo started, then he crashed. Dianna looked confused. She always

plugged Silo’s USB in every time before she shut him down, so he shouldn’t be able to crash. She shrugged and opened his code and refreshed it. Silo’s eyes opened again, but they weren’t blue this time, they were red.

“Uhh, Silo?” Dianna asked. Silo turned towards her.

“Virus detected. Security down. Prepare for mode 75,” Silo said in a dark voice.

“S-Silo?” Dianna asked again. Silo’s eyes kept changing to Blue, then Red, as if he was

trying to fight it off.

“Creator! Leave… YOU WILL ALL BE DESTROYED… Go before you get hurt… OPERATION STORM!” Silo and the virus were saying. Dianna opened the hatch at the

back of Silo’s head and shut him down. She deleted all his memories to get rid of the virus, then she plugged in his USB drive to bring the memories back. Silo’s blue eyes opened.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A virus infected you. It seems your built-in security doesn’t hold off that well,” Dianna

explained. Silo looked worried.

“It’s okay, it’s just a small virus. It’s deleted,” Dianna reassured him. Silo nodded.

“Hey Silo, do you know anything about operation Storm?” Dianna asked. Silo got visions.

Flames. Robots attacking humans. But the one in the middle of it was —

“Silo?!” Dianna yelled. Silo shook the vision off.

“No. I do not know anything,” Silo replied. Dianna nodded and looked at the fighting list.

“We’re against… Korben and the Exterminator,” Dianna said. Silo wasn’t paying attention.

Suddenly, the green oval bot floated in and called Dianna up for dinner. She powered Silo down and ran upstairs.

The next morning, Dianna woke up to the sound of the TV. She went downstairs. She saw her mom and dad watching the news. They saw a robot breaking out of a house with a chip in his hand. A policeman was pointing his gun at him.

“Put your hands in the air before I shoot!” the policeman yelled.

“Put your water gun down fatty before I slap that imaginary life out of your body,” the  robot replied.

“I’m warning you, put your hands in the air!” the policeman said.

“You really think I’m going to listen to an old fat guy? Move,” the robot said.

“I didn’t want to do this, but I’ll have to electrocute you,” the policeman said. The robot’s arm turned into a laser cannon, and it shot the policeman. The screen turned to a reporter.

“Robots have been seen attacking civilians, going… rogue. We haven’t had this incident in about 30 years, but if the robots keep going on like this, we’ll have to evacuate. Start off fresh. Get new robots. Restart our whole civilization,” the reporter said.

 

Dianna looked away from the TV. If they thought all robots were becoming dangerous, what would happen to Silo? She walked up to her room where she looked at pictures she had taken together with Silo. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Luke. She stared at the text message he sent.

 

Dianna! Come now! Silo’s here, and he’s going crazy!

 

Luke and his family were huddled in a circle Silo was walking around the room, shooting lasers and breaking objects. Dianna opened the door with the chip in her hand. She saw Silo, and she ran towards him. Silo turned around and grabbed her by the shirt. He had the red eyes.

“OPERATION STORM!” he yelled out. His face screen started glitching. He was still

trying to fight it off. Silo dropped Dianna and staggered to the living room. Dianna ran towards Silo again and jumped on his back. She opened the hatch, and was about to delete his memories, when red lightning shocked her.

“I’M SORRY, BUT I’M AFRAID I CANNOT LET YOU DO THAT,” Silo’s voice echoed. His laser cannon pointed at her then… he powered down. Dianna got up to see Luke pressing the button. Dianna grabbed the chip and plugged it back in.

 

Meanwhile, the Overlord was watching from one of his screens. He yelled out in fury. Dianna didn’t know it yet, but Silo was one of the most powerful, dangerous robots ever made, and he had to get control of him. He had to launch Operation Storm. His screen turned to a view of Korben.

“He cannot beat Silo in the next round. Looks like Silo’s going to have to get… angrier,” he said, as a red chip inserted into one of his wires. He started laughing.

 

Dianna was back in her workshop, trying to see what went wrong with Silo.

“This is the second time this has happened. If it happens again… we’ll have to shut you down for good and make a new chip,” Dianna said. A tear started forming in her eye, but she wiped it off. She looked at her watch.

“Fifteen minutes until my round starts. Let’s go, Silo,” Dianna said.

 

Wham! Crash!

 

Those were sounds of the Exterminator throwing Silo across the walls. The Overlord was planning his timing. Silo got up, but the Exterminator punched him in the face. As Silo got up again, when nobody was watching, the Overlord inserted the chip. Silo’s eyes turned red.

“No,” Dianna muttered. Silo grabbed the Exterminator and started throwing him against the ground. Silo jumped up and body slammed him. As the Exterminator got back up, Silo kicked him towards the wall. Then, Silo grabbed him and threw him in the air. Silo’s laser cannon emerged, and he started rapidly shooting the Exterminator. The Exterminator fell back down, limp. The five second countdown began.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND SILO WINS THE ROUND!

 

Silo’s eyes flickered back to blue. He looked confused, then sad when he realized what happened. Silo’s three strikes had gone. His memories had to be erased permanently and replaced by a whole new chip.

 

Back at Dianna’s home, her parents, Luke, his family, and all the bots in the house came to say goodbye to Silo. Dianna walked towards him, crying.

“You’re the best robot I’m going to ever have, Silo. You’ll never be replaced. I promise. G-goodbye,” Dianna said, crying. Luke walked towards Silo.

“You were an amazing robot, Silo. We’ll never forget you,” he said. Everyone went to hug him. Dianna flipped his hatch open and erased everything. Silo’s light blue eyes started fading away.

“Don’t go. Please,” she muttered. Silo’s eyes disappeared. All his lights in his body faded away. Dianna placed his chip into his stomach, so it could be transported to the Overlord.

 

In a room with a lot of wires and machinery with red lights, a small figure made entirely out of code appeared. He wasn’t just small, he was very small. His body was all green with binary code rushing through it. His eyes were still blue, but he even had a proper mouth. On his body, there was writing saying, Silo. He looked confused. Suddenly, the Overlord’s face projected on a screen.

“Welcome, Silo. Welcome,” the Overlord said.

“W-what is this place? Where am I?” Silo asked.

“You’re in the machine room. Only I can access it. This is where all deleted bots go,” the Overlord explained.

“What happened to me? Why was I always going insane?” Silo asked. The Overlord’s

eyes turned redder than usual.

“You’re not like any other bot, Silo. You’re special. Let me explain why. When I first founded this city, I built a robot, so I could use it as a body. You were the bot I built. I could move in and out of your mind as I pleased. Although, seeing on TV how robots can have armies, I designed the RBL so that the most powerful robots could work for me. You didn’t think that was fair. You fought against me. You deleted your own memories, and you were found by that girl. She made your body better and named you Silo. Now that you’re here, I can finally launch my plan. I named it Operation Storm, after your real name,” he explained. The words on Silo’s chest turned into, Storm.

“Now you work for me,” the Overlord said. Silo’s body got surrounded by chains, and the

floor lifted up to a view of the whole city. “Now you have a front row seat to the destruction of the city and the rise of my robot army!” the Overlord yelled out. Silo tried to break free, but the chains were too tight. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a city to destroy,” the Overlord said. Red lightning went from his screen to the titanium robot. His red eyes opened.

“It feels so good to be in a proper body again,” the robot — or rather the Overlord — said. He left the building and walked towards the city.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. IT IS I, THE OVERLORD. I JUST WANTED TO WARN YOU THAT MY PLAN IS COMPLETE. OPERATION STORM CAN BEGIN!” the Overlord spoke. Every robot’s eyes turned red. Everyone started yelling and screaming as the robots started firing lasers at them. Dianna and Luke ran out.

“What the heck is happening?!” Luke yelled.

“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here!” Dianna yelled. As they ran, they ran into Korben, who had a massive gun out and was shooting the robots.

“STAY BEHIND ME!” Korben yelled. His gun wasn’t doing any damage to the robots, but it was pushing them back. Suddenly, the Exterminator came into view.

“Targets located. Exterminate,” Exterminator said.

“Leave! I’ll keep him distracted!” Korben yelled. He started shooting at the Exterminator as Dianna and Luke ran. As they turned towards the exit of the town, the Overlord flew in their way.

“WELCOME TO THE FINAL ROUND OF THE RBL!” the Overlord yelled. Luke stepped in front of Dianna.

 

Meanwhile, Silo was still trying to break free. He spotted the Overlord advancing towards Luke and Dianna. Silo yelled, and his body glitched out of the chains. He ran down the building and towards Dianna’s home, where his body was still standing in the living room. Silo climbed inside.

“Okay, I’ve got to control this without the chip,” Silo said. He started moving the joystick around, and Silo staggered around towards the door.

 

The Overlord shoved Luke aside, where Red Zone and Wrecking Ball caught him and held his arms. The Overlord grabbed Dianna and flew up in the air.

“Where’s your precious robot now, Dianna?” he asked.

“You won’t win,” she muttered.

“I already have! Now, let’s watch this city die together, shall we… update update requiring USB database,” the Overlord started. The robot powered down, and Dianna and the Overlord started falling to the ground. Red lightning shot out of the suit and possesed Wrecking Ball’s body. Dianna kept falling until Silo caught her in mid-air.

“Wait… Silo?” she asked. Silo’s code body appeared from the face.

“Hello!” he yelled. Dianna screamed.

“Who are you? Why are you in Silo’s body?” she asked.

“I am Silo. Just in my deleted form. I can feel emotions and all the stuff I wanted to feel as a robot,” Silo explained.

“Then why is ‘Storm’ written on your chest?” she asked.

“Long story short, my real name is Storm, I was the Overlord’s body, and the RBL was just a trick to make an army,” Silo explained.

“This whole thing was a trick?” she asked.

“Yeah, and I need the chip, so I can transfer my code into this body,” Silo said.

“The chip is in the Overlord’s building,” Dianna muttered. “Silo, fly your body up to the highest floor!” she said. Silo turned the joystick, and Silo’s robot body flew towards the building.

 

The Overlord finished plugging his chip in his robot. The red lightning flew towards the robot’s body, and its eyes turned on.

“Where is the girl?” the Overlord asked. Red Zone pointed at the tower.

“Tell all robots to get them!” the Overlord yelled. Every single robot flew towards the

Building.

“They can delete me up there. I need to stop them before they delete me and get Silo’s

body back!” he yelled. He used his rocket feet and joined the other robots.

 

“Dianna! We’ve got robots coming!” Silo yelled.

“Hold on, there are so many chips here that I’ve got to find the correct one. Aha! Here we go!” she said. As she turned around, she saw Silo fighting off millions of robots that were cracking the windows and crawling through. Dianna saw a large red chip surrounded by lasers.

This must be the Overlord’s chip, she thought. She turned to Silo, who was getting

swarmed by bots. She saw a weird blob swimming around in a test cell.

A virus, she thought. She sighed, and she smashed the test tube on the ground. The

virus floated in the air, and it went to the closest body it could find… Silo’s. Silo’s eyes turned red, and he went full rage on the robots. In about five minutes, all the robots were broken on the ground. The virus came out of Silo’s body and disappeared. Dianna grabbed the chip and was about to plug it in when the Overlord grabbed her hand.

“You won’t win that easily,” the Overlord told her. His eyes glowed more red as he started making a laser. Suddenly, someone jumped in the way…

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

Prologue to Hectorbla

            

Prologue

The winter snow brings freezing and death. In the land of Itha, freezing and death were the only things that the 4th grand army of the Glass Imperium knew. You see, Itha is a land divided by war and conquest. A supercontinent in the center of the Crimson Sea, Itha had been home to technological advancements and cultural exchange unparalleled in the entire world. However, things soon turned bad.

In the year 1813, a man named Hector Blighting completed work on his airship, the Hectorbla. Hector was an inventor, but one who had discovered too much. Hector delved into knowledge perhaps meant for man to stay ignorant of, knowledge of terrifying implication. Wielding this knowledge, Hector formed a cult, known as the Cult of Hector. With ingenuity and scientific competence, the Cult of Hector synthesized new gases and metals perfect for the creation of airships. With this, Hector created a navy of the air, which swiftly blitzed every major city in Itha, taking countries by surprise. Massive behemoths of metal and gas rumbled across the skies. Massive guns thundered throughout the night. However, Hector’s villainous campaign was not without challenge.

Every country in Itha banded together and struck deep in the heart of Hector’s ever expanding empire of iron and steam. The headquarters of Hector’s campaign were surrounded, and heavy fighting ensued, resulting in the death of Hector. With the knowledge of airships, steam tanks, trains without rails, bioengineering, energy weapons, and massive tanks now in the hands of every nation in Itha, bickering was bound to occur.

This brings us to the 4th grand army of the Glass Imperium. The Glass Imperium is a moderately sized country (though the rulers and inhabitants would prefer the term empire), hellbent on the conquest of Slavingcordia, a country to the north. Slavingcordia, though smaller in men and weapons, was not undefended. A massive mountain range, named Blackheart Ridge, separates the two countries, one that must be passed if any country was to attack the other with speed.

The Glass Imperium had finally decided to bite the bullet and invade. Seventy-five thousand man, all dressed in the traditional blue on green Imperium uniform, marched across Blackheart ridge with the intent of capturing the Slavcordian city of Deizenburgen. But luck was not on the side of the Glass Imperium. Marching upwards in the bitter cold snow, air getting thinner with every step taken. This was the hell that faced the 4th Army. Ten thousand soldiers met their end in the cold, alone and unable to move. Dreadnaughts of the sky flew overhead, but where there was no comfort to the soldiers, they huddled together for warmth. But the situation was about to get worse.

It was on the 6th of November, 1867, that Col. Williams spotted the first Slavcordian soldier. This was only the beginning of a bloody campaign that would leave millions dead, and release secrets and evils forever to haunt the human heart.

Josef awoke to the sound of shouting. His eyes still adjusting to the light, Josef squinted as he forced on his boots. Inside of his small green tent, he could not see anything but the blinding sun being reflected into the his tent. Using his left hand to wipe off his uniform, Josef slowly began to wake up. His stubble had grown worse, and his body odor unbearable. Lamenting these facts, Josef began to open the tent, when suddenly he heard gunfire. Grabbing his rifle, Josef bolted out of his tent, adrenaline pumping. Dead men lay in the snow, blood staining the ice. The gunfire continued, men shouting orders, soldiers scrambling to get out of bed and to grab their guns. A bullet whizzed by. Josef hit the floor. Lying beside one of his fallen comrades, Josef saw the Slavcordian men firing upon his division. Rolling behind the fresh corpse, Josef propped up his rifle and began to fire.

The smell of gunpowder spread through the air, muzzle flash appearing from places unexpected. An unfortunate Slavcordian soldier engaged Josef at point blank range, hitting Josef’s cover, but being hit by a lead riparte, fired from Josef’s rifle. Josef pulled the trigger and aimed his gun again at the ghastly silhouettes of enemy soldiers running to and from cover, sometimes revealing their true selves by illuminating the area with the flash of gunpowder. However, when Josef pulled the trigger for another time, his gun did not fire.

Desperately searching every pocket and crevice for bullets proved useless. Josef knew what he had to do. Throwing his rifle aside, Josef gripped the cold body of the bloodstained soldier and took the dead man’s rifle from his cold hands. A bullet hit the soldier. An eruption of blood blinded Josef. Wiping it off, Josef continued. Emptying the remaining bullets with futility into the seemingly impervious cover of the Slavcordian soldier harassing Josef, seemed a laughable waste of ammunition, but a cost that Josef knew must be paid in order to pin his adversary. Now out of ammunition again, Josef ran with the corpse down a small ledge. This time he found ammunition, but looked more. The massive shadow of a sky dreadnaught passed over, launching shells into enemy positions. Though not a decisive attack, it was satisfying to see the bloodstained brown uniforms of the Slavcordians fly into the air.

A fellow soldier passed by Josef, hurrying to defensive positions. “Ai! Dirty gravedigging sonofabitch!” Josef wanted badly to respond and tell the soldier that he wasn’t looting the body of a fallen comrade, but there were more important things at hand. A small mecha ran by, its metallic legs galloping across the snow, firing small shells, until it vanished behind the snow. The smoke of battle machines began to rise. Josef decided his best most move would be to continue behind the mecha. Following the tracks, Josef ran, and ran. Being shot at by what felt like five people, powder exploding at his feet. A bullet ripped across Josef’s back, though not injuring too much flesh, it hurt like hell. The warm blood perhaps was a blessing in disguise. Josef was beginning to go numb. Though his body heat was up, it was barely holding him together. The warm blood soothed his back.

Finally, Josef caught up with the mecha, the pilot obviously struggling with a dug in machine gun. Stuck between a machine gun and infantry, Josef knew that the mecha needed help. Josef attacked the flank of the infantry. The shouting in foreign languages disturbed Josef. He did not know the orders of the commander. Josef fired everything and got into a rhythm. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. The sputtering riposte of the infernal Slavcordian rounds dissuaded Josef from continuing his assault and forced him to fall back. Running blindly in a direction were he would be temporarily safe from enemy fire, Josef found himself far to the left flank of the Slavcordian rear.

Boots getting wet, limbs stiffening. Josef began to pant as he slowly trudged back to where he believed his company was. Some Slavcordian men noticed him in the distance. They fired off several rounds at Josef, but at the distance between them, they would have been lucky if the explosion of powdery snow came within a foot of Josef.

Josef stopped. He saw a tower of smoke rising from the ridge ahead. The roar of treads. The Glass Imperium had no tanks in the mountains. They deemed them too visible. The mechas used by the Glass Imperium had a much smaller profile (or at least the smaller ones). That strategy had proven useful until the first Slavcordian attack. Now, without steam tanks or bio tanks, or any form of calvary that was not exclusively anti infantry, Josef was filled with anger and disappointment. But that was irrelevant. Josef had a duty. Heaving and panting, Josef prepared for what could very well be his final offensive.

The rectangular bottom of the tank carried several machine guns. The rusted white metal reminded Josef of a bridge burnt into hell. The gray treads and silver gears gave the tank an almost aluminum look. Then, there was the turret. A massive chimney spurted out smoke. An 85 caliber heavy cannon slowly shifted around, looking for targets. Josef breathed in. His now bloodstained uniform was a fitting cloth to be buried in. Josef leapt into the powdery snow. Josef now recognized the tank as a HF-3 “Mountain Goat.” Josef gripped his rifle and screamed like never before. Josef was prepared to die.

End of prologue.

 

Don’t Look at Me

Maria smoothed the corners of the picnic blanket, erasing every imperfection she saw. She frowned as a stubborn wrinkle stayed in place. She stretched the picnic blanket as far as it would go until the wrinkle disappeared. Only then did she smile.

She leaned back, trying to relax. Maria breathed deeply, hoping the smell of grass and sunscreen would slow her rapid heartbeat.

In… two, three, four… out… two, three, four, Maria thinks, closing her eyes. In… two, three — Dammit!

Maria growled, jamming her floppy beach hat tighter on her head. She pulled the edges down, annoyance filling her chest when her hat wouldn’t fit properly. It just felt so wrong.

She yanked her hat off her head, letting her curly hair bounce over her shoulders. Maria grit her teeth as her attention drew to her clothes — it was so messed up, everything was. Her eyebrows furrowed as she adjusted her shirt, because it didn’t look as good on her as it did on her friend, Liza. Why couldn’t she feel good, just for one day? Why?

Maria buried her face in her hands, her eyes burning with frustration.

“Hey.”

Maria looked up in surprise, her cheeks turning red. It was embarrassing enough when Liza found her like this, and it was humiliating for a classmate of hers to see this too. She could already see him, talking to his friends about that weird girl in his English class. Maria could already picture walking down the hallway, whispers swarming her ears —

“Maria, right?” he asked, sitting down on her blanket next to her.

“Yeah,” she answered, in a voice a lot weaker than she liked.

“I’m Philip,” he said.

Maria nodded, her cheeks still warm. She knew that she would only embarrass herself more if she said anything.

“Look, I just wanted to see if you were okay,” Philip said sheepishly. “I saw your little, uh — ” He gestured vaguely with his hands, and Maria’s cheeks burned brighter.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice tighter than normal. Her voice quivered as she spoke, and her eyes welled up with tears as she said that. But it was okay, not even Liza noticed those imperfections in her voice.

Philip studied her face, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine,” he pressed. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Then stop looking,” Maria snapped, turning away from him. It was so unusual for someone to reach this far, and she didn’t want him to get any closer. She didn’t know if she could take it.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” he continued.

Maria curled her fingers into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

This can’t be happening, she chanted in her head. It can’t! It was getting harder to breathe, harder to focus. All she could think about was the way people always looked at her when they knew.

“Please. Stop.” Maria refused to look at him. She knew she’d only find pity there.

“I just want to help you,” Philip said. She flinched as he touched her shoulder. Maria could hear the careful way he talked. She couldn’t bear to have another person treat her like broken glass.

“I don’t think you can,” Maria replied softly. “So just go.”

She could sense him hesitating, wondering if he should leave or not. Maria didn’t hold her breath. She knew he’d leave; they always do.

 

The End of a World

For the most part, they are silent and still. Only Hussein paces back and forth across the cramped white room. Not even the heavy thuds his boots make seem to distract anyone. The quietness that drapes the rest of outer space in a smothering quilt now covers the tiny space cruiser.

Sofia’s eyes are still red. She can’t see it, but she can tell by the way Tarah observes her and how everything stings when she blinks. Her sight isn’t blurred over from crying, so she can tell that they have about fifteen minutes left before… everything.

Fifteen minutes until they’re the only ones left. Fifteen minutes until they have to drift further away, farther than they’ve already gone. Fifteen minutes before all the contact will be cut off.

Tarah clears her throat. “We’re going to have to talk to them, you know. We have fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds, counting.”

Hussein stops pacing. He draws up a chair and seats himself. His voice cracks as he speaks. “… We’ve already talked to the government, they’ve already accepted it. Now it’s just your families left.”

“Who’s going first?” Tarah doesn’t look up from the control panel, choosing instead to tap quietly away at the buttons in front of her. She sits with her back facing them both. “Between Sofia and I, I mean.”

“… I’ll go first. Hussein, are you alright with taking over the control panels?” Sofia undoes her hair from the band holding it in place. She thinks about how she was always the one who wanted to go first in the past: She wanted to be the first one to get ice cream from the ice cream truck, wanted to be the first of the three of them to go into space, wanted to be the first to set foot on Mars. Back then, she always was the one who went first, but that was because she wanted to be first.

Now she is only doing it because she knows she has to be first. No one else will go before her. Tarah has made it clear enough, and Hussein doesn’t have anyone back on Earth — he has only had the crew, and he will only have the crew after this.

Sofia dials the buttons, staring down at the spotless white floor of the shuttle. When she looks back up at the hologram, there is only static. A lump begins to form in her throat. Are they already gone? Is this it?

The static disappears, and she sees them. Mami. Papi. Leo. They’re all staring back from behind their hologram at home. If it weren’t for the occasional flickering, she’d almost reach out and touch them.

“Mi hija?” her mother asks.

She waves a gloved hand through them. “Si, Mami. Es tu hija.”

How long has it been since she’s last spoken in Spanish? Has it really been three years since they’ve been sent up here?

Her mother’s smile is outlined in red lipstick. The dimples form on her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” she continues in Spanish. “To think — our daughter is the youngest girl to be sent up into space! You’re my daughter.”

“Mami.” She groans a little, remembering all the times before when she’d sit in her cramped kitchen and her mother would be waving around the 99% she got on her test or her scanned certificate from the math teacher.

“You’ve learned so much.” Papi is speaking now, and she can see the tears behind his glasses. “Querida, you are very strong. We are proud to be your parents. You have learned so much, and you have taught us so much.” She thinks back to the hours spent teaching him how to make macaroni y queso as he called (she insisted that he just call it “macaroni and cheese”) and how he’d seat her at the piano and teach her how to play and that she should keep her fingers curved when she played.

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. I’m not going to cry again. I’m not going to cry again. “I’m sorry you’re stuck back there. We’ve tried. I’ve tried. Ecuador has tried. The UN has tried. And I hate how there isn’t anything else I can do so far away.”
“Sofia — ” Leo is speaking now.

“People keep telling me it’s not my fault, and I’ve tried to help you get off before it all. But it was never enough. I’m too late.”

Sofia doesn’t realize she’s given in to crying again until she finds herself drying her tears.

“I’m sorry for crying in front of you.” She speaks to Leo now. “I’m sorry you have to see your older sister like this.”

Three minutes left. It’s only felt like a few seconds.

“You did what you could. And it’s okay. I’m not a child anymore — I’m fourteen years old,” Leo says. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you before we go.”

And for a moment, like she has thought before, she wants to be back on Earth with them. She knows that she did all she could from so far away on the edge of the galaxy. She just wishes she could do more.

Te amo,” she says. She reaches through the hologram for a moment. Two more minutes.

Te amamos,” Mami says to her. She reaches back, and just for a moment, Sofia thinks she can feel the warm of her mother’s hand holding hers.

She reaches for Papi’s hand, and then Leo’s. She tries holding his hand the longest, pretending that he isn’t a hologram her fingers slip through. She’d taken him to look at the planetarium down in New York, helped him balance on a stool so he could look through a telescope, and hung models of the planets and posters of the constellations up in his room.

They’ve always lived vicariously through the cosmos. Nothing has changed since then.

“I just have one more minute,” she says. One minute before she has to turn her back from their cramped living room all the way down on Ecuador. One minute before she has to turn her back on Earth for good.

Gracias para todo. You taught me a lot,” Leo says.

Forty-five seconds.

“You’ve made it this far. It’ll be hard not to give up, but you have help from your teammates.”

“Be safe. We care about you.”

Thirty seconds.

“I’m going to miss you. I’m going to name some of the planets we find after you like I’ve told you before.”
“So there’ll be a planet named Leo.” He laughs a little. “That sounds awesome.”

Twenty seconds.

“I love you. You’ve taught me a lot, and I’m glad I know everything I do know.”

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.

“Thank you for everything.”

Ten, nine, eight. Eight more seconds.

They don’t have to say much more. They’ve already said what needs to be said.

Five, four, three —

“Adios,” she says.

Adios.”

Adios.”

Adios.”

She stares at them for a few more seconds before the hologram flickers off. Her time is up.

“Tarah?” It’s jarring when she switches back to English. “It’s your turn now. You have five minutes.”

“Thank you, Sofia.” She turns away and begins to dial the buttons. Sofia realizes she’s only really seen the pale blonde hair and sleek black eyeliner, and not the dark circles under her eyes and her shaking hands.

The hologram begins to flicker again. Sofia sits down at the table and turns away. She’ll just look away during this.

“Is that you, Tarah?” The voice on the other end shakes, muffled and crackling through the static.

“It’s me, Lauren. Hello.” Sofia doesn’t have to look — she’s seen Lauren before with her short red hair and squarish black glasses.

“I’m scared. I knew this would happen when they talked about it a few days ago, but I never thought it’d be like this. I never thought it would actually happen. I’m scared because I know you and the crew and the USA and the government have tried everything you could for this, and I hate how even though I know it’s all going to be over — ” Lauren cuts off her sentence to breathe through her tears. “ — I’m still scared.”

“I’m scared too,” Tarah says. “I don’t want this to happen, I feel like there was something more I should have done even though we’ve tried everything. I don’t want to leave you behind, but we’re too far away. I feel like I’m hiding away in the shuttle. I feel like I’m a coward.”

Sofia looks at the timer. Four minutes left.

“You aren’t a coward, Tarah. You’ve never been one. You’re brave because you came out to your parents even when you weren’t sure how they’d feel about you. You were the one to talk face-to-face with Mom when she found out about you and found out I was dating ‘another girl.’ You’re brave for asking the government for our marriage papers even when you told me you were scared. You found life on Mars even when NASA told you how dangerous the atmosphere was.”

“Then if I’m not a coward, it’s alright for you to be scared.”

Three minutes and thirty seconds.

“You said I was brave for asking about the marriage papers even if I was scared, right? You told me you were scared, and you’re still here. You’re still holding out till the end even after you told me you’re scared. Even though we got this news from the government a few weeks ago and no one saw it comings, you’re still holding out.”

For a moment, Sofia just hears Lauren breathing.

“I love you. We’ve had obstacles, but I’m glad you’ve made it this far, Lauren. You’re brave for making it this far.”

“I love you too, Tarah. I’m still scared, and I know I can’t help it, but I’m glad to be talking with you before… before I have to go.”

One minute and forty-five seconds, counting.

“I’m glad too. I’m glad I fell in love with you. I’m glad I’ve married you.”

She can still hear quiet crying, but she thinks she can hear Tarah crying too.

Fifty-nine seconds.

“Thank you for everything, Lauren. Thank you for moving in with me at college. Thank you for supporting me when I decided I wanted to do this.”

“Thank you, Tarah.”
Seven, six, five —

“I have to go. Thank you for everything again. Remember you’re full of courage for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll remember. I love you, Tarah.”

Three, two —

One.

The hologram flickers off, and Tarah turns around. She pulls out one of the chairs and stares through the paneled window of the shuttle, away from Earth and the Milky Way and toward the sea of unnamed stars swimming in black.

Hussein doesn’t look up from the control panel, but Sofia asks to make sure.

“Hussein, is there anything you want to do? We have five minutes.”

She expects silence or a brief “no,” but —

“Yes. I want to make a broadcast to Earth.”

“What? Are you sure?” Abrupt, Tarah stands up from her seat.

“I’m sure. I just wanted to say one last goodbye to everyone there. Tarah, could you take over the control panel for me?”

“Yes. I’ll do that.”

The buttons are pressed for the third time in a row. A hologram of Earth starts to flicker to life and spin, and just above that, the faces of everyone on Earth flicker with it.

“Hello.” Hussein waves at the blinking faces.

“My name is Hussein Aamer, I am from Saudi Arabia. Some of you have heard of me, some of you have not, but I am one of the three astronauts sent by NASA into space to look for life on other planets. By then, I was a U.S. citizen and had already completed my science credits for high school and college.”

“My family was killed in the nuclear war when I was a child, and I was sent to America through the refugee program. I’ve lived with foster families for most of my life, and when I turned eighteen, I started my first year at college.”

“I have no one else to say goodbye to but you. You and the crew are my family.”

Four minutes. The engines are shifting into position now, judging by the rumbling.

“I know that Earth can be a cruel place filled with hateful people — I’ve experienced it firsthand. But I also know that my fellow humans can be kind, too. The refugee camp showed me kindness when they rounded us up and tried to teach us English and read us stories. The foster families I have met have been kind, even though they knew I would have to move on to the next family they still wanted me to go to school and get a job and go to college. My crew is my family and have shown me kindness — Sofia Zambrano and Tarah Coleman are two of the most accepting, wonderful people I have ever known.”

“So why am I telling you about this?”

Hussein doesn’t cry, but they hear it in his voice.

“Because until now, Earth is my home, and its people have been my family. We are far from a perfect family, but from the good I know we are capable of being a good family. We have achieved so much in the past few decades, and I am happy to be a part of these achievements.”

Two minutes. Two minutes before everything is over.

“We have discovered life on other worlds together. We have developed temporary cures to slow depletions of natural resources and climate change — think about all the time we have lived. It isn’t luck, it’s because we tried.”

“By now we have done all we could, and I — no, we, the crew of of the Extraterrestrial Life Search shuttle, could not have achieved it by ourselves. We have worked together to make ends meet, we have made compromises, and we have accomplished so much by now.”

Thirty seconds, counting.

“You were my family. Thank you for that. I’m sorry to see you go, but I’m grateful for all that we’ve done together.”

The hologram has begun to flicker. Twenty seconds.

“You have done so much for me as a family I haven’t known for as long, and I will try to repay you as best as I can as we go further. Thank you, NASA. Thank you, Saudi Arabia. Thank you all.”

Nine seconds. Eight, seven, six —

“I don’t have much else to say. So… thank you and goodbye.”

Zero seconds.

The hologram finally flickers out. The faces before Hussein disappear.

Sofia stands up from her seat, wrapping her arms around him. “I don’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe everyone’s… gone now.”

She tries to remember the faces of her parents and Leo, tries to keep them imprinted in her mind just in case the photographs she has from before don’t take. She tries to remember all the words she’s ever learned in Spanish. By now it’s a language she may never use again, but it’s certainly not a language she wants to ever forget.

Tarah stares down at the control panel, looking up to the stars and debris scattered across the edge of the Milky Way. For the first time within these fifteen minutes, she looks back towards the near-blinding light of the Milky Way that they drift further and further away from with each second.

She takes a deep breath. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

“We’ve found life on Mars and Neptune and even Pluto, so there must be something,” Sofia says.

“It won’t replace home,” Hussein says. “But we know there’s something out there to find.”

Exploring new horizons. That’s the motto they picked. That’s what they’re going to adhere to.

Sofia turns her chair away from the window, to face Tarah and Hussein. “Vamonos.”

They turn away from the Milky Way, not looking back as they press the control buttons and the engines speed up.

And then the Extraterrestrial Life Search floats away from the Milky Way, towards whatever new horizons they may chance to find.

No new horizon can replace the planet they used to call home.

 

Testing

      

Flashing lights. Large hands. Tubes. Needles. Moaning. Silence. Coroners. Bodies. Syringes. Blood. Sleep.

 

I stand upon a pristine white stage. I look down at the many cameras and reporters, and I take a deep breath. I smile. “Hello. Hello, everybody. Thank you so much for joining us here today. Soon, as you all know, will be the tenth anniversary of United Labs! Here at United Labs, we’ve created miracles. We’ve cured thousands, and now there are United Hospitals all throughout the world! So we thank you, the citizens, for supporting us through ten years of greatness. We are now putting all our effort into curing and preventing the plague using state of the art technology and the greatest scientific minds to solve this issue. Now, I’ll open up the stage for questions.”

A reporter in a blue suit steps up. “Hello. Don Hei, Metropia Post. Are you sure your tests are humane?”

“Of course! We have created a set of standards to ensure that… ”

 

Blood. Capsule two is vomiting blood. The Attendants rush in. One gives me a sedative. As if it would damage me to see what is inevitably my future.

“Oh, come on. Capsules 6-2 have all died! What was it this time?”

A man in a white lab coat responds. “Vomiting blood, side effect of the plague. The counter drug is only slowing the process.” The man walks swiftly away, making marks on a chart.

“Ugh, wow. Leave us to the dirty work. You know we never get any appreciation. It’s always, oh noble scientist saving us from the plague, but what about us, you know?! Who mops the blood after they vomit?! Who collects the bodies?!”

 

They’re wheeling me up. The soft fuzz that’s grown on my head since my last surgery is being shaved off, revealing a map of scars. Scalpels, masks, tubes, darkness.

 

“Hello. Mr. Green. How have the trials been going?”

“Wonderful. I talked to my lead scientists this morning, and everything’s going great! We are taking some huge steps, and I just want to thank you. Your performance as head of press has been beyond satisfactory.”

“Thank you, sir. Would you mind having the analysis crew send me the statistics on deaths in the labs?”

“Of course.”

 

I remember the before. I don’t think the others do. I have flashbacks from before the plague. I remember them: my family. Not everything. Just bits and pieces. The one I remember most is a little boy. My brother… I think. Sometimes, if I let my vision go fuzzy and squint just right, I can see a pair of hazel eyes staring down at me. The same pair that in my memories looked up at me as I held… my brother’s hand. The other test subjects can’t remember, I don’t think. They used to have a spark of life. A hint of emotion in their eyes, but after two surgeries, it begins to dull, and they start becoming the lab rats the scientists are convinced we are. I’m only me in my memories. I am a product of my mind. On the outside, I am identical to the rest of the subjects. On the outside, I am patient 204589. It’s only when I close my eyes and remember that I live.

 

I sink into my couch and sigh contentedly. I try not to look out the window. Even from the penthouse, the destruction caused by the plague is horribly obvious. The bloodstained streets and the beggars begging for just a couple more cents to buy the latest medicine make it all too apparent. My status. But I am doing my part, seeing as I work for United Labs, which is helping cure this awful sickness. I mean, it’s awesome. I do my part, and they provide me with a state of the art plague protection kit. I wonder what it would be like to be a test subject at United Labs.

 

I hear I’m some sort of marvel. I don’t pass on the plague. It just stays trapped inside of me, killing me slowly. I think I broke some sort of record. Longest life of any test subject. Not that I would know how long that is. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Time melts under the constant glare of the fluorescent lights. Day and night are lost. I tried to keep track by deaths around me, but there were soon too many to keep track. If I close my eyes and concentrate, sometimes I can almost convince myself that I’m not some sort of human lab rat.

 

Every single tabloid and magazine have created their own crazy United Labs scandal, usually revolving around inhumane experimentation or some such nonsense. It keeps me on a tight schedule of press conferences and meetings. How dare they accuse United Labs of such atrocities! United Labs has given me everything! After my family died, I was put in the orphan relocation center at United Labs, and then when I was old enough to work, they gave me a job. They have built futures for so many. Plus, they are working on developing a cure to this terrible plague!!

 

My favorite thing to think about is escape. It’s pure fantasy of course. I’m kept so sedated I can barely move, and even if I could somehow override that insurmountable hurdle, I’m kept on so many drug’s I might just die from a withdrawal without the drugs. But I can still dream, although I can’t help but wonder: For how much longer?

 

The next wave of fake scandals is bigger than most I’ve seen and calls for me to personally oversee inspections. So of course, I start supervising inspections. The scent of bleach and plastic fills my nostrils, and I pinch my nose. Bed after bed after bed lay in a seemingly endless corridor. Each one identical and immaculate. The only difference being the people themselves. They all have the same vacant look in their eyes. They look like mannequins, and a shiver runs up my spine. I can’t wait for this to be over. I walk quickly down the rows of beds, checking boxes on my clipboard haphazardly and my heart racing. I stop for a second as something catches my eye. A woman about my age, maybe a little older, is lying in a hospital bed identical to all of the other beds lying identically to all of the other test subjects, but something flickers in her eye. I shake my head. I’m seeing things. I have to get out of here.

 

A young man walked passed me today. He’s new. He looked scared out of his mind. His eyes were wide, and I swear he looked at me and saw life. He saw the difference between me and the other subjects. He saw that I was no husk. Even so, his perfect suit and expensive haircut gave everything away. My bet was that he was some hotshot working for United Labs, completely unaware of the truth. Oh well, I will try to act unconscious all day, so they might not sedate me as much, and maybe I’ll tap my finger or something if the man comes by. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.

Something about that woman freaked me out. She seemed… familiar somehow. Her eyes’ seemed almost desperate. As if United Labs was doing anything awful to her. Ha! In any event, there was definitely something strange going on. It was probably just a trick of the light. Yes, that’s it. When I go back tomorrow, she’ll be just as empty as the other test subjects.

Today is my lucky day. Fifteen patients in my row died today. Fifteen!!! The scientists and lab assistants were so busy cleaning that they forgot to sedate me. I’m so happy I could fly. Well actually, I’m like 90% sure that I won’t be able to walk, so flying seems out of the question. But still. I feel free or at least less trapped! I can make some sort of signal to that strange United Labs inspector. I hope his ignorance doesn’t completely blind him.

I hate these daily inspections. Row after row of subjects. They look like corpses, except their chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. It is good that United Labs is helping them. I walk and walk until I find the girl from yesterday. She’s easily distinguishable because of her scars. Most only have one or two, but her head is covered with crisscrossing scars. Puckered white skin that will never again be smooth. In fact, there’s more scarring than unblemished skin on her scalp. I walk over, ticking off boxes on my clipboard haphazardly. When I reach her, her eyes widen, and her body seems to tense, and I hear a faint tapping. I walk closer, and the tapping becomes louder. I look down, and her pale bony finger is tapping the metal frame of her bed. I stare back at her. All of the other patients have been completely still. She’s straining, and her eyes are bulging like she’s trying to tell me something. Her muscles are tensed, and she’s breaking out in sweat with the sheer effort of attempted communication. Her dry lips crack open. I lean in, trying to distinguish any words she’s trying to say. Vocal cords that have been long out of use vibrate tentatively and a voice that had been silent for so long bubbles up forming a single word in a hoarse whisper.

“Lies,” she croaks.

“Crap, sorry about that one. We must have forgotten to sedate her this morning. Just a sec, lemme pump her up,” an attendant blurts out.

Pain. My throat is on fire. Each of my vocal cords a string of torture. The only relief I will find is in the sharp point of the syringe in the attendants hand. One push of the attendant’s thumb will be as good as pulling a trigger, because before I know it, I will be drugged back into submission. Barely alive yet so painfully far from the mercy of death, which seems to taunt me each day, holding blissful oblivion in front of my face, then yanking it away at the last second, forcing me to endure this torture they call life.

Lies. That was what she said to me. Lies. This single word could mean anything, Anything. United Labs has given me everything. Why should I believe that patient over United Labs, who has made me who I am. I stop myself. Who am I kidding. I have read angry letter after angry letter, each one illustrating a new unspeakable crime that United Labs has commited. This single whispered word has given these words life. Each frantically scrawled letter will rise from the page upon which they were written and form a noose around United Labs’ neck. They will that is, if word gets out.

I drift in and out of consciousness. Darkness occasionally fractured by the glare of fluorescent lights. Sometimes in the darkness, hazy, distorted images appear of syringes and blood and operating tables and sometimes a glimpse from the before. A flower in a meadow swinging slightly in the breeze, or a hand weathered and calloused but gentle, or sometimes even a face, distorted and twisted, but still a face of someone I once knew.

I go over the possibilities again. Maybe some rival company snuck in here and made her say it. Maybe she was having some sort of hallucination. These naive questions are merely space fillers, distractions in a flimsy attempt to block off the real question: What should I do about this? There is little doubt she is lying, but… her words open a new door. A whole new realm of possibilities. Her voice has given meaning to the thousands of conspiracies, allegations, and failed lawsuits. What now separates fact from fiction? Which theories are just that, and which ones are more, and even if I somehow uncover truths, what will I do? What can I do against the most powerful corporation there is? What can anyone?

I must escape. My drug induced dream land has finally disappeared, and I must escape. I am completely and utterly trapped. Trapped in a prison of flesh that refuses to obey me. I must break loose from the constant stream of sedatives. My last spindly fragile thread of hope has snapped in that United Labs employee. The so-called press secretary. The one who was supposed to speak the truth to the public. What an atrocity. The strongest words for hate or anger could not begin to express what I feel towards these sins. I must do something, anything! If this only leads to death, well it’s not like I have anything worth living for. I suck in a breath mustering all the strength I have, and…

I’m sprinting towards the center, towards the patient beds. I’ve finally figured it out, well, bits of it. But first, before anything, I must get that test subject before the guard’s break is over.

I stare down at my feet. Blood trickles out of the places where my many IVs and tubes once were. I feel nothing. I’m lightheaded, and pinpricks of light dance through my vision, but all I am focused on is my body. I sway slightly. My bones feel brittle, hollow like birds. It’s almost as if I could take flight at any moment, fly out of this broken body. What once was muscle is now flaps of skin. Clinging to my bird-bones. The lights in my eyes grow brighter, and suddenly I am in a grassy field at dusk. Blinking lights dance all around the field as if they are flying. I look down and wide hazel eyes look up, accompanied by a grin of crooked teeth. The lights go out, and all of a sudden, I am alone.

I sprint into the hospital, and the test subject is on the floor, a tangle of IVs framing her head like a twisted crown. I whip my head around. No guards in sight. I shake her frantically, willing her to wake. She jolts awake and immediately tries to wobble to her feet. I loop my arm around her, and we start to walk. Each disjointed step she takes sends spears of anxiety through me. I constantly check my shoulder, terrified of a guard meandering through the hallway. She is painstakingly slow, and by the time we finally make it to my car, it seems as though eons have passed. I help her into the car and speed off, leaving an empty hospital a little more empty. Black skid marks from my car scar the pavement. As absolute as what I had just done.

I quickly realized that going up the stairs to my apartment is futile. I give up and steer the patient into the elevator. I’m barely paying attention to the patient. My mind is a storm of thoughts and emotions. What did I just do. My thoughts are interrupted as I see the patient tearing at my apartment.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” I blurt out.

She doesn’t respond and continues to paw through my home until finally she reaches the pantry. Her eyes widen, and she snatches a brightly colored box of cookies. The big bright pink letters contrast with the bleak white of her hospital gown and the pale deathly pallor of her skin. She sits on the couch, keeping her distance from me, and starts shoveling the cookies in her mouth. She suddenly looks so familiar, like family almost, but no. I’m an orphan, my parents and twin sister died of the plague. I was raised in a United Labs orphan relocation center, but now that I see it, her face, her eyes, she looks like me. The patient is staring at me.

“Brynn?” I whisper.

I stare at this person, the sweet, familiar aftertaste of the cookies still lingering. This person who has just uttered my name, and suddenly I catch his eye. His eyes are the very same hazel eyes that visited me in my memories. The very same ones of my brother.

“Ronan?”

It all comes together.

It all comes back.

Each memory.

Each moment.

“What happened,” I whisper. What horrible fire consumed our happy lives and left us with this burned, disfigured world.

 

Over several hours, Brynn and I place shards of memory in place and pick apart conspiracies until we have something resembling a timeline. Basically, our lives were normal. United Labs was merely a shadow, until a brilliant idea struck the (clearly insane) CEO of United Labs, Eris Eliades. She would create a plague that would stump every other health organization. The world would go crazy, and out of the chaos, United Labs would come, providing pricey partial cures to the plague. Everyone in the world would want these cures, and United Labs would have complete control. Anyone, especially those in power, would do anything for safety from the plague. Soon, United Labs controlled the world. Anyone opposing Eris Eliades would be sure to get the plague and die a horrible death.

“We have to find her”
I jump, still not used to the grating voice of Brynn.

“Who?”

“Eris Eliades. We have to stop this.”

I pause. There is no way the security cameras didn’t pick up what I did. There are probably already “wanted” posters with my face on it ready to be plastered all around the world.

“It’s hopeless,” I respond.

“Not when there are others.”

“I have spent so long listening in to the secrets of guards and scientists. I know that there is a small resistance on the edge of United Labs controlled area. Even if we fail to get to Eliades, if we can broadcast it, then we can succeed. Now I need you to sketch out the building.”

“Here is the hospital building,” I say as I point to the largest square on the paper. “These circle are guard stations. This big circle in the middle is the central guard station. Not only is it constantly staffed by guards, it is where the surveillance database is located. Now this little box branching off of the central guard station is the break room, where the guards are when they finish a shift. Now this building branching off of the hospital is the Laboratory area. This is where they are testing new substances. It has crazy security, but if we manage to get through there, I’m sure we could find some incriminating evidence. Finally, these are the corporate offices, where I work. From what I know, Eliades splits her time between the top office.” I point to the top of the corporate offices. “Which is covered in security, and the lab.” I finish.

I nod, thinking. “So I propose that we go into the hospital, at the time when the guards switch shifts, then we lock them in the breakroom. We then find extra uniforms. I’ll wear a hazmat suit, because I look a little conspicuous with my scars and all, and you will wear a scientist uniform. Of course we’ll have to knock one out to get their ID cards. Then we will go through the lab, and if Eris Eliades is there, we will get revenge.”

“And if not?” Ronan asks.

“Then we will go to the corporate offices and say we are there for a meeting with Eliades.”

“So it’s a plan,” Ronan says, his eyes hardening with determination.

I run into the back room of my apartment and grab my mobile broadcasting equipment. It’s what I use for press conferences if my TV crew can’t come. “With my password, I can broadcast this all over the world.” I know the power of media. I know that this could be the spark that sets the world aflame. Brynn nods her head and gazes forward, her eyes as hard, as sharp, as the knives that scarred her.

 

We stand outside of the hospital, My eyes on my watch. In exactly five seconds, we will creep into United Labs and put our plan into motion. I click my mobile broadcasting set, and it whirs to life.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

We dash through the sliding doors and sprint underneath a bed right behind the central guard system. We see one shift worker sigh and head towards the break room. They step in, and the door squeals shut. Brynn, ghostlike, runs towards the door and shifts the bolts into place. She turns back at me, and her pain seeps through her stony expression. This, for her, is a place of nightmares. “Let’s go,” she whispers. We run to the nearest supply closet, and we dig around until we find what we are looking for, an extra uniform for me and a hazmat suit for her. With all of the profits that United Labs is rolling in, it is no wonder they are able to have such lavishly stocked supply closets. I try hard to remember what my life was like, what I was like before my world turned upside down, when I was just an unassuming United Labs employee. I take a deep breath in, and I push open the supply closet doors.

I walk down the halls as confidently as possible. I clench my hands together, a desperate and useless attempt to stop myself from shaking. The fluorescent lights illuminate my too-pale skin. Even under the hazmat suit, I feel naked. Something’s off. I just know it. We haven’t seen anyone since the guard station. I try to shake my unease. I look towards Ronan. He looks equally perturbed. He is focused on his broadcasting equipment, and he is typing up captions. We reach the huge metal door separating the hospital from the lab. Ronan enters the security code, and the door whooshes open. Not a single soul is inside the lab. I gasp as Eris Eliades steps into the light of the lab, a giant clock behind her. Her perfectly tailored white suit smells of bleach, and each white hair on her head is perfectly swept into a tight bun. The harsh lights make her pale skin look ghostly and her sharp features skull-like.

“Well, isn’t this a picture,” she croons, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The runaway patient and her ex-employee brother.”

I look at Ronan. His mouth is agape in horror as she walks towards us.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she says to Ronan. “You didn’t really think that you might fool me.” She puts a hand on her chest, fake surprised.

 

“You think that I didn’t know about what you were up to this whole time? You think that your apartment doesn’t have surveillance cameras in every room? You think I didn’t know that you two were siblings?” Eliades sighs. “Such ignorance. Well, I suppose you know I can’t have this getting to the press.”

My eyes widen. She doesn’t know about the broadcasting equipment. She doesn’t know that her every word is being shown to her loyal employees right now.

“Why?” Ronan asks, his eyes fiery.

“Humans have ruined this world for too long! I will fix the mistakes of our stupid predecessors, I will control the population, and with me there will be peace, and I can’t have you ruining it.” Ronan shakes his head.

Her eyes harden. She pulls out a white revolver as pristine as she is and points it, at me. Ronan’s eyes widen. Her eyes harden and she

Pulls

The

Trigger.

 

I stare in shock as she falls backwards, slowly. All I can hear is the tick tock of that huge clock across the wall.

Her body hits the floor.

Tick.

Blood rushes out.

Tock.

Her lips part.

Tick.

“Take the video and run,” she whispers.

Tock.

I look into those dying green eyes.

Tick.

I look down at the person who changed my life.

Tock.

And I run.

 

Epilogue

Ronan positioned the mobile broadcasting equipment atop his podium. He clutched his speech, the piece of paper too flimsy for the heavy words upon it. He looked down at the crowd below him. He saw hard faces, eyes aflame with anger and passion, each one wanting revenge for what United Labs had took from them. These were the writers of the angry letters. These were the people who United Labs left behind, these were the victims, the survivors. They held Red Flags, each one plastered with Brynn’s face with a crown atop her head. They had made her beautiful, with a full face and open eyes. So foreign from her hollow face and dying eyes. They made her a martyr, a symbol for survival. How funny that they now gathered around her casket. He took a deep breath, checked his equipment one last time, and began to speak, each of his words a dagger into the facade of United Labs.

 

Untitled Novel (Excerpt)

 

Chapter One

 

He shivered.

After hours of searching through the forest, Ky had curled up on the roots of a great oak. Even though the huge branches and thick leaves kept the worst of the rain away, some had still made it through, soaking his already wet clothes. His brain was still a bit dazed from the confusion, but he was sure this wasn’t a dream.

 

Ky had woken up that very morning, feeling just fine, when his parents had taken him on a car ride. It was bizarre for his parents to wake up so early, but he agreed. He was still tired so he had fallen asleep at one point during the trip.

Next thing he knew, he was awake, rain pouring down on his face, and his parents nowhere to be seen. First, he had felt confused, but that quickly turned into panic. A stone feeling inside his heart, making his breathing uneven. Frantically, Ky had wandered through the forest, shouting for his father and mother. All that answered was the howl of the wind. At least they let me have my Holo, he thought. The watch surface of the Holo generated a coat-like hologram that protected him from the weather. But that thought soon disappeared, when water had somehow seeped into the mechanism. Slowly, the rain that pelted down on him drenched his clothes and hair. In his boots, his feet swam in rainwater until they became completely numb.

The forest was huge, for even after hours of trekking, Ky still couldn’t see the edge. The rain turned into thunder, joined by occasional lightning far away. He knew he’d have to find shelter soon, so he continued his hiking. He didn’t know how long he had been in the rain when he finally found the great oak. He huddled next to the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes for the first time since the morning. That’s when he heard it. A rustle somewhere in the bushes that surrounded him. The source of the noise revealed itself, a huge black bear. Little cubs ambled behind their mother, not sure why she stopped. Ky froze. This was one of the worst situations he could possibly encounter; a mother bear. He knew that mothers were the fierce ones, especially when their cubs were nearby.

Getting back to his senses, he slowly stood up, careful to not startle the bear. His hands shook as he carefully moved around the tree. Her eyes followed his every move, boring into his. Suddenly, she jumped onto her hind legs, roaring. She lunged at Ky, paws outstretched.

 

Train Ticket

I woke up with the sun. I never used to wake up with the sun, sleeping well into ten o’clock, but very recently, my body began to shake me awake in time to watch the sunrise. I didn’t know what change had caused that, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Sure, it required an extra cup of coffee at work, but I didn’t mind watching the yellow and orange hues of the sky.

That’s not true, I lied, I know what caused the change. What had begun the trend of waking up with the sun. It was him. It was the move.

I yawned, sitting up in my bed. Stretching my arms out, eyes closed and still full of sleep. It felt strange, waking up in a bare room. Not entirely bare, though, filled to the brim with brown boxes. Taped up so that it locked my stuff, my memories, away. It didn’t feel like my room anymore. All its charm was lost, charm that I had worked so hard to build.

But whatever, I thought, no use complaining now. It was all said and done, and now I had a train ticket on the dresser and an apartment full of boxed up memories. Joshua was expecting me soon, anyway.

I had coached myself into the same speech every time I watched the sunrise at an ungodly hour. You love him. He loves you. This is the natural progression of your relationship. It usually worked, providing at least a little bit of comfort.

That was months ago, though, and now it seemed too real. Too soon. And that same speech couldn’t take the edge off the anxiousness I felt.

It also didn’t help that today was my last day of work and the day the movers were coming, and the first thing I saw was the train ticket, sitting quietly on my bedside dresser. Not quietly enough for my taste.

Joshua booked me a train ticket himself… he thought I would like the view better than a plane.

I staggered out of bed, head still clouded with missed sleep. The boxes continued out of the bedroom and into the kitchen and living room. Piled boxes that taunted me. Saddened me. I ignored them as I also trained myself to do ever since they’d been packed up.

My phone was charging on the kitchen counter, and it was the first thing I picked up. I turned it on and found a message from Joshua and Tabitha. Unsurprising but not unpleasant though, not entirely.

 

Josh: one more day! miss you so much!

 

Reading his messages made me feel guilty for all the time I’d spent regretting my decisions and worrying about the future. It was clear what we were supposed to do and what was supposed to happen, so… why did it feel so wrong to me? I couldn’t tell you, still can’t, but all I do is feel wrong. Then, I feel guilty. It’s a pretty shitty cycle, so I moved on to Tabitha’s text.

 

Tab: last day 🙁

 

I frowned, lightly. Last day of a lot of things, I guess. Last day of work, something that I should celebrate, but it also felt like yet another part of my life that I was abandoning.

I glanced behind my shoulder and out the large living room window. The sun was beginning to peak out from the tops of the buildings. I had a lot of time before my last day of work. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending quality time with my thoughts.

 

The rest of the day was a little bit of a blur. Perhaps my body had been doing everything to prevent the wave of emotions from flooding into my system, so it reverted to blocking it all out. I wasn’t sad about it, though. I didn’t mind not feeling much.

There were a lot of tearful goodbyes from my coworkers. Cards and hugs. Tabitha was there too. She usually was off on Thursdays but had promised to be there for my last day.

“The magazine won’t be the same without our star journalist,” she joked. I laughed, but it felt a little too real. A little too close to home.

She had offered to take me to the train station tomorrow too, but I had declined. It was my own battle to fight, that train.

After work, the movers came and took all my boxes and furniture that I didn’t need anymore. Couches, lamps, kitchen supplies, all sold and leaving me. Posters, video game controllers, and my 80’s movies DVD collection were packed inside big suitcases.

I felt empty when they left. An empty person to match their empty house. It was like every bit of my life was taken from me and loaded onto a truck, and I didn’t understand it. Shouldn’t I be happy? Josh and I were moving in together. I get to see my boyfriend everyday and not just through nighttime Skype calls. Shouldn’t I be over the moon, jumping for joy? Shouldn’t I feel somethinganything? No, I felt something.

Sadness. I felt a lot of sadness.

Finally, I gave up. I couldn’t stand being in this apartment anymore. So, I left for the deli. I walked past yellow taxis that honked too much, and I wondered how long I had to be annoyed at them.

 

“Leaving today, huh?” Mike asked, arms crossed over the counter. I smiled.

“Uh-huh. Train bound for Chicago leaves tomorrow… ”

“You excited?” he asked.

“Of course.” That was always my response. I thought maybe if I said I was excited enough, I’d grow to believe it.

“Well… I’ll miss you, Jen. The usual?”

My usual was a turkey on a roll. Little bit of mayo and three tomatoes. No lettuce. Mike knew. I’d been coming here as long as I’d lived in the city. My little slice of home. It never hit me that in Chicago there’d be no Mike. No Sal either, and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Sal because he worked the first half of the week and Mike worked the second half. In Chicago, there’d be no Mike or Sal, and I’d have to say my order out loud because the deli owners there wouldn’t know my usual.

The emptiness was coming back to me.

“Here you go,” Mike said, sliding the wax wrapped sandwich across the counter. I handed him my crumpled five dollar bill. He refused with a sad smile.

“Tonight is on me, Jen,” he told me. My heart bubbled with warmth. “Consider it a going away present.”

“Mike… I’m gonna miss you so much.”

I’d miss Mike and Sal. I’d miss Tabitha. I’d miss the city and the Hudson River and Central Park. I’d miss the West End Magazine, and I’d miss my apartment. Not the one now, but the one where all my boxes were unpacked and all my memories were preserved.

God, I’d miss my home.

 

The last thing the movers took was my bed, and I only had my suitcase filled with essential items I used last night and will use on the… train ride. Chargers, toothbrush and toothpaste, and other stuff I absolutely needed. Everything was finally gone. It hurt… it was all gone.

My train ticket was still there, though. Burning a hole into my kitchen counter. I was stalling all morning. Took an extra ten minutes in the bathroom. Ate an exceptionally long breakfast of pasta leftovers that I took a little bit too much care into stirring before putting in the microwave. I stared out the window, blank-faced, for longer than normal. I called the cab twenty minutes later than I should have.

I lingered inside my apartment, my home, and wished it would all go away. The texts Josh was sending me, full of smileys and hearts and warm messages about seeing me. The movers, the empty living room. I wanted it all to just… stop.

It wouldn’t though, and I had a train to catch.

 

The cab ride was smelly. Cabs were always smelly, though, so I wasn’t particularly surprised. Something was different about this cab ride, though, because I found myself feeling nostalgic at the bad smell rather than lightheaded and annoyed. A small smile twitched at the corner of my lips, my heartstrings tugging.

I peered out of the taxi window to see the New York City skyline becoming smaller and smaller. I closed my eyes, leaning back against the car seat. It’s really happening, huh? was my only thought. I’m really leaving the city.

I wasn’t sure the nausea pooling in my stomach was entirely from the lurching taxi ride.

 

I arrived at the platform just in time to see the loud train, screeching and clunking and roaring down the tracks. I ran towards the edge, breathless from the running across the train station to make the train I was watching pull away. I had missed it.

For a few seconds, I was silent as I watched my ride towards Josh and towards my new life disappear down the endless tracks.

Then, slowly, a thought dawned in my hazy mind and fast, rising chest. My face crumpled up in both guilt and joy. How am I going to explain this to Joshua? was my first question. It didn’t matter. None of all of this mattered because, even from the moment Josh asked me to move in with him, I always wanted to miss the train.

 

Mastermind (Excerpt)

        

Prologue

Colorado, Denver, USA

2103

I stepped over the broken glass shards and entered the bank. Right in front of me was the reception, and to the left of me was a flight of cobble stairs. To the right of me were three doors. The first one was an oak door which said money counting room. The second one read file room, and the third one read surveillance room. This was at midnight, when the number of guards was smallest. I leveled my gun to my eye and looked around. My name is Deben, Deben Heathrow. I own new tech industries, and I am the richest man alive. Right now, I’m about to get richer. I heard footsteps against the cobble floors coming from the second floor. That was probably the cops. I ran toward the nearest door and hid inside it. I then turned the smooth metal lock.

“You hear something, John?” shouted the first cop.

“Nope,” replied the second cop, John.

I looked around the room I was in. I realized that I was in the file room. To the right of me was a bookshelf, and opposite to that was a window. In front of me was a wooden desk with a portrait facing the opposite direction. On the desk was a computer. Next to the computer was an Ikea lamp, and in front of the computer was scattered with files, but one file caught my eye. It was stuffed with photos, articles, headlines, and Post-it notes, and it all was crammed into one vanilla colored file.

 

Genius files: classified

 

I knew what this was. This was the file for the 10 gifted geniuses in the world. I slipped it into my bag and carefully unlocked the lock. Then, a bright light shone beneath the small crack in the door, and I locked the door again. I think the police heard me because the footsteps got louder.

“Hey, anyone in there? John, you in there?” He tried the knob, and when he found it wouldn’t give, he cocked his gun.

I opened the door and smashed the butt of my machine gun onto his head. His nameplate read out Mike. He was a middle-aged man wearing a blue shirt and black pants. He had a jug of coffee in one hand which had spilled all over the floor. I ran up the flight of stairs three steps at a time and looked around. There were three vaults and a staircase to the next level. I ran to the first vault and started working my way through the passwords. The vault was silver, and the handles were gold. I put my ear against the vault door, its smooth, cold surface touching my ear. 90 70 100 40 50. Then, I heard the metallic clink as the vault door opened. I jumped inside and locked myself in. I stepped inside the circular vault. In the center was a tower of gold bars and stacks of money. There were coins scattered across the floor, and the ceiling was as tall as a giraffe. Then, I started filling my bag with gold bars and stacks of money. The coins that didn’t go into the bag clattered on the floor. A few dozen coins clattered out of my hand, and that’s when the cop heard me.

“Hey, open the door! Mike, come in here. I need the password for vault one!” shouted the other cop, John. I froze. “Mike? Mike, answer me!”

I heard the footsteps descend the stairs. That bought me more time. I continued to fill my money bag for 15 minutes when I heard John’s gun, but then I also heard five more guns getting loaded. I slung my money bag over one shoulder and aimed my gun at the vault door that would open any minute. I talked my command into my valtraneon that was parked in the roof of the bank. A valtraneon was a car that had multiple functions. The whole front part was black. Even the windows were black. It emitted red light from both headlights and the taillights. But the wheels were the special part. They could turn 270 degrees, and they would release fire, hence making the car hover. It also had a sticky function which defied gravity, letting it fly up walls. It had rope functions, speed functions, gun functions, and a skydiving option.

“Valtra, dig a hole in exactly 39° 44’ 34”N 104° 58’ 36”W!” I shouted into my electronic wireless wristband. A few seconds later, I heard the electronic hum of my valtraneon above the bank. I heard the turning of the dial as the police unlocked the vault.

“We need backup at the Denver bank! I repeat, we need backup at Denver bank!” shouted John into his walkie-talkie.

Then, the vault opened in a whoosh, and the six police stepped in. Then, I threw my smoke bomb. It started spinning madly while it released foggy, green air. The looks on their confused and surprised faces were all I saw before they perished in a gust of smoke. I heard the sirens outside the bank. The wailing escalated as it finally arrived. I carefully stepped over the deceased bodies and saw as the FBI charged in in formation. They all wore black suits with black bulletproof armor, and their heads were covered with black paintball helmets and black ski goggles. I ran back into the vault to find that a circular chunk of the ceiling had fallen off.

“Valtra, deploy rope!” I shouted into my wristband. Instantly, a tightly knotted rope fell down, just scraping the floor. I grabbed the rope.

“Valtra, pull up rope!” The rope started pulling up, and that was when the FBI came. They pointed their gun at me and started shooting rapidly. I was halfway when a bullet pierced half the rope, and I lost balance. The files in my pocket slipped out, and I was too late. They fell to the floor, but when they reached the floor, they had a big hole straight through the middle.

“No!” I screamed. “You bastards, do you know what that is?”

“Come down now!” said one of the soldiers in a deep voice. I got onto my valtraneon and closed the door and opened its black window.

“It’s the freakin genius files!” I screamed as the valtraneon whirred away. “And now you destroyed the files!”

I dropped a grenade into the roof and closed my window. I knew what was coming next. I closed my eyes and put my pinkies in my ears. The ear deafening boom could be heard across the horizon. I heard the screams of terror from the innocent men. I saw the red and orange billowing out of the roof of the bank. I looked outside the window at the sun. I had lost track of time at the bank. It was 3:00. I made my way to my mansion on the edge of Michigan. It was going to be a long way home.

 

Then It Hit Me

Then it hit me. Well, not literally, but it felt like it at the time. The creamy peanut butter was dripping over the sides when… Wait a second, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning…

I was tired, groggy, and I was pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep halfway across the room and half stuffed in the laundry bin. Oh well. I dragged myself out of the bin and pondered what to do next. My small and useless brain didn’t help. So I stumbled over to my bed, sat down (if you call throwing yourself upon your bed sitting down, then yes, I did sit down), and observed my room. It was a mess. Socks here and there, a piece of crumpled paper, and a tangy smell that I was sure hadn’t been there yesterday. My laptop was half falling off my desk. I’ll have to fix that when I get up. I saw a brown lump. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but it looked kind of like a cinnamon roll if it was stepped on 3,587 times, run over by three trucks, dipped in acid, and then chewed on by a rat. Oops. So, recap: my room was a mess, and I was really tired.

But at that moment, I realized something. I had to be somewhere! I got up, fixed my laptop positioning, and proceeded to my bathroom. Then, I stepped in the shower and attempted to take a bath. I think that’s the shampoo. I decided to rub it into my hair. My hair instantly fluffed up as if I had stuck my finger in a socket. That’s not the shampoo. In my defense, I was still pretty tired, so yeah. I tried the next bottle. Orange blossom shampoo and body wash, it read. I quickly rubbed it all over myself, praying it would work. I stepped out of the shower adventure and into another. Where are my clothes? You see, I pride myself with having six pairs of everything. I wear the same thing, so I don’t have to think. Yours truly is smart sometimes.

I continued on with my adventure. I looked inside of drawers and under my bed, but I couldn’t find a pair of pants. Where could they be? I didn’t know, so I decided to take a break from looking. However, luckily, I did find a pair of underwear, so I strutted off to my living room. My grandma, who was staying over from Mexico, was still asleep. I looked out the window. What a nice day. The moment I thought that, of course it started raining. Sigh. Sometimes, days are good. Sometimes, days are not. At least I have a peanut butter sandwich…

 

The End

 

A Ripple in the Waters

          

I

I peered out the window, letting out a long sigh. Rain sucks, I thought miserably. I had made plans for that day with my aunt Ruthy, who was staying that week. Today was her last day, and we had arranged for us to go up to the park and take a walk together. Well, it looked like that plan was screwed.

My gaze roamed across my room, falling on my bedside table, where my book lay. I turned away from it, resting my chin on my arms and watching the window again.

The rain cast a gray, flickering light all throughout my room. The only sound was the steady pitter-patter of the rain, pounding on the roof, the sidewalk, the glass windowpane.

When would the rain let up? Maybe we still had time to take a walk in the park. I knew it was a lot to hope for, but I didn’t get to see Aunt Ruthy often, and I wanted to make the best of our time together. Although, I suppose some would say that I, sitting here on my windowsill, was the one not making the most her visit.

“Annabella!”

The sound of my name startled me, and I almost fell off the sill. But it was just my mother calling up from downstairs. I sighed and called back.

“What do you want?”

“We’re playing Set! Wanna come down and join?”

“No!” I replied, annoyed. I was up in my room for a reason.

“Ruthy is playing!”

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

“I’m coming!”

Aunt Ruthy was just so ridiculously bad at Set, it was hilarious. On top of that, I was also quite good at it, if I do say so myself.

I slid off the windowsill and headed downstairs. We played Set for a while before having lunch. All the while, the rain continued to pour, never letting up, never allowing for a break. My chances of our walk were getting slimmer by the minute.

“Yahtzee!” Ruthy raised her arms above her head in victory. “Woohoo!”

“Darn it,” I said. The dice on the table all had fours showing. “You got me again.” I picked up the dice and rolled them on the table. I got two threes, a one, a five, and a six.

“Aw, that’s rotten, Annabella,” Ruthy said sympathetically. I already had my threes.

The game continued like that, Ruthy getting great rolls and I getting terrible ones. Every once in a while, I glanced at the clock. It was ticking closer and closer to dinnertime, and by then I knew it would be too late.

Ruthy seemed to notice my worsening hopelessness, because after another one of my terrible rolls, she took the dice but didn’t do anything. Instead, she asked, “Annabella, what’s bothering you? I know something is — you never act like this.”

“It’s nothing, Ruthy,” I said, dropping my gaze to the dark brown wood of the table.

Ruthy raised an eyebrow.

“Righhhhht,” she said. “I can’t make things right unless you tell me what’s wrong… ”

“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “It’s just — I was really hoping we could go on that walk together. But… it looks like the rain won’t let us.” My finger traced the swirls of the wood as I spoke.

“Is that what’s got you all mopey?” my aunt chuckled. I nodded. “Well why didn’t you tell me?”

“I — don’t know,” I replied.

“Well, why don’t we do something about it then?” she asked, setting aside our game of Yahtzee. “We might not be able to take a nice walk in the park with this rotten weather, but… ”

I cocked my head, looking up. “What?”

She cast a sly glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Well… I might be able to convince your mother to let me take you to Willa’s.”

My face broke into a wide grin. “Really?”

“Sure!” she smiled.

Willa’s was my favorite ice cream shop in the neighborhood. It had the best ice cream ever, and whenever I went there with Ruthy, she would let me get as many scoops and toppings as I wanted.

“Yes!” I said, fist-pumping the air.

 

After negotiation with my mom, a mad dash through the rain into the car, a short drive, and another mad dash, we were at Willa’s.

Like my usual with Ruthy, I ordered three scoops of trash can with rainbow sprinkles. She ordered one scoop of bubble gum in a cone. We got a table together and sat down.

“So how was seventh grade? Are you excited for eighth grade?” Ruthy asked me.

“I did not like seventh grade, and yes, I am excited for eighth grade because it is not seventh grade.” Ruthy laughed.

I loved it when Ruthy laughed. It sounded like bells tinkling merrily, and I thought it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. I smiled at the thought.

Anyways, our conversations went something like that — school, vacation, all that kind of stuff. It was nice to catch up with her, because somehow I hadn’t gotten the chance in the week prior.

After we finished our ice cream, we headed back home for dinner. The rain had started to let up, but it was still sprinkling a little, rippling the puddles on the sidewalk and roads.

“You naughty girls, spoiling your dinner with ice cream,” my mom said jokingly when we came through the door.

I giggled and dodged around her as she tried to grab me. Not long after we got home the warm smell of chicken noodle soup was wafting all around the house.

Dinner felt strained, at least to me. We all knew that Ruthy had to leave afterwards, and we — I — was not looking forward to it. But I knew it would come.

And of course, like all things do eventually, it came.

I knew it was time when Ruthy sighed and stood up. I folded my arms on the table and rested my chin on them.

“Well,” Ruthy began, “I’ve had a wonderful time with all of you. We’ve had lots of fun this past week, and unfortunately it has come to an end.”

“Visit soon,” my mom said, smiling.

“Yeah!” my little brother Jacob piped, who was only seven years old.

“We’d have you any time,” my dad said.

I just nodded.

My mom went over to give Ruthy a hug, as did my brother and dad. I did too, but it wasn’t as enthusiastic.

“Don’t leave,” I said, my voice smaller than usual.

“I have to, honey,” Ruthy whispered. “But I promise I’ll visit soon. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” I promised.

I stepped back and found myself in my mom’s arms. It felt warm and good.

Ruthy waved goodbye to all of us one last time. I watched her as she walked through the rain to her car and drove away until I couldn’t see her anymore.

 

My sneakers slapped the path as I made my way through the park. The trees were all a fresh, bright green color, and the soil was a rich, dark brown. The rain had stopped the night before, and everything smelled wet and earthy. I breathed it in, savoring the deep scent.

I didn’t really know where I was going, I just knew I was walking through the park. Once all the excitement of something wore off, there was really nothing to do. I wasn’t going to summer camp, and I didn’t have any plans otherwise. I guess I had been depending on Ruthy’s visit for activities.

Ruthy was my only aunt. My dad had a brother, but he wasn’t married, and he didn’t have kids. That made me the only one I knew who didn’t have cousins, but I guess that also explained why I loved Aunt Ruthy so much. We always had so much fun together, and since I didn’t really have anyone else outside my immediate family, she was the only one I could really connect to. My uncle lived too far away, whereas Ruthy was just a couple hours south of us.

I passed a patch of geraniums fluttering in the breeze. I thought they looked pretty, so I bent down and picked one. I smelled it’s sweet fragrance and then threaded it into my braided brown hair. I turned to keep walking and found myself about to sink my sneaker into a puddle the size of a dining room table. I wobbled a bit with one foot in the air, but kept my leg steady.

I shook my head, scolding myself, and continued on.

And it was then that I heard it.

The sound that changed everything.

A little splash, coming from behind me.

 

I froze, then slowly turned around, eyes wide. For a moment, everything was silent. Then in a split second, it was broken.

By a hand, bursting out of the water.

A scream ripped itself from my throat. I tried to run, but my feet wouldn’t obey. They were rooted to the ground. Fear gripped my whole body. I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t possible. Everything I thought I knew, I suddenly wasn’t so sure. Was I going crazy? Was this a hallucination? I thought nothing could surprise me now.

I was wrong.

The hand surfaced again, this time followed by an arm, a shoulder, and last, a head. A woman’s head, to be precise.

She smiled broadly.

“Goodness, it sure was stuffy in there,” she said to no one in particular, her voice airy and bright. She looked around, taking in the trees, the bright green grass, and me. “Oh, hello, there!” She seemed to notice my expression, because she frowned. “Pardon me, but are you okay?”

I stared at her, stunned.

“You… the… what… I… how?” I spluttered.

“Oh!” she laughed. “I’m so sorry. Pardon my manners. I haven’t introduced myself!”

And slowly, she rose. Her shoulders emerged, followed by her torso, her legs, and her feet. I looked down at them and my eyes widened to saucer size. She was standing on water.

The woman took a step forward, out of the puddle. She was long and lean, with a cascade of red hair down her back, and glittering blue eyes. She had a bright splatter of freckles on her face, and she was barefooted. She wore a floaty sky-blue dress that fell down to her ankles and swirled around her legs.

She extended a hand, palm facing up.

“I’m Amethyst Skylar, a Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria. And you are?”

I took a step back. Somehow, I was able to speak.

“You know, people don’t just go around talking to strangers,” I said, sounding a lot braver than I felt.

Amethyst lowered her hand and frowned.

“Do they not? Where I come from, everyone is a friend. There are no strangers.”

“Well, where I come from, kids are told to be wary of strangers. You’re not supposed to tell random people your name.” Why was I talking? I shouldn’t be talking. I should leave right now. And yet — there was something about this woman… I didn’t quite know what…

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Okay, listen up,” I said, trying to sound commanding and not petrified. “I don’t know who you are, or what the heck is going on, but I do know that you’re freaking me out, and I don’t know what to do. So I am going to leave. I have to meet my aunt Ruthy,” I threw out, making up the excuse on the spot. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving the woman standing next to the puddle alone.

“Wait!” she called to me. I kept walking. “Please! Come back!”

I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, not stopping.

“Annabella Mylla?”

I froze in my tracks and ever so slowly turned around.

“How — how do you know my name?” My voice shook.

Amethyst’s expression softened. The corners of her lips curved upward into a smile.

“You know Ruthy Nelling?” My eyes widened. I opened my mouth to say, “No,” but instead what came out was:

“She’s my aunt. That’s what I said.”

Amethyst lifted her hands to her heart and walked to me. When she was standing right in front of me, she placed her hands on my shoulders.

“You’re here,” she murmured. Her breath smelled of sweet roses and the sea, and when I looked into her eyes, I found them rimmed with silver. “She’s here. I thought — I thought I would never see her again. You’re here,” she repeated.

“You know my aunt Ruthy?” I whispered.

Amethyst nodded.

“I’m her sister.”

 

I stumbled back. My head was spinning, and I was worried I might collapse.

“That — that isn’t — possible,” I choked out. “Ruthy has one sister, and that’s my mom.”

Amethyst shook her head and smiled sadly.

“Come. Sit down. Let me explain.” She placed a gentle hand on my back and led me to a nearby park bench. A part of me knew I shouldn’t be letting this stranger touch me, but the other part, the more important part, felt safe in Amethyst’s hands.

I sat down on the bench and looked up at her. She was gazing ahead at a big oak tree.

“We aren’t really sisters. Half-sisters, I believe is the term. Ruthy’s mother — your grandmother — got divorced to her father — your grandfather — and my father. He was an author. He believed in magic, and those who believe… they can do anything.” She sighed, as if recalling a long-lost memory. “He found his way to the magical world and… met my mother.” Her voice softened slightly. “They soon got married and had me. They were together for a while, but then when I was twelve years old, he decided that I must meet his other girls. My mother tried to persuade him over and over again not to do so, but he was stubborn. He took me and left. I don’t know how he did it. We came here, and he got in touch with Ruthy’s mom to visit his kids. She refused at first. But in the end, it was Ruthy who convinced her. She wanted to see her father so badly; she just wouldn’t back down. Your mother, Maggie, however, had no interest whatsoever in seeing him again. She wanted nothing to do with him, after he had divorced her mother and left them. But as I said before, Ruthy was insistent. Finally, her mother allowed her to visit with him. Of course, she had no idea I was there. So when she got to her father’s old house, she saw not only him… but me. That was when I first met her.”

Amethyst turned to look at me, her crystal-blue eyes sparkling with memories. I smiled.

“Ruthy was… more than I expected. She was sweet, and caring, and open-minded. We had a lot in common. Even though I was only twelve and she was sixteen, we got along really well.

“When she first appeared and saw me, she was a little alarmed. But she let her father explain everything that had happened. She believed him. Even more, she was awed and marveled at the fact that magic was real and this, all this, was possible. She embraced it with open arms, instead of shying away or refusing to accept it. She wanted to know everything about me and my world. What it was like, being magical. I told her all I knew. I explained how magic was never good or evil, how it was the way you used it that counts. I told her about the magical creatures of our world: fairies, elves, mermaids, unicorns. All of it. I told her how unicorns have gold hooves, how fairies emit a silver glow, how forest trolls are the fiercest of their kind. I spoke of old legends about the most ancient spirits. She listened throughout the whole thing in utter fascination.

“Of course, I demanded stories from her as well. She told me all about life in the city. How it was always hustle and bustle. How she had to go to school to learn about lots of things that didn’t matter to her. She wanted to be an artist, she told me. Paint beautiful things. Maybe one day she would paint me, she said, smiling. I smiled back at her, because I knew that we had something. Maybe we had only known each other for a day, but we had something. Even though I was only twelve and she was sixteen, we had each other. We had grand plans. She would become an artist, and I would become… well, I don’t know what I thought at the time, but we would grow up and be best friends, best sisters, forever.”

And then, just like a light switch, Amethyst’s smile evaporated and a shadow fell over her face. She shook her head sadly.

“But then, one day, all our dreams, all our hopes, were crushed. They became specks of dust, blown away by the wind.” Amethyst stopped speaking, seemingly able to go on no longer.

“What — what happened?” I asked, almost fearfully.

She sighed.

“One day, my father went to visit the doctor, and… he found out he was sick. I don’t know what he had. He wouldn’t tell me. But I overheard him, talking with Ruthy’s mother. ‘It’s just a small disease,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll get over it soon enough,’ he reassured her. But I knew, he knew, he was dying. And I knew my days spent with Ruthy were over. I knew he would want to go back to see my mother one last time, and of course he would bring me.

“So we left. I barely had time to say goodbye to Ruthy before my father whisked the two of us back to Locletria. I had been in your world for just less than a year, but it felt like forever.

“When we got back, my mother was waiting for us. I was glad to see her, but my feeling of missing Ruthy overpowered almost everything else. My mother tried to take care of my father, but she was no unicorn. They didn’t have enough resources to go find one and not enough money for the magical concoctions of the apothecary. There was nothing we could do. And day by day, he got weaker, until he could barely stand up or walk. My mother was desperate for help, but as I said, there was none. And then, one day, he… he… we woke up and he… ” her voice broke, and she stopped talking.

We sat in silence as I digested this. I laid my hand on hers, gentle and warm. After a while, she spoke again.

“I was left with my mother. She was heartbroken, but we had each other. Eventually I grew up and studied all about the magical creatures of my world, learning more than I ever thought I could. It was nice, but my heart still belonged with Ruthy. The only thing I ever wanted was to come back, but I knew I couldn’t. So I continued my studies, never quite satisfied. I became well-known for my knowledge, and I was honored greatly by being inducted as a Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria. I helped creatures of good intentions down whatever road they took. I made some good friends along the way. I was happy with my life, but I still missed Ruthy sorely.” She paused.

“So… how did you end up here?” I asked her.

“Well, as I told you, I help good creatures. But I also get in the way of bad ones. If I feel a pull towards something, I let my magic take me there. It tells me what’s wrong, and I do the best I can to help. Usually it takes me to a place I know already — after all, I’ve been practically everywhere in Locletria. But this time… I didn’t know where I was. I was underwater, which wasn’t a problem, I was just highly uncomfortable. So I did the rational thing and came out, and look where we are.”

She smiled at me, finished with her story.

I frowned.

“You can’t be up to your head in a puddle,” I said, confused. “Besides, you were completely dry when you came out. How does that work?”

Amethyst just waggled her eyebrows at me.

“And anyways,” I went on, “Why did you come here? You said your magic told you what was wrong, so what was wrong? It’s got to be important.”

Amethyst looked at me seriously.

“That’s not something we should talk about now. It will take too long, and you need to get home.”

My brow creased.

“But I need to know! It’s important, isn’t it?” I backed down under her commanding look. “Fine. Will I see you tomorrow? Don’t you need a place to stay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find somewhere to go.” Her eyes scanned the green landscape in front of us, then turned back to me. “And yes, I will see you tomorrow. How about at noon?”

“Sounds good.” A thought struck me. “I shouldn’t tell my mom, right? I mean, she doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Unfortunately, that is true, so I do believe it is best if you do not tell your mother.”

“Okay,” I said. Then I paused. “Wait — how did you know it was me? Ruthy can be a pretty common name.” Amethyst smiled gently.

“When you said her name, it all clicked. You look just like her,” she said, her eyes soft.

“That’s true,” I said. I got that a lot. “Well… see you tomorrow, then.”

Amethyst looked unsure, like she was hesitating about something.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“Well, I… um… does your aunt Ruthy live here?” she said in a rush.

“Oh,” I said apologetically, “No. Sorry. She lives in New Jersey, a couple hours away from here.”

“Ah,” she said. “Thank you for letting me know. Well, I will see you tomorrow, then.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bye!”

“Goodbye!” And with that, she walked away.

I turned to go home then stopped, remembering something.

Call me if you need anything.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rushed home.

 

Call me if you need anything.

Well, here I was, keeping my promise.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. I lifted my hand to dial the number, but then I hesitated.

What would I say?

Oh, hey, today I met your long-lost sister. She came out of a puddle in Prospect Park.

Hi, how are you doing? Great! Oh, by the way, your half-sister emerged from a rain puddle today, and we chatted together for a while.

I shook off these silly thoughts, remembering her words.

Call me if you need anything.

I blew out a breath. It’s not like this was some big thing. Right? And so, I brought my hand slowly down to the number pad and dialed her number, holding my breath.

It rang once, twice, three times, and then —

“Hello?”

I exhaled, my body sagging in relief. She picked up!

“Hi!”

“Annabella? Is that you?”

“Yeah. How’s it going, Ruthy?”

“Oh, you know, back to work, back to my boring life. I miss you guys already! What’s up?”

I didn’t respond. My fingers fidgeted with the phone cord, twisting it around. I swallowed.

“Annabella? What’s wrong?” Her voice, cheerful before, had become concerned.

“I, uh… well… Today I was… um… ” My fingers kept fidgeting.

“What is it, honey?”

“I took a… a walk… in the park… and I… ” I bit my lip and swallowed again. It’s not too bad, I told myself. I can do this. “I met your sister,” I said in a rush. “Half-sister.”

Apparently Ruthy had been eating something, because I heard a choking noise coming from the other end. When she recovered, she spoke.

“You — you what?” she said, her voice low and shocked.

“I met your sister on my walk today,” I repeated.

“Did she — did she tell you her name?”

“Amethyst. Amethyst Skylar. She had blue eyes and red hair.”

I heard a strange sound coming from Ruthy’s side of the phone.

“It’s really her,” she whispered. “She’s here.” Then her voice changed, becoming more sharp. “What happened?”

I took another deep breath, readying myself.

And then I told her. I told her everything, from the moment I heard the splash to the moment we left each other. I told her about how Amethyst was Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria, about the death of her father, and her return to this world.

When I was finished, there was silence from both ends.

After a while, Ruthy spoke.

“Why did she come here?” Her voice sounded thick and choked, and for a minute I thought she might have been crying. But I didn’t mention it.

“I don’t know — she wouldn’t tell me. I assume it’s serious, though.”

There was a pause and then a sound of thumping in the background. I assumed she was going up the stairs. After that I heard some jumbled noises — a loud crash, a certain four-letter word I chose to not hear, a couple more loud noises, and another string of profanities. When everything on her end had quieted down, she spoke, panting a bit.

“You can’t dissuade me,” she stated determinedly. “I’m coming. I’ll be there tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

“Um, I don’t know if my mom would — ”

“I love you, Annabella! Good-bye!”

“Ruthy — ”

I heard the dial tone before I could say much more.

I sighed, gazing up at the pictures on the wall above me: Ruthy and I in front of Willa’s, Ruthy and I at the park, Ruthy and I at the top of the Empire State Building, Ruthy with our whole family at the beach…

I lowered the phone and placed it back on its stand, thinking — knowing — that that little splash in the park — that one tiny sound — was the start of something a whole lot bigger, for me, for Amethyst, and for Ruthy.

 

To be continued…

 

The Haunted House

                 

Chapter One

Once there was a spooky haunted house, and a vampire lived in it. It had a lot of spooky things in it like ghosts. Everybody was scared of it. They stayed away from it. The haunted house was in the woods. The woods were dark, gloomy, and misty. The trees were really short. The woods also had a lot of vines, grass, and animals. There were snakes, wolves, and monkeys.

The house was wrecked. The windows and door were broken. It was rusty and had clearly been there for a long time. An old man named Jake used to live there, but he died, and it was really sad. Nobody lived there after that. The villagers did not know about Jake. Nobody liked the house because it was so dirty and nasty now, so the people lived on the other side of the forest. The village had a lot of people. No one had ever seen it except for one man, and he told everybody.

But one day, there were two boys named Alex and Max. They loved to explore in the woods, but one day they were exploring and found a house, so they ran back to the village. They asked somebody who knew about the haunted house.

The guy said, “That house is super dangerous. Do not ever go in there again.”

And then they went to bed, and in the morning, they went back to explore in the woods, but they didn’t go to the house because they knew it was really dangerous. After they explored, they went to the village and geared up because they were going back to the haunted house. But then they realized it was too dangerous and went back. Then, they went home together and watched a TV show about people exploring. And then they geared up in the morning to go to the haunted house. They went to the haunted house, and they saw a ghost, so they hid behind a bush. The ghost started chasing them, so they ran away. Then, they saw two feet and thought, Who was that guy? And then when they went to bed, they couldn’t sleep, so they hid under the covers, and they talked about who that guy could be. And then that morning when their parents were sleeping, they went to the haunted house again, and nobody was there. And then they went back and told everybody. Nobody believed that they saw a ghost.

And then an old man walked by, and Alex and Max asked, “Have you seen a ghost?”

 

Chapter Two

One day, Alex and Max went into the woods and explored the woods.

They wanted to see the haunted house. They ducked under a bush to see a ghost. There were two ghosts on guard. They saw Alex and Max.

“Run!” said Max.

They ran so fast, they ran out of breath. When they got to village, they ran home as fast as they could.

They told their dad, “We saw a ghost!”

The dad did not believe the kids.

And they said, “We really did see one, Dad!”

The dad said, “Did you really see one?”

The kids said, “Yes, we did really see a ghost.”

And then Dad said, “It’s time for bed.”

In the morning, they went into the woods to see the haunted house. This time, there was no ghost on guard, so they went in the house and saw one ghost. It was not scary. The ghost had scared the kids because the ghost had turned his head, so they thought he was scary. So they ran as fast as they could, but the ghost tried to tell them he was nice. The kids heard the ghost’s voice.

 

Chapter Three

The kids ran back to the house and realized that the ghost was nice. They wondered why.

They ran back home. They ran into their room and hid under the covers. The ghost tried to tell them he was nice, but they did not listen to the ghost. They went back to the haunted house, and they hid behind a bush and went in the house and saw the ghost was in the house. They hid behind the chair. The ghost was on the other chair with a book in his lap. He was sad because Max and Alex ran away because they thought he was mean. The ghost saw Alex and Max.

The ghost said, “Stay. I am nice.”

Alex and Max said, “We saw you when you screamed?”

“I know. I tried to tell you that I am nice.”

“But why?”

“My whole family is mean, but I am not. They do not know that I am mean. I try to keep it a secret, because my family always tells me to be bad. But I want to be good. Oh, my dad is coming. Quick, hide. Hey, Dad.”

“Son, who was that? That was other ghost?”

“Oh okay. Was that Aunt Marry?”

“No, did you sneak people in the house?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Quick, quick, Alex and Max, get outside, quick!”

Max and Alex ran as fast as they could and went to the village. They told their dad that they went to the haunted house, but their dad did not believe them. They went back to their own house. Their brother Jake was getting married to Elizabeth. Alex and Max walked in as the ceremony was happening, and then Jake and Elizabeth kissed.

Alex and Max said, “Let’s go. This is boring.”

They went to the haunted house to see the ghost. The ghost was upstairs in his room. The dad was in the ghost’s room with him because the dad got mad at the ghost because the ghost let in humans. The ghost tried to tell him that he didn’t let in humans, but he actually did and was just lying so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

The dad went downstairs, and Alex said, “Hide quick! The dad is coming.”

The ghost’s dad was the vampire. The kids were so surprised that the dad was the vampire. They ran out of the house. They hid under their covers because they were so surprised that the dad was the vampire. They went back to the house to see the ghost. The vampire was not there, but the ghost was. The ghost was upset because his dad got mad at him because he took his favorite toy away. The dad was coming down stairs.

They ran to their house. They said they were not going to that house tomorrow. So, they thought of a plan. They said, “Alex, you will go upstairs to see if the vampire is there.” They said, “Max, you will stay downstairs to see if the ghost was downstairs. If the ghost is not downstairs, come up and help me. If the vampire is not there, then come down and help me.” Then, they snuck around the house to see if anyone was there. But then, they saw a loose board, and they pushed on it! They saw every ghost downstairs, but the nice ghost was not there because he was in a timeout because the dad thought he let humans in. He actually didn’t, but he was kind of lying, so he wouldn’t get in trouble. They saw every other ghost downstairs, and the vampire was there too. They saw the ghost in his room, and he was really mad because he was in timeout.

They said, “Are you okay?”

And he replied, “Don’t talk to me.”

After a few hours, his dad said he could go to the ghost party. When the vampire came up, they hid under the bed.

The ghost said, “Shhh! Hide under the bed!”

They went to the ghost party and hid right behind the door so that nobody saw them. Then after the ghost party was over, every ghost went to bed. After a couple hours, Alex and Max went to bed. The next day, they woke up and ran to the haunted house. They checked under the broken tunnel, and nobody was there. They checked upstairs — lots of ghosts were there. They were sleeping, but they did not care. They just went into another room. After they went into the ghost’s bedroom, they checked on the vampire to see if he was sleeping. They went back downstairs to watch TV until the ghost friend woke up. They switched channels because all of them were so scary.

 

The Secret Life Of A Squirrel

              

Section One

“Alright everybody. Up, up, up!” said Professor Dun as he slid a chair across the scratched, brown stage. Every time someone drags a chair or a table, a new scratch appears. Everyone just sat slumped in their seat, minds blank. “What’s the matta with ya folks?” he asked.

No one moved.

“We still have to block act 2, scene 7! This scene is where Jason and Tara kiss!” Professor Dun had to drag all the squirrels onto the stage of Westchester Elementary. “Okay. Everybody except Jason and Tara get off the stage. If I so see the tip of your tail touch this thing, I will call Principal Tuxie. Now, let’s do a rough run through the scene. Do not, I say do not actually kiss. For all I know, you guys don’t know how to anyway.”

 

“You can’t leave me now!” cried Tara.

“Oh, but sweetie I have to. It’s two minutes past my curfew,” said Jason.

“No but — ” said Tara.

“I must go,” Jason said.

“You can’t leave because you haven’t returned my sacred picnic basket from your gentle hands,” exclaimed Tara

“Oh crap. Sorry,” mumbled Jason.

 

“CUT!” yelled Professor Dun. “Man we have a lot to work on. I can’t even take anymore of this. Be back tomorrow at 3:02 sharp!”

 

Section Two: Lucy

My name is not actually Tara. It’s Lucy. Don’t you love Professor Dun? He loves me at least because he gave me the main female role in the school play. Anyhow, I live in NYC. I never go hungry because there’s millions of food trucks that drop hot dogs, bananas, opened Gatorade, nuts from a Nuts4Nuts truck, and many other things that you humans find disgusting. But let me get this straight. All humans have this idea that every single squirrel likes nuts. They always crave nuts. They will do anything to eat nuts. That is totally not true because I hate them. I hate the crunch that you hear when you chew on them. My teeth are very precious to me, and I don’t want them to break because of an ugly, miserable nut.

Now, if humans found out that we could talk, they would go berserk. It would be on the front page of The New York Times and Wall Street Journal. Reporters from CNN, NBC, and Fox News would report on it. So, when we talk, all it sounds like to humans is, “kakakakakakaka.”

 

Section Three: Liam

My name is not actually Jason. It’s Liam. I am definitely not a theater dork. My friend Casey signed me up without asking me. He sent in an audio of me singing the song “Come Alive.” I don’t know how he obtained that audio. He most likely hacked into my computer. I made that audio three and a half years ago. Now, I’m stuck every day in a four hour rehearsal in a hot, sweaty theater that’s the size of the human thumb. The worst part is, I have to kiss a random girl. I swear I’m going to kill Casey. I want my first kiss to be with someone that I like. Not a fake, energetic squirrel that thinks she’s the best. I also don’t want my first kiss to be in front of 12,000 squirrels. So far, I’ve been to three rehearsals. How can I get out of it? I can’t pretend to like someone and to like theatre. I feel awful. God, get me out of this.

 

Section Four: Lucy

Liam can be so negative at times. Does he even want to be in theater? I try to cheer him up, but it’s no use. How did he get the role? Anyhow, in show biz, you have to be able to work with anybody. So, in order to be a good role model, I’m going to have to just cope with him. But it seems as if he hates theater, so why is he still here?

 

Section Five

“Alright, everybody, time’s a wastin!” yelled Professor Dun. Everyone always wondered how he was raised because he was always overly enthusiastic.

“Liam, I know that you may not love this show. But when I heard that audio — your voice is so elegant and graceful. You should really take advantage of that. So, why don’t you try. Maybe if you try hard enough, you’ll learn to like it.”

The words that Professor Dun said stuck to everyone’s head. Liam just stood there silent.

“Okay, so let’s go from the top. Next Tuesday is our first show!”

They ran through the whole show, but Liam was still acting the same. He didn’t project his voice and stood slumped like an old man.

 

Section Six: Liam

That’s it. I need to find a a way to get out of this. I only kept going to see my friend Casey because I hardly ever see him during the day. I do want to kill him, but he’s my friend, so I can’t. I need to make a plan. How can I get the show to be canceled? That way, my mom won’t make me go to any more rehearsals or cast parties or any shows! Hmmmm. I saw the set design builders screw the background to the back of the stage. Maybe if I unscrew the screw, the set will go crashing. They said we don’t have enough money to get any other sets so, without a set, there’s no show! I’m a genius.

 

Section Seven: Lucy

Liam had been acting unusually happy lately. Did he listen to what Professor Dun said?

 

A little later…

 

O-M-G! I just found out that in the show, I have to eat a nut. I’m so scared because the last time I ate a nut was seven years ago, and I broke my tooth. I think I’m having a panic attack right now. Oh jeez. What am I going to do?

 

Section Eight: Liam

We’re having a 10 minute break right now. This is the perfect time to complete my plan. Thank God there’s no security cameras in the theater. I brought a screwdriver from home and now, I’m less than ten feet away from the set backstage. There’s five screws. I’ll have to make this quick. I just unscrewed four. Man, I’m good at this. There. Whew! Now all I have to do is a slight push.

“STEP BACK, YOU NASTY CREATURE!!”

 

Section Nine

“What the heck, Lucy,” said Liam.

“I saw what you were doing,” answered Lucy.

“What?” asked Liam.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you were trying to sabotage the show.”

“Wow you are smart,” said Liam slyly.

“You can try and cancel the show, but the power of show biz is too strong. It will put a magnetic force against you and blow you millions of planets away!” shouted Lucy.

“I’m terrible at science, but I do know that’s scientifically incorrect for many reasons.”

“Maybe you should take up science instead,” said Lucy. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m only here to see Casey. He’s been my best friend for a long time. I kept going to see him. I never see him during the school day,” answered Liam.

“I have a question. Why do you hate theater?” asked Lucy.

“Because-be-be-be-because, it’s scary!” yelled Liam.

“What?” said Lucy.

“You have to pretend to be someone you’re not, and while doing that in front of billions of squirrels. How do you call that fun?” asked Liam.

“It’s called acting. That’s the only time you act like someone you’re not. You bring a character from a script alive. While some squirrels enjoy being in front of other squirrels, others don’t. That’s called stage fright. It’s when you’re scared of being seen on a stage. That can make some squirrels not like theater, but if they get over that fear, they’ll learn to like it. So, here is the oldest trick in the book. Picture all of the squirrels in the audience chewing nuts and spitting them at you. It’s the weirdest thing, but it worked for every single squirrel that ever had stage fright. So why don’t you try it.”

Liam just sat there trying to take it all in. What he was about to say stunned everyone, and it went down in history for Westchester Elementary.

“I’ll give it a shot,” said Liam.

 

Section Ten

Lucy

My problem is solved!!! I talked to Professor Dun, and he said I could eat a brown jelly bean in the play instead of a peanut. I was able to talk myself out of it. Not only that, but I got Liam to give theater a chance!!! I’m so good at convincing squirrels, it’s pretty ridiculous. The show is tomorrow, and I’m having another panic attack. Actually, it’s more like an excitement attack. Thankfully, I screwed the set back together, so it didn’t collapse.

 

Section Eleven

Act 2, Scene 7

 

“Don’t leave me now!” cried Tara.

“Oh, but sweetie I have to. It’s two minutes past my curfew!” cried Jason. (Before, Liam was saying it like he didn’t care, but this time he acted like he meant it.)

“No but — ” said Tara.

“I must go,” Jason said sternly.

“You can’t leave because you haven’t returned my sacred basket from your gentle hands,” exclaimed Tara.

“Oh crap, sorry,” said Jason as he handed her the basket.

They kissed. Everyone clapped and threw flowers. Everyone left.

 

Section Twelve

When the squirrels started leaving the theater, they were surrounded by a group of human reporters.

“How are you guys able to talk?” said one.

“This is going on the front page of the newspaper!” said another.

“My grandma would love this!” said one.

All of the reporters were shocked. Liam simply answered, “There is so much to be seen in the world. So much to explore and figure out. Don’t assume something is impossible unless there’s evidence to prove it. Just because no one has seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Just because something hasn’t been done before, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Just because something hasn’t been explored before, doesn’t mean it can’t be explored. And finally, just because something is very, very difficult, doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Liam then just walked away with Lucy, feeling more confident than before. Theater really can change you.

 

THE END

 

Key Lime Pie

I wake up, and I feel nothing. Not really nothing, but… it’s hard to explain. There’s clearly something else here, or I wouldn’t feel this chill down my spine. I can’t breathe, because there’s a pressure on my stomach. I can only move my head, so I look up. The room is dark, but suddenly, I know what I’m looking at. This feeling of emptiness but heaviness… it’s her.

She’s lying there, her skull cracked, her vacant, rotting eyes staring at me. It was fresh, at first. The stump of her leg used to bleed, leaving stains on the carpet, but now there’s a brown, crusty hunk of dried blood hanging from it. Her right arm, bent at a gruesome angle, has started to turn a grisly green color. The exposed bone on her chest has started to weather away, leaving holes and hanging chunks. I’ve memorized her corpse.

“Hey! Wake up!” I can hear my fiancée. Oh god, this has never happened before. She can’t come up. Not now. She’ll turn out like me. It’s how her — the other her — started haunting my nights.

My mother had “her” too, but it wasn’t her. It was me, hanging from the ceiling, staring straight at her — at least, that’s what she told me. These were called “night terrors,” but ours weren’t normal. If someone sees it haunting someone else, it can trigger at any point in their life, usually as a dead or wounded loved one. In some rare cases, these terrors have been thought to physically manifest (which probably isn’t true), but that hasn’t happened to me… yet.

After I met my girlfriend, it started happening to me too. Right now, we’re engaged, but it’s hard to spend time with the person you love when you see them dead each night.

“I made your favorite, so come on down!” Oh no. She usually comes up if she thinks I’m asleep. My worst fear isn’t if she comes up. It’s me having to explain this to her. Could she catch the terror too? I hate this. I hate it so much.

***

I made my fiance key lime pie. He usually comes right down when he smells that stuff. I wonder what’s wrong? Suddenly, I can’t move. The stairs are in front of me, but I smell something. And it’s not key lime pie.

Slowly, I force myself into our room. Opening the door, I see… no. This can’t be real. I’m seeing… I see him. But it can’t be him. He would never do this, not now! But… I see my husband-to-be, lying in bed with blood soaking the covers. There’s a knife skewered in his chest, making him look like a human shish-kebab. I run to the bathroom to vomit… and when I come back ready to call the police, the body’s gone.

***

My fiancée is standing in the door, but she’s not my fiancée, not really. I don’t know why, but she’s different. She looks like a twisted, warped version of herself, like a bad drawing. Is the terror doing this? Will it not allow different versions of the same person to be in the room? Is it just messing with me, to make me think she’s really gone? One thing’s for sure — she sees something. And she’s ran away, leaving me to stare at her corpse. Alone, again.

***

I knew he was there. The image was burnt in my mind, him with the blade buried in his chest, the sheets clinging onto his corpse. What made me run was when he turned his head to look at me. Did he somehow crawl away? No, the carpet looks fine… wait. There’s a trail of blood towards me. I feel a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. It feels cold as a corpse.

***

“Please!” I beg her. “You can do anything to me, but don’t touch her!” She looks at me and smiles, a wave of blood gushing out of her mouth onto my fiancée’s shoulder. She puts a rotting hand on her neck, me shaking my head with tears streaming down my face. The love of my life is dragged away by her own corpse. I’m alone again. There’s been a nagging feeling in my gut all along that something like this would happen. I thought it was harmless, thought it was just a vision. But now I’ve paid the price for keeping it a secret, and that price… is the worst price of all.

***

I feel cold, so cold. It’s like a numbness, like I’ve descended into the depths of the earth. My eyes see nothing but him. He’s standing in front of me, smiling. As soon as I first saw that smile, I knew this wasn’t him — the real him. It may sound crazy, but it’s true. His smile was warm and sweet, like a mug of hot cocoa. This… thing’s smile felt mocking, taunting, as if saying, “You’re mine now.” Nothing is right about this grin. And if I do know something about this ordeal, it’s that I can’t escape.

***

My visions have come back, but she’s changed. She knows she no longer needs to be wounded to torture me. She opens the door, fresh faced and smiling, bringing me pictures of my fiancée, bruised and battered. Every time I beg for her to stop, save her, but each time, with malicious glee, she shakes her head. It’s like she relishes my fear, savoring every bit of it like a delicacy. The torture has gone too far, too fast. I need to take action.

***

It feels like it’s been days, months, years since I’ve been trapped in this place. The cold still bites my bones. The thing still burns my eyes. It left for stretches of time, hauling its mangled body away. When it came back, though, was when the worst of this living hell manifested. It brought newspapers, reports on my search, pictures of the house, and worst of all… my husband-to-be, staring into nothingness, with a look in his eyes that was so hollow, so pained. Agony. Sheer agony is the only way to describe this feeling spreading throughout my body.

***

This night, when she comes, I’m prepared. I have a tripwire rigged on the door with exposed floor underneath. As soon as she comes sauntering in, the wire trips her. She lands headfirst, cracking her skull. As soon as that happens, I realize what I’ve done. The screaming sounds just like her, prompting me to rush over, but I’m trapped in bed. The wounded abomination finally stands up, still smiling, blood coating the right side of its face. It wipes the blood away, grinning from ear-to-ear. That wound. It was the one I saw each night, the one that tortured me for so long… I made that wound.

***

Please, can someone help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Come help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Come help. Help. Can someone help. I need help. Need help. Help. Someone help. I need help. Need help. Help. Help. Need help. Come help. Help. Help. Help. Come help. Help. Help. Help. Pain. Agony. Cold. Thing. Bruise. Fiance. Smile. Help. Help. Help. Help…

***

She doesn’t come as much anymore, but when she does, she’s standing against the wall. At first it wasn’t much. She stared a little, winked a bit, nothing as bad as before. But after about the third night of docility, it decided to up the ante. Slumping down, the wounds from before formed at an accelerated rate, her “corpse” rotting, turning into a pile of snow-white bones. But eventually, after a few hours, a familiar, terrifying scent filled the room. It was the smell of key lime pie.

***

i can feel him                    coming

           doesn’t matter                cold my finger is gone

                       lonely so lonely what will he bring now

more pictures       why is he          stop don’t come

          leave me alone             don’t care if i’m lonely

                            help me    please

  need you            miss you       love you

                             did you eat the pie?

FREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZING.

crap                  i lost my finger i can’t make pie now

***

Since I felt down, I decided to paint the room. I haven’t been focusing on my waking life lately because of the night terrors. The garage was filled with cobwebs because I usually biked everywhere. I brushed away the dust, choking a little at the thick film of dirt and water on the painting supplies. The only thing in usable shape was the paint scraper, so I decided to go to Tool House for more paint. Maybe I could get a little dust off the car, which we never use anyway. Starting up the old Karavan, I drove to the store to get a roller and some paint.

***

i can  almost              taste it

             the thing                   said it would

                          get me         some

                                                                 oatmeal…

i don’t like oatmeal…

***

I’ve finally finished the trip, procuring some mild-colored yellow paint (called Sleepy Lemon), and a paint roller. As I get out my slightly rusty paint scraper, I reflect on what’s happened up to now. Okay, let’s do this…

    THINGS I KNOW

 

  • The thing has taken my fiancée.

 

  • The thing can somehow take pictures/make images of my fiancée.
  • The thing has her in a chair.
  • I am somehow making the wounds that were on the thing.
  • If the thing appears with my fiancée, the fiancée’s appearance is slightly warped.
  • Oh, what’s this?

I see a door above my head. An attic… is this real? I creak the door open, and a blast of cold, musty air hits my face, making me gag.

***

someone

here

is

below

***

I’ll go downstairs to get a flashlight. I walk down and hear something in the kitchen. What… it’s the thing. I can’t move. It looks just like her, with even her head bobs the same, but there’s one thing that’s different — no humming. Instead, silence. It’s never appeared during the day. I let out a small squeak, and as it whips around, the boiling pot (is that oatmeal?!) spills on the thing’s apron. I hear a hissing sound, internally flinching, but since I can’t move, I’m forced to watch the clothes and flesh melt off of the thing’s chest, leaving a bloody and exposed rib bone.

***

i can hear myself scream. what’s going on? it’s not me. at least, i don’t think it’s me…

***

It’s leaving. I need to get the flashlight and run. I take the light, run up, and kick the door open.

***

what is that? i see light flooding out from under a door. the thing doesn’t use a flashlight…

***

That’s a lot of doors. I should explore. I open one and see something that makes me terrified. It’s a room that looks almost industrial, with exposed concrete walls and fluorescent lights. The one thing that scares me is the bloody handprints on the walls. They looked like they were gripping onto something, with some of them dragging down to the bottom of the room. Then I look down. The floor is almost pulsating, and I instantly know what had happened. I don’t take a closer look, slamming the door. What the hell is this place?

***

Closing my eyes, I try to process what happened. It looked normal, but inside it wasn’t. I’ve got to get out of here… but I can’t. The attic door is gone, and I only see solid floor. The only way out must be behind one of these doors, none of which I want to open. What should I do?

***

no… don’t…

***

I decide to open the door next to the one I opened… and saw my childhood bedroom. What? Why is this here? I look around, and everything is exactly the same. Everything but the little boy outside my window. I’m distressed, not knowing what to do… so I open the window. Big mistake. There’s a black space outside my window that feels unnervingly empty. I look behind me, and my room is burning, falling apart just like it did in the fire. I run to the door, closing it behind me as a rafter crashes down from the ceiling. This place doesn’t just mess with your life. It messes with your mind.

***

leave. if i’m going to die, i want you to be safe. please. listen, i love you. that’s the reason i said yes to your proposal. you’re a kind, brave, and selfless person who would do anything for me. but this time, you can’t. this isn’t a rip current or an angry parent. this is supernatural. if you die… i won’t ever be able to be happy again. so for once, let me handle this on my own.

***

I feel her. I don’t know how, but I feel her. My fiancée is in here somewhere. Is this where the thing hid here? Is she okay?! I need to save her. I open the door… and see what I would describe as a lounge. Beanie chairs and pillows are everywhere, with Chinese lanterns floating around. There’s music playing, with a soft lilting feel to it. I know there’s something behind this, so I toss my flashlight into the room. Then, I notice the music speeding up. I plug my ears, and the flashlight explodes, leaving a small pile of ash.

***

what’s that noise? i hear a small explosion. is he okay?

***

Wow. The worst thing about it is that I’m in the dark now. I decide to open the fourth door, and I can’t see anything. “Hello?” My voice echoes. It seems to be pretty small, so I tentatively step in. I feel a pounding beat, which makes it so that I can’t stand well. It echoes throughout the room as I make my way towards the wall. As I put my hand on the wall, it feels… spongy. I touch it, and it bounces back slightly. In disgusted horror, I realize what’s on the walls — human flesh.

***

oh no

***

I hightail it out of there, ready to vomit. Where did it even come from?! I hesitate to open the last door and see ice. It’s everywhere, coating the room — no, it is the room. As I slide through the room, looking back at the door, a terrifyingly familiar feeling fills the pit of my stomach. I run, but as soon as I make a couple steps, I can’t move anymore. The thing is behind me. Is this really happening? Is it going to kill me?

***

i can see him, with the thing trying to deliver the killing blow. with the last of my voice, i scream.

***

She’s here. The thing took her, stole her from me. It stole the love of my life. And as the unbridled rage fills me, I turn my head to look at the thing and whisper, “You’re dead.” I stand up and prepare to fight. As the thing rushes towards me, I slide out of the way, the momentum carrying me towards the wall, and see her, a huge window shining behind her. She’s staring at me, looking near-frozen. The thing is darting around, screeching hysterically.

***

he’s fighting it. he’s doing this for me. i can feel tears welling up in my eyes, but they freeze, so i just sob.

***

I grab the thing’s shoulders, sliding forward toward the window, past the ice, past my fiancée, and into the pane of glass. It shatters the glass, falling into the void below. I held onto a chunk of ice, feeling nearly unconscious. My fiancée looks at me, sobbing, and we’re back in my room, on the floor, together.

 

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” I say back.

“Want some pie?”

 

Why the Italian Elections Matter

     

When Italians came to the polls on March 4th, 2018, they rejected the establishment that had governed Italy since the end of World War 2 and voted in a wave of populist outsiders on a level equal to the election of Donald Trump. The political establishment has been swept into obscurity, while relatively new parties and political organizations have risen to power. The Italian elections will not just impact the Italian political landscape, but is indicative of all Europe.

The center-left coalition that governed Italy took a huge hit. The ruling Democratic Party, the leader of the coalition, dropped from 26% to 19% of seats in the Italian Parliament, while the populist Five Star Movement rose to 32% of the seats. The anti-immigration League saw a 400% increase in its seats, having recently changed its name from the Northern League and abandoned its old message of secession from Italy to form an independent state in the Italian Alps. Former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi’s center-right Forward Italy party lost seats, but faces the prospect of being part of the government. Forward Italy and the League have formed a coalition, but are still short of a parliamentary plurality (The Guardian). The Italian left has been decimated, and commentators have begun comparing the League’s charismatic leader, Matteo Salvini, to another outspoken Northern Italian, Benito Mussolini. Salvini, who has campaigned for Donald Trump and who is in the same camp as defeated French presidential candidate Marine Le Pen, may become Italy’s next Prime Minister — a scary prospect for pan-Europeans.

Though there were many issues at play during the election, the dominant one was immigration. Large numbers of migrants, mostly from Sub-Saharan Africa, but many from North Africa and the Middle East, pour into southern Italy, places such as Sicily and Calabria. From there, some settle in the south, while many move into the more prosperous, industrial north. Shortly before the election, a young Italian woman was brutally murdered by three migrants, and in retaliation, a League member shot at a group of migrants, who had no connection with the murder. Both sides of the political spectrum have latched onto the story and have used a tragic event as political posturing. The left used this as an example for why Italy needs more migrants, and the right used it as an example for why Italy needs fewer, if any, migrants. What makes the immigration debate even more heated is that the Italian people have very little say in how many migrants, immigrants, and refugees their nation takes in. Non-governmental organizations (NGOs) frequently pick up people in boats heading to Europe. Then, instead of dropping them off at the nearest safe ports, which are usually in Tunisia, the NGOs break international maritime law and take the migrants to Italy, with no permission from the Italian government or people (Reuters). Thus, the Italian people voted to have a say in their own government.

On domestic issues, things are much different. Most of the political parties in Italy, including the Democratic Party, the Five Star Movement, and the League, are socially liberal. The Five Star Movement, for example, is pro-choice on abortion yet anti-European Union, and can hardly be defined as left-wing or right-wing. Instead, they are typically known for simply being populists (CNN). This explains how the League and the Five Star Movement were so successful: they attracted many social liberals, while holding their anti-immigration and anti-European Union base. Unless the mainstream left-wing parties such as the Democrats manage to regain the confidence of the liberal voters, shattered by years of mismanagement, they have very little hope regaining their political relevance. Similarly, the center-right Forward Italy has also lost much of its base, which defected primarily to the League and secondarily to the Five Star Movement. Forward Italy, too, must regain their mainstream voters, if they intend to be competitive. In this election, Forward Italy is in the same boat as the League, but they will sink come the next election if they do not get their voters back.

Looking at the platforms of the League and the Five Star Movement, one might think they are socialist (or at least social democratic) parties. Both parties support a universal basic income (UBI) for Italian citizens, which is one of the guiding tenets of the political left. Italian citizens who wanted the UBI and opposed illegal immigration thus voted for those parties.

Another important factor in the elections was technology. The Five Star Movement held many of its primaries online, and its founder, former comedian Beppe Grillo, has a blog which he used to attract voters, many of them young and new to the political process. On a more sinister side, fake news is said to have played a large role in influencing the voters (The New York Times). That claim is unverified, but if it is true, it will be yet another testament to the power of technology, for better or for worse.

Furthermore, Italy has never been known for its political stability. From the late 1960s to the late 1980s, Italy was rocked by what is known as the Years of Lead, which included a former Prime Minister being assassinated and a railway station being bombed (BBC News). The communist Red Brigades, supported by the Soviet Union, and the neo-fascist Italian Vanguard fought each other and the Italian government, for control. When the Soviet Union fell, so did the Red Brigades, and stability was restored. However, it was not to be for long. Starting in 1992, the Christian Democratic Party was torn apart by the Tangentopoli (Italian for Bribesville) scandal (The New York Times). In the 1994 elections, Silvio Berlusconi’s Forward Italy group won in a landslide. Berlusconi was the leader of the Italian right-wing for every election up until those held in 2018. Ultimately, though, his felony convictions scared away voters, and the League eclipsed him.

The conservative wing of Italian politics has been taken over by the nationalist right, similar to how Donald Trump won the 2016 Republican presidential primaries, defeating the ossified establishment. It is no surprise, then, that the League’s leader Matteo Salvini flew to Philadelphia in April 2016 and endorsed Trump (The Local). In the recent Hungarian parliamentary elections, Prime Minister Viktor Orbán kept his job and saw his party, the nationalist Fidesz, win a supermajority (The Guardian). Orbán is an ally of Donald Trump and Matteo Salvini, and he is beloved in right-wing circles for keeping migrants out of Hungary.

In the upcoming 2018 midterm elections in the United States, nationalists, usually Republicans, are poised to win great victories. In a special election in Pennsylvania, nationalist Democrat Conor Lamb defeated establishment Republican candidate Rick Saccone (CNBC). In the Republican primary for the US Senate election in West Virginia, businessman Don Blankenship, who has referred to Mitch McConnell, the epitome of the political establishment, as “Cocaine Mitch,” has been seeing favorable polling. However, Blankenship lost the primary to State Attorney General Patrick Morrisey, who is himself associated with Donald Trump’s brand of nationalism (The New York Times). Thus, one nationalist defeated another.

After almost three months of political jockeying, Italy finally got a new prime minister. The position fell to Giuseppe Conte, a little-known lawyer and university professor from Apulia, which forms the heel in Italy’s geographic boot. After surviving a scandal regarding his academic credentials, Conte received the mandate to form a government from President Sergio Mattarella on June 1 (BBC News).

The European political landscape is rapidly shifting to nationalism and populism, as the elections in Italy have proven. Once a bastion of progressive policies, Italy is now a nation firmly committed to its sovereignty. This is a bad sign for the left, and just as much for the establishment right. The Italian elections were a large rock thrown into Europe’s political pond. Only time will tell how far the ripples will go.

 

Bibliography

https://www.theguardian.com/world/ng-interactive/2018/mar/05/italian-elections-2018-full-results-renzi-berlusconi

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-europe-migrants-italy-ngo/italy-seizes-ngo-rescue-boat-for-allegedly-aiding-illegal-migration-idUSKBN1AI21B

https://www.cnn.com/2018/03/01/europe/five-star-movement-italy-intl/index.html

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/01/world/europe/fake-news-italy-election-europe.html

http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/august/2/newsid_4532000/4532091.stm

https://www.nytimes.com/2002/02/24/world/10-years-after-bribery-scandal-italy-still-counts-the-cost.html

https://www.thelocal.it/20180124/italians-first-far-right-northern-league-matteo-salvini-donald-trump-2018-election

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/apr/08/hungarys-viktor-orban-secures-another-term-with-resounding-win

https://www.cnbc.com/2018/03/14/democrat-conor-lamb-is-the-apparent-winner-of-pennsylvania-special-election-in-trump-country.html

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/05/08/us/politics/blankenship-west-virginia.html

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-44322429

 

Triplets Chapter 1

 

“Angelika, wake up. It’s time for — ” Angelika raised a slim, manicured hand, signaling that she was, in fact, already awake, then settled back under the covers, closing her eyes. Angelika’s mother sighed tiredly. “Angelika, please get up. You’ll be late for school. Don’t you want to go learn?” Now it was Angelika’s turn to sigh. That trick may have worked with her sisters who were always so eager to sit in a poorly decorated classroom, listening to their 60-year-old, half blind, half deaf teacher drone on about the Cold War, thinking it would help them succeed in life, but it wouldn’t work with her.

“Learning long division won’t help me in the real world. That’s what calculators are for. The human race has advanced since the Stone Age, which calls for a development in the education system, but those idiots at the DOE are completely blind to change. So I don’t see why I have to leave the comfort of my bed to ‘learn’ something that I’ll never use. If I was going to learn about business or politics, I would be out of bed in an instant.” With that, Angelika threw the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep.

“Angelika,” her mother said softly, trying to reason with her. “I know you don’t like school, but you have to do things you don’t want to do sometimes. And you’re way past long division. You learned that in 4th grade, and you’re going into 8th. You can’t keep making excuses, honey. It’s alright if you’re not as smart as Adeline or Aubrey, but you can’t — ” She never finished her sentence. Angelika threw off the blanket, her auburn hair tangled by the action and blue eyes glaring

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m not as good as those twits! I’m smarter than both of them, and you know it!” she shouted. Instead of yelling back like Angelika expected, her mom continued in a painfully patronizing voice.

“You can’t stop trying altogether. Then how will you improve?” That was the last straw. Upon hearing that, something inside her snapped.

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do! Get out of my room or I swear, I will hurt you!”

“Don’t threaten your mother, Angelika. That’s not something a nice girl does.”

“Well, I don’t want to be a nice girl!” She was seeing red, and it took all her willpower to keep herself from strangling this woman who dared to call herself Angelika’s mother.

“Well, you should because only nice girls get to go to dance.” That was the killing blow. The fury in her eyes disappeared, replaced by sorrow and desperation.

“You would do that?” she whispered. Her mother nodded, triumphant over her victory, ignoring how miserable her daughter looked.

“Unless you get up and get dressed this instant, you will be barred from all extracurricular activities, including ballet.”

Knowing she had lost, Angelika nodded and stood up. She walked with the grace of a ballet dancer over to her dresser, where her clothes for the day were already laid out. Skinny jeans and a crop top, selected by her mother and no doubt matching with Adeline and Aubrey’s outfits. She sighed as she pulled on the uncomfortably tight jeans and shirt. She turned around to find her mother had already left. Good, she thought bitterly. No doubt she was in Adeline or Aubrey’s room, gently waking them and telling them how they were her favorite daughters and how much she adored them. Angelika rose to her feet and strode over to the door, bending her knees deeply in an attempt to loosen her pants. Embarrassed by her defeat, she avoided her mother’s gaze as she trudged to the kitchen where her backpack was hanging on her chair. Angelika slung it over her shoulder, grabbed a granola bar of the table, slid her feet into her worn pair of sneakers without bothering to put on socks, and jogged toward the door. As she left, she grabbed her fake black leather jacket, embroidered with pink roses on the sleeves and back, and tied it around her waist to hide her exposed stomach. As her sisters, Adeline and Aubrey, pushed past her, she saw that they had done the exact same thing. Being a triplet really sucked.

 

Safety for Turtles

The safety of turtles is important for them and us. Nearly all the turtle species are considered endangered due to humans destroying their habitat, slaughtering them for food, and for unpermitted release. Unpermitted release can cause harm to the environment too. Therefore, turtles in captivity should be kept.

Some people argue that there are ways for turtles to be released safely. However, there isn’t really a solution because releasing a turtle is illegal. Furthermore, the only way you can release pet turtles is by either getting a permit or going to a tour that has releasing turtles events, but you cannot release your pet turtle. The releasing turtle events allow you to release newborn turtles to the beach, but there are also turtle walks, which is an educational turtle tour, and you get to see turtles. The releasing turtle events can be helpful because then predators on land can’t get the turtles easily (Schroeder). Additionally, you can get a permit if your pet turtle gets used to pond water, which is salt water, and if the turtle was born there. Although releasing pet turtles is illegal, some release them in a pond. However, Turtle Rescue USA is against this because the released turtle could carry a disease, and it doesn’t address the specific needs. Therefore, the evidence confirms that pet turtles should stay in captivity.

Moreover, other than the release of turtles, many other things can harm the turtles, like humans and natural harms. According to SEE Turtles, some natural harms include the ghost crab, birds, fish, etc. (SEE Turtles, “Baby Turtles”). SEE Turtles concludes that most of the harm comes from humans, like global warming, ocean pollution, plastic, and other marine debris (SEE Turtles, “Sea Turtle Threats”). Most humans try to help the turtles by scaring away predators. But some humans don’t care about the turtles and slaughter them for food, which is a terrible doing, while some let their dogs or pets out, and those pets harm the turtles (WWF). To sum up, the examples portray that we must stop hurting the ocean environment to save the turtles.

As you can see, the safety of turtles is important. Turtles are living beings too, so we should treat them well and help them survive from extinction. If harming turtles and the environment keeps on going on, the sea turtle species will go extinct. So that’s why I wrote this essay, to help save the environment, animals that depend on the environment, and of course the extinction of turtles. If you ever see a turtle in the wild, leave it in peace, unless it’s in the middle of the road, then you can help it cross the road.

 

Bibliography

“Releasing Turtles Into the Wild.” Turtle Rescues USA,

www.turtlerescueusa.com/wordpress/?page_id=109.

“Baby Turtles.” SEE Turtles, www.seeturtles.org/baby-turtles/.

“Sea Turtle Threats.” SEE Turtles, www.seeturtles.org/sea-turtles-threats/.

Schroeder, Debra, et al. “Releasing Sea Turtles: What You Should Know.” Traveling Well For Less, 24 Jan. 2018, www.travelingwellforless.com/releasing-sea-turtles-what-you-should-know/.

“Sea Turtle.” WWF, World Wildlife Fund, www.worldwildlife.org/species/sea-turtle.

 

The Girl Next Door, the Guardian Angel and the Best Friend

 

Heart Throb

 

Her heart throbbed.

For more reasons than one.

 

Her sickness for one,

But that wasn’t it,

This wasn’t the same pain.

 

Her heart throbbed.

For more reasons than one.

 

She wanted to spend the rest of her life,

With her,

The girl next door.

 

Her heart throbbed.

For more reasons than one.

 

What life? She thought.

The one that was about to end?

Or the one she had conjured with her imagination.

 

Her heart throbbed.

For more reasons than one.

 

She knew she didn’t have much time,

The doctors had said “a couple weeks?”

Maybe a month.

 

She had to tell her,

The girl next door,

Could she do it?

 

And spend the rest of her life,

No matter how short or long,

Wondering?

 

Many had told her,

“Your illness doesn’t define you,”

“It’s not the only thing you are.”

 

They always said,

“Your heart still works,”

“Just because it’s a little sick doesn’t mean it’s broken.”

 

But it felt like it was,

And nobody understood that,

Except the girl next door.

 

In her mind she knew the right thing,

But what could her messed up heart know?

Certainly not love?

Certainly not happiness?

 

And so she let herself slip away,

Away from the world she knew,

Away from the girl next door.

 

Past and Future

 

And so she let herself slip away,

Away from the world she knew,

Towards something different.

 

Something better.

Something worse.

 

As long as she remembered,

Nothing could be better than her,

Nothing could be better than the girl next door.

 

And nothing could be worse.

Nothing could be worse than leaving her,

The girl next door.

 

She knew there was no going back,

She knew there was nothing else she could have done.

 

There was no way to know.

What was beyond that light.

That sweet golden light.

 

The promises of the future,

So pure and innocent.

 

And the horrors of the past,

Dark and brutal.

 

Throw It All Away

 

So this is how she would end.

Alone and scared?

Or satisfied and relieved?

 

She definitely didn’t know.

Her and her messed up heart.

 

Her and the heart that doesn’t feel.

 

Had she lived, thrived?

 

She wished she could’ve lived.

She knew she couldn’t thrive.

 

She felt as if she had thrown everything away.

Every opportunity she could have had,

Every opportunity she did have.

 

She had done nothing,

With what little she had been allowed.

She had done nothing.

 

No One

 

Slipping in and out of consciousness,

She knew the end was near.

 

Finally it would end,

The pain, the suffering,

The hard part was over.

Or was it?

 

She definitely didn’t know.

Her and her messed up heart.

 

She couldn’t believe that after all of this,

All the struggling and perseverance,

It would end like this.

 

After all this,

She had amounted to nothing.

 

She hadn’t lived, bonded or thrived.

She was no one.

 

Though she had her one friend,

The friend that visited everyday,

Yet somehow, she just couldn’t connect,

She just couldn’t connect with her.

 

An Old Tree

 

Sometimes she felt like a paper bag,

Floating on nothing.

 

She had brought this upon herself.

She had shut everybody out.

 

But sometimes, she still felt as hollow as an old tree. As old as an old tree.

 

She felt like she had been struggling for ages,

Been sick for ages.

 

She felt like she had been through it all,

But still had no reason to live.

 

Except for the girl next door.

The girl next door was the answer to all her problems.

 

Yet somehow the girl next door was one of her problems.

 

The Hand of an Angel

 

Struggling with the same moral quandary,

Should I tell her?

Or should I let it be?

 

It felt as if there were a thousand bowling balls in her head.

Rolling around her thoughts,

Never settling down.

 

She desperately needed something to ground her,

Something to back her up,

Something to help her through the good and the bad.

 

Suddenly, as if the gods had heard her pleas,

Something grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the ground.

 

It was the hand of an angel,

Someone sent to her.

 

Was it possible?

Was it possible that after all of this bad something good was finally going to happen?

 

No, it couldn’t be.

That was impossible.

 

The Hand of an Angel II

 

As if the angel could sense her spiral,

Three gentle tugs at her hand almost brought the girl back to the present.

 

But, slipping in and out of consciousness,

She felt the end nearing.

 

Prepared to give up this world and almost everything in it,

She made no outward struggle,

But her new guardian angel didn’t give up so easily, couldn’t give up so easily.

 

Another three gentle tugs kept the girl from giving up on her dream,

Her dream of the girl next door.

 

Opening her eyes,

What stood before her,

Almost killed her.

 

In the best way possible.

 

Gone

 

It was her,

Before her eyes stood a most beautiful sight,

Cast in a golden light.

 

She couldn’t believe it,

It really was an angel,

Her angel,

The girl next door.

 

She never thought this day would come,

She never thought she would see her again.

 

But here she was,

The girl next door,

The most perfect ending to the most horrible life.

 

She smiled up at her angel,

The happiest she’d been since,

Forever.

 

Her angel leaned down,

Planted a soft kiss on her lips,

Soft, but ice cold,

Ice cold but comforting,

And with that she was gone.

 

Gone like the wind,

The wind that supported her paper bag,

The wind that propelled her forward.

 

The only thing that kept her moving,

Her guardian angel.

 

Today

 

The next time she woke up,

She was still in the hospital,

Alone, with the exception of her nurse and doctor.

 

And let’s not forget her friend, the friend that came to visit everyday.

 

Everyday was the same,

The beep of the machines,

Her pills, the blood tests and more.

 

But today was different,

Today she had met her guardian angel.

 

She felt as if she’d known them forever,

She felt like she and the angel were one.

 

The most perfect half to her messed up self.

 

Today II

 

I’m really worried about her,

My best friend,

The most amazing person I know,

The strongest person I know.

 

She doesn’t think that,

I know she thinks she is broken,

She thinks she’s alone,

But she really isn’t.

 

It hurts my heart to see her like this,

She never talks,

She looks at you with cold dead eyes,

Its almost as if she’s already gone.

 

But today was different,

Today there was a spark in her eye,

Today she looked alive.

 

She still didn’t talk,

She still thinks she’s broken,

I could see it in her face,

But today was different.

 

Today she looked like her happier old self,

Today she looked at me and smiled.

Today she squeezed my hand.

 

If I Could

 

I wish I could know everything she’s thinking.

 

I wish I could take away all of her pain.

 

All I know is she thinks she is broken,

And that fact alone,

That fact alone breaks me.

 

I love her more than anything on this earth,

I don’t know what I would do if she was gone, even though sometimes…

 

Sometimes it feels like she already is.

 

If I could break through her wall,

If I could just explain.

 

I’m sure she would understand,

I’m sure she would listen to me.

 

People say I’m just wasting my time,

People say I should just give up.

 

No wonder she feels alone,

No wonder she’s ready to give it all up.

 

What If

 

I won’t see her for another week,

A week of pure torture,

A week full of worry.

 

I’m happiest when I’m with her,

She brings out the best in me,

No one else understands this,

She makes me feel special.

 

I try to see her every single day,

I try to be there for her when she needs me.

 

If something happens while I’m away,

I don’t know what I would do.

I think I need her more than she needs me.

 

That smile today,

It made me so happy.

What if something else happens while I’m gone.

 

Something good,

Something bad.

 

I just want to be there when it happens.

 

I can feel things are starting to change,

For the better or…

Well, you know.

 

It doesn’t matter,

I just want to be with her.

 

Something Has Changed

 

I’m finally back,

I’m with my best friend.

 

I’m back at the hospital,

It feels like its been a year.

 

She looks the same,

But her eyes are warmer.

 

Maybe something has changed.

Maybe the warmth has been there all along.

Maybe I just missed it.

 

Maybe I was too focused,

On making her see,

Making her see me.

 

On making her understand that I love her,

That I need her.

 

Sometimes I get mad,

Mad that she can’t see,

Mad that she just doesn’t seem to understand that she has me.

 

But I should have been helping her,

I haven’t been a very good friend.

I glance down at her,

My very best friend,

And I can tell that this is the end.

 

The End

 

She is really gone,

I still can’t believe it.

 

After everything we’ve been through,

The heartbreak, the happiness,

Everything.

 

She peacefully left,

A simple smile on her face.

 

I was there,

I was there for the flat line.

 

The beeping stopped,

The erratic measurements of her heartbeat,

were put to a rest.

 

She will struggle no more,

She can finally be happy.

 

Its selfish to say,

But I wish she was still here.

 

I don’t know what I’m going to do,

I don’t know how to go on.

But life doesn’t stop for everyone’s tragedies.

 

I will always love her,

In the back of my mind.

 

I tuck away my love for her in my heart,

I’ll revisit it from time to time,

When thinking of her doesn’t hurt so much.

 

Sitting here hurts too much,

I have to get out.

 

I’ll never come back,

This will be the last time I walk out.

 

This place will always hold my sadness.

This place will be where my last memories of her lie.

 

I glance at the empty bed,

The pillow where she used to rest her head.

 

I close the door behind me,

And don’t even glance back.

 

Hedgehog Human History

 

Hedgehogs have coexisted with us for over 15 million years, and we have benefited off of them since the time of ancient Egyptians. Throughout the centuries, our relationships with these creatures were never faultless. After a long, complicated history with humans, hedgehogs have become our miniature, prickly friends.

Unlike our present day relationship with hedgehogs, 4th century Romans raised hedgehogs for the materials they provided. Hedgehog meat was eaten, and its quills were plucked and served multiple purposes. For example, they were used to train calves to stay away from their mother so people could collect the mother’s milk, used in card paper, and dissection pins (Wikipedia). Along with this, hedgehogs were used to predict weather during Candlemas Day, which has turned into what we know as Groundhog Day. If the hedgehog saw its shadow, it would mean there would be six more weeks of winter (HuffPost). This promotes the fact that hedgehogs were just tools for people during the 4th century.

During the medieval ages, hedgehogs started being depicted in stories called beasteries, which were about imaginary and real animals. Usually, they were shown using their quills to pick up fallen fruit and nuts and rolling into spiky balls. In the Late Middle Ages, things took a turn for the human-hedgehog relationship. Hedgehogs were still raised for materials, but it was used differently. Hedgehog meat, fat, and blood were used as medicine and were said to cure things as severe as cancer to warts. Around the same time, hedgehogs became witchcraft tools and were skinned, and they were consumed as witchcraft remedies. (Wikipedia)

In the more recent years, hedgehogs have been rising in popularity as pets in many places. They are mainly raised for just companionship and entertainment for us. However, companies based around the selling and breeding of hedgehogs for pets have been making profit off of these creatures. Along with that, there was even once an International Hedgehog Olympic Games or IHOG, which was a fair that celebrated hedgehog fitness and was originally used as a promotion event hosted by Dawn Wrabel for a ranch. Nonetheless, hedgehogs aren’t perfect and have been banned in several states in the United States including Pennsylvania, California, Hawaii, New York City, and Washington D.C, as hedgehogs have 17 species that aren’t native to America and can threaten the native species there if released or escaped (MNN). Overall, this depicts that hedgehogs are being treated better than they were in multiple time periods in history.

Hedgehogs and humans have lived in synchronicity for centuries. Today, they are a pet that is rising in popularity worldwide. Our human-animal relationship has lasted ever since the 4th century, and this is a single example anthrozoologists have studied. Animals have a long history with humans, and it would be a shame to watch some of these relationships split due to man-made issues.

 

Work Cited

“16 Fun Facts About Hedgehogs.” Mental Floss, 27 July 2018,

http://mentalfloss.com/article/56004/16-fun-facts-about-hedgehogs

 

“Medieval Bestiary : Hedgehog.” The Medieval Bestiary,

http://bestiary.ca/beasts/beast217.htm.

 

Moss, Laura. “Hedgehogs Are a Prickly Issue in Some States.” MNN – Mother

Nature Network, Mother Nature Network, 25 Jan. 2018,

https://www.mnn.com/family/pets/stories/pet-hedgehogs-are-a-prick

ly-issue-for-some-states

 

“16 Fun Facts About Hedgehogs.” Mental Floss, 27 July 2018,

http://mentalfloss.com/article/56004/16-fun-facts-about-hedgehogs

 

Summer

 

The sweet flavor

Bursts in my mouth

As the sticky juice

Runs down my chin

And falls on my lap

Oh the clothes

That have been stained forever

By the chaotic season

That is summer

 

My feet burn as they slide

Along the grainy earth

And they shiver as the water

Laps at my toes

My bathing suit leaves

Pale lines across my skin

In contrast

To the burning red

That sears my back

The umbrella flutters in the breeze

And the blanket

Weighed down by bags

Yearns to fly away

And be free

 

The tiny pieces of rock

Clump in shapes

Moldable

Expendable

Millions and billions

Flying through the air

Burrowing

Into sandals

And shirts

And swimsuits

And everything

They can form

Castles

Or pits

Or cottages

They can make treats

Rolls

And eclairs

And truffles

Then they collapse and wash away

Leaving endless straights

Full of tiny grains

 

Gardens blossom

And fade

Violets and lilies

Turning brown and cracked

Edges curling with heat

Bees chatter and buzz

Collecting and conversing

Bushes full of activity

The air hangs heavy

With beads of water

 

Love grows wide

Opening

Unfurling

Stretching its wings

To touch the sky

Watch it fly overhead

Listen to its sweet cry

Dancing through your ears

You cannot help but listen

Clutch your loved ones closer

And enjoy the beauty

Of the feathers

That adorn the bird of love

 

Friendship, too

Swells in the heat

Children walk

Hand in hand

A mouthful shared by two

Laughs fill the sky

They flit through the breeze

Following

The soaring creature

Of passion

 

Bumps rise

On my legs and arms

Begging to be relieved

I try to resist

But in the end

Who can fight pleasure?

The mosquito flies

Unseen

A trickster

Laughing at us fools

 

Time flows sluggishly

Churning and

Rewinding

Chugging along

Day

After day

Hour

After hour

Minute

After minute

Second

After second

 

The next year looms

Above it all

Exciting

Yet Menacing

Sometimes forgotten

Pushed away

In an effort to enjoy

The little time you have

Futile,

Even though the time

Ticks by

So

Very

Slowly

The day will come

When you must return

To work and hardship

And months

Of relaxation

And rehabilitation

Will come to an end

 

Oh College

 

Beep beep beep.

“Time to wake up already.” Susy, my roommate, is an early bird.

“Come on, or else we’ll be late to class,” she says. I rush to brush my teeth, get my clothes on, and brush my hair.

I start running out the door when Susy says, “Maya, are you forgetting something!”

“Oh ya, my bags.”

I get my bag and head out the door. Susy is always helping me. We get to our first class. I am twenty-two years old, and when I grow up I plan on being a pediatrician. First class is all about the bones. The classroom smells of the disinfectant the janitors use to clean, and there are already many people in the classroom setting up their notebooks. Mr. Roger, the bone teacher, is one of the nicest teachers I have.

He says, “Remember that next week is the big exam on every single bone in the body. You will have to tell me the name of each bone in the body, where it is, and its function. Remember the extra credit!”

“Oh no, what am I going to do. I can’t even remember all the bones in the spine.”

I am at my desk in the dorm, and I am so tired, but I have to keep studying for tomorrow’s big test.

Susy tiredly says, “It’s twelve thirty. Why don’t you go to bed and work on studying in the morning. Trust me. You’re ready for the test.”

“Okay,” I sigh.

“Good night.”

When I wake up, Susy has already packed up my bag for me. I love her. As we walk to class, she starts pointing to bones in the spine and asks me, “What is this bone?”

“Umm, that is in the cervical region.”

“Yes, that is correct!” Susy confirms.

She keeps testing me until we get to class, where most people are testing each other on the bones. Susy is the best student in the class, so I am sure she will pass the test. This is our one chance to get our master’s in the orthopaedic class, or else we will have to take the class for another year. Ding ding ding, the bell rings for the start of class.

As we walk into the classroom, I say to Susy, “Good luck!” She gives me a thumbs up, and we sit down. Mr. Roger hands out the tests, and we begin.

When I get to a question that says, How did the thoracic spine section get its name, I started blanking on it. My hands are sweating, and my pencil is slipping out of my hand. Then, I remember to take a minute and breathe, which really helps. I finally get the answer, that it came from a Greek word. Even though I am the last one to finish the test, I am sure I am going to pass it.

 

One week later…

 

Today is the day we are going to get the results back from our test.

“Eek!” I am so excited.

Mr. Roger gives everyone back their test except me. Susy gets a one hundred, and I give her a high five, but I don’t get mine back.

When the bell rings, I go over to Mr. Rogers and tell him, “I never got my test back?”

Then he says, “I know. Can you come with me to have a meeting with Vice Principal Robert.”

I started getting all nervous again. I have a lump in my throat, and I get goosebumps all over. When I sit down in a chair, Mr. Roger and Robert start talking.

“Okay Maya, your test results show that you were one question short from passing the test, and we would like to address this with you.”

“Oh, okay.”

“We have seen how hard you have worked over the year, and we would like to grant you a spot in the master’s degree class on some conditions.”

“Really!” I blurt out.

“Yes!” they say.

“As long as you are able to keep up with your class work, get a 75% or higher on all home work, and pass your tests. You are granted the permission to have your master’s degree. But, if you are not able to accomplish this, you will need to go and take the class with Mr. Roger again. Okay.”

“Oh my god, thank you. I promise to meet those standards or even higher each day. I appreciate this so much.”

“Then I think you may go up to your master’s degree.”

I am so excited, and I just want to start screaming, but I don’t.

Instead I say, “Thank you.” Then, I leave.

When I go to lunch, everyone is talking about their test.

I run up to Susy and scream, “I got my master’s!”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

I tell her everything that happened, and how hard I have to work to stay in this class. Susy says she will help me stay at the top of class, and the only way to do that is to practice. I agree, and every day I wake up early in the morning at six and start rehearsing every bone in the body, and if I get one wrong, I have to start back from the beginning. Once I am even late to class, but that paid off later. After I master all the muscles in the body, it is time for me to take the test about the functions of each muscle. That is the hard part. I take a practice test in class and fail at it. The muscle teacher, Ms. Fisher, gets worried about me and makes me stay after class for extra help.

Back in the dorm, I talk to Susy about how much trouble I am having with the muscle functions.

“I have to get better at these functions. The neck is the most important part. I can’t even name all of them,” I cried out.

“Calm down, you just have to make a song or a rhyme to memorize them. That’s what I do.”

“Okay, let me try!”

“There are five main muscles, but really nine so… ”

“Most muscles in the neck control moving the head in all directions toward the shoulders, spine and scapula. The sternocleidomastoid and the trapezius muscles are responsible for the gross motor movement in the head and neck… ”

“Great, now make a song out of it.” Susy exclaims.

I worked on memorizing the song I made up, and soon I was catching up to everyone in my class.

“Yipee!”

Today is my birthday, November 18, and I will be seeing my parents. It is getting a little chilly outside, but that’s okay. I love my parents because they support me so much with my medical studies. Since I was little, I was interested in being a doctor, so my parents got me a few books about how to become a doctor. After that, they supported me in some extra studies. They have always encouraged me to do my best. I have told my parents everything, and because I am turning twenty-three, they are getting me an extra special gift. They get me a trip to one of the best hospitals in town, where I will be sitting in on one of their meetings.

The hospital I am working at is the Mount Sinai Hospital for children. I go there every other day to follow and work with doctors on patients. They are such big role models.

I have already gotten accepted to work at the Metropolitan Pediatrics when I graduate, so that is pretty exciting.

It has been a long hard year, and here comes another big test too. This test will get me to my graduating year.

“Maya, I think you are going to do great on this test as long as you keep studying,” Susy exclaims.

“Thanks,” I say.

Beep beep beep.

“Ohhh, good morning, Rrrraaa Ssshoooo. Wait, what, today’s the big day the test day,” I sleepily than more awake say.

“Maya, you almost fell back asleep. Come on, we have to get to class.”

“Coming!”

 

***

“Good morning, class,” Ms. Fisher announces.

“Good morning,” my class and I say.

“Are you ready for the test.”

“Yes,” we all say.

When I get my test, I breathe and begin, and by the time I finish the test, I feel pretty good.

“You guys will be getting your tests back in a week. See you then.”

 

Next week…

When I wake up, Susy is still in bed sleeping. How weird? Then I look at the time, 6:00 am. No wonder, she is still not up. She gets up at 6:30. Well, I think I will just wake her anyway. Besides, it’s the big day!

“Susy, wake up,” I whisper. She wakes up, then stares at me angrily.

Then she pouts. “Why did you have to wake me up, especially today!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was something special about today. I was just excited about getting our test back,” I say shyly.

“Why are you so selfish!” Susy yells out.

“What, me? I’m not selfish,” I say in a confused voice.

“All you care about is yourself. I do everything for you. You don’t even remember special dates.” Now I am very confused.

“Um, is it Hanukkah,” I quietly say.

“HHHUU,” Susy cries out.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Why don’t you find another bully to hang out with,” Susy screams at me.

We are both on the edge of tears. I grab my bag and walk out. I don’t even care if I’m crying. At the beginning of class, there are always announcements.

“Good morning, college students, today everyone will be getting back their exams back — good luck. Oh and by the way, today is Susy’s birthday. Happy Birthday! Have a great day and work hard,” the principal announces on the loudspeaker. After the principal says “Susy’s birthday,” I am shocked. How could I have forgotten.

“Huu,” I almost start to cry.

Later that day during class, I find out my grade for the test. I passed it, but I was on the edge of failing. As a result, Ms. Fisher wants me to come during lunch and after lunch for extra help. It sucks!

Later that day when I come to the dorm, Susy is already there.

I go up to her and decide to lie.

“Sorry about this morning. I was going to have a surprise birthday party for you, and I was trying to pretend I forgot. Sorry if it really upset you.”

“Thank you for the apology, but I want to be alone. NOW!” she screams to me, so I leave. I realize I need to get her a birthday present, so I go to the college campus shop and get her a really nice coffee mug because she always drinks coffee in the morning.

On it says, Top mug, Top coffee, Top student. I wrap it then bring it to the dorm. I put it next to her, and then get ready for my next class. That night, she comes over to me and says sorry.

We hug, and then Susy whispers, “Friends again?”

“Yes, friends again,” I say back. We get over what happened, and life just goes on normally until…

The other day, I started helping to treat a patient with a brain tumor. The boy is only eleven, and he is very scared, so I also help calm him down. I check him and do a few small procedures. I come to him every day to help out. A week later when I come to check on him, a nurse is already in there giving him pain medicine and calming him down. I come over and ask what is wrong, and she tells me that yesterday I didn’t give him antibiotics, and that now he is very sick. I go to the main office to ask what is going on. They say that yesterday I did not treat him correctly.

I say, “I was not here yesterday because I had an appointment, so someone else covered for me.”

“Huh,” the manager says. “That’s weird because the person who signed in signed your name, but now that I think about it the person was acting a little weird. She was also very tall.”

I am not the tallest, five feet seven inches.

“May I please see the signature?” I ask.

“Yes,” he responds.

The signatures are different. Mine are always very neat and the same, but the one from yesterday was sloppy and a little different.

After that, we check the video cameras. Yes, we find the person. It is a nurse that is new to the hospital. We have a long talk with the nurse, and we teach the nurse how to treat and do that small procedure correctly. The nurse gets a big fine for doing such cruel thing. The nurse Paloma is very upset that she did the procedure wrong, so she goes to the patient and says she is really sorry.

When she comes back down to us she says, “He looks really bad, and I’m worried about him. Would any of you go up to make sure he is okay.”

I go up to see him, and just as nurse Paloma said, he looks like he is in a lot of pain. I give him some more medicine and talk to his mom who is already crying.

With a lump in my throat I say, “Your son is in some hard conditions. We can keep treating him and give him medicine, but his tumor is spreading, and it may just be best for him to go. He is in so much pain, that it may not be worth it.”

“I think he is strong enough to fight this. Let me think about it,” she whimpers to me.

I leave to give him a bit more medicine, but he looks like he is almost dying.

The next day when I come to see him, his mom is praying on the side of the hospital bed crying, “Oh, please lord, please god just let my son live a happy life, please.”

I go to his side. He had passed away. His heart just gave up on him, and he would have lived a painful life if he was still here.

I go over to his mom and give a slight hug. I help detach the wires on him and put him on a different bed. That is the end of my journey with this family because the other agency at the hospital would take care of this. I go over to the boy and do a short prayer and a hug.

Then I go over to the mom and say, “I’m so sorry. Let him rest in peace.”

I hug her for a long time and then leave. I guess this is the end. I go back to my dorm to rest after such a traumatic day.

 

End of the year…

I pass the test, which means I am going to graduate and become a pediatrician. The Metropolitan Pediatric center already accepted me, so yippee! I am so excited to start a new year full of new adventures with my new patients at the office. Susy is also coming to work with me, but at a different office nearby. We are sharing a studio on sixty-fifth street which is in the middle of both the offices. I am so excited for my new life ahead.

 

The End

 

Drowning

From above, the waters looked serene. It was twilight, and the setting sun cast a brilliant glow across the gentle waves. The turquoise waters were deep, deeper than anyone knew, with shades of periwinkle and navy mixed in the dark depths. Yes, it seemed like the ocean was taking a rest for the night, lulling itself to sleep with the rhythm of the undulating waves.

Being in it, however, was a different story.

When she had fallen in did not matter. All that did matter was the girl had fallen. The petite girl who was beautiful and unafraid, with ivory skin, delicate features, and silky hair as black as the night. The girl who had stood at the top of the tallest skyscraper in the city, staring down forty stories of gleaming metal and cold, glittering glass. The girl who had tumbled, twisting and turning through the silent night air, down, down, down, eyes wide with knowing panic.

The waters closed around her, whispering their thoughts of evil and malice. Why have you come here? They laughed threateningly. There is nothing for you but death and destruction. And so they wrapped around this girl, through her nose and open mouth that silently screamed even in the darkness. They suffocated her, the girl whose hand reached for the surface, for one more breath of air. But the waves were cruel. They squeezed the life out of her, the very soul of this brave girl, lungs burning, eyes watering, regrets and reminders of life waiting for her on the other side. She felt herself losing consciousness, the voices drowning in her sorrows. All that was left was her and the world.

And then everything went black.

 

Kiona’s eyes fluttered open as she awoke, gasping and sweating. She had the nightmare several times, especially the past week, but it seemed as if the waters had only gotten darker. They voiced her fears of leaving behind the life she had always known, and drowning had always been one of her greatest fears. She had thought about it several times, and each time Kiona had decided if it was time for her to go, she would want something quick. But drowning, feeling your soul slip away as you reached for something you could never have… that was definitely not quick.

Sighing, Kiona pushed all thoughts of the terrifying ocean out of her head. She wasn’t home anymore. She had left her mother, two sisters, and baby brother for the coldness of the college dorm just two months ago, and it was time for her to grow up along with her life. Nightmares aside, it was morning, and it was time for her to start the day. Kiona stretched her sore muscles and yawned. The last of her drowsiness slipped away, replaced by a mild excitement for what the day held. She slipped out of her covers and got up, her hand moving automatically to the teapot.

Kiona looked around as she did every day. And day after day, she could only feel sorry for herself. The dingy, gray apartment was not what she had wanted, but it was enough. She should be grateful to be living here at all. In the last few years, prices for freshman living spaces had risen astronomically. However, when Kiona had first stepped in, she wasn’t sure if she could ever really call it home. There was a small bed with an iron frame that never let her have a comfortable sleep, a leather couch where she pondered her life decisions, and a cramped kitchen where she never cooked anyway. She couldn’t bring herself to.

Kiona gasped, guilt filling her chest and spilling over in the form of tears. She blindly walked towards the door, only one thought in her head: outside. She needed fresh air. Ignoring the curfew, she turned the handle, rushing into the empty hallway and through the silent dorm. She led herself down the spiraling staircase, muscle memory taking over, until finally, finally, she reached the great oak door that would take her outside.

Kiona ripped it open without hesitation, only calming when the cool night breeze hit her face. She gulped in the air, wrapping her arms around her lavender pajamas and shivering. The cold did her good, though, and finally brought her peace of mind. She couldn’t think about the past, about the mistakes she had made. She couldn’t think about… Brooks.

At the name, the tears flowed again. Kiona doubled over, clutching her knees to steady herself as her world turned blurry. She took sharp, deep breaths, pushing everything out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to think about this, she reminded herself. She was older now, and her family was trusting her to take care of herself.

“Hey, miss!” Kiona angrily wiped away her tears and turned around. She saw an older man approaching her, a smug smile on his face. She noted his hand in his jacket pocket, obviously covering something worth hiding. Kiona tensed up, ready to run.

“Whatcha doing out here, eh?” he asked, revealing a toothy grin. “Bit dangerous, don’t ya think?”

“I’m fine,” she declared, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. Blood pounded in her ears, pulsing with rage until she couldn’t hear anymore. The world went still around her until it was just her and the street. And her instinct was to run.

She ran.

Running was the only thing she was capable of now. She knew she had to own up to her past at some point, but why now? Kiona had to take care of herself, and this was the only way she knew how. She had to escape her past, escape Brooks’ murder, escape the ocean… she had to escape everything, once and for all, and never let it catch up with her. She had to run, away from the guilt and horror. Away from life, away from feeling anything at all. She couldn’t.

And so, Kiona ran. Her feet bounced rhythmically on the asphalt, arms pumping at her sides as she challenged herself to go faster, run harder. As she ran, the world slid by, every meaningful thing turning into a blur. That was how she felt. Heart racing, legs pumping, going on and on for eternity. Everything good in life had been taken away from her. And now she left the world, letting her fears slide away, letting the wind pick up her raven tresses and fan them around her face.

Kiona ran past the houses, past the streets, past the neighborhoods until her smart watch beeped. She slowed, her rhythm reducing, and stopped at an intersection she didn’t recognize. Whoa. She didn’t realize she had run that far. And now her watch was beeping, alerting the officials to her run.

 

Kiona stared at the whitewashed walls of the interrogation room, wondering how many criminals had sat in this very chair before her. More importantly — how could she be so irresponsible? What would her family think? They thought the therapist had fixed all her problems, that she had gotten over Brooks. But she’d only been pretending all along. How could she do that to herself? She went still and calmed, placing a hand over her heart to dull the ache and taking a few deep breaths.

Kiona looked at the tinted two way glass that she couldn’t see through, wondering who was staring at her from the other side. Would her mother be there? Or just a disgruntled official? Whoever it was, could they see the hurt and longing in her face, the fatigue in her motions, the tiredness in her eyes? Could they see how much had really happened to her since Brooks had died?

For the first time, Kiona could think his name without feeling the pain that came along with it. She could remember the good times, like her mother had suggested. She could see him now, easy smile that made her heart melt, pale skin and short dark hair that was messily gelled back, and… his eyes. He had the most gorgeous eyes in the world, sea-green with flecks of amber that sparkled knowingly in the light. And he stood there now, before her, hands in his pockets like they always were, but smiling. He smiled at her, then slowly reached out his hand, graceful fingers unfolding, grasping for her. Come, he gestured.

Then, there was a loud bang, and Kiona gasped with surprise. Metal slammed on metal, and as quickly as it had been opened, the door shut. A man walked in. He was looking down at the ground and thumbing through a file. He, too, had a tired expression on his face, and his slow movements suggested he didn’t really want to do this. He didn’t want to ask her about things she didn’t want to answer.

But Kiona didn’t care. She couldn’t see anything, didn’t want to see anything except for Brooks. Ignoring the man, she spun around, looking, searching at the place where she had seen Brooks, glittering in the light.

He wasn’t there.

Kiona nearly cried out, the pain of longing was so sharp. It felt as if someone had stabbed her in the gut with a red-hot blade. She doubled over, but as her mind cleared, she began to think. Perhaps this is what Brooks had felt when he had supposedly shot himself, the bullet lodged between his ribs and working its way to his heart. Perhaps this is what he had felt when he had jumped into the ocean with only moments left, his soul left to drown in the dark. But she was sure this is what she had felt when the body had washed up on shore the next day, bleeding and broken. He hadn’t even been given a chance to live. And she didn’t even know why.

A loud clearing of the throat brought Kiona back to the present. She hadn’t even realized that her gray eyes had pooled with tears. She hadn’t known they were coming. She swiped them away quickly and turned to face the official, pushing Brooks out of her mind as she had done since he had died. She couldn’t give herself a chance to grieve. She would never move on if she did that.

“Miss Rose?” It was only a whisper at first, but as the man grew more confident, his voice did too. “Miss Rose?”

“What do you want?” Kiona said angrily, glaring at him through her thick lashes.

He cleared his throat again, looking a little uncomfortable. Shifting from foot to foot as if trying to decide, the man eventually sat down in the cold metal chair opposite to her. “I know you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to either. But I’ll have to report that you’re emotionally unstable if you don’t subject to the questioning. And you’ll have to follow the rules after this, you understand? You have to follow curfew, and you can’t — ”

“I. Don’t. Care!” Kiona hissed through gritted teeth, slamming her hand on the table. Then, the anger was gone, and as much as she tried to avoid it, the sadness started to fill her again. Tears dripped from her delicate lashes and pooled in her eyes. “He’s gone,” she said slowly, her voice breaking. She looked down.

Now, the official had no experience with crying women, especially since he knew about Brooks and her past. He also knew that her family had reported she was over the grief. However, standing in front of her now, watching her try to avoid it but at the same time falling prey to her sorrow, he knew she really wasn’t.

And Kiona knew too. She saw pain in the official’s eyes, pain like hers, but he hid it well. He was over it. And she wished with all her heart that she could be like that too. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe she should have subjected to his questioning so he wouldn’t report her. Maybe she should have pretended to be okay like she had with her family. But seeing him, seeing how he had handled everything so calmly… how could she pretend to be okay when she was so clearly not?

The official gently placed his hand on top of hers, and for once, Kiona didn’t say anything. “I know. I know how it feels.”

Kiona shook her head, not understanding. “Then how can you be so calm? How can you avoid the pain?”

The official averted his eyes, then returned her gaze after a few moments. “Because I realized she’s gone. I have to live my life without her.”

Kiona’s bright gray eyes turned stormy. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

The official nodded slowly, pausing to think. Eventually, he extended his hand, a smile appearing on his weary face. “Mark.”

Kiona wasn’t in the mood for it, but maybe he could help her. She had to be polite. She shook it, forcing a thin smile. “Kiona.”

“I know,” he said. Then after a moment’s hesitation, he continued, “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep you here until you answer a few questions, but let me know when you’re ready. I know… ” He sucked in his breath. “I know it’s hard. And grief can make you do terrible things. So I want you to know I understand, I really do. And I’ll try to help you as much as I can.” And with that, he left.

Kiona nodded, the numbness in her heart dulling. She had finally let in one emotion, the only one she could allow. Hope.

 

Kiona stepped outside, smiling as the wind tossed her raven hair over her shoulder. She reached into the pocket of her jeans for her jingling silver car keys, walking towards the candy apple red Volkswagen Beetle that had been a gift from her mother after Brooks. At first, nothing could please her, nothing could bring her out of her misery. But now she stopped, admiring the smooth, shiny surface and the adorable roundness of the car. It really was beautiful.

The ride back to the campus was silent, but at the same time, the silence was delicate, graceful. Kiona had been in silence for so many months that it now fit her like a comfortable glove. It gave her time to notice the world in full color, not the black and white that grief had painted over it. She noticed the trees bursting with bright green leaves, the still blueness of the sky, the fluffiness of the clouds. She saw everything good in the world, everything there was to live for.

Kiona already felt a difference. Maybe with enough time to grieve, she could move on. She could even get the tracking watch removed. She remembered when the officials had showed up at her doorstep with it, giving their apologies over Brooks. But they weren’t sincere. They never were. Maybe that’s why Kiona had taken the interrogating official’s advice to heart.

Of course, her mother had assured them Kiona was perfectly stable. But as Kiona stood by her mother with a smile plastered on her face, giving way to the waves of grief, she knew the officials could see what had really happened. They were the ones who had to make sure everyone maintained baseline emotion, that no one was too happy or too sad. They gave time for joy and misery, but only enough, and then you must move on. For what is the point of life if you revel in your glories all the time, making the hike up the mountain only to sit there and enjoy the view? No, happiness was no motivation. It was just a distraction. And the same was true for sadness. Sure, certain things allowed moments of disappointment, but there was no point wallowing in it. That’s what the officials had realized.

However, the drug they had given Kiona to combat her sadness hadn’t worked. And for some reason, they hadn’t showed up to administer it again. She wasn’t sure she wanted them to, knowing the passing of her misery was fabricated. But, remembering the long, hard months, Kiona thought maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t had to go through that. And then there was the tracking watch. She didn’t know what the officials saw when they pulled up her data, only that her sorrow lasted for an abnormally long time for someone being drugged. Since then, they’d place a suicide watch on her, tracking her every move to make sure she didn’t do the same thing as Brooks.

Even before, when Kiona had been consumed in grief, she would never have commited suicide. To take the thing she valued, the thing that others loved even if she hadn’t, to shoot herself knowing that she had only herself to blame… the thought was sickening. But even if the officials had known that, they would have tracked her. They were always suspicious of her, always suspicious of everyone. A bitter taste rose in Kiona’s mouth, but she forced it down.

The officials weren’t all bad. They, too, had suffered loss and pain. Besides, hadn’t the interrogation official just promised to help her? And he had let her go?

Momentarily distracted, Kiona snapped out of her reverie, able to truly see the beauty in the world since… well, in a long time. She had been driving on mostly empty roads, and now her watch was beeping to alert her she was approaching the main street that led to her college. Even though the students were in classes right now, the highway was full of cars traveling long distances. The road hummed with the energy of all the engines, drivers chatting, talking, and gazing into the distance. They were going places, far, far away. Kiona had always imagined herself being one of them someday, traveling somewhere far to start a new life. She could be anything she wanted there, not just the girl who had lost her best friend or the girl that had a suicide watch on her.

Kiona smoothed back her silky hair and stopped at an intersection to wait for oncoming traffic. She glanced at the drivers beside her, running their hands through their hair or fumbling with their phones. She saw the simplicity in their actions and smiled. For some inexplicable reason, it made her feel better. Turning, Kiona studied the traffic light, waiting for the moment when it would turn from blood red to emerald green. And just as it was about to happen, just as the light was about to read go, she saw it coming.

She saw the car around the corner.

She’d heard of time slowing down in situations like this, but instead it seemed to speed up for her. The driver in the veering black SUV, making reckless turns and driving like a madman, did not see the red light. Or maybe he did. Because he drove towards it, eyes flashing determined as he spun the wheel maniacally. He drove straight towards where the traffic on the highway had stopped, cars lining up tip to tip in a perfect line, all the drivers sharing a moment in which their life was put on hold for a simple light. Except for his. She saw him coming straight for the left corner, where she sat in her candy apple red Volkswagen Beetle, his eyes trained on her. Kiona’s stormy gray eyes widened for a moment, a scream clinging to her mouth as it took the shape of a surprised “o.” And it all happened so fast. She watched him speed up, hurtling towards her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She threw her hands up to shield herself and felt only a slight jostle at first. Then…

Help. Please. Crash. Collision. Brakes. Car.

A bump. A bang. She was thrown forward.

Head first. Head hit. Pain. Crash. Pain. So much pain. Exploding pain. Like longing.

And then everything went black.

 

Rock Climbing

On the first day of summer vacation, I went straight to the rock climbing gym. This is the place where I had first conquered my fear of heights, and where I had done my first pull-up. This is where I go if I ever have some spare time and $5.50 on my MetroCard. Whenever I had to walk across the gym, I would always notice it, and whenever I noticed it I kept walking. I acknowledged it, but always kept a distance from it, the ten-foot red paracord with green lines going through it, stained with chalk. The first day of the summer is always the day that I set goals for myself. The goals I set today were more ambitious than ever: climb a v4+ level boulder, learn to lead, climb a 5.11b wall, and last but not least, learn how to tightrope. The hardest one of these was definitely the learning how to tightrope. This is because tightroping usually takes many months to learn, and from what I’ve seen at the gym, there are only a few people who can make it to the other side while keeping a steady pace.

Now that I had finally decided to confront my bête noire, my journey toward becoming a funambulist, a tightrope walker, had begun. On the second day of summer, I came back to the gym. I remember this day very clearly because this was the day that I would walk on the tightrope once more. My “first steps” on the tightrope, and my first steps toward the abstract graffiti painted by artist Jana Liptak, the faux brick wall that it was painted on, and the carribinner holding the end of the tightrope that my eyes were fixed on.

This day was also special because I had met Vlad, my best friend from middle school’s dad, at the gym. We had never really talked before, just exchanged looks when I would come to my best friend’s house, so little did I know that this would be the start of a new friendship, one that outlasted my friendship with his son. Vlad was a yoga master, tall and athletic. He was able to do poses that I always thought were impossible. The one that impressed me the most was the firefly pose: balancing on just your hands with your back facing the ground. This requires a lot of arm and core strength, and even more balance.

“Balance is very good for brain, you know,” Vlad said to me in his good but slightly broken English with a Russian accent. “Your goal to walk down tightrope is good one.”

From what he told me, I inferred that he had been going to the gym for years, long before I had ever opened the rusty metal doors to the gym myself. Because of the experience that Vlad had in the gym, on the climbing wall, and on the yoga mat, I assumed that he would be a tightroping master. But I was wrong. He, like me, had spent most of his time at the gym climbing rather than training, so when we would cross paths at the gym and I would show him what I had learned on the slackline, he was impressed.

 

We exchanged phone numbers, and because he lived near me, he would give me a lift to the rock climbing gym whenever he was headed there. On the way to the gym, we would talk about Israel, Russia, food, or whatever came to mind. Whatever we talked about, Vlad always had an interesting story to tell, and by the time I got out of the car, I felt like a totally different person. One day he told me about the vacation he took to Israel about 10 years ago. He told me about why Israel is such a religious landmark for Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. At 7:00 he would pick me up, and at 12:00 I would be back home, hungry and ready to eat the okroshka — or sometimes borscht — that my parents had made while I was gone.

 

From the first day Vlad had begun telling me his stories, I began to spend hours every week on the tightrope. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I would wake up at 6:00 AM and head to the gym — either on the train or in Vlad’s 2012 Toyota Prius with stained seats and a broken sunroof locked in the closed position. Almost every day, I made at least a little bit of progress, and whether it was learning a better way to begin or taking one more step than the day before, I was always very happy with what I had accomplished. To me, every day was worth the hour round trip on the B train or in Vlad’s Prius. I liked taking the train because it reminded me of the tightrope — long, narrow, and hard to stand on.

 

Then came the halfway point of the summer — August third. I wasn’t yet able to make it halfway down the slackline, but I had found a great way to start, and was consistently getting about a third of the way down, something that usually took people months to achieve. I could get past the halfway mark on some days, earlier in the morning, but this was not consistent, and therefore was not what I was going for. By learning how to tightrope, I did not mean to simply make it to the other side, because that by itself would be possible with a few simple leaps. What I meant was to learn how to properly tightrope, so that I could consistently get to the other side. August third is a day I will remember for another reason as well, because this was the day that I was noticed, and this was the day I was helped. Danny, an employee and personal trainer at the gym came up to me and showed me what I had been doing wrong, and what I could improve on.

“Dude, you don’t have to start like that,” he said to me in his big, deep voice with just a splash of New York accent. He showed me how to start, and how to move my feet as to not shift my center of gravity, always keeping it right above the slackline. “Yo, let me show you how to dance upon the line of slack,” he then said in his hipster-y voice. Then he showed me his routine, first walking across once, and then coming back around to show me a circus-full of tricks. He proceeded to jump, flip, and do a dozen more tricks on the tightrope.

 

As a young child, I had believed that nothing is impossible, but as I grew older and gained experience at the things I did in my spare time such as table tennis and rock climbing, I really stuck to those things and didn’t try new things out as much. So, I began to discredit the idea that anything is possible. This is why I think I had stayed so far away from the world of slacklining, because I was too scared to try. I am happy that I set this goal for myself, because ever since the first day of summer, I began to try more new things out, and if it weren’t for the goal I set, I never would have went on the journey that I did. The hardest part about slacklining was putting my feet on the slackline for the first time. For me, the joys of rock climbing come from getting stronger and making it up that wall on the 100th try.

 

The Forbidden Island

Long ago there was a forbidden island. Whoever went there never came back, so everyone’s parents were overprotective of their children. Then the rumor came to Milan, that the island was cursed 100 years ago and that no one would come back. The best sailor there named Mario Write wanted to prove that this was just a myth, but that was 10 years ago. He left his brother Antonio when he was just born, less than three months old. Antonio was raised as an only child until he turned 13. That’s when Antonio figured out he had an older brother. It was a nice cloudy day and the ocean was a little wavy, when Antonio saw a bump in the sand. He didn’t pay attention to it at first, but it kept bothering him. He went over to step on it to flatten it out, but it just did not go down, so he decided to dig it out. He tried to dig it out, but it didn’t budge. When he did dig it out, he knew it was a bottle with some scroll of paper inside it. It was too dark to read the letter, but he was so excited to read this note. Antonio was hoping to find some ancient map to treasure. So he went home and opened it with a little bit of struggle to get the paper out, but he got it out eventually. It read:

 

Dear Antonio,

You may not know me. Please sail to the forbidden island and save me from this beauty. I really want to meet you and know how our family is. Don’t have time to talk, bye.

Mario Wright

 

He went to bed with Mario on his mind. In the morning, he went to his parents the next day to ask who this was because this person had the same last name. Antonio’s parents looked at each other with nervous looks on their faces, but obviously they had to tell him the truth about his brother who sailed to the island and never came back home when he was three months old. Antonio was so raged that his parents did not tell him this that his eyes lit up and he stormed to his room. In a few hours, his mom came knocking on his bedroom door asking why he was asking and why he was so mad. He explained everything about the beach. Antonio said he was mad because they should have told him, that he had an older brother who was missing. So he decided to go because he knew he would survive. He didn’t know when to go, and he was going to future sailors camp soon. Antonio thought that if he started planning later, he would be too late. The next letter Antonio received said:

 

Dear Antonio,

There is a lot of important information to save this city from dying here. You have to arrive on Halloween, so everyone can leave. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor that the island is cursed, well that’s true. Every day except Halloween we all think the island is beautiful. On Halloween we think the island is hideous because it is supposed to be the scariest day in the year, so we see the bad side of the island.

*DO NOT LEAVE YOUR SHIP. THEN IT WILL SINK AND GO TO THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET IT BACK!

(More information on how to get the ship next time.)

Mario

 

He spent his time at camp with his friends, so he could be the (next) best sailor. He had not told his friends that he had a brother. He figured out how to get the money for the ship, but did not know which boat to buy. In the meantime, Antonio paid a lot of attention to his camp so that there might be some useful information. He was warned not to go anywhere from Woody Pier. That was a big warning, and Antonio got some ideas from that. He had so much fun in camp he almost forgot about his brother, but the next class he had was about the forbidden island. Antonio did not learn anything since Mario used to be a teacher on the forbidden island. That’s what reminded him. Antonio was stressed that he had to focus on two things at once and could not ask anyone because they would say he just should stay home, so this task was up to him. If he wanted to be the hero, he could work hard and get everyone back, and if he didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the island like everyone else too, he would have to stay and feel guilty.

 

His friends didn’t believe him that he was going to save everyone on the island. They all tried to convince him to stay saying, “You’re too young. What if you get lost.” They couldn’t convince him to stay. He went to check the beach the next day. Disappointingly, there was nothing there. Antonio thought he did something wrong. Maybe he was supposed to send a letter back. He was so frustrated he wanted to break something. Antonio went back to camp to analyze all the different letters he received. When he was about to put away the last letter he received, he saw something on the back. He could not make out what it said, so he decided to go to bed and think about it. The next morning, Antonio felt sick, so he went to the nurse. He did have a cold, but he decided that was a good thing because he could find out what was on the back of the letter. He went to his room and traced the letters so they became brighter, but he could not make out some of the words. What it said was:

 

Dear Antonio,

This is faded because this is classified information. I know this is very hard to read, but get the money for the ship from Mom’s old wine. It will be more than enough money for that. But a good ship should be 45 ft. long and should have three sails. To get here you need to leave of Woody Pier and go straight for two and a half hours.

Please come soon.

Mario.

 

Yes! thought Antonio. In three weeks, he could go and save Mario.

 

The Odds Of The New Nun

It’s approximately 3 AM, and I have walked miles in pain from a motel that I vaguely remember was in Iowa. Oddly so, a laugh begins to find its bearings on my body, and I begin an uncontrollable cascade of belly laughs that alleviate all of my momentary anxieties. Your body begins to display these erratic behaviors even in its sleep once you’ve put it through what I have.

I can’t tell you the hardships of such shleps to the nearest drugstore to find some kind of medicine I can say with minimal doubt won’t kill me if I overdose by two or so dosages in the midst of a potential panic attack. Mild paranoia resurfaces at the sight of such tall grass and vegetation lining these roads, because the one time I got a camping trip invite from the resident rich goddess every contemporary high school seems to develop, I got a tick bite. However, inducing sleep to avoid my pain is the most innovative solution I’m capable of producing at the moment. I have no time or money or energy to value things that people with their human rights intact are capable of valuing.

Sleep has ended. Abruptly. Not in the way that supposedly sane mothers wake their teen offspring at the crack of dawn to attend the eight hours a day of insanity known as school. Even that is mildly sane in comparison to my situation. I can tell soil has crept into the crevices of my nostrils and mangled pockets of ripped, almost jagged skin on my fingers as I raise them slowly into the sunlight overhead. A street sign has reflected the light of the sun back as an eerily green color, like an undertone in a grainy photo of someone you keep telling yourself you used to know but don’t any longer.

Such a light is not a sight for sore eyes… and with the slightest of a meager spring in my step, I got up and walked several miles with breaks only when my body broke down without the thought of asking me. I reached a town… Meagerflower was the odd but soul-pleasing name I see on the various signage as I enter on foot. A chain pharmacy was distinguishable from the rest of the droopy looking businesses in this area because of how it’s in a franchise’s nature to have sufficient funding for large, scream like fluorescent lettering on their awnings. I stumble almost drunkenly towards sliding doors that, again, seem out of place in such a meager and idle town. As I enter this place that I assume is reflective of the cocktail of odd items that such a town’s population would need from a drug store, I get shocked by the urgency of a solution to my pain, and stealthily pursue a rack of medication bottles. They mustn’t see me, for money was a thing of my past, but yet a thriving part of today’s society that I am now ill-equipped for.

My choices seem to be made by the wind or some unnamable energy of the heavens, so if the sequence of events continues in its odd ways, I must start to walk further into this town in hopes I’ll find something or someone to provide an aid to my ability to sustain myself. I walk a few paces down the road until the road diverges from being a road and derails into a pasture full of lights and a myriad of bodies and voices to accompany them. Metal parts clanked as though their function was to hoist things up. This space, this carnival seemed to exist much farther up from the ground than people of this sort would seem to enjoy being. Children were running around screeching the announcement that it was opposite day, and Emily’s were being called Martins and Martins called Emilies. This was truly a festivity held by an elated lunatic to rid this town of it’s drear for a few moments.

Nuns’ headscarves were taken off, their heads unsheathed like the weapons heads can be, and better yet the dopamine from minds as close to the sky as they’d probably ever be floated to the ground and elation coated the air at all altitudes of the landscape. In awe, I told myself, “To the ferris wheel we go.” But in fear of the ticket master, I proceeded to crawl around the very base of the contraption’s rear end and began to climb the cold steel the structure provided me with to as close to the very top as I could get. I settled in the basket weave of a lonesome car, and ducked down below the seat so the crevices and imperfections in the construction could provide me a window to this world with the hope that not a single breath of mine would be detectable from here. My ignorance caused by lack of unobstructed viewership that the rightful customers were worthy of was actually quite pleasurable. The fog up here had a taste and smell that was like raindrops on tongues from childhood. I could feel how seized up the clouds must be, almost ready to rain. It was tiring to feel the basket sway in what little winds existed here, and soon I fell asleep.

Awoken by a black clothed face with hair neatly tucked away into the dark fabric, I sat up, the wind jerking my hair out of my face immediately. She whispered, “We musn’t camp out here for much longer. I know you’re weak because you’ve overdosed by two days of sleep, and surely such dreams can make hunger seem nonexistent. But you’ve got to get down. I had the same idea as you, but luckily I figured out the pasture is being cleared. The deflation of all the structures have been loud as fog horns. I’m thoroughly surprised you weren’t roused.”

The urgency of her voice got to my head as we were in cramped quarters, and her voice was fast and breathy, almost as though she were recovering from hyperventilation.

“O-okay,” I croaked due to a combination of grogginess and dehydration.

We started descending, and she warned me of the rusting the rungs had developed, and precisely every thirty seconds she looked at me. It wasn’t a protective gaze… she seemed to know of my history of rabble rousing and the scraped knees one expects from such drunken frolicking sprees in the middle of nowhere. She wasn’t afraid for me imminently. She knew so much, but my urge to question it had been dulled. Basking in this sense of comfort seemed too good of an option to move away from.

We made it down to solid ground, and though reality existed near enough to comfort my human mind, my eyes were enslaved by this dreamscape. I felt a pain in my chest due to my fear of getting far too lost in this, so I began the run of the mill small talk questioning I thought of when I got too tired of this lull in our conversation. She rejected every question. As did I. The town we were in. Felt like a place where people were resting. I felt a fear of disturbing this rest. I felt every current of these winds thicken, they held my breath back as though they had convinced me I could breathe without the inevitability of my next breath in I had always unconsciously anticipated. Words were not needed. A breath in being wasted on speech was an action that of a heathen unto this world. Emotions dispersed themselves evenly within this air. The sharp, garbled nature of human speech was an infection to such purity.

I shall say the same thing time and time again in a slightly altered dialect of human language, but my darling all I feel is a love for you, and a land fit for such a love has been eons in the making. You know we are larger than life.

 

“don’t know when i’ll be back again”

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The coral-colored suitcase open on the bed, the clothes hanging ready to be packed, the car come to take her away. The sun streams through the window, illuminating the pictures on the wall, reminders of a happier time. Outside, birds are chirping and children are playing in the park across the street. By all rights, it should be a beautiful day.

Marina sits cross-legged on the floor, halfheartedly sorting her possessions into heaps. In front of her is the pile for keeping, to the left a pile for charity. To the right, trash — all the things that are too worn out, too painful, too personal to give away. It’s a numbing process, most things easily separated. Near the end of her things, she picks up a picture of two girls, laughing and holding hands. They don’t have a care in the world, firmly convinced that everything will work in their favor. The hand holding the snapshot shakes a little and wavers over to the right, before Marina places it carefully in front of her.

When she’s finished, the items to keep go in the bottom of her suitcase. Zoe’s promised to take the charity pile to Goodwill — Marina doesn’t intend to stay around long enough to do it herself. She shoves the trash items into a bag and tugs it down the polished stairs. Marina’s just put the bag in the kitchen trash when she’s accosted by a very energetic ten-year-old, with Zoe right behind him.

“Marina!” her brother says, coming to a halt in front of her. His bright smile usually lights up whatever room he’s in, but today it doesn’t provide any comfort.

“Hey, Peter,” she says, absentmindedly reaching out to ruffle his hair. He looks up at her with big brown eyes, the very picture of innocence, and she finds herself wishing for that simpler time.

“Why are you leaving me?” he whines.

She sighs. “You wouldn’t understand.” Sometimes, she’s not even sure she understands why. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier to stay here, stay where she’s lived all her life.

“But I do understand.” He crosses his arms. “It’s because of her, because of… ” Whatever he was going to say is cut off.

“Peter,” Zoe warns. Marina’s stepmother has one hand covering Peter’s mouth, with the other on his shoulder. “What did I say about manners? It is Marina’s choice, and she doesn’t have to tell people why.”

Marina fingers her necklace as she watches them. People always expect the fairytale stereotype of stepmothers, but she’s never resented Zoe, even when she first came to live with them over a decade ago. Marina was five and couldn’t understand why this strange woman lived with them instead of Marina’s mother, but Zoe never forced Marina to accept her. Instead, she was lovely and kind and caring, until Marina couldn’t help but love her. Zoe taught her all the things about being a woman that Marina’s mother, far away in a little apartment, couldn’t. They celebrated the highs of life together, and Zoe held her when she came home sobbing that horrible night.

“Sorry, Marina.” Peter’s sheepish voice brings Marina back to reality.

“It’s okay, Peter. I just… it’s hard to explain,” she says. Her words hang in the stillness of the kitchen for a moment.

“Why don’t you run along?” Zoe says, mercifully breaking the tension. “Go outside and play with your dad or something.”

“Okay,” he chirps, running off to find their dad.

With Peter gone, Zoe turns the full force of her attention to Marina. “How are you holding up, honey?”

“I’m… fine,” Marina says, though they both know she’s lying. She hasn’t been fine since that Saturday in May. “I’m holding up,” she corrects herself.

“Do you need any help packing?” Zoe asks. “I’ve got nothing better to do than chase Peter around.”

“I think I’m good, thanks,” replies Marina. She’s not sure she’s ready to let another person handle all the memories contained in her things.

“I’ll be ready to help you if you decide you want it. Just shout,” says Zoe. They both know that this isn’t just about packing. It’s about Marina starting a new life where she knows nobody but her mother instead of ‘working through her problems in a familiar setting’ like her therapist says she should.

“Will do,” Marina says curtly, turning to go upstairs. She still has a few more things to pack.

The suitcase is almost full and the afternoon sun beginning to set when Marina senses someone enter the room. She turns around to face the door, and sure enough, Lise is leaning against the doorway. Marina forgot how pretty she is, how everything seemed to revolve around her the minute she entered a room.

“Hi, Lise,” Marina says, aware of how pathetic she sounds.

“Hey,” Lise says, coming over to sit next to Marina on the bed. “You’re really leaving, huh?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to get away from you.” If Lise is upset by Marina’s candidness, she doesn’t show it.

“We had a good run though, didn’t we?” It’s a rhetorical question, one they both know the answer to, but Marina still replies.

“We’re still best friends forever,” she says, reaching out to touch Lise’s necklace. Marina is wearing her matching one, with the inscription xoxo Lise still visible but slightly tarnished. When they got them for Lise’s 14th birthday, they both promised to wear them forever, and Marina supposes they both will.

“Are you sad to leave?” asks Lise.

Marina mulls the question over. “I’ll miss Zoe and Peter and Dad, but I think staying here would make me even sadder,” she finally replies. “People here are too concerned about me. I want a fresh start.”

“Come back to visit, will you?” Lise asks, and Marina entertains a brief fantasy where she leaves and never comes back, but she knows that could never happen. She’s tied to this place, like it or not.

“Of course,” Marina says instead, because what else can she say? How can she leave this girl she’s known for almost her entire life?

“Alright then, goodbye,” Lise says, and Marina wants to tell her not to go, but her throat goes dry and she can’t force the words out. She closes her eyes.

“And Marina,” she hears distantly, as if Lise is suddenly very far away. “Don’t be sorry for living.”

Marina opens her eyes just in time to see Lise standing in the doorway again. She watches as Lise becomes less and less real, until Marina is left alone again. She stands up, needing to clear her head, and feels something crinkle under her foot. It’s a balled up newspaper, wrinkled and ripped but with the headline still intact.

Local Girl Killed in Car Accident, it reads. Marina must have crumpled the article up and thrown it across the room when she read the headline. It was too painful to even think about Lise at that point.

She tenderly smoothes the article out and places it at the top of her suitcase, then closes the bag and zips it up. She touches her necklace once for good luck, then pulls her suitcase to where her father is waiting. She’s ready to go.

 

For Them All

 

1

 

Kind

He was just kind

Everyone knew it

But I liked it the most

 

He wasn’t good in school

Everyone knew it

I can’t tell you how many times

I defended his intelligence

 

He had red hair

I loved that red hair

I guess I perceived him as innocent
Even though he never was

 

He talked to me

I was crazy

But he talked to me

 

By the time I found out he

Had fallen for me

It was too late

 

2

 

So this guy was kind of a jerk

Everyone thought he was green

I saw blue

I saw blue in that jerk!

I thought he liked me back

And just hid it really well

But he hated me

I was a bother

A massive bother

To that blue, blue jerk

 

3

 

I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone

Wished I could just talk to him

Hated that I could never be the one to help him

I wanted him to rely on me

I loved him, I really really did

So much that no one could doubt it

But despite all my hopes

He never knew me

 

I’ve already written countless poems about him

About how he’s the ultimate hero

 

I just kinda wanted to thank him

For saving me

 

4

 

Um… I still like this one

He’s the best of the light and the dark

He’s like me and then he’s a little bit not

Ideal, is what he is

Not that I could resist him if he wasn’t

 

5

 

I’m putting him on the list, aren’t I?

Hasn’t been around for more than a week

and yet here I am, giving him a spot

with the ones who have changed me

because he changed me

he made me fall

god, he’s the most captivating of them all

 

Too Many Mistakes Made

“Hey,” I said on the phone. “Can I come over today?”

“You really should not. I’m sick as hell. I think I’m coming down with the flu, and I don’t want to infect you,” said my boyfriend on the other line of the phone as he quickly hung up.

 

That was completely weird. He usually wouldn’t hang up the phone like that but whatever. I took my wallet and my car keys. I drove to Walmart and bought some over-the-counter medicine for the flu. I drove to Ryan’s house. His house front door would always be open, I was used to just walking in as if it was my own house.

 

I looked for Ryan all over the first floor. I couldn’t find him. I went upstairs to his room. He was probably in bed since he was sick. I entered, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Yes, he was cheating. I just couldn’t believe he was screwing my cousin. I just laughed at the whole situation. They separated and looked at me in a way you could tell they were really scared for their lives. I did not go crazy or anything.

 

I just pulled my thumb up and said, “So much for being sick.”

 

I left the house and got into my car. Instantly as I got in the car, I slammed my face into the steering wheel and screamed out. I drove off to Kiara’s house. I found myself in the basement my best friend had made into her room. I threw myself into her bed.

 

“Oh no, trouble in paradise. What happened between you and Ryan?” asked Kiara. You could tell in her voice she was so over me and Ryan’s bullshit. She sounded so sarcastic and annoyed.

“Nothing too serious, I just found him having sex with Lilly,” I answered sarcastically.

“Oh shit,” exclaimed Kiara in surprise. “But I thought she was your cousin.”

“Well, you thought right! Hell yeah she is my cousin, but she didn’t think of that before getting into bed with my now ex-boyfriend,” I said very angrily.

 

I kept quiet after. The silence in the room was so intense you could hear a needle falling to the floor but, I liked it that way. I don’t know how to feel or if I should feel anything at all. Am I crazy for not feeling hurt? I just feel empty inside. I should be mad and crying. It is the normal thing to feel in a moment like this one, but I don’t feel anything at all.

 

“Listen. It’s okay. Your cousin didn’t take much from you,” said Kiara as she was trying to seem calm, but her body language snitched on her. Anybody could tell she was worried, as her hands started to fidget, and she looked frightened.

“I’m good, don’t worry,” I said so calm that it was concerning due to what happened.

 

I just wondered why would he do that to me. If he wanted out, he could have said so. It’s like Lilly had half of me, and she was not even half of me. I mean, she totally is the opposite of my personality. She knew he was my boyfriend. She fucking knew, but she couldn’t keep her legs closed. Even your own family betrays you. I tried to keep calm and not cry, but I couldn’t. I ended up crying. I tried to be strong. I just couldn’t. In this moment, I felt so exposed. I usually wouldn’t cry in front of anybody. I didn’t want to be looked as weak, but goddammit I deserved this cry. Kiara looked at me, frozen. She didn’t know what to do. She won’t be the type of person that would be good to comfort you, but she will always be there, even if it meant only her presence.

 

“Calm down,” I said. “I’ll get over this. He is not the only guy in the world.”

 

I spent the rest of the day with Kiara. After just getting cheated on, I could still crack jokes with my best friend. I didn’t want to be alone, but I would have to leave at any moment. As I got home, I went right away to sleep, just to avoid thinking.

 

The next day I went to school. I wasn’t really excited to show up to school and see Ryan’s face. I made my way through the school, and to be honest, I was trying to avoid Ryan. I found Kiara, and I felt relieved.

 

“Can you make it less obvious that you are trying to avoid somebody?” asked Kiara as she laughed at me.

“Good morning to you too, asshole,” I said to my best friend.

 

Our other friends came, and we just stood there talking, waiting for first period to start. I plugged my headphones in, since I really didn’t feel like talking anymore. I was really concentrated into listening to The Chainsmokers until I felt Kiara poking me to death with her elbow.

 

“Oh my god! What do you want?” I asked Kiara as I angrily took my headphones off. “You know better, when I have my headphones on that means nobody talk to me.”

 

Kiara just pointed with her forehead. I looked at the direction she pointed, just to see Ryan’s stupid self walking towards us. I just looked away and laughed. Yeah, now everything is a joke. Ignoring his presence completely, I just plugged my headphones back in. Until I felt somebody’s arm around me.

 

“Excuse me,” I said, turning around to see Ryan’s face.

“Hello, baby cakes,” he said as he soundfully kissed my cheek.

“Now you got some nerve!” I yelled, catching a lot of people’s attention. “How can you just come here, kiss me on the cheek, and call me baby cakes when yesterday you were between my cousin’s legs? And get the hell away from me before I smack you.”

“You don’t have to act up, you overreacting,” he said while removing his arms off me.

“Boy, you were having sex with my cousin, and you got the nerve to say I’m overreacting. You must be out of your goddamn mind!” After I said this, Ryan just left, which I appreciate very much.

“So much for avoiding,” said Kiara while she laughed, and I laughed with her even though I was so mad steam could come out of my ears.

 

Months went by, and I just made myself busy, focused on my school work and going out with Kiara to the volleyball court, and I also found myself talking to Ryan’s friend. I know, you don’t have to go on and on about how bad of an idea this is. Kiara is making sure of it.

 

“I’m just saying if you are stupid enough to continue with that decision, go ahead, but you are being stupid,” said Kiara for the 400th time in one hour.

“It’s not like I’m marrying the guy, I’m just having a little fun. You need to loosen up a little bit,” I said to Kiara.

“Okay, you are not marrying him, but still you are leading him on, and he is Ryan’s friend. That is just plain stupid, and just because you got cheated on, doesn’t mean you get to play with somebody else.”

“I’m playing him or leading him on,” I lied.

“Are you planning on having something serious with him?” asked Kiara while giving me a death stare.

“Chill chica, if looks could kill, and I don’t want nothing serious with him, are you crazy?” I laughed.

“Then you are so leading him on!” Kiara yelled at me. “You know how it feels to be played. Don’t do that to the guy. He is really nice, unlike Ryan. He doesn’t deserve it,” said Kiara while grabbing my phone and blocking Ryan’s friend’s number.

“You didn’t have to block Anthony! At least you could let me give the guy an explanation of why I’m not talking to him,” I complained.

“Any talking you want to do, you could do it in front of me, so I know you’re going to end this and not lead him on anymore, and by the way, Ryan is calling.” She passed my phone, but I looked at it ring until the call ended. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“Do I look like I want to talk to the bastard that cheated on me with my cousin? I don’t want to hear his lame excuses. There are a lot of girls willing to forgive, but I’m not one of them,” I said angrily.

“You see, that is one decision I support,” said Kiara.

 

We left the volleyball court since it was about to close. As soon as I got home, I unblocked Anthony and texted him.

Me: Hey there

Anthony: Hey, you finally out?

Me: Yeah, the court was about to close, so we had to go home

Anthony: Can I come over?

Me: Don’t

Anthony: Why

Me: I’m going to take a shower and then I’m heading off to sleep

Anthony: But it’s early, don’t go to sleep

Me: It’s 11 o’clock, get it together Anthony LOL, go to sleep

Anthony: Fine, TTYL.

 

After taking a shower, I can assure that I didn’t go to sleep. I ordered some pizza and watched Grey’s Anatomy. I got so lost watching the TV show, every time I said I would go to sleep, I ended up watching one more episode. It happened like 20 times, but when I was finally going to sleep, my alarm went off. I stayed up all night watching Grey’s Anatomy, and I had a geometry test today!

I rushed out of my house, regretting the decision I made last night. I should have gone to sleep!

 

I was already in a bad mood since I didn’t get to sleep, now add a geometry test to that. My stress level was as high as it would have ever been. During the test I couldn’t concentrate, every sound irritated me, and the teacher’s voice irritated me more than the usual. I couldn’t remember any formulas, so I failed this test. I know I failed because I fell asleep halfway through the test. My teacher woke me up by slamming his hand on my desk, which didn’t contribute to my humor. I got out of the classroom to find Kiara, I couldn’t find her anywhere, so I decided to text her

 

Me: Where are you?

Me: ?

Me: Answer

Kiara: I’m by the library

Me: I’m on my way there

Kiara: K.

 

I made my way through the school, and to be completely honest with you guys, I am so in love with the structure of the school. I loved the detailed spiral columns we had, and I loved the detailed white flowers in the corners of the ceiling and the beige walls! The place seems so magnificent to be a school. It gives you the vibe of an old museum. I admired the details in the building as I made my way through school to the library. As I got to the library, I could see Kiara hanging outside of the library.

 

“Can you come over here?” I yelled at Kiara. I really didn’t feel like walking anymore. My feet were killing me, my back hurt like it never did before, and the classroom tables were not the comfiest place to sleep on.

“You look like total crap,” said Kiara as soon as she got to me. “Why didn’t you sleep last night?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I’ve known you for a long time, don’t you think I know almost every aspect of you? Now answer, why didn’t you sleep last night?” asked Kiara again.

“I stayed up watching Grey’s Anatomy,” I answered shamefully.

“Quick question, have you gotten over what happened with Ryan? You haven’t talked about it ever since it happened,” Kiara looked at me with intrigue.

 

I really couldn’t give an answer. I wasn’t over it. In fact, I was still hurting on the inside. Trying to distracting myself didn’t work. My mind would always make its way back to that damn day. I tried to forgive him. Maybe he did it because of something I lacked, but it wasn’t a good enough reason. I tried to forgive Lilly. She is my cousin, but in my eyes she is just a whore.

 

“I don’t know how I got over everything so easily,” I answered to Kiara, even though I wasn’t really over everything that had happened. I couldn’t see myself confessing. I was still hurt.

 

I quickly walked the streets in Manhattan, rushing to get home. I was excited. My mother finally came home from vacation. Well, it wasn’t a vacation. It was for three days, but they were the longest three days of my life!

As soon as I walked in, I could hear the merengue blasting in the speakers, and I could smell the Sancocho my mother was making in the kitchen. I missed my mother so much! It’s hard not having her around.

“Bendicion, Mom,” I said as I walked in the kitchen. Asking for your parents’ blessing was something Dominicans do.

“Dios te bendiga mija,” answered my mother while hugging me. “Listen, get ready. Food is almost ready, and your uncles and cousins are coming over to eat.”

When my mother said that, I just stood frozen. I was so frozen that I could actually take Princess Elsa’s part in the movie Frozen. What does she mean? My cousins are coming over? She must be kidding me! She better be! If that’s the case, it means Lilly will be here, and I don’t have the means to deal with her. I mean isn’t it ironic that she is named Lilly, when Lilly means purity, and she was screwing my boyfriend. So pure! As my mind comes back to earth, I could hear my mom calling my name like crazy.

 

“Amelia, muchacha, I’m talking to you,” said my mother very angrily. “Ese noviesito of yours is really having you acting stupid.”

“Actually, me and him are not dating anymore mom,” I said, and as soon as I said that, my mother hugged me. “I found him cheating on me.”

 

I saved the detail that he cheated on me with my cousin, I didn’t to bring any drama to the family, but if I knew that summer night was going to end up with Lilly getting with Ryan, I would never have invited her to our camping trip.

 

Rewind…

 

I decided to bring my cousin to a camping trip that my friends and I planned. I mean, she was going to be in my school next year. This would be a great opportunity for her to meet people and make friends. But she was more of a loner. She stayed by herself. As we began to light some wood on fire, my boyfriend came, late as always. He came up to me and kissed me, but I rushed him to introduce him to my cousin.

 

“So this is my cousin,” I said while I grabbed her by the arm. She looked kind of weird, but she was a shy person, so I didn’t pay much attention.

“What’s your name?” Ryan asked her, but she just kept quiet and stood frozen.

“Her name is Lilly. Excuse her, she tends to be really shy,” I said as Ryan and I walked away from her.

 

Present time…

 

I kept reliving the memory in my head. I stayed in my room. My mom didn’t bother me on going downstairs. I know she felt like I was going to break at any moment. But I wasn’t. I can’t deny that the betrayal from both parties made me feel downhearted, but I wasn’t going to let them break me.

 

I spent most of the evening hiding in my room. I knew Lilly was downstairs since I heard her voice. She really got some nerve coming here. If I was in her position, I would never show up to the girl’s house whose boyfriend I screwed.

 

Lilly’s POV…

 

I was really nervous, facing Amelia? After what I’ve done? That’s signing my own death certificate. I am hundred percent sure she is going to beat my ass. My mother insisted on me coming over since Amelia’s mom called with the chisme that Ryan cheated on her. She thought I could make her feel better. Apparently Amelia saved to herself that I was the girl she found Ryan with. Amelia didn’t come out of her room. Mother insisted on me going to her room, but I was ashamed.

 

“Go hang out with Amelia. You could really make her feel better,” said my mother.

“Quit insisting. If she hasn’t come out, that means she wants to be alone,” I quickly lied. I know I am the last person she wants to see right now.

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Lilly,” said my mother as she grabbed my arm and dragged me to my cousin’s room. She knocked the door.

My cousin said, “Come in!”

Mother doesn’t know that she is inventing a new kind of stupid right now.

“Mija, I told Lilly to come cheer you up, you know since what happened,” said my mother as she quickly pushed me into my cousin’s room. She just led me to my own death!

Amelia just looked at me like, “Really bitch?”

I am actually scared. My mother just left me alone with my murderer. I looked everywhere. I looked to the corner where a little trash can is, looked at the pink walls where she used to have some pictures of her and Ryan. She took them off. The last time I was here, before getting caught by Amelia, she had them. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at everything but her. I didn’t have the nerve to look at her or say anything.

“Why did you do it?” asked Amelia in her voice. You could hear a little bit of disappointment, but she was trying to seem calm. I didn’t have an answer, at least not a valid one.

 

Rewind…

 

My cousin insisted on bringing me here. I didn’t want to come, but if I didn’t, I would have to stay all by myself, so I decided to come along. I was pretty bored. The place was nice. The tall trees and the smell of the soil were fantastic, and the campfire was beautiful. We could see everybody around it sharing some s’mores. The only thing that sucked was the mosquitoes.

 

That’s when I saw him. The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. Oh look at those eyes… The deep brown of his eyes made me feel completely helpless. His black, long hair pulled into a ponytail, his light skin, oh god! Every detail about him was so perfect. I tried to catch him just giving me a glance, but I saw him walking towards my cousin, and when he kissed her, my heart crushed. It exploded. My cousin approached me. He followed her. She told him I was her cousin. He asked my name, but his presence made me forget it. Why out of all the boys, I had to like the one that my cousin is dating? I can assure you I won’t be happy.

 

Present time…

 

“So, why did you do it? Why out of all the boys it had to be Ryan?” she asked.

“I am so sorry for any distress I’ve caused,” I apologized.

“Do you think you feeling sorry is going to fix anything? The damage is already done! It is hard to listen to you apologizing with a straight face,” she almost yelled at me, but I knew she didn’t want to draw any attention to what is happening in this room. If she was to beat me up, I would accept that ass whooping. I deserved it. She walked towards me. I really thought I was through, but she just walked out. I don’t know why, but I followed her to the living room.

“Why are you following me?” she yelled at me. “I don’t want you near me, don’t you get that?

“Okay, what is going on?” asked my aunt. “Don’t be yelling at your cousin like that, she haven’t done anything to you!”

“She haven’t done anything to me?” she questioned her as she turned around to look at her mother. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know that Lilly is the girl that I found Ryan with. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to be the one that brought drama into the family, but there you go. Please let it be know that my cousin is a putita.”

 

It suddenly hit me. How could I have done this? She is my cousin, and I love her more than anything. How could I let my emotions get the best of me? I should have stood by. I am truly sorry for causing any distress in her relationship. I wish we could have been more discreet, but I am not sorry for wanting him like I did. My mother rushed me out of Amelia’s house. I looked at her. In her face you could see how embarrassed she was. She couldn’t even look at me in the eyes. As soon as I got home, I locked myself in my room and closed my curtains. I laid in my bed.

 

I wasn’t really happy in my own relationship. I really wasn’t. I wouldn’t let my own boyfriend see the pictures on my phone, but I did let her boyfriend see them. It’s not like I’m saying that what we had was special, since it really wasn’t, but it was something rare. I truly regret every problem I’ve caused in his relationship. I wish we could have been more discreet. I’m not sorry for wanting him like I did. At the end of the day, I had to call him, text him, or end the night kissing his lips. Even with Amelia right beside me, he looked at me in a way that revealed every single detail between us. He will always be there for me, even if it meant risking his own relationship. Every moment we shared I felt this fake happiness, because after all, he only loved his girlfriend. He would go on about how he didn’t want to lose her and how we should end this for the better. His heart was completely hers, but looking pathetic, I asked him to stay. When she left him, it killed him. He made mistakes, and I was one of them. Even when he had his arms around me while we lay in the couch, I could tell Amelia was the only thing in his mind. None of this really matters anymore. I’m going to move one, as suprinsly as that sounds. I will move on but not completely, as I will always carry a picture of us in my phone.

 

Central Park

There was a sound, like gobs of blinking eyes. It was merely an echo-y whisper, yet it was disconcerting because there was nothing that could make that blinking sound around you, and though you had felt ocean waves hitting your feet then receding, they made no sound. You had been surrounded by a magenta foggy haze that had prevented you from seeing little more than dark purple shadows. Approximately six of these shadows were standing, stationary, people each in their own inhuman positions, in a circle silently around you, on the ground that felt like turf, but looked like concrete and in the distance, upon the horizon, a small circle shined a light lavender hue. Other than this there was nothing. You were taking out your notepad and beginning to write what you saw (you used to always write down your observations) when you were greeted to an echo of garbled speech in a language far from your own. The fog had begun to fade, and you had seen the faces of the people (no, not people, statues), around you. Their faces were wrinkled, raisin-y, gloomy faces, and their broken positions looked as if several bones in their bodies had been broken beyond repair. Despite their traumatizing appearance, they had seemed to compliment the “nothingness” that you had previously thought surrounded you. The “nothingness” had revealed itself to be something you hadn’t expected: the ground under your feet was neither turf nor concrete but wet sand (like the beaches up north — less grainy more compact), and the emptiness that had been covered by the haze was not at all empty, in fact the only thing that was what you thought was the bright (now white) sun looking down at your from its place on the horizon. Behind you had been eyes — what seemed like millions of them of all different sizes and shapes (hooded, almond, monolid, deep set, prominent, round, downturned, upturned, large, and small) — blocking your view of anything but the ocean, and they were blinking. Not all at the same time but all at different times and lengths of times. The eyes were staring nowhere in particular all of them moved in different directions and never seemed to be looking at the same spot. You can’t remember, right now, whether you stayed and watched for a while or just went straight to writing but you do remember that after you had finished writing you clicked your pen. All the eyes had stared at you. Some of them eyeing your scribbles, others your face and various parts of your body. The statues had began to move. They had started to twist and turn in impossible ways. They had not moved anywhere, just stayed in their place on the circle when the world had began to quake (as such worlds often do) and fade into a new one.

 

You were now in a basement. You did not look like yourself. Staring into a puddle formed by leaking pipes you saw your face. Your skin had a sickly yellow pallor, your eyes were sunken and a weird color blue (translucent like fog, but also dark like the deepest parts of the ocean), the bones in your face were pronounced, the bags under your eyes seemed to be the only place where your skin wasn’t tight to your skull. You were beginning to turn away and close your eyes (you were horrified by the face in the water) when the ceiling had disappeared, and whatever the basement was under just left. You were greeted by burning sunlight even though the sun only slightly bigger than the one in your last world, people from the street had looked down at you and your raggy, colorful, too big clothes as tears poured from your eyes. You had been happy to see them, and you attempted to reach them but the house reappeared. Your heart had sank, and you wanted to do nothing more than sleep and cry, but you remembered your book. This time you clicked your pen quietly, and no eyes had stared (there were no staring eyes in this world, silly). Soon you were scribbling words, and drawings that felt strange (but familiar) when a shout had sounded above you. It was a high-pitched squeal that you had never heard before, and wished you hadn’t heard at all. At the sound of it you were filled with dread, and you had longed to see the sun again. You had felt terrified for the person who squealed. Footsteps had been approaching the door that you hadn’t noticed before, the door that seemed to be the only way out. This time, the world simply faded.

 

The next time you were awakened you were close to the ground, you were in a much happier setting, the sun shone delightedly through the trees, and it had been much closer than you remember it being before. This time there was someone with you. They were silently skipping along their short legs, working hard to keep up with your pace, as they danced over foliage and avoided all the visible bugs that lurked beneath the upturned fallen brown leaves. You had slowed down your pace out of consideration for your silent partner, and she had smiled and nodded a thank you. Then, for a minute or two, you guys walked like that under the towering trees with auburn and burgundy and golden leaves, and branches that shook with every soft blow of the wind and movement of a bird. The only sounds that could have been heard were the birds and the cicadas and the trees swaying. Around you were only trees and bushes and flowers and birds one minute and the next you were in a meadow. Now you can’t remember whether you just weren’t paying attention as you walked or if the setting just changed, but it didn’t matter then. Back then you knew where you needed to be. On the picnic blanket with the girl and Apples (the posh anthropomorphic pony who often made declarations for the town of Ridinia). Upon making it there you had been greeted by a feast carried in by ants, and the girl spoke for the first time. “You’ve been awfully silent Madison.” She spoke with a midwest accent, but seemed to be going for a posh English one.

“I am sorry. I am just a bit tired, you must forgive me,” you had said in an equally horrible attempt to be posh.

“You are forgiven, but you must get some sleep or you’ll get sick,” the girl said, her warm brown eyes had seemed very concerned, before she happily turned to Apples. “Any city news Apples it is most boring here in one of my many country homes.”

“Oui, oui, mon amiem,” the pony had whinnied in a failed attempt to speak French. You had sighed and took out your book and silently began to write. (Something in you was telling you how rude it was to do so, but you only had two pages left to write after this one. Surely it would be forgiven.) “Ahem. Madison.”
“Please excuse me, I do not wish to offend you, I simply do not wish to forget this magical day,” you told them. They had looked unimpressed. “Besides I’m preparing for a job as a secretary.” The girl nodded forgivingly, and Apples had simply rolled his eyes.

“Nevertheless, I shall continue,” Apples sighed, “now, Rina is the biggest talk of the town at the moment because… ” Apples was cut off by an alarm echoing for someone to wake up. The girl sighed, and the sun disappeared.

 

You had woken up groggily to an alarm that rang an hour late. A dog had looked up at you as you rushed out of bed, and followed your normal morning routine instinctively. Two minute shower, one minute to dry off and put on clothes, three minutes to eat, five minutes to catch your favorite cartoon. Except something was wrong. You had noticed this around the third minute of your cartoon as Captain Pickles began dueling his rival Captain Coleslaw. Usually, it was around this time your mother would wake up in a tizzy upon hearing the clash of swords, but this time there was no body. Not a sound. Although you had been enthralled in the show, you had been more creeped out by the silence. A quick run around the house you found no one. Twice around, the dog following you this time, you had again found nothing. Panicked, you had sighed, sometimes she was at work at this time you remembered. It was time for you to leave anyway, so you walked outside. At first you had noticed nothing but the fact that the sun was much bigger and much closer than normal (it looked like it was in the town center, and it felt like it was baking you alive). Then you had realized no one was on the street, and your dog was right beside you. The same dog you had just left inside your house. Your hands had begun to shake, not wildly, but enough that you dropped your water bottle and it had echoed sinisterly in the empty streets. Your dog had barked, adding to the echoing and it had created a terrifying din. “Shut up, Sparky,” you had said. Sparky had not shut up. Your fear had turned to anger at this point, and you had stomped away angrily thinking about how when you find these people you’ll… you’ll… if only that dog would shut up. You had turned the corner unto what is usually the biggest street, but all there was were neatly parked cars, and neat little closed shops with clean sparkling windows showcasing neat shoes or clothes or toys in a dark room. You saw the local coffee shop had its door open and other than the sun-lit streets it had been the only well lit place. With the howls of your dog, who was still stuck on your block, ringing in your ears you had marched into the shop in attempts to demand an answer. You were greeted to an interior that was not that of the coffee shop of your childhood, but that of a room with a tiki bar with tie-dye blankets on the walls, and comfortable bean bags speckled with people lazing around a bit drunkenly.

“Sit, stay a while,” a voice, belonging to a man who had tried to lead you to a chair, had slurred. “Don’t you have something to write?” You had nodded, confused on how he knew about your book, but somehow unable to voice that confusion. You had followed him into a room connected to the bar, it was white and brightly lit with a table in the middle that looked like an interrogation table from cop movies.

“Write,” he had said as he pulled out a chair and you sat. You had complied as if hypnotized, immediately scribbling your story. You had been so focused on writing (no, documenting) you had noticed nothing else. Now you try to remember how the floor fell from beneath you, but then all you could do was fall. Still focused on your writing you hadn’t realized you were falling until you had finished the page and you had snapped out of your writing haze. The ground had been close, too close, and you were about to hit it when all had turned black.

 

You were looking up at the hill in front of you, it was green and had a few flowers, and looked like a hill from a fairy tale. You did not have the same majestic look. Your skin had had folds and flopped and stretched out the the spandex you were wearing. For some reason you had convinced yourself that this hill would give you the look you wanted. You just had to run. You had taken a step, and then another (but you had wanted to go faster), and then another one. You had started sweating at this point. Your skin flabs had collided as you used all of your energy to move up the hill, you accelerated and created new bends and warps in time and space. Your breath was short and shallow, and you had wanted to double over, but you had pushed on. The sun seemed as though you could reach it if you ran up this hill, and it beamed as though it was too. You had no book, but you hadn’t really remembered why you thought about a book but you had shrugged it off. The top of the hill had been so far, too far, no book was worth thinking about when the hill was far more important Your earbuds played a song that you can no longer remember. What you do remember are the shimmering notes, the tones that had seeped into your ears and then had circulated throughout your nervous system forcing your feet to move faster than you wanted them to. You fell, and out of nowhere a book had tumbled and landed at the bottom of the hill next to you, a pen rolled neatly on top of it. You had instinctively took the book, popped the pen and wrote furiously. The last page was soon filled with a drawing of the hill, and lovely soliloquies about your first trip up the hill, you had wanted to write more, but you ran out of space. So you had started up the hill again, this time you had felt lighter, skin still twisted and slapped and jiggled but it didn’t hold you down the same way. This time you started and continued, book in hand towards the burning sun. Sweat had dripped off you like rain off a car going way too fast on the freeway, it flew behind you, and had clouded your eyes, and drenched your short dark locks of hair, and discolored the brown spandex that attempted to stretch around you but ended up bunched in your crotch or under your armpits. The sun had seemed to be calling you, it called you Michael, you had been sure that wasn’t your name, but you had no idea what your name was so you accepted Michael. As you edged closer you could see nothing but bright, hot light reflecting off sweat, and possibly tears. Your skin had felt as though it was burning off, the fat melting and unveiling a new person. It was painful at first, but the pain had faded by the time you had made it to the top, and climbed into the sun.

 

You had been (are being?) faced with a totally new setting, you could (can?) not feel yourself or see yourself, you could (can?) only see white. Blinding white, and a frog on a white marble pedestal. You were (are?) staring at it and it was (is?) staring at you for what seemed (seems?) like hours, when it talks. “Michael here is your entrance to reality.” It blinked (blinks?).

 

And you are waking up, cloudy eyed, groggy, and a bit damp. Around you is a garden filled with beautiful marigolds, hydrangeas and roses, and trees with, green leaves, all wet with rain and a little stream with a cute wooden bridge, which is made a splotchy brown from the previous rain. Next to you is an old man who is sleeping, and his head is resting on your shoulder. You are gently placing his head on the back of the damp bench, and standing up. You are looking both ways, trying to decide whether you should follow the trail left or right, or go over the bridge. A fish is swimming close to the surface of the water, it is a goldfish that is larger than usual, and its red and gold scales are twinkling beneath the rippling surface drawing your eyes towards it as it is passing beneath the bridge. You are sighing, and then beginning to walk. Something is jingling with the motion of your feet, you are looking down as you cross the bridge, you are noticing that your shoes are red loafers with hints of gold and a scale like pattern that have little bells attached to the tops of them, and beneath your shoes the fish is swimming. Your bells have stopped tinkling, but something continues blending melodically the sound of the water and the fish has stopped swimming now. It is below you just stationary. There is no wind, but the bells tingle a high pitched, long note, and the fish moves. Everything around and within you is tingling, it feels as if tiny strings are trying to vibrate as one, like an orchestra that helps create the world around you. It has stopped now, and you are continuing to walk, taking soft, quiet steps, and looking only ahead knowing that your journey has commenced.

 

You are walking over a puddle, and you look down (first time since the bridge), your shoes are soaking through, giving them a darker color, which you can see in the puddle along with your black slacks which look newly washed and hang between the puddle and the beginning of your shoes as if unsure whether it wants to get wet or not, but knowing that it does not want to reveal the skin beneath it. Your feet are beginning to get a little cold, so you are hopping out of the puddle and down the asphalt path. The dirt of the garden path had been gone since a while back, it had turned to mud, and then to asphalt. It is still a park, and there are many trees hanging around you, pouring remnants of rain on you whenever the wind blows to hard, and rats scurry beneath the leaf covered grass and dirt on either side of you. You are continuing to walk past that, and towards a playground filled with screaming little kids running wild and tired parents. You are stopping in front of it, leaning on the fence surrounding it, and looking at the kids chase after each other. Their feet are slapping the black rubber tiles, the tiles are the same black as your pants, a deep dark black that almost looks like what nothing would look like. Like the opening to a void, you are staring at it for a minute. For that minute you are focusing only on the foam, the worn, scratched, torn foam, for a moment you are hearing nothing but the sound of slapping feet against foam, it starts out loud and reverberates with the sound of many feet, and then it slows and organizes itself eventually stopping. You are confused and looking up at the children who have started grouping themselves and talking. You are listening to the conversations, and they are typical work conversations filled with surface level scratches at how they’re doing, and what’s up with them. The kids faces are in states of weariness, over enthusiasm and calm expressionless stares. “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet, David, don’t talk to me about this.” One is mumbling in the southwest corner. You are looking towards their parents and you see nothing. You’re staring at the empty benches for a moment. Taking in the absence, and then you are blinking. You are realizing you haven’t blinked in a while, your eyes are dry and your eyelids feel somewhat scratchy as they move to meet each other. You’re find that you are experiencing the same feeling of billions of vibrating strings around you, and inside of you, this time it is more organized, but it is still too messy to make sense of the music, the reason. The kids are playing again. Their shouts and joyful expressions are back, and you are walking away, brushing off the vibrations.

 

You are thinking of nothing as you walk, and right now you can’t remember ever thinking of something. Is remembering thinking? You are stepping into a puddle, and though you can feel the dirt and water seeping into your shoes, you can’t feel anything else. No sense of disappointment at having your shoes ruined or dismay at having soaking feet. The park gates are looming ahead of you, and you are walking towards them staring blankly ahead. Your bells seem to be tinkling a lot quieter now creating a soft din that keeps you marching like a soldier. The gates are even closer, and you can see the black paint peeling and the hardly noticeable warp that causes the gates to curve away from the park at the slightest angle. As you are walking past the gates the smell of damp leaves and trees and urine, are exchanged for the smell of gasoline, sidewalk cart food, garbage, and a tiny bit of sewage surrounding you with every whiff of the slightly suffocating air. You are walking to your left over garbage and past people and tiny plots of dirt harboring garbage and trees. A store door opens and the smell of chemicals with a bit of a flowery scent wafts out with the air conditioned air. You are walking in and are greeted to rows and rows of makeup and perfume. You are walking towards the perfume section, and one bottle is catching your eye. It has a silvery glass, with bejeweled butterflies flying around it, and was topped with a shimmering blue diamond. You are picking it up and holding it, and in the mirror behind it you see your hands (which look huge compared to the tiny bottle, but somehow delicate) and your shirt, a white polo with an unbuttoned top button and an orange suit jacket.

“Are you thinking about buying that for your wife?” a woman is asking you as you are staring at yourself holding the bottle. You give her a confused look at first, and then nod. She is smiling. “Ask me if you need anything.” And then she is walking away.

You spray the perfume in front of your face and take a deep inhale. The smell is oddly bilgy, and you are beginning to cough. In the mirror in front of you, you can see a ship, a hulking beast with it’s hull turned toward you, and the water seems to dampen your face as you cough. No one in the store around you seems to notice, they are continuing to shop as you are watching the ship pass you by, the stench still lingering. You are closing your eyes, but the smell and sea spray continues. The smell is malodorous, and now you are holding your nose. It is stopping and you are standing up straight and turning the perfume bottle away from your face, pulling your finger off the top, and placing the bottle back. There is no longer a foul smell, instead an all to flowery stench is replacing it. You are staring at your shirt, and now your empty hands in the mirror as the same orchestra of tiny strings vibrates everywhere, and this time it is almost as if you can hear a melody. It is stopping, and you are turning away.

 

You are on a train, and it is night time. As the rest of the train sleeps, rocked by the motion of the train and calmed by the gentle hum of the train’s wheels on the tracks, you are staring out the window, dark brown bags attempting to pull your lids down. You are not so much resisting the urge to sleep as you are giving into your curiosity. Outside the window is not the city you had walked around in during the day, nor is it the false forest you woke up in. For a while the scenery consisted of shops in the middle of nowhere, and then suburban backyards, and now it is the forest. Trees that rock with the harsh blowing of the wind (a storm is coming) as their branches reach out for the train, and bushes that are half of your size line the tracks that weeds grow in between. The flowery stench of the perfume is almost gone, and now the only other smell is the dinner you had, the coffee and ham sandwich on rye.

“May we join you?” a woman is asking, standing over you in the doorway of your compartment. She was wearing a black coat trimmed with fur that is hanging to her black shiny boots, and behind her legs stands a small boy with deep brown eyes who is peeking shyly behind her.

“No problem,” you are saying, and she is sitting on the other side of the compartment, her son resting on her lap.

“You look tired,” she is observing in attempts to make quiet conversation.

Her fiery red nails (sharpened at the end like claws) tapped gently on the windowsill. You aren’t particularly sure what to reply, so you let the observation hang in the air between you. It seems just as well, as she is shrugging and now she is leaning back and closing her eyes. Her son was staring up at you curiously, and tugging his jacket closer around him. You are ignoring him and looking out the window, you’re seeing the reflection of the boy and his mother whose finger curls stay stationary despite the bobbing of her head. The boy is touching you, his tiny, skinny hand reaching out and patting your arm. His hands are a sticky, rubbery wet, and suddenly they are grasping your hands, and he is staring up at you. Your hands are feeling as though they are being grabbed by something fluffy and warm, and you are seeing them covered by soft winter gloves whose leathery covering were wet with snow around you a cabin with a warm fire glowing and softly crackling across the room. The torn, and tattered train cushions turn into a warm couch, and the woman is standing in front of you absent mindedly chattering, and then she is turning and staring at you neither of you blinking or talking just staring. Your hands are no longer warm now they are cold and the warm couch is simply the train cushion, the boy is sitting curled up in his mother’s lap and the soft swaying of the train car resumes. You are gripping the arm rests, and the strings are vibrating softly, almost visibly, but definitely audibly. They’re playing an interesting melody, slightly out of tune and out of order, and now they are stopping and you are resuming your ride.

You are walking down a quiet Pennsylvania street towards some house (you can’t remember if it’s yours or not). The sidewalks are small, and plants occasionally spill over from the gardens or form a sort of barrier between you the street making the sidewalks too small to walk on, so you are walking in the street lined with cars neatly parked and stationary (you’ve seen no motion anywhere around you and the air is stale and windless.) There is no noise, and you are facing the ground as you climb up the steep hill, the hot sun shining too bright for you to be able to look up, but you begin to look up now. You are seeing a girl on a bike, her face in shadows and her backlit with the glowing sun, she is not moving, her right hand holds a lollipop in her mouth, while her left is resting on the bike handle. Her left shoulder is sagging lower than her right, and her left foot stands on the ground her while her right lays on the pedal. Her bike, pink with rainbow streamers coming from dark black handles is slanted to the side and unmoving. It looks as if she is preparing to ride down the hill you are attempting to climb and she is fixing you with a harsh, hard stare. Her mouth is fixed and concentrated, her eyebrows are furrowed, her blues eyes doll-like and glassy, and her strawberry blonde hair hangs in a limp ponytail at the top of her head. You are staring at her with equal intensity, and you have stopped moving for what seems like hours but is probably just a minute, then you are walking up a hill towards the house and she is saying, “I could’ve sworn I saw you in my dream” while speeding past you on her bicycle. Now you are turning to look at her, the strings vibrating and playing a sinister song, each one looks like a small dot that makes up the world around you, a dot almost to small to see. She is leaving your line of sight and you are turning around, and continuing your way up the hill slowly but surely, and the sun keeps beating down on you.

 

You are in a house, laying on a bed the strings have not stopped playing and you are tired. They have simmered down, their sinister trills turning into a lullaby. You still see them. You can’t stop seeing them unless you close your eyes. So you are closing your eyes, you are trying to stay awake for some reason but can’t. Something is dragging you down. Something is making everything go dark. Everything is dark, and silent and your snores are filling the room.

 

And you will wake up, cloudy eyed, and groggy. Around you will be a garden filled with beautiful marigolds, hydrangeas and roses, and trees with fresh, green leaves, all wet with rain and a little stream with a cute wooden bridge, which is splotchy from the rain. Next to you will be an old man who is sleeping with his head resting on your shoulder. You will wake him and ask him where you are. He will turn and face you, his face wrinkled and serious and say nothing.

 

A Stranger Knocked at the Door

It was a normal Saturday afternoon, and Marci was making dinner. Onions were frying in the pan, there was chicken in the oven, and Oliver was playing with toy planes, casually whizzing them through the living room. All of a sudden, a stranger knocked at the door.

“Hide!” Marci told Oliver.

Oliver just continued playing with his planes as the stranger knocked again, this time with more force.

“Oliver, you need to hide. A man is at the door.”

This time, Oliver stopped his planes, picked them up, and went to the designated hiding space at the end of his closet. Marci opened the door.

“Who are you and what do you want,” Marci snapped aggressively.

The man calmly pulled out a small square photograph of a young boy, who looked about nine years old.

“I’m looking for this child. His name is Oliver Wicks. Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t, and I would appreciate it if you could leave my home now,” Marci replied.

“Ma’am, I’m just looking out for him. I’m trying to protect him.”

“I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The man flashed a smile. “That’s okay, just give me a call if you see him. I really just want what’s best for him.”

The man extended his gloved hand, revealing a long, dark scar across his arm. In his hand was a card with a phone number and a name on it. Red Sun Labs, it read. Shortly after the man left, Marci went to Oliver’s room.

“Come on, Oliver. Pack up your stuff. Time to leave again.”

Without saying a word, Oliver quickly put everything in his room into an old, battered suitcase. Marci led him out of the small cottage and into her car. The car was an ancient Ford pickup truck Marci had purchased from a used car dealership. It had more than 150,000 miles on it and could only go up to 50 miles per hour.

Right before they left, Oliver said, “Mom, you forgot to give me my medicine.”

“Oh right, sorry,” said Marci.

Marci fished into her purse and took out a bottle containing several bright red pills. She took out three and gave them to Oliver, who swallowed them. Marci put the pills back into her purse and began driving again. After a few hours of driving, Marci pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station.

Marci walked into the store and told the man at the counter, “I need the usual, new passport, new license, new house.”

“Okay, that will cost $335,” the man behind the counter said.

“What! I don’t have that kind of money. It used to be cheaper.”

“Sorry, Marci, my landlord keeps raising the lease. The prices can’t be as cheap as they used to be.”

“Come on, Marius, you owe me for what Oliver did for you two years ago.”

“Give me a break, Marci! I wouldn’t have gotten in that situation were it not for you in the first place.”

“Fine, Marius, but if anything ever happens to you in the future, don’t expect me to bring Oliver to save you. He’s not a superhero, you know.”

And with that, Marci plopped a few wrinkled up bills on the desk and walked out of the store.

As Marci got into her car, the man ran out of the store holding the money and shouted, “Hey! This is only $200! Give me the rest of the money!”

“Too bad,” Marci shouted back, and she got into the car and started driving.

As Marci was driving, Oliver asked her from the backseat, “Mom, why did Mr. Malum come to look for me?”

Confused and suddenly worried, Marci asked, “Who’s Mr. Malum?”

“He’s the man that came to the house. He was in charge of helping me with my powers at the school.”

Oh no, this is worse than I thought, Marci thought to herself.

“Mr. Malum just came for a short visit. He wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He just kept playing with his planes, as if nothing had happened. Eventually, Marci stopped the car next to a small red shack on the side of the highway. The shack looked similar to the previous one they had lived in, and the one before that, and the one before that. Marci and Oliver had never lived in the same place for more than a year. As much as Marci wanted to, she knew it was too dangerous.

 

As Marci and Oliver settled into the new house, a feeling of nervousness began to settle over Marci, as she contemplated what she would do next. She knew she would have to face more people from Red Sun Labs eventually. She couldn’t run forever. And she would also have to tell Oliver the truth at some point about what had really happened, and why they were constantly on the run. After mulling it over, Marci decided it was finally time to tell Oliver what had really happened.

“Oliver, come here. I need to tell you something,” she shouted across the house.

Oliver came to the table where his mom was sitting. “What?”

“Remember how a few years ago I came to the school you were at, and I took you to live with me?”

Oliver nodded.

“Well, when I took you from there, I was really rescuing you, because the people that were working there, like Mr. Malum, were actually trying to harm you. They were trying to use you so they could do experiments on your abilities.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, not really showing much interest.

“The reason we have been moving from place to place is because people like Mr. Malum have been trying to get you back, so they can do more experiments.”

“Can I go fly my planes now?” asked Oliver.

“Sure.”

Shortly after her discussion with Oliver, Marci heard a knock on the door. She went to open it, and her heart dropped when she saw who it was. Mr. Malum was at the door, with three other men, all holding guns. Marci tried slamming the door, but Malum held it open.

“I’m done playing games. I tried to be nice, and you didn’t listen. I need Oliver now. I know he’s with you. Your friend at the gas station told me everything.”

All of a sudden, Oliver came out from his room. He looked enraged, and his eyes were glowing bright red. Before anyone could say anything, Oliver flicked his wrist and sent all four men flying in the air, instantly dying on impact with the ground. A look of pride came across Marci’s face. Oliver had saved them. The men were gone, and she didn’t have to worry anymore. But when she turned around to look at Oliver, she saw he wasn’t there anymore. Oliver had gone back into his room and was playing with his planes, as if nothing had even happened. Marci smiled, and she and Oliver lived the rest of their lives without ever having to worry again.

 

Bob the Glob-da-Blob on Shlob

One day, a peasant of the Glob-da-Blob tribe was born on the planet Shlob. A Glob-da-Blob has multiple tentacles, and their eye is at where our stomach is. It’s really weird, but I’m not judging. His name was Bob.

The moment his parents took him home from the local hospital, they played Glob-da-Mini-Sport. Miniature basketball, as we call it. Every night instead of sleeping, they would play Glob-da-Mini-Sport. They played on a little net with a tiny ball. The teams would always be Bob and his mom against his dad. Usually he and his mother would win. They had such a good time together and when Bob would practice by himself, Bob’s parents would quietly admire Bob’s skills and could see him in the official Glob-da-Sport league.

But one horrible night, the rivals called the Rabbid Rabbits attacked. Many Glob-da-Blobs had died, and this left the planet mourning because all they wanted was the basketball court. The Glob-da-Blob’s tried to fight back multiple times, but never succeeded. Many peasants’ houses were attacked, leaving crying baby Glob-da-Blobs in several houses surrounded by fire, later to find out that Bob’s parents had both passed away. The babies who lost their parents were later sent to an orphanage, and there was this one baby Glob-da-Blob that nobody wanted. It was Bob. As the children capacity went smaller, and smaller, Bob was still there.

He was really sad and slept in the bookshelf, which actually had no books on it, so that created a lot of room for him. He didn’t care if he would bump his head. He actually wanted to because he knew his life was ruined because of his parents passing away, so he always thought, What’s the point of life? All he wanted was to have his parents back. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it and ever since then, he would always do the opposite of what others told him. He used to be such a good kid and used to have huge potential and now, now he’s just a sad little Glob-da-Blob that nobody wants to take from an orphanage.

The King and Queen had no children, and they needed some children to continue the royal family name as theirs. The King and Queen walked around, examining every child in the orphanage. They even had the dog sniff to try to find out who the best child would be. Every child was begging to be chosen. Every child, except one. Bob was just lying down in the corner, knowing he wouldn’t be chosen. This was the only orphanage on the planet, so a lot of children were there, especially because of the Rabbid Rabbits attack. The royal family turned to Bob, and they looked most interested in Bob to be their child.

“I want him,” said the king.

“Sounds good to me,” replied the queen in a posh British accent.

Bob was later dragged out and yelling, “What are you doing?!?” The head of the orphanage then announced that Bob has been chosen. What? he thought. No Way. Turns out, yes way.

Bob didn’t really like the rich life and just wanted his childhood back. Most of the time, he just laid on the ground next to his bed because he felt more comfortable sleeping with his small blanket and dusty pillow on just a little mattress. Later, the king thought that the bed was just a huge waste of money if Bob wasn’t going to sleep on it, so the king hired some people to decorate the room like his old room in his old house. Bob loved it!! After that, Bob became good again, just like he used to be. This made him much easier to take care of.

One day, the king had set a challenge for Bob. Defeat the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon to unlock your sword, found inside a chest that is inside the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. Bob stepped up to this challenge with a small wooden sword and a soft metal shield.

The young Glob-da-Blob ran up the mountain yelling, “FOR GLORY!”

He did that just for style. The Glob-da-Blob tribe was planning to attack the Rabbid Rabbits for a long time now, and they needed a general. That general is planned to be Bob. All the other candidates have failed to attack the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon and now, Bob has been put up to the test.

Bob has now climbed up to the top of the mountain. He couldn’t see the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” shouted Bob.

Then, a giant long worm thing with no eyes and only smell, sniffed its way right in front of Bob. Bob then screamed, running around the mountain with his tentacles.

The King then was carried up the mountain by his servants and went up to Bob. The king pointed his sword at the young Glob-da-Blob and said, “Defeat this or die. If you run away from the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon, you will face death. If you lose the battle, the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon will kill you. You have one hour. I prefer you face the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. I’m sorry I had to do this to you, but it’s the law. I will now leave you in peace.”

Bob immediately panicked!

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, what law does he mean?” said Bob, still running around the mountain.

The Gloob-dob-lob-dagon attacked Bob, and Bob defended himself with the shield. After that attack, the shield completely broke. Great, just what he needed. Bob attacked the monster with his sword, but that just broke the sword.

“This sucks! I brought all this stuff up here, and it just breaks!”

Right now, Bob was just thinking about his parents and how disappointed they would be. Then, he remembered what his father had told him when he was young. Nature is always by your side. That’s it! He needed to use the things around him to get inside the monster. There were trees and some rocks. Bob, still running around, knocked down a tree, jumped on it, and slipped right into the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon’s mouth. In he went. This was probably the best slide ever!

Bob slid down and when he got to the stomach, there was another monster to take care of. It was the defender of the Sword of Glory. Bob remembered this time to use nature as his weapon. He twisted and turned, dodging the monster’s fireballs. He then made the monster super dizzy, and the monster fell into the lava. Bob turned to the chest and took out the Sword of Glory, but at the same time, something rose from the lava pool. It was the same defender of the Sword of Glory. It wasn’t going to let Bob out easy. Bob first tried the same thing he did with it last time, but this time, the defender didn’t look around trying to find Bob. The defender ferociously attacked Bob. Bob closed his eyes and put his sword right in front of him. A few seconds later, he was wondering why he didn’t die yet. He looked down and saw a bunch of rocks. Bob should get out of here before it’s too late. He climbed his way out and stabbed the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon right in the chest.

“He did it, he really did it!” screamed every villager in town.

“We’ll see how he does next challenge,” whispered the king to the queen.

Bob sprinted down the mountain yelling, “FOR GLORY!” again. He was welcomed back with many more admirers.

“Congratulations,” said the king to Bob. “You’re the first one to ever defeat the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. I have much respect for people like you.”

“Thanks… Dad,” replied Bob.

“Do you know how to get more respect, son?”

“No, how?”

“By defeating the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.”

“Okay, I will do my best. Also, do I get another weapon if I defeat the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob?”

“Yes, you will get the Glorious Shield, but first, I must train you with the Glory Sword. Meet me in the Knight room at 2:00 am tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there.”

To celebrate Bob’s return, the tribe had a large feast. Everyone from the tribe was there. Bob sat at the front chair, and he gave a promise to protect this village, until he dies. The feast was a huge success and after that, Bob just went to bed. Meanwhile, the king and queen were praying that Bob would be okay for the next challenge.

“Ahhh, so tired,” Bob said, yawning. Bob jumped out of bed looking at his clock.

“Oh shoot, it’s 1:57!!” Bob yelled. He quickly ran around the room. “Don’t panic, don’t panic, I’m panicking!”

He quickly put on his clothes and sprinted out his room. The Knight room was all the way across the planet! The planet was small, so it’s not that bad. He sprinted as fast as he could. Oh no! He forgot his sword! He had to run all the way back to his room and run back towards the Knight room. He checked his watch, and it was 1:59! He ran even faster! As he saw the entrance, the clock turned to 2:00. He ran as fast as he could and finally made it. The king was already there.

“Why are you sweating?” asked the king, slowly walking back and forth.

“I-I-I,” replied Bob, speaking out of breath.

“Why are you panting?”

“I-I r-ran he-here.”

“You shouldn’t be running. To be a general, you need to be strong, organized and responsible. You can’t arrive to the battlefield tired, can you?”

“N-no sir.”

“This is your first warning. You get three, and you can’t be a general anymore. Here, I am not your father, but your mentor. We will meet here every morning at 2:00 am. Set your alarm clock to 1:00 am. When you wake up, I want you to do 25 push ups, 25 sit ups and 25 squats. And keep this in mind. I’m watching you. Now, let’s get to practice. The first thing you want to do, is keep your sword in front of you. About half a foot away from your body. If you attack, you swing your sword to the right or left. Most likely, your opponent will defend it. The most important thing is to trust your instincts.”

“But what if my instincts go against me?”

“But what if they don’t? Just trust your instincts, and think positively.”

“Okay.” After five hours of training, Bob knew how to control the heavy Glory Sword better. He felt confident with his second challenge.

“I can do it,” said Bob to the king.

“Are you sure?” replied the king.

“100% sure.”

“Okay, get ready for the challenge this evening up on the mountain of Shlob, where you will unlock the Glorious Shield.”

As the afternoon passed, Bob would practice with his sword. He would think about what his father and king had told him. Nature is always on your side. Always strike at your opponent, and focus on the sword direction.

Later that evening, Bob went to the start of the mountain.

“You have thirty minutes from when the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob comes out. Remember the keys to winning battles,” told the king to Bob.

“One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side,” replied Bob in a commanding voice.

“Good, I have taught you well. Go out there and make me proud!” said the king, patting his back. As Bob climbed the mountain, he began thinking about his parents and how much he missed them.

He slowly walked up the mountain and raised his sword up high shouting, “FOR GLORY!” when he was almost there, once again. This time was also just for style. That’s his thing, ya know? Once he got to the top of the mountain, he stabbed his sword in the ground to wake the monster up. He pulled his sword out.

“Come at me monster,” shouted Bob, placing his sword in front of him. Then, a giant, slimy mix of lion and tiger came out of its den.

“I didn’t know it also had tentacles too?!” shouted Bob.

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob’s roar was literally ten thousand times louder than a normal lion. As it roared, spit came out of it and part of it landed on Bob.

“Ehh. You wanna play spitting games, huh,” said Bob spitting at the creature. “FOR GLORY!!!” Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob just picked him up.

“Ahhhhh, let me down!!” The monster just kept on licking Bob. “Why, why, why!!”

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob just really liked Bob, but Bob didn’t like the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob. Bob sliced the monster’s paw and got released. The creature started to cry a little. Then, the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob’s personality completely changed. It started to snarl at Bob. Both of them were circling the mountain. Bob was often trembling because he was scared this giant beast was going to attack him first. Bob just ran towards it again, but this time, he slid under the monster’s hand. The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob then growled again. Bob needed to use his size to attack the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob. He needed to sneak into the den and take out the Glorious Shield. He tried to slide under its paw again, but it didn’t work this time. He had been caught again! The king then came up the mountain with some other companions. The other “companions” turned out to be there to let the hand of the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob go.

“Son, you didn’t accomplish the mission. Thirty minutes have been up.”

“Now I die, right?”

“You’re supposed to, but lucky for you, I like you. So this’ll just count as a warning.”

“Thank you so much sir, thank you.”

“This is mercy. Do not take it for granted.”

“Yes sir!” Bob was never, ever again going to fight the monster with just a day of practice.

After several more days of training, Bob started to actually feel comfortable with the sword. No other mentor was better. That’s the same way Bob felt for his dad. The way the king is mentoring Bob, reminded him of the way his father mentored him.

“I think you’re ready, Bob,” said the king.

“You really think?” replied Bob.

“The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob should be easy for you now. No pressure though, I’m not forcing you to do it.”

“I think I can do it too,” said Bob in a cocky voice.

“Alright, this evening again. Same rules but no more mercy.”

“Yes sir. See you this afternoon.”

As Bob walked home, he kept on repeating the three keys of battle. One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side. One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side. One side of Bob was thinking, You can do it Bob, you can do it! The other side was thinking, No you can’t, you failed so badly last time! Bob couldn’t turn back though. He had to do it, for his legacy.

As he climbed up the mountain of Shlob, he shouted again, “FOR GLORY!!!” He did the same routine he did last time, and the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob came out of the cave again. Bob quickly ran around the whole mountain, chopping down all the trees as he trapped the giant Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.

“That’ll keep you still for a while,” said Bob, panting several times.

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob couldn’t get out whatsoever and tried to bump out of the tree trap, but it didn’t work. Bob easily got the Glorious Shield inside the cave and then consumed its power. Bob destroyed the trees and stabbed the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob right in the chest, raising his sword in the air, with the heart of the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.

“Hooray!” shouted every citizen in the tribe.

“He did it, he really did it!” shouted the queen.

Bob shouted, “FOR GLORY!” again when he ran down the mountain.

“Thank you so much, Dad. Thank you.”

He went up to the king and hugged him tight.

“You even hug like my father,” said Bob, chuckling.

“That’s because,” said the king, “I am your father.”

 

Eat: Reality or Hallucination?

 

There is a very fine line between reality and imagination, or in this case hallucination, but sometimes that line is so thin that you don’t know on which side you stand. It’s so hard to know and harder to find out. Are we losing our minds? Am I? Are you? I really think so.

 

Silently, she walked through the hallway. Her destination? The kitchen. Melody had studied hours to no end for the exam on psychology at the end of the week, and at the moment, she was hungry. So hungry that she could go to the savanna, hunt down a rhino, cook them, and finally eat them. She was so hungry that she started hallucinating back in her bedroom about a friendly dragon whose name was Phillp, helping her study about the different parts of the human brain. Yep, her occipital lobe was really active today, going hand in hand with her over caffeinated, powered imagination. What a lovely combination, hear the sarcasm. At least she hadn’t gone all Bertha Rochester. That was a plus. And now her brain was joking and comparing her with an insane fictional character from Jane Eyre. Maybe she should be happy that it wasn’t comparing her with Bellatrix Lestrange.

 

Melody stopped at the end of that thought, huffing humorlessly at herself.

 

“Yep, I’m gone crazy.” The lack of food was making her think weird. She continued down the hallway towards the kitchen. Hopefully her mother had gone to the grocery while she was in self-induced confinement, and yes, while some might think of still living with your parents as lame, Melody couldn’t bring herself to care about those people’s opinion. She didn’t have to cook for herself anymore, thank God. Last time she gave herself food poisoning, and the time before that, she had managed to somehow burn water of all things. She also didn’t have to worry about nosy and annoying roommates or not having hot water in the morning, so it was a win-win in her opinion.

 

Weirdly, the hallway looked darker than it had looked yesterday or four hours ago. In fact, the light that came through the big windows at her left looked almost gray-like. Maybe it was cloudy outside? But no, when Melody chanced a small glance out the closest window, the day was sunny, too sunny for her liking but sunny nonetheless. So why did it looked so dark in her house? Even now that she knew it wasn’t going to rain anytime soon, there was not a single change in how the hallway looked. The few pictures of herself and her parents looked out of place in there, even though those same pictures were there all her life. The light and the atmosphere made them look sad, longing.

 

“Spooky,” Melody muttered under her breath, but kept walking. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything yet? Yeah, it had to be that. She was seeing things again, no doubt.

 

The living room looked the same to her, but she noted that it had the same atmosphere of the hallway. It looked dark and gray, out of place, it had a different feel, and again she brushed it off as her lack of actual food. The kitchen was the same dark atmosphere and somewhat-gray light, but by this point she had stopped giving it any thought, so she walked straight to the fridge to see if there was anything that did not need cooking because she wasn’t in the mood of possibly dying by her own disastrous cooking, and she wasn’t about to starve to death, thank you very much.

 

“Let’s see what we have here,” she mussed to herself. “Tomatoes, lettuce, green pepper, cheese, bread… Wait, where is the ham? If there is cheese, there must be ham somewhere in here, right?… Aja!” Melody cried triumphantly when she saw the ham at the back of the fridge. A sandwich was in order.

 

Taking all the ingredients to the counter, Melody readied herself for the arduous battle of preparing edible food. Bread, lettuce, green pepper, tomato, cheese, ham, cheese again, tomato, green pepper and bread, Melody kept repeating over and over again on her mind. Maybe if she followed this mantra, she would actually made something she could eat, not that it mattered as she was so hungry that she could afford a go to the hospital to get her stomach pumped if needed. Looking down at her creation, Melody shrugged at its appearance. It was messy, but all the ingredients were alright. She checked.

 

“Well, at least it’s not alive or moving like last time.” Softly, she poked at the sandwich with a knife just to make sure it wasn’t alive. Shrugging again, she hurled the knife to the sink. “It must be fine, then.” Taking the sandwich, she reclined against the counter, a sigh of relief escaping her mouth. Finally, her stomach would stop eating itself after this.

 

Salivating, figuratively of course, she was about to happily bit into her lunch, when a weird noise came from the front door. It didn’t sound like anything she had heard before. The floor was creaking horribly, like it was under immense pressure or weight, but nothing else could be heard. Actually, everything was eerily silent, no birds chirping outside, no kids laughing or screaming after each other like before, no dogs barking, not the soft sound of the curtains moving with the wind, just silence. Nothing. Zero. Nada. Not even the sound of silence. This was unnatural silence. There was nothing in or outside the house doing a single sound. It was frightening, and while Melody was not panicking… yet, she found this lack of anything weird. She set the sandwich down in the counter at her back and silently walked to the kitchen door, which she had closed behind her, and yes, while most kitchens didn’t have wood doors separating them from the rest of the house, her mother had insisted on setting one the moment they moved to this house. Something about aesthetic and how a disastrous kitchen wasn’t good for an image, or something like that. Melody had tuned her mother out that time. She was turning the knob when the creepy, creaking sound made itself known again.

 

“Great,” Melody groaned sarcastically. “The weird, creepy, and absolutely not terrifying at all sound is back.” One look at the living room let her know that the gray-like atmosphere she had noted before had changed to a full on get-the-the-hell-outta-that-house-like-RIGHT-NOW atmosphere. If Melody wasn’t freaked before, she was for sure now. Chills ran up her spine, goosebumps up her arms, and cold sweat was going down her back and forehead. Yeah, freaked for sure. The creaking sounded once again, still coming from the front door. It was practically calling out at her.

 

“Mom?” Melody called against the better judgement she had obtained via seeing horror movies. It was a fact that you never called out to a creepy sound. It always got you killed in the movies, but Melody told herself this was reality, not a horror movie, and she kept telling her mind that when she called again. “Mom, is that you? I didn’t hear your car.” There was no answer, save for that horrible creaking of the floor. It was seriously getting on her nerves. “Seriously, if that’s you, Emily Parker, I swear to God!” She expected that by saying her mother’s name she would stop trying to scare her, but again there was no response, or at least not a human articulated response. This time instead of creaking, it was heavy breathing, something like an animal would do if they had run after their prey. “This is getting better and better.” Melody breathed out, and taking all her courage, finished walking to the front door. The creepy living room at her back did nothing to soothe her fraying nerves.

 

The sounds came from outside the door. Cautiously, Melody leaned her ear against the door, held her breath, and listened. Just listened and listened. The sounds had stopped, but that didn’t mean the fear finally creeping on her mind had. It was moving tenfold now with the sudden stillness and silence of the environment. She almost wished that the sounds were back. Almost, because the very second she was about to think that wish, someone, better yet, something, slammed against the door pushing her back a few steps. She admired, surprised. There was a small fracture in the same place on the door she had leaned her ear, and it was no small fracture. If she concentrated enough, she could see the green grass outside and the empty gray street. Whatever had been out there was gone.

 

A door on the other side of the house slammed shut. Yes, indeed whatever had been out there wasn’t out anymore. It was inside the house with her.

 

“Melody, Melody, Melody…” she heard coming from the hallway of her room, but the voice wasn’t from a monster. It was from someone she knew very well, someone that could not have been the one calling her name. It was impossible, that voice was her own.

 

“The hell is going on?” Melody, the real Melody, and not a humanless voice wandering in the back of her house, muttered while staring at the hallway directing to her bedroom. “This… This is not real, right?” she questioned herself. Her breathing was getting faster and so was her heartbeat. She was panicking, and she didn’t like that. She never panicked. Her friends called her The Ice Princess because she was always cool headed, and this voice resonating towards her must have had a logical explanation, but this could not be real. “The psychosis must have settled in… yeah, that’s it,” Melody said to herself. “Yeah, lack of sleep and too much coffee initiated a psychotic episode.” While trying to control her breathing, Melody forced herself to remember what psychosis meant.

 

Psychosis is a severe mental disorder in which thoughts and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality, and this is just a psychotic episode induced by sleep deprivation and too much caffeine in my system. Damn, Stephanie told me to have more sleep. Should have listened to her!! Melody forced this thought over and over on her mind, and the fact that she had saw the vision of Philip, the friendly dragon, not too long ago in her bedroom helped this mantra settle, but still something compelled her to follow her own voice through the hallway. Maybe it was her need to cement that this wasn’t real, maybe it was her own curiosity, or maybe it was something else, but now it didn’t matter because she was walking through the hallway, and she knew something was more than wrong. Everything felt out of place. The shadows were stronger than they were before, and it felt like they were trying to reach her and swallow her in eternal darkness. It gave her the chills.

 

“No way…” It came out loud, but Melody intended for it to only be on her mind.

 

Her body stopped abruptly. She knew she didn’t stop it. It stopped on its own, like it had a mind. She was in the middle of the hallway, looking directly in front of her to her bedroom with the door closed. She had let the door open when she had gone on the search for food that had turned to this situation, perfect for a horror movie. Could this mean that the door that had slammed close was her bedroom? It surely had a reason for happening.

 

“It… It was the wind. It had to have been the wind, that was it,” she said with a little voice that no one would have been able to hear, but apparently someone did, because a loud and evil laugh came from her left, and it sounded like her own laugh, just colder and darker.

 

Are you sure, Melody?” the same dark laugh followed, and Melody’s body turned towards it without her consent. She was pretty sure she didn’t want to see what was beside her, but the moment her brown eyes settled on it, she couldn’t look away. It was a mirror, a big ass mirror her mother had bought somewhere at some moment of her 22 years long life. However, the mirror wasn’t that interesting. What was being reflected kept her looking that way.

 

The reflection was hers, but it wasn’t at the same time. That thing wasn’t Melody Parker. That was Madness personified. Her long brown hair was cut short in the reflection and messy, like she had just woke up. The skin was paler as if she hadn’t gone outside in a long time. Instead of the purple sleeveless undershirt the real Melody was wearing, the reflection wore a long sleeve black shirt. There was a black choker around its neck, something the real Melody didn’t have. But the biggest difference between the real and the reflection were their eyes. The mirror Melody had bright, golden eyes. They looked as if they were glowing, and the pupils were pinpoint sized. There was something in those eyes that sent chills and a growing panic to Melody when she recognized it as a maniac glint. That thing was gone for sure.

 

“What are you?” she asked to her reflection, and a psychopathic smile was given to her for bothering with the question.

 

“Not what, who,” it said, still giving Melody that smile. “And to answer you question, I am you, dear Melody.” There was palpable satisfaction when the reflection said those words, as if it had been waiting for this moment all its life.

 

“That’s not possible, there is not…” she trailed off, taking a good look at the mirror. “It’s… just not possible.” It sounded insecure even to her own ears, let alone for that thing, but with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, Melody said, “This,” pointing around with her hand and then signaling to the reflection. “It’s not real.  I’m just having a psychotic episode and nothing more. All this will disappear in a moment or two and… ” The reflections laugh interrupted her, and now that she listened closely, that was not a normal laugh. Those were crackles, horrible, psychotic, and creepy crackles. Melody shuddered at the sound.

 

“How can you be so sure, Melody? For all you know, all this could be real, just like I am you, and just like we both know we are crazy.”

 

“Don’t talk like we are the same, we aren’t, and you don’t exist.” Melody took a hesitant breath. Unconsciously, she started muttering to herself, “I’m not crazy, I’m not, this is my imagination, and I’m not crazy. I know that I’m not, and that is the truth because I know and I’m not… ”

 

“Why do you lie to yourself like that? To ourselves?” Melody looked directly to those glowing gold eyes. “The truth is that you don’t know anymore. You are not sure what is real and what is not. WE ARE CRAZY, Melody, and you know it!!!”

 

“SHUT UP!!!” Melody screamed with a rage not her own. It felt like it was from someone else and Melody, the real Melody, because that reflection wasn’t real. It wasn’t, right? All this was just a psychotic episode, and it wasn’t real. And going back to the situation at hand, the real Melody raised her fist and punched the mirror in the same place that Madness’ face was with all her strength, breaking the mirror and cutting her knuckles badly.

 

Melody felt the pain go all the way up to her shoulder, and she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from screaming. This wasn’t real, so why did it hurt like hell?

 

The crackles were back and louder this time. She looked at the broken and bloodied mirror, Madness was still there, this time smiling wider than before, its eyes with a savage glint.

 

“That’s it, Melody! Punch the mirror again, the same mirror where you are seeing your talking reflection, and you say you are not crazy!!! Girl! You are INSANE!!!”

 

“This… ” Melody tried to control her breath. Was she hyperventilating? “This isn’t real, it’s not real, it’s not… ” She jumped back when something slammed against her bedroom door from the inside. She could hear creaking and heavy breathing from behind that. She swallowed nervously.

 

“Come on, Melody, why don’t you go and check your room? This is not real after all, or are you scared?” Madness asked from the mirror. “Are you scared because you know this is real?!” the reflection asked with maniacal crackling. And in that moment, Melody’s bedroom door opened, crashing hard against the wall, and a dark shadow rushed to Melody. It slammed against her body, throwing her to the floor, but surprisingly that thing went through her, like it was an illusion.

 

“What do you say now, Melody?! Real or not?! Maybe you need more convincing?” Madness commented, a screeching sound came at its words. Without bothering to look up, Melody ran out the hallway, not knowing what was following her and not wanting to find out. She ran to the kitchen, the only place that could be locked. Reality or not be damned, she was terrified and running on instinct. But still, she managed to catch Madness’ last words to her before fleeing.

 

“Run, Melody, RUN!!” Insane crackle following those words, a door being slammed, shut the reflection up.

 

Melody’s eyes were locked on the door, so she didn’t see her forgotten sandwich, the reason why she was suffering this hell now, stand up, smile horrendously at her back and reach for the knife in the sink, everything without making a sound. Melody only turned when the sandwich crackled up just like Madness did in the hallway. She turned at a speed that would make Flash proud, but it was already too late, the sandwich or Madness, whichever, had the knife and it was looking at her like if she were its food, its prey and intended to get her, not matter what.

 

Remember, you tried to eat me first, so you get what’s coming to you…” Her lunch crouched low, like a preying lion, still smiling, still with the knife, still with those hungry, black eyes that for a moment she thought were beans. And from where had that come from? The beans I mean? And why was she thinking about that in this moment from all things? Please, let’s go back to sandwich trying to kill her. “… When I eat you instead!!!” The sandwich jumped at her, somehow getting her, grabbing her hair, making her fall to the ground and biting her shoulder. Melody finally, finally, blacked out.

 

Melody woke up in the kitchen floor startled, looking around her terrified, but there wasn’t any killing sandwich attacking her, nothing psychotic or weird. Had she fainted and dreamed all that? Yeah, that had been a dream, a nightmare. Nothing more, not real. Just her imagination. Standing up, Melody gave up preparing lunch. She wasn’t hungry anymore, so she walked back to her bedroom. She didn’t look at the mirror. She was scared about what she could see there. It didn’t matter if it was her imagination. She would never see herself in a mirror ever again. Her bedroom door was closed, but she didn’t mind. She just wanted to sleep. She opened the caoba door and entered her room, just to stop suddenly at what she saw.

 

“Hello there, sweet Melody,” Madness said as it looked up from reading a book from Melody’s bookshelf, while lying on Melody’s bed, like they had always been there since the bening. Completely and absolutely real.

 

Remember to never push the line between reality or imagination. There is no turning back. Now… I am asking you. Where do you stand in this line? You can call me Madness. I am within the shadows of your mind, waiting for your answer.

 

A Stranger Knocked at the Door

It was a normal Saturday afternoon, and Marci was making dinner. Onions were frying in the pan, there was chicken in the oven, and Oliver was playing with toy planes, casually whizzing them through the living room. All of a sudden, a stranger knocked at the door.

“Hide!” Marci told Oliver.

Oliver just continued playing with his planes as the stranger knocked again, this time with more force.

“Oliver, you need to hide. A man is at the door.”

This time, Oliver stopped his planes, picked them up, and went to the designated hiding space at the end of his closet. Marci opened the door.

“Who are you and what do you want,” Marci snapped aggressively.

The man calmly pulled out a small square photograph of a young boy, who looked about nine years old.

“I’m looking for this child. His name is Oliver Wicks. Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t, and I would appreciate it if you could leave my home now,” Marci replied.

“Ma’am, I’m just looking out for him. I’m trying to protect him.”

“I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The man flashed a smile. “That’s okay, just give me a call if you see him. I really just want what’s best for him.”

The man extended his gloved hand, revealing a long, dark scar across his arm. In his hand was a card with a phone number and a name on it. Red Sun Labs, it read. Shortly after the man left, Marci went to Oliver’s room.

“Come on, Oliver. Pack up your stuff. Time to leave again.”

Without saying a word, Oliver quickly put everything in his room into an old, battered suitcase. Marci led him out of the small cottage and into her car. The car was an ancient Ford pickup truck Marci had purchased from a used car dealership. It had more than 150,000 miles on it and could only go up to 50 miles per hour.

Right before they left, Oliver said, “Mom, you forgot to give me my medicine.”

“Oh right, sorry,” said Marci.

Marci fished into her purse and took out a bottle containing several bright red pills. She took out three and gave them to Oliver, who swallowed them. Marci put the pills back into her purse and began driving again. After a few hours of driving, Marci pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station.

Marci walked into the store and told the man at the counter, “I need the usual, new passport, new license, new house.”

“Okay, that will cost $335,” the man behind the counter said.

“What! I don’t have that kind of money. It used to be cheaper.”

“Sorry, Marci, my landlord keeps raising the lease. The prices can’t be as cheap as they used to be.”

“Come on, Marius, you owe me for what Oliver did for you two years ago.”

“Give me a break, Marci! I wouldn’t have gotten in that situation were it not for you in the first place.”

“Fine, Marius, but if anything ever happens to you in the future, don’t expect me to bring Oliver to save you. He’s not a superhero, you know.”

And with that, Marci plopped a few wrinkled up bills on the desk and walked out of the store.

As Marci got into her car, the man ran out of the store holding the money and shouted, “Hey! This is only $200! Give me the rest of the money!”

“Too bad,” Marci shouted back, and she got into the car and started driving.

As Marci was driving, Oliver asked her from the backseat, “Mom, why did Mr. Malum come to look for me?”

Confused and suddenly worried, Marci asked, “Who’s Mr. Malum?”

“He’s the man that came to the house. He was in charge of helping me with my powers at the school.”

Oh no, this is worse than I thought, Marci thought to herself.

“Mr. Malum just came for a short visit. He wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He just kept playing with his planes, as if nothing had happened. Eventually, Marci stopped the car next to a small red shack on the side of the highway. The shack looked similar to the previous one they had lived in, and the one before that, and the one before that. Marci and Oliver had never lived in the same place for more than a year. As much as Marci wanted to, she knew it was too dangerous.

 

As Marci and Oliver settled into the new house, a feeling of nervousness began to settle over Marci, as she contemplated what she would do next. She knew she would have to face more people from Red Sun Labs eventually. She couldn’t run forever. And she would also have to tell Oliver the truth at some point about what had really happened, and why they were constantly on the run. After mulling it over, Marci decided it was finally time to tell Oliver what had really happened.

“Oliver, come here. I need to tell you something,” she shouted across the house.

Oliver came to the table where his mom was sitting. “What?”

“Remember how a few years ago I came to the school you were at, and I took you to live with me?”

Oliver nodded.

“Well, when I took you from there, I was really rescuing you, because the people that were working there, like Mr. Malum, were actually trying to harm you. They were trying to use you so they could do experiments on your abilities.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, not really showing much interest.

“The reason we have been moving from place to place is because people like Mr. Malum have been trying to get you back, so they can do more experiments.”

“Can I go fly my planes now?” asked Oliver.

“Sure.”

Shortly after her discussion with Oliver, Marci heard a knock on the door. She went to open it, and her heart dropped when she saw who it was. Mr. Malum was at the door, with three other men, all holding guns. Marci tried slamming the door, but Malum held it open.

“I’m done playing games. I tried to be nice, and you didn’t listen. I need Oliver now. I know he’s with you. Your friend at the gas station told me everything.”

All of a sudden, Oliver came out from his room. He looked enraged, and his eyes were glowing bright red. Before anyone could say anything, Oliver flicked his wrist and sent all four men flying in the air, instantly dying on impact with the ground. A look of pride came across Marci’s face. Oliver had saved them. The men were gone, and she didn’t have to worry anymore. But when she turned around to look at Oliver, she saw he wasn’t there anymore. Oliver had gone back into his room and was playing with his planes, as if nothing had even happened. Marci smiled, and she and Oliver lived the rest of their lives without ever having to worry again.

 

Mercury

 

“I see it!” said Davis. “In the distance.”

It was on the red cinnamon hill. The rocket. It glistened in the sun. Their very own rocket that had blasted the two off to Mercury. It was in beautiful condition, ready to take off. They’d had enough of Mercury. The awful heat, it was so close to the sun. Every ration of water felt like an oasis in the middle of a raging desert.

“Then to Earth. Good Earth,” Wilson remarked. “Back to society. Food, water, more than just a drop or a bite every few hours. I’m shaking just thinking about it!”

They ran on the orange sand in their astronaut boots. If they took off their boots, their feet would burn.

“I need a shower,” whined Davis. “I haven’t showered in weeks!”

“There we go, it’s the rocket.” Wilson smiled, closing his eyes. “Back home.”

But something was wrong. The rocket was destroyed. Its red top was blown off. It had scrapped metal with holes inside it. The door had fallen off.

“What?! This isn’t how we left it when we went on our mission!” Davis screamed.

“The Mercurians… ” Wilson muttered. “They did it! Of course! It all makes sense now! They destroyed our rocket and put a vision in our head to make us think everything was okay!”

“How?” asked Davis.

“Telepathy!” explained Wilson.

“Now, now,” Davis patted him on the back, “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”

“This isn’t a misunderstanding! This is real! Are you one of them?!” he accused. “You are! Aren’t you?!”

“Wilson!”

“The Mercurians!” Wilson ran off into the distance.

“The Mercurians!” It was a loud echo through the desert.

“Poor Wilson,” said Davis. “The heat must’ve driven him insane.”

 

***

 

The next day, Davis stood by the rocket on his walkie-talkie, trying to communicate with Mission Control.

“Pick up!” he yelled. “Pick up!” But he only heard static white noise.

Wilson returned with a shotgun in his hand.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson warned. “Or else… ”

“Is this a joke?” Davis laughed.

“I’ll count to three,” Wilson counted.

“Alright, alright.”

“One.”

“Stop!”

“Two,” Wilson said, staring into Davis’ eyes.

“Quit it!”

“Three!”

A blast went into the ground. It was a bullet.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson screamed.

***

 

Davis ran for hours and hours on end. The rocket and Wilson couldn’t be seen anymore.

He soon saw, in the middle of all the dunes, a cottage. As he stepped inside, it was paradise. It had a long table, filled with food of all kinds. Each plate was with a glass of water or lemonade. Shelves were filled with books and movies. Walls had beautiful paintings painted by talented artists. Music was playing in the background.

However, he was too engrossed in the trance to notice the lurking shadows crawling out of every corner behind him. Ready to attack.

 

***

 

“Hello, Wilson.” Davis stood by the rocket, which was in perfect condition, ready to fly.

“Hi, Davis.” Wilson walked up. “Are we ready to fly?”

“Yes.” Davis turned on his walkie-talkie. “The space voyage has been successful,” he reported.

And as they flew off, they sometimes turned into the very thing they feared. Their skins were sometimes green. They now had purple organs. At one point, another eye was on Wilson’s forehead, but it later disappeared. They left another lonely day on the lonely planet Mercury.

 

Nature

 

Animals, nature, the weather so nice

Waking up early to sun or to ice

Milking the cows and getting the eggs

Working all day and running on your legs

Making homemade food like yogurt and jam

Making applesauce but no ham

Washing your clothes with water and your hands

Selling the fresh food on small road stands

Working all day and having lots of fun

Working on a farm is obviously awesome

 

Three Minutes

Three minutes before school ended, the only noises to be heard were the ticking of the clock (that ran two hours too late), the tapping of pencils (like that Britney Spears music video), and the sporadic, panicked scratching of pens on paper (pop quizzes are never fun). If you were to do a pan of the room, expressions would range from concentration to boredom, to faces of pure confusion. In one corner of the room, the class hamster slept, stress-free and content (unbeknownst to it, a respiratory infection was starting to take its life). In another corner, a student’s A+ essay was threatening to fall off the not-so sticky tack, and next to it a fly buzzed lazily in circles. In the janitor’s closet next to this particular classroom, a rat squeaked and scurried in its trap (it was one of those cage ones you see in Disney’s Cinderella and nowhere else), while the janitor whistled an out of tune hymn. The smell of mold and ammonia was somewhat toxic, but the janitor never wore a mask since masks were for pansies and liberals. A mistreated, rotting newspaper in the center of the floor was crawled over by a roach. A roach that, if followed, would lead you to a hole in the wall smaller than you’d expect a roach of its ungodly size to be able to crawl through. A whole that leads to a tunnel which leads to the boys bathroom. In the boys bathroom, there are several inappropriate drawings on the wall, and people who are supposed to be in class, and now, the roach slinks past them into a crevice where it lives as the school bell rings, and the boys exit to go hang out at the local McDonald’s.

 

The Overlord

The town was in complete and utter chaos. Monsters pillaged and wrecked everything in their path. Innocent villagers panicked and fled, and not all of them got away. The air was filled with screams of pure terror.

In other words, it was a good day for me.

I am Overlord Kane, and I have no delusions about my morals. With a name like that, what would you expect? I understand that I’m evil, and I embrace it. My goal is to overthrow King Basilius and take the kingdom for myself. I am the big bad, the evil emperor, the bête noire, the VILLAIN. Ah, it’s good to be bad.

So, what is an Overlord? It’s just a title given to the most prized demonic servant of Azrael, god of death, master of the Inferno, fourth horseman of the apocalypse, damn His name forever. Of course, it comes with some nice benefits. I get the three Unholy Treasures: the Dragon Sword, the Demon Armor, and the Crown of Azrael. I also get to destroy any heroes that get in my way. Do they defeat me? Sure, sometimes, but evil always comes back.

Anyway, the attack was almost over. As much as I like watching my minions destroy everything in their path, I can’t take over a kingdom that’s burned down. They had already broken into the mayor’s house and kidnapped his daughter, so I had what I came for. “Fireball!” I exclaimed, launching a burst of flames into the sky. It exploded, signalling the retreat, and I led my army back to Fort Gehennom.

A few hours later, I was sitting in my throne room when my trusted lieutenant Draco came in.

“How did the attack go, my lord?” Draco asked, blowing a puff of smoke. (He’s half dragon and has the flame breath to go with it. The other half is… I want to say dark elf, but even I don’t really know.)

“As well as always. We’ve got plenty of hostages, so I trust the dark elves can take care of them?” I asked.

“They’re requesting some hot irons and a copy of The Eye of Xenon,” said Draco.

“I’ll get it down to them. Any prisoners of note, aside from the girl?” I asked.

“The town bartender, a catfolk. He’s knocked out at the moment,” said Draco.

“We’ve got a catatonic cat o’ tonic on our hands,” I said.

“Otherwise, ah… nothing. I’m just not used to being out of the action. I hope a new hero comes in soon, so we can start fresh,” said Draco.

“We’ll take the usual protocol from here. You deal with the prisoners, and I’ll take care of the minions. It’s pizza night, and we just had an influx of trolls, so I need as many chefs as we can get,” I said. Draco flew away, and I emerged onto the balcony, looking down upon my subjects.

I took a second to scan the crowd. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s the diversity of my minions. Most villages just have the usual mix of humans, dwarves, elves, halflings, and gnomes, but I have a little of everything. Goblins and kobolds were the most numerous by far. Then, there were the orcs and trolls, my shock troops. (If you can’t tell an orc apart from a troll, slap it. An orc will punch you across the room, a troll will regenerate and then punch you across the room.) Dark elves emerged from the prison chamber, their necromancers bringing an assortment of undead with them. Even the occasional dragon was flying in from above.

“Welcome back, everyone! What did I miss?”

Cheers erupted from the minions below the balcony. The uninitiated often think that I mistreat my minions, but the first rule of villainy is pragmatism. Treat your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valley, as they say.

“We have captured the mayor’s daughter! That’s another village driven under the greatest heel of all!” I said. There were more cheers, and a few chuckles from the more comedically versed. “I prepared for this, of course. To celebrate our victory, live music will be provided at dinner!”

Suddenly, a goblin ran up to me, out of breath.

“What is it, Jerry?” I asked, mildly irritated.

“Your evilness, the mathematicians have news! As of tomorrow, the odds will be in favor of the arrival of… a hero!”

The crowd fell silent. No one really knew how to react. None of my minions ever know how to react when news like this is announced. All sorts of folks are against me, but not every one of them is a true hero.

I, on the other hand, was most pleased. “Excellent! We’d better start preparing! Jerry, tell Cal the performance will have to be postponed a few hours. Everyone else, initiate the usual operations! If you’re unsure of what to do, there’s some goblins in the east wing who can help!” I stepped down from the balcony.

Draco was already in my throne room. “The dark elves have the prisoners under control. What happened out there?”

“The math team says a hero is supposed to show up tomorrow,” I said. A smile spread across Draco’s scaly face. I walked over to the file cabinet.

“Let’s see here… Do I have it under G for gambling or H for hero? Ah, here it is,” I said, pulling out a sheet of paper with an assortment of charts on it. “The current stakes are four thousand gold pieces. So, what’s your bet? Warrior? Mage? I’m going with warrior.”

“Paladin. It’s a long shot, but I’ve got a good feeling about it,” said Draco.

“We have a deal. Anything else?” I asked.

“The battle plan, my lord. You’ll be off fighting the hero, so I have to command the troops,” said Draco.

“Ah, of course. My tacticians have a new plan specifically tailored to armies with heroes among them. They’ve sent it down to your room for review,” I said.

“I’ll check that out, then. Good luck, my lord,” said Draco, flying out the window.

“And the same for you,” I replied. I pulled a hidden lever, causing the throne to move back and reveal the staircase underneath. Walking down to bed, I grinned at how neatly everything was falling into place. Then, as per the second rule of villainy, I let out an evil laugh.

 

Eight in the Evening

He walked in with the lights hot on his face. He strode through the sea of chanting, churning people at almost a skip, eyes rapidly flipping back and forth in the apprehensive version of the steady, slow moving gaze that panned the audience with cool confidence. The subtle discrepancy was unnoticeable. Yet it did not matter who knew, save one person: the person he employed his frenetic technique to locate. The Hornet.

The Grand Champion, also known as the Hornet, was unbeaten. The number eight, having fallen from second slowly and showing no signs of slowing his age-precipitated decline, had challenged the Hornet as a final flail before his career dipped below ten, went into free fall, and spiraled into the vaguely terrifying world of retirement.

The number eight continued his stride, trying a few jabs followed by a powerful cross. That cross used to be his most powerful weapon. But during the smack, as it was widely accepted to be called, the vitality behind the swing was drained. Nothing in the physical punch was wrong, but the audience didn’t seem to care, letting loose a great roar because of his quick training. As the ropes grew bigger, approaching too quickly for the number eight’s taste, he felt the desperate need for the boost of the audience’s cheer once more. He let loose a grand flurry of punches, danced back and forth while the cheer swelled, and drove it to a crescendo with an aggressive uppercut. While it probably lacked in technique, the uppercut had no rival for showmanship. Here was the ring, and now was the time where his natural instincts of fear must be forcibly silenced. He nodded to his trainer, who smiled and opened a gap between the ropes. Number Eight leapt with a huff onto the side of the ring and immediately dove through the ropes with effortless ease, landing in a leopard-like position. The man, with boxer trunks of a leopard glancing predatorily over long tendrils of grass, held the crowd in the palm of his hand. He sprang to his feet and pulled his muscles taut by stretching his arms in a long, nearly complete oval ending below his waist. He roared.

The crowd went wild.

They loved the design. They loved the passion. They loved the persona. They loved the effort. They loved the performance. They would be disappointed to learn how much Number Eight’s shoulder hurt from the leopard pose. It was then that Number Eight saw Number One, The Hornet, known only by his family as Walter Frederickson, hiding in the dark of the tunnel preceding the long walk out to the ring. The Hornet cracked his knuckles unsteadily and blinked hard.

He stared him down, knowing the only chance against the twenty-three-year-old champion was to psych him out, so that he would doubt his superior abilities. Perhaps if he could get the Hornet to crawl wounded back into his hive, his seemingly magical powers would follow.

“The battlefield is where you make it,” his wife had said to him once. It is not always the ring.

Well, it will be his brain this fine evening, thought the man. Early victories will be key to this match. I simply need to make him forget that he could beat me by running away and exhausting my strength through avoidance.

“A victory before the game is as early as they come.” That one was from his first trainer, and it was good advice. Leaping upon the Hornet’s brief hesitation to prepare himself before the match, Number Eight motioned to him with a stuck-out and trembling lower lip to come to the ring. It was a perfect gesture. The crowd roared with laughter, and the Hornet reddened visibly at the barb. But that was not the best part. Number Eight allowed a cruel, crooked bending of the end of his lip in a scarily jagged smile. The Hornet’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he realized it too.

Coming out after that insult would be to do exactly what had been ordered, overtly revealing weakness. Hesitating would confirm the insult that he was scared to come out of the tunnel. Number Eight had been plotting this opening for weeks, and if age came packaged with one thing to desire, it was knowledge. The Hornet took the only acceptable course and charged out with his shoulders thrown back. A slight tremor shook his frame, but while it originated near the peaks of his broad shoulders, it never made it past the compact abdomen. The Hornet, in a somewhat desperate attempt to mimic the showmanship displayed by his adversary, tossed his robe into the audience with a grandiose air, revealing the well-defined muscles hidden underneath. He arrived at his corner hastily, the crowd providing ample applause as befitted the national champion, yet none compared to the raucous cheers issued to the man who now donned a ferocious, black mouthguard decorated with sharp teeth. A simple, black mouthguard was handed to the man in the black and yellow boxing trunks.

Walter Frederickson had a small, chiseled face that might have been a half-moon if it were not so ovalish. He also sported a short crop of auburn hair that was just long enough to give the hairdresser enough hope to aggressively attempt to smooth it back. The Hornet was a strange case, a strange type for a boxer. His short form and subsequently minimal reach, and that his body was just lithe enough that one might have considered him a weight class down from heavyweight, made him quite an unlikely prospect for a boxing champion. He had not been scouted particularly early. He came out of nowhere, relatively, his first major match being against the number twenty-seven in the country. It was an easy victory. So easy that he shot up to challenging twenty, then nineteen. Nineteen, in fact, was a knockout later in the rounds. After that it was fourteen, a very easy victory, and then fending off a few challenges of his own. Sixteenth in the country was nothing to sniff at, but it took a hard-fought, nailbiter victory in the Olympics to really be taken seriously. He took home gold in the light heavyweight after going the whole match just trading blows with some upstart Australian boxer. It came down to the wire, but the Hornet, as he was now known, had won his twentieth professional match right after that victory, challenging the number ten. The Hornet never got too ahead of himself, though. Someone on the internet eventually realized he had only ever challenged someone four places above his own rank, and he earned a reputation for his dogged and modest attitude.

He was also known for his unique fighting style. As previously mentioned, his was not the body type that most naturally befitted a boxer. He had molded his entire style around one thing: reflexes. He had catlike reflexes, could practically anticipate a blow before the thought formed in his opponent’s mind. Based off of that one skill, his coaches had built a machine. It was all in the variety of attack, really. No one could ever land a blow on Walter Frederickson, and whenever they overstepped their bounds, Walter Frederickson would be in and out of their defenses leaving only a cripple. They folded after a strong series of punches, never too long and never was the attack pressed, but just a select few jabs and perhaps a cross. Then, he resumed his stance as if nothing had happened.This was why he was knighted the Hornet.

Number Eight hoped beyond hope that the weeks of rigorous training would pay off. And he needed them to. Boxing was the only thing he knew how to do in life, it being necessary in that craft to dedicate the entirety of one’s time to the endeavor. People do not wonder nearly often enough about the life of an athlete not as successful as Michael Jordan or Arnold Palmer post-career, thought he. And the boxers have the worst of it, perhaps behind football. Retirement is early, so you dither about, unsure of what to do with your money and refusing to allow yourself to take a nostalgic and longing glance into the past, until those years are wasted and you find yourself in the dangerous lands of a midlife crisis. Then your money is gone, your relationship is ruined, and you settle for a mediocrity that is not only depressing in its essence, but also jarringly melancholy as a juxtaposition to your former status. Number Eight’s head spun. He had taken the mental journey into the future that can be as dangerous as a foray into the past. Number Eight also then realized he had been holding his face in a rigid sort of mocking smile for some time. He disguised a brief massaging of his face in the similar but more quotidien gesture of stroking the stubble that was the beginning of a beard that Number Eight sternly refused to allow to come into being.

Walter Frederickson pranced about in his corner, looking a bit nervous, and very childlike as a result. The announcer began the spiel so familiar to boxing fans, announcing the contestants with zest that demanded some sort of accentuation, which ended up scattered arbitrarily.

“And in the BLUE corner, weighing in at TWO hundred and SEVEN pounds, COMING from New YORK, winner of twenty- matches, FIFTEEN by knockout and famous for his FEROCIOUS attack, HEAVYWEIGHT champion of THE world, The HORRRRRRRNET!” The crowd erupted into cacophonous cheers and the energy behind the words. The words were of less importance.

“And IN the red corner, weighing in at two HUNDRED and thirty-two POUNDS, coming ALL THE WAY from AR-I-ZONA, former NUMBER two in the WORLD for Heavyweight…”

The stadium spun violently and Number Eight forcibly stopped the whirlpool that might suck him into the depths of memory.

“…Winner of forty matches…”

He was pulled down into the fathoms of nostalgia to his twenty-first win. That one had been his twenty-first straight. He had felt very proud of it. Then his streak had been abruptly broken by a loss. Out of the four matches following that tenth loss, he had lost two. It was a grand disillusionment for Number Eight. Even though he grew higher and higher in the ranks, nobody believed he would top the lists anymore. And he didn’t.

“…With thirteen by KNOCKOUT and a paltry eight losses…”

But he looked to the side to see his wife, Linda. She was cheering wildly, and when she saw him looking at her for support, she adjusted her expression to flow confidence into him like a tributary. She had always been supportive of his career. He always came home to Linda smiling, a messy bun flopping as she set about making dinner. She held her own job as well, and it was a nice one. She had a Ph.D from Princeton, and had studied for a long while to earn it. As a result, she taught at the University of Phoenix. Number Eight and Linda would relax after a long day, have dinner while discussing the events of that day. Sometimes they would watch a movie. Sometimes they would play a board game. After that, they would go to bed in a beautiful bedroom. It was decorated with polished wood that appeared to be holding up the ceiling. It gave the room a homey ambience.

Linda, thirty-three, and Number Eight, thirty-four, had wanted children for a long time. The duo had learned a few weeks ago of the existence of a baby girl. Linda wanted Melinda. Number Eight disagreed. They would both laugh after each playful altercation. There was no visible bump yet.

Number Eight and Linda were equal breadwinners, at this point. Linda had wanted a job, wanted to do something with her Ph.D. When Number Eight met Linda, he had just lost two out of the last four matches. She took a job at the University of Phoenix soon after.

Walter Frederickson turned to look at the crowd. His glance was intercepted by the coach. Walter looked at the coach hopefully. He received a steely acknowledgement.

“…MI-chael Ca-RU-so!”

Number Eight came to the middle with Walter Frederickson. The referee recited the timeworn list of precepts. “I want a good, clean fight…” Number Eight stared at Walter Fredrickson. Walter Frederickson blinked hard. Then he began blinking very quickly, very copiously. His muscles rippled. His skin looked smooth and young. He blinked again. He checked the audience for any sign of recognition. A nice portion of people cheered. A handful crowed at how few cheered. The heavyweight champion bit his lip. Number Eight smacked the gloves of Walter Frederickson, and the latter’s gloves held firm. Walter Frederickson seemed to find some resolve. Number Eight felt a twang of fear.

Michael Caruso turned back to Linda and Melinda. He beamed at them and dropped his arms.

“Fight!”

 

The (Rather Unfair) Life of a Housefly

             

SPIDER’S ISLAND

MONDAY

Spider snot! Stupid spider snot! Excuse my language. I am so sorry. Let me introduce myself before I explain why I launched into a fury so hard it could break walls. My name is Fly. Yes, just Fly. I am, as you could tell on the cover of my — cough cough — best-selling book — cough cough — , I am a housefly. I live in a small crack in the wall of a big house. The big house isn’t mine. It belongs to some humans. Disgusting animals who fart every five seconds and laugh at the planet Uranus. HAHAHAHA. Sorry, I just got the joke.

Anyways, time for an explanation. I’m angry because my mom’s stupid boyfriend Derek (who’s a spider, by the way) booked us a “family” trip to Spider’s Island. Okay, I bet there are tons of things racing around your minds right now. You’re probably thinking he’s doing it to be nice. He knows I hate spiders. My mom is too wowed by him to care. He said he knows a lot of people there, including a spider that has a son who is the leader of a posse. He also showed us pictures, and every picture has about a million spiders in it. Not exaggerating. I’ve heard rumors about Spider’s Island from Sticky (who’s a stick insect) that they wrap their prey in webs and devour them in one gulp. My mom told me to pack all my stuff at once because the flight is tomorrow. So, I’m here in my room with an empty suitcase on one side and all my bottled acid on the other side. I’m probably going to stuff all of it in my suitcase tomorrow. Anyways, I’m going to bed.

 

TUESDAY MORNING

Day of the flight… 

Hello? You still there? This is Professor Fly, and I’m about to board the flight to the dreaded Spider’s Island. I had to sneak my diary into the suitcase because Derek said I was getting “too old.” Nothing’s too old for Professor Fly, investigator of the unknown. I’ll fill you in later when I’m on the flight.

Okay, I’m on. It’s just me, Fly, not Professor Fly. He’ll come back when we’re on Spider’s Island. Anyways, we’re on the plane. It’s been about two hours since I’ve been on. The chairs don’t recline, and there’s no snack service. It’s seven hours of this torture. I’ve noticed that the air’s gotten much grayer. There’s also a lot of spiders on the seats. Derek’s already asleep, and Mom is looking through the images again. Okay, I’ll come back when we’re there.

Okay, hi. We arrived in Spider’s Island. The sky is still gray, and there’s a lot of tall, rocky mountains. We arrived at the den that we were staying in. We’re sharing rooms with one of Derek’s thug friends, the guy who has the son in a posse. When we arrived, the son was talking to a bunch of his friends.

“Oi, Dale, where’s your dad?” Derek asked.

“Don’t know. Guess he went out to gamble,” Dale replied. Derek and Mom went to find him. As soon as they left, Dale and the others all stared at me.

“So it’s true, eh? There’s a fly in Spider’s Island,” Dale sneered. All of his posse laughed evilly.

“Okay, fly. You think you can just walk around this place like it’s all yours? This is our island,” Dale said.

“P — please. I don’t have any hassle with you or your island. I want to get out of here as much as you want me out,” I replied. Dale grabbed me by the wing.

“Stay out of our way, or you’re in for a punishment,” he muttered.

He hung me on a branch that was sticking out of the cave. Then, he and his friends went away. Yep, that was how my morning started. I decided that since I was going to be staying here for a week, I should probably know my way around. I went outside the cave and slipped through a small crack in the mountain. I was horrified! In the center, there were hundreds and hundreds of spiders, who were gambling, making webs, stealing food, and drooling all over everything.

I bent my head low and pretended I wasn’t there. I was so small that they probably wouldn’t see me even if I went right in front of them. I spotted Dale, and my rage bubbled up. I really didn’t like that kid. I saw him walk over to a shop and while the owner wasn’t looking, he stole a whole bottle of spider whiskey. Did he drink? I didn’t really think about it much.

Dale and I were already on the say-something-bad-and-you’ll-instantly-regret-it scale. As I walked past, I noticed something else that was strange. Something smelled delicious! I mean, this is Spider’s Island. The only thing I thought they ate were bugs covered in webs. I followed the scent, and it led to a small market where a spider with a beard was selling some pies.

“Three, please!” I said. I gave him some spider cash I stole from Derek’s bag. He gave me some pies, and I stuffed them all in my mouth.

Chomp — “These are delicious! What’s in these?” I asked.

“Oh, just fly meat,” he replied. I stopped chewing at once.

“W — what?” I asked.

“Fly meat,” he replied. I spat everything out and ran over to the sea.

“EW EW EW EW EW EW,” I yelled out. This place was crazy! I couldn’t stay here anymore!

Eventually, I entered the cave. Mom was sleeping deeply, and Dale and Derek were out doing who knows what. I entered my bed, and just as I was about to fall asleep…

CHOMP!

I jumped out of my bed. Something just bit me! I grabbed my covers and pulled them off. Inside of my bed was a snake! It hissed and leaned in for another bite. I grabbed my pillow, but it bit right through it. I ran over to the door and grabbed a branch. I threw it at the snake, but the snake devoured it in one gulp. What? Not even Professor Fly had ever encountered a snake like this. Speaking of Prof. F, he could have really been of use. The snake jumped out of the bed like a piece of rogue spaghetti. I jumped out of the way, and it hit the wall. It turned its head in a full 180 degrees towards me.

“HISSSSSS!”

I took that as a warning. I flew into the bathroom at once. Big mistake. The bathroom was super tiny with no space to dodge the snake. Speaking of the devil, it bit its way through the door and into the bathroom. I grabbed the shower handle and turned it on. As soon as a drop of water touched the snake, it fled out of the cave in a nanosecond. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. As I flew out of the bathroom, I found Dale asleep and Derek looking at me as if he wanted to crush me in his fist and do it three times for fun.

“CAN YOU EXPLAIN WHY THE CAVE IS A MESS!” he yelled out. I wanted to yell that Dale did it right at his stupid, ugly, and hairy face, but I had no proof and even if I did, Dale was still asleep, all innocent.

“Listen, Fly. You’re on very thin ice here, and if you keep going on like this, you won’t like me by the end of this holiday,” he whispered. I mean, it wasn’t like he had won best man of the year, but I think he meant that he was probably going to turn worse than he already was. He gave me another look, then went to bed and stuffed all his bags on my bed. I sighed and lay down on the floor. I was so tired, nothing could have woken me up.

 

WEDNESDAY 5:00 (IN THE MORNING)

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!

That was the sound of the alarm that woke me up. I thought that since we were on holiday, we wouldn’t have to wake up early, but that wasn’t the case.

“WAKE UP!” Derek yelled.

Dale got out of bed and accidentally-on-purpose kicked me. “Oops, sorry.” He smirked, and he, Derek, and Dale’s dad walked outside with Mom. I sighed and walked outside.

Millions of spiders were running to the mountain market. Weird. It seemed like they all woke up at the exact same time as us. Dale and his gang were hauling ten bags of bottles. Was that the spider whiskey? I snuck behind a bush and followed them to the mountain market. When he arrived, he set up a table and filled the spider whiskey with… bugs?! He was spiking the spider whiskey!

“Spider whiskey! Get your 20 spider dollars spider whiskey!” he yelled out. A bunch of spiders walked over and got a glass. As they drank it, their eyes became wider.

“BUGS! MORE BUGS!” they yelled, slamming cash on Dale’s table. He saw me and smirked. Oh no. I backed away slowly. Then, I remembered I could fly, so I did. This place was a nightmare, and I hadn’t seen anything yet. Just keep reading. I figured I might as well find a spot that no spider went to to be my private thinking spot. I found a nice area next to a pond and some trees. I started pondering the things that went wrong in the trip.

  1. Dale. Dale makes it up to the top of my list, no contest.
  2. Derek. Derek knows this place like the back of his hand. Not useful for me.
  3. The market. The center of the island, every spider went there, and they sold the most disgusting things.
  4. Snakes. On the bright side, I knew their weakness!

 

I had to decide my plan carefully if I was going to survive this island. Luckily, someone was already ready for the job, and his name was Agent Fly.

Hey, everybody. It’s Agent Fly. I was asked to make a plan to survive, so let’s hit the facts. Dale and his gang always head to the spider market to sell their spider whiskey at 5:00. Then, they go steal other people’s belongings. As long as I stay away from the market between 5:00 and 1:00, I’ll be fine. Derek isn’t a problem. He just goes to gamble with his friends all day. He returns at 9:00, and I have to be in bed by then. For snakes, I’ll just keep a glass of water next to me at all times. Just follow this plan, and you’ll be fine. Agent Fly, out!

Phew, thanks AF. With my new plan written out in front of me, I knew where to go at what time. I grabbed the paper and flew out. It was about 12:00, so I had an hour before Dale would come out of the shop and torment me. One thing AF and I couldn’t figure out was why every spider was outside at 9:00. Maybe this place was really organized, but I still thought it was kind of strange. They all woke up at the same time, did whatever they wanted, stayed up at the same time, and then went to bed. I decided that Agent Fly would go out, and Prof. Fly would stay back and analyze the results.

Okay, what’s up. Agent Fly here. I’m outside right now. It’s 8:59, and I can see some spiders leaving the market. I can spot Derek, Dale, and that dude who sold the fly meat. A secret agent always comes on time. I’ll wait here for a minute and tell you what happened.

Oh My Gosh! Agent Fly back again. I saw the craziest thing! It was precisely 9:00, and every spider was lined up, chanting. I felt the island shake, and then it started to rise! It didn’t take a genius to figure this out. Spider’s Island is a giant spider! It growled, and all the spiders bowed down. Derek walked in front and whispered something in (I guess) its ear. The spider growled again, and every spider backed away quickly. Then, Dale walked in front holding his spiked spider whiskey. The spider growled again, and he smiled. Every spider, besides Derek, looked frightened. Then, the spider went back down, and every spider crawled back to their caves. I have to report to Professor Fly!

Hi, Professor Fly reporting. I found out the spider was a giant spiked sea spider. Also, I translated the growls:

Growl one: WELCOME! DEREK, GIVE ME YOUR REPORT.

Growl two: YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING?!

Growl three: GOOD JOB, DALE. KEEP WORKING ON YOUR PART.

I don’t know what he was talking about. It all sounds strange. I’m sure it all fits together, but to what? Why was he asking about a report? Why did he congratulate Dale, and why did he complain about Derek not doing anything? Everything just didn’t make sense! Well, I’ll report to Fly now.

Okay, I just got news from AF and Prof. Fly that Spider’s Island is a giant spider! How am I supposed to stay here for a week? I’m so scared. Hold on, Derek and Dale just came back. I’m pretending to go to sleep. See you tomorrow, guys!

 

THURSDAY 5:00

You guessed it, the morning.

I was so tired from last night’s investigation that when I got up, I immediately went back to sleep. Derek shouted at me, and we all went outside to the usual routine. I — I mean — AF, Prof. Fly, and I had decided to call the plan Operation Expose. We had to find out more and leak the secrets of this place. I was a lot more careful when I went outside, knowing that I was hovering above a giant spider. Anyways, I’m going to let Prof. Fly take the floor for now.

Hey there! Okay, so our next big plan is to find out what the spider was talking about. I have a few guesses, but I can’t be precisely accurate until I find some concrete evidence. Since I haven’t really found anything yet, I’ll just end my words here.

Okay, Fly back here. I kinda have some explaining to do. Prof. Fly ran into Derek this afternoon.

He said, “Stop doing your stupid games, Fly.”

You might be confused. Well, Prof. Fly, Agent Fly, and others that might come in after aren’t relatives, twins, brothers, friends, or any of that. They’re just… me, the weirdo Fly with a bunch of secret identities because he’s not happy about who he is. Even if you do wanna walk away now, stay for this next bit. It’s the one everyone’s been waiting for.

 

7:00 (AT NIGHT)

My mom walked towards me. She explained the biggest reason she wanted to come to Spider’s Island was to see… my dad. I looked up. What? My dad had never been a subject at my house. Derek seemed to hate him and said he was an unemployed loser who died by trying to fly in a paper airplane. My mom just kept quiet. I got up and followed her.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure everybody knew we weren’t going to literally see him. You guessed it, we went to the cemetery. We stood in front of his grave.

“Derek lied. He wasn’t unemployed, or a loser, or died by a paper airplane accident. He was a hero of war,” she said. I kept looking at his grave.

 

Frank Fly

2018-2018

Died from the great revolution and was swatted by a human. He was a great hero and will always be remembered for his actions.

 

I felt a tear trickling down my face. My dad. A hero of war. Everyone had made fun of me for the story that Derek had told everyone.

“He was also a hero to our family. His grave was put on Spider’s Island because nobody remembered him for what he did,” my mom replied.

I stared into my reflection in the water. For a second, I saw myself as my dad. A uniform, badges, waiting to enter battle. He had done it all for us. The family. No matter how weird everyone may think I am, me, Prof. Fly and Agent Fly are going to solve Operation Expose. Not for the fame or to rub it into Derek’s face, but for my dad and my family. I raced off to my hideout. Then, I spotted Dale, and he spotted me. I didn’t run away. I didn’t hide. I flew right towards him. Let me just say, this is one of my favorite parts…

“Well, well, well. Loser Fly has come to spread his disease,” Dale smirked. I stepped in front of him.

“How do you think the Federal Insect Prison will react when they find out you’re illegally spiking spider whiskey without a license? And last time I checked, selling spider whiskey without a license and being younger than 30 is five years of prison,” I told him.

“Aww, and where’s your proof?” Dale asked, mocking me. “I’ve been spiking and selling since I was four.”

I brought out a key chain. “This happens to be a recorder, Dale. Let’s see, four years, that’s about eight years in prison,” I said, clicking the button and skipped ahead. I’ve been spiking and selling since I was four.  “There’s my proof. You just unleashed a powerful demon, and that demon can send you to prison or a lot of places that are even worse. So, what’s it gonna be, Dale?”

He looked like he wanted to punch me, but then he and his posse walked away. I almost felt like breakdancing right there. I did it! I never stood up to anybody before. (Well, unless you count the school bully Bane, the Desert Scarab, but if you’ve read The (Rather Unfair) Life of a Housefly: Story Swap, then you’ll probably know that it didn’t end well.) I realized I should have used my brains instead of my imaginary muscles and probably saved myself a lot of pain.

Suddenly, as I flew towards the cave, the island shook. I knew what it meant. Gigantic spider freak island was rising up. It stared me straight in the eyes. It growled, but I’m pretty sure it meant: “YOU’LL PAY!”

I stared at it. I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to try and fight it. Then, I held up an air horn. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

Millions of sergeants from the FIP or Area 62 (Area 51 for Insects) flew towards the spider. They shot thousands and thousands of darts until it fell to the ground.

“Thanks for the tip, kid,” one agent said.

“Don’t forget my price,” I mentioned. He gave me a shiny badge. Agent Fly was officially in business with his own agent tag! Then, I ran into Derek. He looked even angrier than the spider.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” he yelled.

To be continued…

 

A Day in the Life

        

Chapter One

Scritch… Scratch… Scribble… The sound of graphite scraping across a sheet of plain paper filled my head. I zeroed in on the story I was writing, for that was all that was important. Ms. Carter’s lecture of something or other slithered in one ear and out the other. I crouched down over the paper, letting my writing spill out over the page…

“Chase!”

The voice pierced through my wall of words, and I jerked my head up. The entire class was staring in my direction, and Ms. Carter was looking at me expectantly. I shuffled my work so that my math notebook covered the sheet of paper with the short story.

“Um… what was the question again?” I asked nervously.

“Weren’t you listening?” piped up Jake.

Ms. Carter shot him a reprimanding look but turned back to face me. “Fifty-seven divided by three. We were working on Katherine’s problem, remember?”

“It’s Kate!” shouted Kate, defensively.

Shooting Kate a sympathetic look, Ms. Carter said, “Okay, sorry. Chase, we were working on Kath — err, Kate’s problem — ”

“Nineteen,” I blurted.

“Huh?” Ms Carter asked. A genuine look of surprise fell upon her face — she didn’t think I could do it. I could tell. A couple other kids, too, stared at me in shock.

“The answer. Uh — fifty-seven divided by three. It’s nineteen.”

A wide grin slowly settled on Ms. Carter’s face. “Yes, that is correct. Now, who can tell me where nineteen fits into… ”

Her words morphed into senseless babble, and I became enveloped in my story again. Thankfully, Ms. Carter ignored me for the long rest of the period, and I had jotted down ten pages of my messy handwriting by the time the bell rang.

Our bell was the old-fashioned ring, and by seventh grade, it had become a primal instinct to jump up as soon as you heard it. That’s exactly what happened, and the second the sound fell upon our ears, the class jumped up and ran out the room. But since I was a neat freak, I took five minutes to get ready because I had to put my writing in the folder, put the folder in my bag, and swing the bag over my shoulder.

I was just walking out when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Ms. Carter said, “I’m going to let you doodle in class, just… try to pay attention, okay?” I nodded and continued my jog to the door.

Once outside, I had to run down two floors and turn a couple corners to get to ELA and was late once again. The door was open; the class was already inside. I sighed. The teacher, Mr. Williams, handed me a small slip of paper as I walked in. As soon as I had settled down in my usual seat, I briefly glanced at it at it. In a bold print it read:

It Is Your Duty To Be On Time! This Is A Warning — Next Time You Will Get Detention!

This was a new system Mr. Williams had put into play. I vaguely remembered him going over it last class. I sighed again and stuffed the slip deep in my bag where it would never be seen again.

“Who can tell me what a noun is?” I looked up to see Mr. Williams pretending to look around the room but actually looking directly at me.

I bit my lip to keep from retorting. Everyone knew what a noun was! We had covered it in fourth grade! He must be doing this to make me look like an idiot. Well, I would prove him wrong. My anger seemed to drown out the rest of the world as I answered.

“A per — ” I started, but Jake, sitting right across from me, interrupted saying, “A person, place, or thing, Mr. Williams.”

Confused, I looked at Jake, then back to Mr. Williams. “I asked Jake,” he explained, seeming annoyed. Jake smirked at me and then went back to explaining what a noun was. I gritted my teeth and reached in my bag for the writing folder, pulled my current story out, and started writing. I wasn’t that far into the story when someone spoke. “So… what did you get as your answer?”

I whipped my head around to find Emma, a classmate, staring at me expectantly. Her smooth, lush brown hair was swept over her shoulder, and her a picture is worth 100 words shirt blew in the gentle breeze that came from Mr. Williams huge, black fan that he kept in the corner.

“Umm… it’s… er… ” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Emma bit her lip. “Your answer. For, you know, the question… ?”

I breathed slowly. “I dunno,” I started. “What… what did you get?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and swept her hair back over her shoulder. “C’mon, Chase. Didn’t you hear him? He said list five examples of a noun. What are your five examples?”

Right then, Mr. Williams walked by our table. I quickly copied everyone else at the table and flipped open my ELA notebook. He leaned over, eying everybody’s work, and whether he noticed that the writing on the open page was from last month or not, he said nothing. Relief clouded my thoughts.

Suddenly, Mr. Williams turned back, his red beard and hair seeming especially menacing. He spoke in a disappointed tone. “Chase… I strongly advise you to see me after school for extra help.” He then continued his slow walk by the tables.

Next to me, Emma’s eyes widened. “Damn. What d’you think you did?”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

Ant that wasn’t a lie. I was actually doing decently in his class, with a 90 average — which was more than I could say about my other subjects. Maybe, he had seen my work, or lack thereof. Or he just disliked me.

For the rest of the period, I just sat still and tried to listen to what Mr. Williams was saying. But it was hard — I just wanted to write, to zoom out from the rest of the world, and to focus on the worlds that I created.

That was all I wanted to do.

This time, I was prepared for the bell. The boy on my other side, John, had so much work sprawled out on the table that I put my own supplies away early and acted like John’s work was actually mine. Then when the bell did rang, I was ready and leaped out of my seat and bolted out of the room, ahead of everybody else.

Our homeroom was another three floors up, so I didn’t take my time. Once I was about halfway there, another kid, Mason, caught up with me and elbowed me in the ribs gently. “Yo, what’s up? What was that about?”

“What do ya mean? From the warning slip Williams handed me, or Jake the Jerk, or the extra help that I was ‘encouraged to go to?’” I asked sarcastically.

Mason choked on air. “Dude — an after-school extra help? Damn. Are you failing or somethin’?”

“Nope. I’m cruisin’ with, like, a ninety average. He just hates me,” I said, sighing.

There was a creak as Mason pushed open one of the large double doors that separated the stairwell from the hall.

“So… what’s up with your crush?” Mason asked excitedly.

“Not again, Mason.”

“No — Emma is legit your crush! You can’t hide it!”

“No. I refuse to admit something that’s not true!”

“Seriously, Chase; don’t try to hide it. I bet — I bet she knows it!”

I sighed and gave in. “Don’t you dare tell her.”

“Whatever. I swear, though, the second you let me, it’ll be in the newspaper.”

“Oh, sure — your private newspaper.”

Our conversation was brought to a halt when we reached our homeroom. Our science teacher, Mr. Lee, was standing outside the door to our class, talking to one of his students. Mason and I were first to line up behind Mr. Lee, but the 28 other members of our class soon walked up behind us.

Mr. Lee motioned for us to walk in without a glance. We did so. Then it occured to me to ask Mason for the extra help. He was an honors kid and probably knew what to do.

“Hey — about that detention… ?”

Mason, currently in the middle of throwing some books into his locker, looked at me. “Skip it.”

This caught me off guard. “Wait — skip it?”

“Dude, yeah. He was probably, like, joking or something,” Mason replied.

I slowly shook my head. “No… I don’t think so. I think he meant it… ”

Mason shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll go bash some stormtroopers on my own then.”

“Face it, dude — we both know you can’t even survive that game on your own.”

“I’ll try,” Mason insisted, shoving some books into his old Flash backpack. “And if I succeed, then I have the bragging rights.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “Nah. I’ll skip it. You’re probably right anyway, he just despises me.”

He was probably right. My best guess was that Mr Williams would just going to lecture me about being responsible and doing my work — and boy, had I heard that lecture too many times.

The bell rang again, bringing me back to my senses. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and followed the rest of the class out of the classroom, down three floors, and to the entrance of the school.

As I was being pushed out by the rush of students struggling to get out the main door, I saw Mr. Williams walking and caught his eye for a split second. He gave me a disappointed look. I turned away, but a feeling that seemed like guilt seemed to weigh me down.

“So, explain to me again — how do you become a hero in Battlefront?” Mason asked, coming up next to me.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Do you seriously still not know? Even, like, my sister knows!”

It went on like this until Mason and I had arrived at my house, when we waved, vowed revenge in Battlefront, and I spent a while fidgeting with my keys and unlocking the door. Once I succeeded, I walked inside slowly.

“Chase? You there?” a voice — my mom — called.

I kicked off my shoes and threw my backpack on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

 

The Rebirth Cycle

It started again, the rebirth cycle. Once a month, I change into another person. Different age, different height, different me. Now, I am a girl, Maria, sixteen years old and living in Ohio. My high school is called something like New Ohio High School. I’m scared. Whatever happens, love or friendships, after a month, it’ll all go away. What did I do to deserve this? Anyway, I’m tired of this cycle. It has ruined my life in every way. I have to go and start this new life of mine.

On the way to school, I try to avoid everyone. I look down and never look up at anyone. I pull my hoodie over my head and sit down silent and invisible. Feeling invisible felt good, no friendships and no love ruining my life.

“Hey, are you new?” asks someone over my shoulder. The voice sounds sarcastic and scratchy. I turn around, and all I see is a body full of glitter. The earrings, clothes, and lip gloss are all covered in glitter. I lay my head back in the fold my arms are in. I sit there, not moving until she asks me again in an angry voice. I lift my head, trying my best to keep my anger down and not let my anger get my magic out of control. The lights go out, and the teacher locks the door, assuming this was some lockdown. But I know it was my powers that turned off the lights. After my anger fled away, the lights started to flicker back on. I look up, acting surprised, so that no one assumes it was me.

We all go back to our seats. Ms. Johnson points to the board and starts to gabble about science and chemistry. I look back because I felt something hit my head. I hear snorts and giggles from Ms. Glitter Girl. I look behind me and see lined paper crumpled up in a perfect, round ball. I open it up and there, written in pretty, pink cursive is, “Don’t think I don’t know it was you who made these lights go pitch black. Have a bad day. Sincerely, The Best.” I rip it up and throw it into the trash can.

This boy walks over to her. I notice his beautiful, short, curly black hair. His brown eyes matched his precious smile. I look down at my hands, fidgeting on my desk, as I overhear his sweet angel voice say, “Why would you do that? I know what you wrote. You don’t even know her!” I quickly turn my head, trying to hide my smile, as the girl gives me this ugly face and rolls her eyes at me. The boy whispers something so quiet that I can’t hear. When he finishes, he looks at me. I wanted that moment to last forever, the moment that our eyes met. He smiled. I smiled back. It felt special and unique. There are so many words I can put into this moment.

Ring! Ring! I stand up, and so does everyone else. I grab my stuff as I quickly run to my locker. I shove all of my chemistry books into it before they fall out. I have to get home before anyone sees me. I go outside and hide behind the thin pole at the far corner of the school. I open my backpack and whisper into it, “Bring me home.”

As I start to fade, I overhear his voice again saying, “You dropped your — ” He stops and stares at me as I start to fade more. I close my eyes and hope that he will forget about this by tomorrow.

As the next day begins, I want to forget him. I hope he will forget me too. I look down and pull my hoodie over my head. I go to my classes and glance at the normies on the way. I can’t help but stop and stare at him one more time. I try to avoid any questions from anybody that comes my way. I go into class, put my bag down, and look around. Everyone is staring at me and the boy’s empty seat. I’m scared and shocked, but I don’t let it show. Halfway into class, he comes rushing in and stares at me, not talking. I stare back into his dreamy eyes. In every class from that day onward, I can’t help but daydream about some unrealistic fantasy. Days and classes go by, and I miss him for some odd reason. I think about him all the time.

Science class: glass shattering and terrible smells spreading around the room. Students screaming in laughter, girls checking their nails and me. I am doing the task written on the board, my blue goggles tightly strapped onto me, and my oversized white lab coat with my name printed over the top left pocket.

“Ms. Nervig, please report to the principal’s office now.” I hear the cutting beep at the end of the message, the light click of a button. Everyone stares at me, and I hear “Ooh’s” around the lab. My teacher looks at me as if I have done something brutal. I drop my things, throw the thin, blue gloves into the trash bin, and walk out of class. The cold air from the hallway glides past me in a rush. I have questions flying in my mind like paper airplanes. Why am I going to the principal’s office? I stop, everything stops moving, and one question shoots me hard, Have they found out?

I don’t even have to question it. I already know what it meant. Have they found out my secret? The secret that my family has kept for years, that nobody else knows, and that nobody else should ever know, Have they found out? I take a deep breath and push the heavy glass door out of my way.

I see Ms. Lynch setting up boxes and boxes of tissues all around her desk. I am startled, and everything begins to slow down. She looks at me. She isn’t mad or upset with me. She is sad for me. I sit down with my legs crossed and my hands tied. She looks up at me and offers a box of tissues. I kindly decline. She looks up at the ceiling, wipes her tears, looks down at me, and says, “Ms. Nervig, your uncle. Your uncle has um… Has uh… ” I can see in her voice and eyes that this is hard for her.

I hold her hand and say, “What is it?”

She looks up at me and whispers, “Your uncle passed away.”

My mouth drops, and I take a tissue box. Tears go pouring down, and sooner or later, the ground will be flooded with my dreadful tears. I kindly say, “Thank you for the information, Ms. Lynch. I have to get back to class.” I stand up to leave. I clench my fists and yell. The lights on the ceiling flicker, and the ground moves slightly. I wipe my tears as I run out of school and to my house. The tree of my mother was weeping, and the house was darker and smaller. It was silent, and the echo was spreading more. I begin to sulk and cry. The tears were weak.

I am Andhera, Andhera Hacke. I am at the park four blocks away with an old, dusty notebook laying flat on my ripped, black jeans. My thick, dyed black hair is in a tight, squished bun, and my leather jacket gleamed from the sun’s heat. I am lost, scared, alone. There’s a pigeon under the bench munching on my leftovers. Life is filled with different things and animals that people don’t see. The pigeon’s eyes are so precious and glowy. When its feet start to lift up and its light, delicate wings start to flap, the beak is so sharp yet so small. The wings spread wider and wider, and the eyes stare over the skyline as it soars like a sharp feather. I look back down at my father’s book that was left over. I put the diary in my black, ripped bag and pull down my hair to let the breeze flow through it. I tiptoed further into the forest to the abandoned cottage I saw on the way to school. I put on my gloves before I hurt anything or anyone.

Bump! I look up and see a reflection of me, eyes of a stressful past, holding a s’mores frappuccino that is half empty.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I hear her say. She’s annoyed, and she pushes me to the side and walks ahead. I suddenly realize that I always back down, that I am always worrying about what I say. It was the same when I was in a car crash at the age of six.

I was in the backseat holding my old, sticky stuffed animal. We were on a bridge alone. My mother was in the front seat yelling at me. I could replay those moments on a loop. I had therapy for ten years, and I still struggle with PTSD. That was the last day I saw any family member of mine, and the last words that my mother spoke were, “You are a disgrace to everyone! As soon as we get there, I will — ” Then, we tipped and fell.

“Hey! I didn’t bump into you! You went into my path, bitch!” She slowly turns around, throws off her bag, looks over at me, and says, “What did you just say?” with an evil eye.

I immediately regret what I just said. That wasn’t me at all! I shake my head and quietly say, “Nothing, sorry.” I try to back away, but she turns me around and smiles. I’m confused. I didn’t expect this. As she smiles and shakes my hand, I shake hers back.

I walk back to the bench after school, and I see that pigeon again. I forget to put on my protection gloves and without realizing, I reach out my hands. I bend down and pet the pigeon’s feather wings, and suddenly its eyes turn white and then black and then it falls down. I put my two fingers against its precious neck, and I can’t feel a pulse. I put on my gloves, open my diary, and write, “Accidental Death #563, pigeon dead by touch of wing, time of death: 5:18 p.m. under bench.” I draw a small heart in the corner, lock it back up, and put it in my bag. I put the pigeon in a dark, red, lacy box and dig a hole underneath the tree. I say, “I’m sorry,” as tears pour down my face. I feel so guilty about how my first day in this new place went. I just bounced right back.

***

I tremble further and further into the tunnel underneath the forest. Andhera is crouching and holding tightly onto her bag. Her combat boots are loose, and they make the leaves rustle. “Are you sure about this?” I can see that Andhera immediately regrets this, and she is too afraid to move another step forward.

I sit down in the tunnel and look at her. I say, “Yes, I am completely sure, and we aren’t backing out now.” Andhera looks up, down, left, and right. Then, she looks at me with guilt. I roll my eyes, trying to avoid making eye contact with her puppy eyes as I yell, “Don’t make me regret doing this for us. We have come all this way to finally face this man! Since the day you made me think that you were a stalker, I knew that you could help me and that I could help you to find out who the heck cursed us! So, yes! I am sure about this and whatever you say I will — Andhera?” I can see that she wants to say something, but her mouth is open with no sound coming out. I move closer to her and whisper, “What is it?” She shakes her head and says nothing like it was… nothing. I knew that there was something. She pulls out a piece of paper from her bag, ripped, burned, and with thick ink written all over it. I turn around. The rustling of the leaves stops and everything stays still, pure silence. Tears pour down her face, and suddenly the tunnel is a flood filled with her tears. I read the paper out loud since she handed it to me. It is rusty and old, and it smells like blood.

I say in a low, deep voice, “Dear Andhera, my sweet daughter. I have fought and lost for you. Your mother said that I shouldn’t come home again because of my dangerous uncontrollable powers. I put this note in my old bag because I knew that one day you would be at Southside Racket Forest, looking for me. I gave you this power because I knew that one day you would want to find me. I have to go darling. I love you.”

I realize that we’re at the end of the tunnel. I stand up, and Andhera comes after me. We look at the sign pole, and there are arrows and signs everywhere with names of places. We look high up on the pole, and it says in thick black marker, “You are now at Southside Racket Forest.” We look at each other and then back down at the letter. We can blindly see a small cottage behind all the oak trees and a bloody sign saying, “Welcome to Hacke’s studio.” Andhera runs forward, and I grab her hand.

I tell her honestly, “Your father could be the murderer of mine. Your father gave you this terrible curse, your father made people forget about me after a month, your father — ”

She lets go and screams, “But what if he is actually a good person. That’s what I wanna know!” She lets go as she runs to the cottage. I am now standing here, still afraid for Andhera. I have no hope for her father. I slowly creep behind the cottage, looking through the back broken glass pane window. I see an elderly man hiding next to the door, waiting for an arrival. He looks nothing like Andhera, and he is sliced open on the neck, the blood still dripping, and the bone sliced in half as if it was broken. A knife on the floor, clean as a window wiper. I can hear Andhera screaming. I get out my bow and arrow and drop everything else as I run in. I see another elderly man holding Andhera by the throat with a gun to her head. I can see Andhera struggling to get loose. I try to calm him down, but I am afraid to move to close to the gun. Unfortunately, I am too late. I hear a gunshot, and Andhera’s heart stops beating while my heart turns cold. The only person I understand is gone. I go down to the floor and pull the bow and arrow out of her bag.

I stand back up and scream, “Back off, bitch! Now you live in my world!” Then, he punches me in the face, and the world blacks out. The sounds of an open breeze and the feel of a warm buzzing head on scratchy wooden floors. My eyes are frozen cold and shut closed; the sight of pitch black and the feeling of being unable to move. The voice yelling help and the warm soft feeling of a hand holding mine. And the empty silence of no one coming. And the silent cries of a loved one…

 

Solitude

        

Part One: My Secret

 

Chapter One

I am different than the others. It is just the way I am. I’m used to the insults, the bullies, and the segregation. But, there is one thing keeping me going: the fact that I am unique. My name is Tor, and I am a lion. With wings. I know, I know. It’s weird, but I was just born that way. Even though I cannot fly yet, my wings are very helpful.

They help with keeping my temperature in check, fending off enemies, and jumping higher. In a way, I am grateful for my wings, but part of me just wants to be… normal.

***

“He did not!” she says. I laugh first, and then all the others join me. Cerla is our comedian. She knows how and when to tell jokes. I have a small gang of five friends: Cerla, Tou, Yero, Talika, and me. They are the only ones who admire my wings, although they don’t have any. I really do not want to lose them. I feel the wind blowing in my shallow mane as we make our way home.

“Oh, yes he did,” says Talika. “He just walked up to him, smacked him in the face, claws unsheathed, and before you know it, he gets reported to Taren.”

We all drop our jaws involuntarily. Talika and Cerla bring us daily news. We are used to surprises, so we always expect something new. They’ve always been the first ones to know everything that occurs within the pride. We walk in unison on the dusty, red sanded trail leading to our pride. It is early evening, and we should have dinner ready for us in a few hours. When we arrive, we are greeted by a loud roar from my father, the leader of our pride.

He trots over to us and growls, “You are late, my son.”

“Late for what?” I say, sounding childish.

“You are late for… your mother’s… funeral.”

His words sting me, and my soul collapses to the ground. I shut my eyes and let the tears flow silently. She is gone. Lost forever. It becomes hard to breathe as I walk to her den. I spend the rest of the day there. At daybreak, I am the only one awake. I still feel sad about my mother. But now, on top of that, I feel angry about something. I decide to go hunting and spot a herd of zebras down by the river. I trot toward them until I get into earshot. I stay as low as possible in the tall grass. I slowly crawl through the grass. I keep my wings hidden so that I do not reveal my location to my prey. But my wings are too large, and I startle the herd. I growl at myself, and I feel embarrassed. I return to the pride. I lie in my den for hours before I decide that it is time. Time to fly.

I find a nice, flat area and spread my wings. They are longer and larger than my body, nose to tail tip. I flap them in synchrony, and I lift off the ground. Judging by my results, I will be able to fly. I flap them more times, and I hover off the ground. I am naturally able to move around. I begin to increase my altitude.

“Uhh… Tor? What are you doing up there?” The voice belongs to Talika.

“Uh — I can explain,” I say.

“No explanation needed,” she says, softly.

Her grace distracts me, and I fall out of the sky and land on my back. “Ow,” I say, blandly.

She walks over to me. “You okay?” she asks, genuinely.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. I get up and shake off the dirt. “How did you know I was out here?” I ask her.

“I — felt it,” she says. Her fur blows in the breeze. No, wind. It grows stronger. And stronger.

“Oh no,” I say. “Not this again.”

***

“Tor, my son, Talika, thank you for reporting this. Both of you head for the shelter. I will take it from here.”

We immediately follow my father’s instructions. We sprint across our territory to the shelter. I look behind us and see a large storm cloud and a funnel descending toward the ground. We finally reach the shelter. Once inside, we cuddle up next to each other.

“Do you think this one could be the worst one so far?” Talika asks, with genuine fear.

“Possibly,” I reply.

The column of death still rages on. I am even more afraid now, and I can feel Talika shaking. She closes her eyes. I consider doing the same, but I choose not to. I hear a terrifying noise. Two trees have fallen in front of the shelter’s entrance. How convenient, I think. I can still hear howling winds above us. I can feel my heart sinking as I remember how my mother died. About a quarter season ago, a weaker storm hit us. A warning went out, but my mother and a few other lionesses were out hunting. They heard the tornado and came running back to assist us. But, they arrived too late. They were at least a mile away when they noticed the storm. They had arrived just when the storm hit. The other lionesses escaped danger with minor injuries, but my mother… got… impaled by a piece of sharp rock. We managed to keep her alive for a while, but the wound soon got infected, and even though we had adequate resources to save her, she had told my father these exact words, “Stop. Stop wasting your resources on me. I won’t get much better than I already am. Just let go. Let go.” That was two days ago.

***

So much damage has been done. Everywhere we look, there are toppled trees and torn up land, but what is most horrifying to us are the dead lions and lionesses everywhere. We trot around our territory, and we find something terrifying.

“Oh no. Please no. Father. Wake up. WAKE UP!!!

My father had been impaled, just like my mother, only he won’t walk away from this one. I realize my wailing is useless, and I pull myself together. I look beside me and see Talika. Staring. At my father’s body. No. There is a lioness behind him. Talika’s mother. I watch her as she sheds a single tear and walks away slowly. I cough, noticing all the dust around. But, another frightening thing strikes me. We are the only ones left. Our friends, our family, it’s all gone now. I summon all the power in my voice and let out a single roar. It lasts about half a minute, and I take a breath and roar again. This time, Talika joins me. We only have each other now. Only each other.

 

Chapter Two

“We’ll be fine, Talika,” I say, trying and failing to see any bright side to this.

We are in my old den, as it was the least damaged one. Talika has been crying for a while now. I have been providing her with food, what little water is around, and another thing. Love. I am thinking about confessing my feelings to her, but this is definitely not the right time. I have had a small (that’s a lie) crush on her for the past three cycles. I have been very confused about why I had these feelings. At first, I just wanted us to be friends. Anyway…

“How can you be sure about that, Tor?” she says.

“I’m not.” And I mean it. I don’t know what will happen to us.

“Tor, you’re always so honest,” she whispers to me. “And kind. And brave.” I must admit, I was not expecting her to say that. “I love you, Tor.” Now, I’m really confused.

“I… I… ” I consider all things I could say. I could confess right now or wait for a better moment. I make my decision immediately. “That gives my something to think about,” I say.

***

We’ve been staying in this place for twelve cycles. We’ve been feeding off the dead carcass of a buffalo, which has kept and is keeping us fed. I have also been having peculiar outbursts of anger. I try to keep them to myself, but sometimes I can’t contain it, and I leave the den for a destructive walk. Seriously, you should see the paths of destruction I make on these walks; I have very few paths to walk along and destroy now. Anyway, now I’ve voluntarily taken on the role of scouting for a better place to stay. We cannot venture out in the open very often; there are creatures that could easily have us for dinner. I look around the barren landscape, still scattered with lion remains. I shudder at the sight and decide to focus elsewhere. I venture further away from our “den” and find nothing. I sprint back to the den, everything around me becoming a blur of nature. I eventually reach it and shake my head at Talika. Her response surprises me, “That’s fine!”

***

Everything seems to be spinning now. I feel dizzy all the time, but Talika doesn’t, which I find strange. I don’t tell her, but I have had sleepless nights since the day of destruction. I keep waking up at night and roaring at the heavens, cursing at them for causing us so much pain.

***

I feel so alone. I have the power of flight… sort of… but I am hesitant to use it.

***

We have stayed in the same place for — well — I kind of lost track of how long, but I know that it is time to get moving. We eventually have to escape this dark, moist, cold place. I have had plenty of time to practice basic flying, though.

 

Part Two: Flight

 

Chapter Three

“Okay, okay. Don’t worry. I’ve got this!” I yell down to her. “I can do this!” As soon as I jinx it, a flock of vultures head my way, and I freeze in place as the images become larger and larger. “Oh, sh — ” I say, or start to say, as they come crashing into me. I fall to the ground and finish what I was going to say. “… it,” I finish unnecessarily. I see her triumphant face lingering over me.

“You were saying?” she says, before helping me up.

Our relationship became somewhat competitive since we started, well, you know. I feel like a huge burden that I have been carrying for a long time has finally been lifted. The burden being our feelings for each other. I shake the dust and dirt from my pelt as soon as I rise.

We decided that we would become nomadic for a while, moving from place to place. Sometimes we see vast open plains with scarcely any trees, and sometimes we see plant life everywhere. I don’t even think we’ve been to the same place twice.

 

Realities

           

Protologue

EARTH 65

DIMENSION THREE

LOCATION: NOWHERE

It wasn’t long. My friends finally defeated Crugo using the Particle Accelerator on Earth One in Dimension Two. I hope that the rest of the team is alright. The minute I came to this place, it was in a flash of red. After that, it was just darkness. Where I am is a mystery. All I know is that this place is wonderful, and what I’ve been through is a great part of my life. Here’s the story.

 

Chapter One: Beginning of the End

EARTH ONE

DIMENSION THREE

LOCATION: WALL STREET

It all started when I was eleven. Some wizards and witches came and blew a hole into the atmosphere, and magic came out and spread everywhere like a virus until three weeks later it stopped. My name is Kelvin, and the world was under Savage’s command. We were slaves doing the trash that he could’ve done. You see, the world has changed. Many things can happen… in a lightspeed, a flash, slow, or even go through mirrors and earths?

Yes, earths. We aren’t the only world that exists with its own solar system. There are many worlds. Some can even travel to them by breaking the speed of light and the dimensional barrier, creating a wormhole called a breach. Those are called breachers. Breachers create breaches that can travel through time and space. That’s where most of our problems came from. They had a breacher named Geo. He recently died to spare our lives. He was a good hero. So yeah, why did he spare our lives? Well, no one knows why. He told us to run. I know he was serious, so we ran. Being on the run makes me feel like an outlaw. It’s terrible. There’s really nothing to do but run. The best thing to do is to trust yourself. There is no one you can trust when the world is fighting for power.

Twenty years later…

I’ve gotten used to this world. Newcomers come to us every night. What do I mean by “we?” Well, a few years back, I met up with my former survivors. We split up the minute we were running. Figured it was for the best. Josh and Jade went north. I went east. Kelly and Norah went south. We met up where we all split up.

“I know this might be weird but… I found this cool place in the east side. There’s this cave full of materials. I think other survivors were here before us.”

So we all decided that we should check it out. We gathered our stuff that we gathered over 30 years ago and went off.

A few minutes later…

“Here it is.”

We entered the cave. It wasn’t light out, so I used sticks and created a mini torch. At the end of the cave, there was a small box. A journal was found and also some materials to build a min five-person spaceship. The journal was all burned though, but there was a name left…

“Alex Lucas?”

“Who’s Alex Lucas?”

We went on to build the spaceship and went off. Thinking about the mysterious person named Alex Lucas was interesting. There were definitely more survivors out there. We just needed to find them.

 

Chapter Two: Location: Dead Zone

We reached the Dead Zone. This place was radioactive and also contained a beast named The Reaper Leviathan. One page was saved in the journal. It said that the Reaper Leviathan carries a stone. There’s also a small picture of the stone.

“Hey, that’s one of the stones! See… ”

The moment I went into the escape pod to get off earth, I found a page on the sidewalk showing all the stones. This was one of them. All of them grant power of any kind but only have a limited number of uses.

Location: Earth One Dimension Four

“It’s almost out of juice!” yelled Josh.

“What?!” I answered.

“Yeah, it’s about to die on us. We better get moving fast before we get stuck here,” answered Josh.

“Okay, let’s go everyone.”

It had been four years since we found the first stone. We found an archaeologist that also managed to escape earth. Later, he helped us learn how to use it… but the “The Core” found him and grabbed him off the dead side of the moon, and we never saw him again. Well, we’d been using this stone for four years, and now it’s about to die on us. This could be the end…

“Need any help?”

“Uhh… ”

In my head, I was like, Who are you… ?

“Name’s Bart. I’m one of you.”

“One of… us?”

“Yeah, one of you guys. A metagene,” said Bart.

“Metagene… ?”

“Here… ” Bart handed a piece of paper to Josh.

“Metagene… a person with special abilities created by mixing different genes together,” I read out loud.

“Wait wait. Hold up… you’re saying that we didn’t get our powers from the Particle Accelerator?”

“Afraid so… ” answered Bart.

“You’ve got your powers from magic,” said Bart.

A few years later…

The door creaked.

“So… this is Star Labs.”

“OH GOD!” screamed Josh.

“What? What?”

“Is… is… that a body?”

“Oh god… it is… ”

Both Josh and Kelvin threw up.

“Aww no… c’mon. Why here?”

“So, how do your powers work again?” asked Jade.

“So, my vibe comes from energy, and it kinda relates to age as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it uses energy, so if I’m old, my energy would go lower, and if I run out of energy, I’ll run out of vibe.”

“Basically in short, I need energy for my vibe powers.”

“Would you guys hurry up and stop talking?”

“Alright, Jade.”

We were sent on a recon mission to find some news. Some said that the Triceratops recently found a new stone and were currently mining it out. They were right. They weren’t even close to getting it. The sensor said the stone was 567 meters deep. Only we had the tech to drill it down. We were heading back to headquarters until Josh sneezed so loud.

“Shhh.”

“Sorry… I had a runny nose.”

“HEY! GET THEM!” yelled a Triceraton miner.

“RUN!”

We ran through the caves like mad men, dodging every single laser they fired at us. With the help of Jade’s sonic chi bouncing every corner into bits, everything turned into dust. We were gasping every turn we took, running for our lives, feeling the wind getting colder and colder as we slowly got closer to the light. You know those movie scenes when the main characters are in a chase scene and they are so close until they get trapped. Well, that was what happened but… plot twist!

“Hey, Josh. A hand?”

“Right.” Josh teleported everyone out.

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Josh helped us teleport out of that situation, and after that, we ran, ran as fast as we could. We didn’t want to be part of that any longer. We reported back to HQ, and we were sent out to get that stone. Bart stayed back so he could be “tested” and “researched,” so we knew more about his powers. We packed up and went back.

“So Josh, are you… and Jade… ”

“Woah, woah, hold up… me and Jade are just friends,” said Josh.

“Ahh!” yelled Jade.

“Jade!” yelled Josh.

Josh grabbed hold of Jade’s hands, with the help of Kelvin.

“Hold on!”

“Okay… ”

Both Josh and Kelvin lifted Jade up to safety. Josh and Jade hugged.

“Just friends, huh?”

“Yeah, okay. You got me.”

After the accident, we headed out with more focus than ever. Jade kept an eye out, just in case she fell again.

 

Chapter Three: Moments later…

We spotted the mining sight we barely escaped before. I felt the shiver sliding down my spine. Even the look of the place gave me the creeps. I hated that place. Not because we nearly died. It was because… my brother was there. Crugo, he was obsessed with power. The Triceratons offered him that if he would kill me and our parents. He couldn’t do it, so they pushed him aside and killed my parents. I guess I was lucky. They took him from me and used him as a slave.

“We’re here,” said Jade.

“Alright, here’s the plan.”

“You guys got it?”

“Yeah,” both Jade and Josh said at the same time.

“JINX!”

“DOUBLE JINX!”

“TRIP — ”

“Alright, alright. You guys are acting like teenagers.”

“Okay fine… stop being a party pooper.”

“Let’s just go.”

We entered the mine, and the first thing we saw was a big, bright light. It was the crystal. We ran to the spot and found out that they had finished digging it out.

“Let’s go… ”

We went on with the plan, fighting and blasting every Triceraton out of our way. I was so angry that I nearly smashed the crystal itself! We grabbed the stone and went off.

“Hand it over,” said a mysterious person.

“Crugo.”

“Yes, brother. Hand the stone over, and we can end this peacefully. Or we could do it the hard way.”

“I vote for the hard way.”

“No… ” said Josh.

“What?!”

“Here… ”

Before Josh handed over the stone, he teleported a cyclops in front of us.

“Woah!”

“Adiós,” said Josh.

Josh teleported us out of there.

“Thanks.”

“Again, what are you guys gonna do without me?” said Josh.

“Uhh, we’ll be fine… ” said Jade.

No you won’t,” said Josh.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Jade. She chuckled.

“Hey Kelv, are you still mad that we were playing around, or it is it because of that Crugo guy?”

Kelvin dozed off.

“Kelv!”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, it was the guy… ” I answered.

“So, who was he?” asked Josh.

“His name is Crugo. He was my brother, until he became obsessed with power. The Triceratons offered him loads of power if he showed them his loyalty by killing my parents and me. He couldn’t do it, so they did it. I managed to hide, and they never found me during that accident. I saw them take him. He was treated like a slave until he finally got brainwashed by a witch of some sort from Earth Three in Dimension Seven. He was never the same man that I knew.”

“Woah. Tough story, dude,” said Josh.

“Yeah, are you sure you can face him?” asked Jade.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

We carried on with the mission. We got back to HQ and delivered the stone for research. Our specialties from Earth Three in Dimension Seven are wizards and witches. They are experts of these stones because they were the ones who created these stones. They sent them off to different dimensions and earths, so no one could use them for evil. Remember the first stone that was almost dry dead? Well, they recovered it, and now it’s full back in power. Still, Parallax wants it because of its immense power.

“So, what is it?”

“It’s one of the stones,” said one of the witches.

“It’s not just one of them. It’s the first one!” said another.

“There were numbers for these?” I questioned.

“Yeah, meet Alpha One,” said a wizard.

“Wait, hold up. There’s more than one Alpha?” said Josh.

“Yeah, one alpha for each cube. Also, we need all eighteen stones. We’ve only got two. We still need to move on.”

“Speaking of stones, I have an idea of where the rest are,” said Bart.

“So… where?”

“I found this map when I was being tested with my powers. I was breaching through different Dimensions and Realms, and I found this on a dead moon,” said Josh.

“So what? This is a map of all the stones?”

“Yeah,” said Josh.

“How do you know?”

“Look, see this. It’s written by Alex Lucas. The same person who wrote about the stones,” said Josh.

“This guy, Alex Lucas. Who is he?”

“You want to know?” said a wizard.

“Yeah, maybe he could help us.”

 

Chapter Four: Alex

A long, long time ago, about a century, we wizards and witches learned a magical spell that grants powers of the imaginable. For the greater good, we used the power to banish the evil that corrupted our world, for the power was too strong that it could easily corrupt anyone who wanted more. So, we gathered and used all of our might to form the great, mystic power into eighteen stones and kept it away in the three cubes. We gave each of the cubes to three trustworthy people. One of which is Alex Lucas. He was a great man. Until one night, the evil who once struck upon us had returned. Monstruct. He led an army into Alex’s house and invaded his property. Alex managed to escape, but he left an important message saying that he fled to Earth Seven for safety. The message was sealed away in a hidden room only we could find. He said the only way to keep the cube safe was to not follow him. The message was the last thing that belongs to him. As a memory. We managed to banish Monstruct to another realm, hoping that he wouldn’t survive for more than a few months. The realm that we banished him to was the realm of Jotunheim, the land of the giants. Giants were fierce and unstoppable. Only the great gods and goddesses can deal with them.

Moments later…

We were sent on another recon mission to find the third stone. On our way there, we came across this weird spacecraft of some sort. We went to check it out, but then we got invaded.

“Step away from the spacecraft. This is the Triceratons. Step away from the space — hey, it’s those guys from before. Get them!”

Yeah, we were seen. This turned from a good and strategic recon mission to a got-to-get-out-of-here-before-we-get-blasted mission. I felt the wind in my hair blowing as the lasers came flying by, I knew this was going to end well. We ran and ran for a hiding place. Every path we took ended up with a scar or a burn. Every path except one. It was where the spacecraft was. By the look of it, it looked like it had pads that sucked up energy. So we went over and behind it. It worked. The lasers just got sucked up, but they wouldn’t give up.

“Hey, Jade. A hand?”

Jade threw a mini shock cannon. All the Triceratons flew back like some WWE wrestler slammed on the ground knocking everyone out. Then, Bart came out of nowhere and scared the life out of me.

“Jesus Christ, would you please stop doing that?”

“I’ll work on my entrances later, but now you got to go,” said Bart.

“Not without this.”

“What is that?” asked Bart.

“This is what they’re after, apparently.”

“Then let’s go,” said Bart.

We all got vibed out of that situation and immediately reported back to HQ. We brought the spacecraft back to them. You know what they all did. They all looked at it like it was a new popular kid’s TV show from the 1800s.

“Uhm, so any clue what this is and why the Triceratons are after it?”

“Okay, yeah. Right,” said a witch.

“Okay, let’s do some testing,” said a wizard.

“Wait, shouldn’t we take the guy out first.”

“Right,” said a witch.

When we took the cockpit off, we were all surprised for who we found. It was Alex Lucas. He survived the long years since his departure. He was in a state where his body was dissolved, but his mind said he was alive. So the wizards used a spell to move his brain to a body that was made of robotics. Thanks to the wizards and witches, Alex could now tell everything we needed to know to find the rest of the stones. Now you know that we have the data to find the stones. We’re not going to go through all of that. Instead, we’re going to skip a few years or so.

A few years later…

Okay, we’ve gotten all of the stones. On one of our trips, we stumbled across Crugo again. He told us that he got Josh, and if we didn’t hand the stones over, he was going to die. If you didn’t know, Josh was captured, and we thought he died already. We also met two new wizards named Kell and Norah. They’d been useful ever since. We followed Crugo’s plans. Crugo said we would meet at a certain coordinate on a certain date with all the stones. Today was the day. We landed on the dead side of the moon. We had all of the stones in a container. Crugo and his army slowly showed their faces. Then, we saw Josh all beaten like he’d spilled his guts out. Jade was terrified. I mean, her closest friend was nearly dead and was just lying there around 10-15 feet away from us. This was about to get messy. I could tell from the looks of Crugo’s face that there was going to be a 95% chance of punching and kicking ass.

 

Chapter Five: The End of Beginnings

We marched to Crugo, and we both handed the things we promised. We got Josh back, and they got the stones. I was regretting every moment I walked up to Crugo and handed all the stones to him. Once we turned back on each other, I got hit in my waist by a laser.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you!” I yelled in pain.

“Of course not. Why just leave without any fun?” said Crugo.

In a blink of a second, the whole dead side of the moon was brightened with flashing lights as we all used our powers to knock each and every Triceraton down. Then, there was a loud…

“ENOUGH!” yelled a mysterious being.

When we turned our heads facing towards the sky, we saw Parallax, but this was different. His face was all peeled and dissolved. When he miraculously peeled his face off, what we saw was unimaginable. It was Monstruct. He has been planning this all along. Turns out, he was not dead after all.

“Monstruct, how did you survive Jotunheim?” said Norah.

“Well my dear, I happen to use some magic to deal with those stupid giants. You know that gods and goddesses aren’t the only ones who can deal with them. A bit of some Asgardian magic did the job,” said Monstruct.

“Wait, you’re telling me that Asgardians helped you defeat those giants?” said Kelly.

“Yeah, the way I tricked them to help me was telling them that the only way to stop those frost giants is to start a war. You know how Asgardians love wars?” said Monstruct. “Oh, I happen to have brought some frost giants with me as souvenirs. I got lonely on my way back here.”

Then, a portal opened behind him filling the air with a cold breeze, and at least 500, maybe more, frost giants came out.

“It was easy to bargain with them to help me destroy you,” said Monstruct.

Looking back at this in my head, there was an 85% chance of us dying. We all started to fight the frost giants as much as we could. They kept coming and coming. Luckily, we had some magic people on our team. Norah and Kelly and the rest of the wizards and witches held back the frost giants while Josh, Jade, and I beat down the Triceratons to try to get the stones back. Yeah, I know that we should’ve not given them the stones, but we were trying to get Josh back, and also to stop Jade from crying all the time. It was worth it, maybe. At least we got to kick butt and use more of our powers. When we were fighting our way through, I spotted a person behind a rock. I went over there and guess what, he was a survivor from earth. His name was Leo.

“I know what they are planning to do with the stones,” said Leo.

“Uhm, using them for power and maybe killing us all?”

“No, Crugo, your brother… ” said Leo.

“Wait, how did you know he was my brother?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter right now. So Crugo is planning to absorb all of the stones’ power and give it to himself and him alone. With Monstruct by his side, they both can rule the entire multiverse, and maybe destroy half of it,” said Leo.

“Well, I guess we should get moving.”

“We?” asked Leo.

“Yeah, we. Do you know how to use a laser gun?”

“I can try… ” said Leo.

“Okay, here.”

I handed him the laser gun that I grabbed just in case, and from the look of things, I think he knew how to use it perfectly. For some reason, my waist kept hurting whenever I ran. I checked under my shirt, and the part where I got shot at was slowly chipping off. This was bad. We were in mid fight with all of these frost giants and Triceratons and magic going on. I couldn’t risk telling everyone. Although it hurt really bad, I kept on going. Leo ran out of ammo, so I killed this Triceraton and gave Leo another gun to use. This repeated many times until I found this laser gun that ran on magic. Since the whole world was covered by magic because of the accident the wizards and witches caused, everywhere was magic. Norah and Kelly summoned cyclopes and other giants to help us. The ground started to shake with every step the giants and cyclopes took while crackling the moon in half.

As I tried to keep in pace with my team, I saw Josh about to die again. I couldn’t let that happen, and plus I was like half dead, so I ran in front of the gun that the Triceraton was pointed at Josh with. In the moment that he pulled the trigger, I was disintegrated, and I left my team without their leader. This gave Josh the anger to give a walloping punch to a Triceraton in the guts.

***

“Kelvin!” I yelled.

I was in rage when I saw Kelvin die in front of me. I couldn’t hold back my tears. Everyone was in shock. The Triceraton that killed him, I gave him what he deserved, a punch in the guts. I couldn’t stand this anymore. I ran through, teleporting every Triceraton into a molten lava volcano. Almost half of the Triceratons we were fighting were gone. The rest of the team got rid of them. Now it was time to get to Crugo and defeat him and finally go home. We entered Monstruct’s ship and what we saw was a big, bright light. We saw Crugo transfering all the stones’ powers into him.

“Crugo, NO!”

“What?! Why? I want more power. Why should I listen to you?” said Crugo.

“Because your brother, Kelvin, saved my life, and in doing so, lost his.”

“He’s a fool. Save you and kill himself. He should have just let you die, but anyways, thanks Leo, for bringing them here,” said Crugo.

“What? Leo you, you traitor.”

“I was really never on your side. He promised me power if I brought you guys here and especially Kelvin,” said Leo.

“Oh about that, there’s only one thing you’re missing, Leo. I guess you won’t being having any power except death,” said Crugo.

As we saw a big flash of light, Leo was turned into dust. We now saw what the stones’ true powers were. After that, Crugo also killed Monstruct saying that only one can rule the multiverse. Crugo flew off and started to go after earth. That’s where our next plan went in phase. You see, Kelvin knew Leo was a mole from the minute Leo said Crugo is Kelvin’s brother because only we knew. So late at night, Kelvin gathered all of us except for Leo and made Plan A and Plan B. Plan A was to act all innocent and pretend to not know Leo was the mole. Plan B was to use the Particle Accelerator to teleport Crugo all the way to the realm of Niflheim which is the coldest realm out of all nine. It would be too cold for Crugo to survive since the stones grant him power, not vulnerability. Crugo is still “human,” not a god.

So, we traveled to earth, and we went back to Star Labs and prepared the Particle Accelerator. We found Crugo’s location by tracking loads of energy signatures, and it all led to Hudson Bay all the way in Canada. Apparently, Crugo wanted to take over Canada first. So we pinpointed his location, and we used our satellite and launched the Particle Accelerator. The energy from the accelerator transferred to the satellite with the help of Norah and Kelly’s magic, and we finally teleported Crugo to Niflheim. We all cheered happily. The world was saved, and the multiverse could rest easily.

Chapter Six: Family

All was good after we defeated Crugo, but we were missing somebody. Kelvin was our leader, our friend, and is part of our family. We might not have grown up in the same house or went to the same schools, but we all knew him as a brother. We all respected him. We went to his funeral to repay him for saving everyone’s life, including mine. He may have not joined us in the final battle, but he was a part of it. Without him, this all could have ended really bad.

Goblins and giants, elves or Triceratons, we all knew him. This world has changed because of magic. Magic has changed all of us. Now we all befriended giants, elves, dragons, and even some frost giants. I was awarded for being the hero who saved the world. No one knows that Kelvin saved me. If it wasn’t for him, I would have been toast.

“I am proud to be the hero, but I am not. This award goes to my best pal, Kelvin. He saved me, and in doing so, he lost his own life. Without him, I would not be here, standing here with my mom and dad and all of you guys. Kelvin helped this team and even me go through tough times. I could not thank him enough, so I would proudly give this award to my fallen brother Kelvin. I wish he could see all of you guys here alive and well, and I know for a fact that he is in a wonderful place, up high. I just wanna say, thank you, and I love you all.”

So, I gave this speech about Kelvin. As for the award, it’s in the Museum of Fallen Heroes. It was built for all the fallen heroes known in history. One of them is Kelvin. We all learned a lesson from Kelvin’s death. We learned that home and family are what we fight for. We always come home to our family and friends. That’s what makes us unified. It’s our sense of humanity.

In loving memory of Kelvin Hollenbeck [My main character]

 

Acelin (Chapter One)

The king’s throne room truly is as magnificent as everyone describes it, if not more. The room is made of marble, and the ceiling reaches about forty feet above me. Guards prod me in, but I don’t need them ushering me to know what to do. I’ve had plenty of practice. Smile, bow, perform, and dance. Then smile, bow, and make your exit. I stride in, confident in my own abilities. I walk up, right to the elevated platform where fifteen thrones sit. I can see the king’s scrutinizing expression. I am merely a small, meaningless nymph who is much lower than him on whatever social scale you look at. I am here to entertain the king, the royal family, and his court before hundreds of princesses or girls of noble status come and try to entertain the thirteen princes. Thirteen out of five hundred will become brides, and one will be the future queen of Acelin.

I point to one of the waterfalls and twirl my finger around. It obeys, copying my actions. There are “oohh’s” and “aahh’s” coming from the court, but the royal family is silent. They’re my target. If they like it, I get handsome pay. I begin to twirl the one on the opposite direction too, then I move my right hand to the other side. The twirling waterfall gracefully moves across the room to where I point and combines with the other spinning waterfall, making a bigger, grander display. I turn my head to the right, looking at the royal family. I have a few princes hooked on the edge of their seats, including the heir to the throne. I wink and go back to my work.

Half an hour later, I finish the exhibit of my powers. I even managed to get a stream of water to curve around the thrones of the royal family. Cheers erupt from the courts, and I even get a standing ovation. The queen and all her sons give me one as well. A standing ovation from fourteen royals, not bad for someone like me. The king smiles and claps a little. His eldest son nudges him, and the king begrudgingly stands to clap for his insignificant performer.

I smile widely and bow in a similar way as before. “As always, a privilege, your excellencies,” I say and make my exit. Two guards lead me to my temporary room.

I begin to pack. My sister will be expecting me to be home tomorrow. I organize the very few belongings I have in my travel bag and grab my train ticket home. They said they’d escort me in fifteen minutes, at 18:00 sharp. So I sit and wait on the bed.

I’ve been in Creledo for two days. It’s even bigger than where I live, an underwater city called Oceim where every saltwater nymph lives. Creledo is the capital, but it isn’t where the king resides year round. He travels to different regions in the country to seek warmer weather than in the capital. Winter is harshest there because the ice faes, fairies, and nymphs all reside in Tostica which is a mere twenty miles away. I see the king more often than most because he has a summer home a few miles away from Ociem on the beach. A little town even sprang up around it. The town grew into the city of Gardenia, named after the magnificent gardens growing in front of the summer palace, which the public could view from outside the gates. I work in Gardenia. It’s not the most honorable job, but the pay is handsome, and I’m good at it.

My sister has a much more suitable job for a young nymph. She works in Ociem as a jeweler. She hunts for shells and turns them into the best jewelry in all of Acelin. She even sells them to the citizens of Gardenia. She said the queen even bought a necklace she made once. She’s very respected in Gardenia and Ociem unlike me. But I was desperate before my sister got a job.

I am interrupted from my thoughts when there is a heavy knocking on the door. It isn’t 18:00 yet, but maybe they came to collect me early.

I open the door, luggage in hand — if you can even call it that.

“Miss, we’re taking you home a bit early,” a tall, red-headed guard says.

“Alright,” I say and step out with them.

“Your pay will be delivered to your bank account,” the other guard tells me.

“Thank you.”

Perfect, I can’t be robbed on the train then.

They lead me out of my room and through the rest of the marble palace to a waiting carriage.

A servant opens the door for me and helps me in. The carriage is spacious, and the windows let in a lot of light. I sit on one of the velvet cushioned benches and stare out the window. The red-headed guard sits across from me, holding a long spear. The other, shorter guard takes his seat next to me holding a similar spear.

Am I that important that they have to use spears to protect me?

“What is it like in Ociem?” the redhead says, trying to start a conversation.

“There are many shops,” I say. “They sell one of a kind things. Jewelry you can get from nowhere else, amazing food and it’s not salty, and novelties from wreckages. The nymphs that do know of wreckages are archaeologists or investigators for the government.”

“What do you eat since you’re underwater?”

“Well, unknown to a lot, the city is surrounded by a bubble of oxygen. So it’s dry, and we breathe air, but nymphs can breathe both air and water. Cargo subs bring supplies to and from Ociem.”

“Of course,” the shorter one says. “But the bubble is interesting.”

“Yes,” I say, and the rest of the ride is silent.

We arrive at the Korona station at 18:15. The servant comes and opens the door again. The shorter guard steps out first before the servant helps me out again, and the redhead follows. They lead me to the check-in for the station.

A woman with classic black glasses looks at me sternly. She’s a member of the Acelian National Guard or ANG. She has on a black jumpsuit, making her movements versatile and agile while also making it appear she is in a structured, organized group. On her upper left sleeve is the Acelian crest, a Phoenix with its wings spread proudly. Little color dots circle it — green, orange, white, silver, lilac, blue, beige, and violet. One for each power group. She has her name tagged onto the jumpsuit. Admiral McKinnley. She has her auburn hair in a tight bun on top of her head. Her stormy gray eyes fix themselves on me.

“Name?” she commands more than asks.

“Atlantica Reef,” I reply, my voice level.

“Ticket.” She holds her hand out from behind the desk. I open my bag and take out the train ticket the Royals provided me. It’s made of silver colored paper, meaning a seat in the second class car. McKinnley scans the ticket, enters the code on it, and tears off the part meant for records. She hands me the other half.

“I’m going to have to search your bag and pat you down,” she says and gets up from her desk and gets out of the box she sits in. When she gets out, I can see she’s wearing black, knee high, lace up, heeled combat boots. It makes her look very badass, and part of women’s training for the ANG is learning to run in heels. How useful in cases like these. I wonder what her power is.

“Bag.” She holds her hand out. I hand her my luggage. She sets it on her desk and rummages through it. After a thorough search, she closes my bag and hands it back to me. She pats me down. I’m calm while doing this, it’s for security. She’s finished quickly, and the shorter guard leads me inside after she opens the door. The redhead stays behind. I catch a glimpse of him flirting and her blushing before I leave.

The silver bullet train speeds into the station at 18:30. Right on time. The guard bids me farewell, and I get on once the train stops. A conductor guides me to the second class car and my seat. It’s more luxurious than I could’ve dreamed. There are more comforts than I have ever seen at home. My sister and I live in the rundown part of town, in a dilapidated shack.

There is velvet cushioned seating and a table in the middle, for what I can’t imagine. I have my own compartment closed off by a sliding wooden door, allowing for privacy. The train will take two days to reach Ociem, so there’s another door behind me. That’s where my sleeping quarters are most likely and also the latrine. I just sit and look out the window. The bullet train begins to rise because of the magnets it uses. It’s a great alternative to what people were using years ago to power trains. The magnets on the train and on the platform are now at the same poles making the train levitate effortlessly above the tracks before speeding off.

I watch as the scenery passes by in a blur but quickly get bored, so I open my bag and take out my belongings. A locket, a few changes of clothing, and a book that I’ve read about five times already from cover to cover. The book’s about the history of sea nymphs. It’s got records of all the sea nymphs who ever lived in Ociem, and I’m trying to find any family ties I can because my sister should not have to live the way she does. I haven’t found anything — not one thing — with the only exception being dead relatives, like our parents. I sigh and put the clothes and book back, but I hold onto the locket. My sister made it out of shells, but I haven’t put any pictures in there. I put away the ring I received from my best friend. I don’t want to wear it for the fear it will be stolen.

I put the locket back into my bag with him in mind and go to my sleeping quarters.

There’s a comfy looking bed in one corner, a bathroom with a shower is in an adjacent room, and a vanity is placed opposite to the bed. I place my carpet bag on the bed and relax. I decide it’d be nice to take a shower and a nap. I head into the beautiful washroom. Towels hang on a rack next to the huge shower. I slide open the glass door and examine it. There’s no tub. Just a tile floor with a drain in the middle. I go back and lock the sliding door to my compartment, then the one for my sleeping quarters, and finally the one to the bathroom before taking my strapless, sweetheart neckline, light blue, chiffon dress off. My underwear follows, and I begin to remove my hair from its braid and free it from the hair accessories I used for my performance. I take my makeup remover out of my bag and begin taking off the heavy eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and blush I used. It feels good to be completely bare for once. No paint on my face, no suffocating dresses, and to finally free myself, I kick off my heels. My natural face shows in the mirror, and I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s been forever since I’ve seen myself without makeup. I look pretty either way, but I feel better like this. I step into the shower and cleanse myself with the scented soaps and oils provided in lukewarm water. Afterward, I dry myself and put on the bathrobe provided before heading to get changed into a comfortable outfit for once in my life. I put on my favorite light wash, ripped, denim, skinny jeans and a white off the shoulder top. I slip on a pair of sandal flip flops. I let my hair out and go back to do my makeup. I put on minimal mascara and apply my eyeliner in the cat eye style.

I take a look at myself. I look good.

I unlock all the doors and sit back down on the cushioned benches. A waiter enters my compartment and puts a platter on the table along with a bottle of ginger ale.

“In case of any motion sickness,” he says and exits as quickly as he came, sliding my compartment door closed behind him. I look at the covered tray and lift the cover out of curiosity. The tray is full of food for an amazing dinner plus dessert. California rolls with a side of soy sauce as an appetizer, chicken breast with mashed potatoes and vegetables, and finally for dessert, creme brûlée. I eat the meal, savoring every bite. I’ll never eat this well again. My mind wanders to how the first class must be treated if this is only second class. I relax after I finish the meal and neatly put the plates and dishes back before covering the tray again. I take the bottle of ginger ale to my bedroom and put it in my bag. My sister and I rarely drink pop, so I want her to share it with me. I feel bad Airia won’t get to try an amazing dinner like this, but she’ll have ginger ale, so I guess that makes up for it.

I cannot fathom what to do at this point. I’ve got nothing to read or take my mind off my boredom, so I just hope the waiter comes back to take my tray.

He does after a few minutes thankfully, and he asks me, “Do you need anything, miss?”

“Could I get a book?” I ask.

The waiter nods. “Do you have one in mind?”

“Not really, but I do enjoy the works of Otega Green,” I reply. He nods then disappears before coming back in ten minutes with two books.

“I’ve got two, miss,” he says and puts them on the table. “Perfect Strangers and Perfectly Imperfect.

I thank him, and he leaves. I then lock my compartment for the night and head to my “bedroom.” I slip out of my normal clothes and put on my nightgown and braid my hair into one long plait before getting into the comfy bed with Perfect Strangers. I read for two more hours before falling asleep.

 

Next Door Robbery

It was 9:00 in the morning when I had woken up, and it was a usual day, but it really wasn’t when my landlord came by to check on the house. But the moment the landlord knocked on the door rapidly, I knew that was really weird because he always looks in through the window. Then, he demanded I “open up.”

When I opened the door, he entered and gasped saying, “Call 911 this moment.”

Then, he pushed me toward the telephone, pushed me out of the way, and pressed the buttons rapidly. Then, I looked at his face, and his face was in terror with his red, sweaty forehead. I even thought his little hair on his forehead was turning red, too.

Then, I asked what was going on, and he replied, “There’s a robbery next door.”

And at that moment, my heart felt like it fell into my stomach. Then, the landlord finally got on the line with a 911 responder, and the landlord said, quickly cutting off the responder, “There’s a robbery on 258 Elm Street.”

The woman said, “We will be there.”

Then, out of nowhere, I heard the noise of glass shatter, and the next thing I saw was the cord break. I looked back, and I saw a man in a black ski mask, and then he quickly lifted up the bag full of jewelry and chuckled. Then, he left in seconds. The landlord and I looked at each other and sat nervously and waited for the cops to come. Then when they came, they asked what happened.

I said, “I don’t know.”

When the landlord and I were all alone, he said, “I was behind the robbery. That man that you saw in the ski mask, that was my brother, and you want to know why I called the cops. Because I will be last person they come to. I trust you so much I am telling you this now, and for you to be hush-hush, I am splitting the money with you. Okay?”

“I’ll take the deal,” I replied.

Then he said, “Okay.”

Though I did wonder why he robbed that place.

 

Silent Love

The radio played a soft ukulele tune in the background, shadowed by carefully placed piano chords. We lay atop my bed together, looking at the ceiling that glittered with fake, painted stars. One of my arms was on my chest, one of his was on the cover, and we each held the other’s hand. The pastel aqua and melon theme that was patterned in the bedroom added another feeling of peace. The radio crackled, the song ended, and it began to play a slightly calmer, aesthetic song with electronic beats. He shifted his position on the bed, and so did I, following his lead, so we both sat with our backs to the walls, sitting on top of the blanket. Our love was a quiet, delicate thing. It involved aimlessly lying on beds while playing warming music and looking up to our imaginary sky. We always painted the ceiling, so one time the sky could be dark and littered with small glow-in-the-dark stars, and other times it could be mixes of reds and yellows, imitating a sunset. But all that really mattered was that the two of us were there, together.

 

Benevolence of Change

        

The Child With Emerald Eyes (SONNET)

Summer smiles in sun-kissed bliss with her cloudless days,

Watching over a child with emerald eyes,

Who rocks back and forth in his chair in a joyful haze

And laughs in glee under bright and clear skies.

 

Winter smiles with her frigid cool and heavy mist,

Drifting down frail snowflakes that float in the air

And melt on the skin of an emerald-eyed man who wished

To be able to forever rock back and forth in his chair.

 

Summer returns in her sweltering heat,

Watching over a wrinkled old man with a cane,

Whose emerald eyes shine in defeat

At the passing of time that had stolen his youth with no refrain.

 

The wrinkled, old emerald-eyed man rocks back and forth in his chair with an accepting gaze,

Underneath the watchful eye of Winter and Summer and in his wrinkled eyes: a youthful, fiery blaze.

 

With Calm Sways (SESTINA)

She calmly floats, swaying

As waves softly lap and swirl

Against her body under a calm

Sky that appeared not stormy

But painted in a soft pink haze

Above water clear as crystal.

 

Overcome with a sense of rest, her crystal

Blue eyes gazing in swaying

Calm, floating atop water in a peaceful haze

And an unconscious swirl

Of serene lack of a stormy

Sea, washed over with a sense of calm.

 

Amidst her floating in the calm

Sea, she suddenly jolts with crystal

Clear clarity of times stormy

And gray, and with a more intense swaying,

She remembers and recalls in a swirl

Of sharp understanding in a sudden dark and blurry haze.

 

She recalled sitting in silence in a foggy haze

Listening to a doctor with steady calm

Who told of an illness in no swirl

Of emotions, but with crystal

Clear clarity, and under a sympathetic gaze, observed her swaying

At the prospect of times stormy.

 

From then on, there was no end to days stormy

With pain, until one day, a sudden haze

Of dizzy faint struck to leave her swaying

And struck her to the floor with a final sense of calm

And yet sharp crystal

Clear clarity of an overlooming dark, heavy swirl.

 

It was then she faintly recalled the deafening swirl

Of red and blue to save her from times stormy

But left her and her crystal

Blue eyes in a fleeting haze,

As she ended her struggling and finally closed her eyes with calm

And let go of the overwhelming pain to feel herself suddenly swaying.

 

Brought to a clear blue ocean and a soft pink haze

Painted in the sky, free of stormy

Days, she calmly floats, swaying.

 

Missing Tooth (RONDEAU)

Giggling in fleeting bliss, the girl’s face is momentarily illuminated

By the flash of a camera that had caught and captivated

A young girl in the bloom of youth,

Her mouth wide with a missing tooth,

And a laugh, free and liberated.

 

Now a woman, youth fadingly saturated,

She glances at a photo of a young girl faded

But laughing with a missing tooth,

Giggling in fleeting bliss.

 

With deepening wrinkles, the woman, sophisticated

With age and laughs weighted

With a solemn truth,

Glances at a photo with no missing tooth,

Of a young girl liberated,

Giggling in fleeting bliss.

 

Golden, Warm Air

A broken butterfly fluctuates in its soar,

Through a journey over poisonous gardens,

Cool air,

Broken wing flapping,

Flying with its thought: one last time,

But landing with its golden swirls in the warm hands of a warm-handed woman.

 

A broken woman staggers in her walk,

Through a journey heavy of poisonous people,

Dark air,

Broken past looming,

Walking with her thought: one last time,

But landing in her warm hands: a broken, golden-swirled butterfly.

 

The broken butterfly flew with the weight of fragile life

Atop its golden-swirled wings,

But remaining now, safely nuzzled against the warmth of a woman

Who had too walked heavy.

 

The woman weighted with broken past,

Begins to walk steady,

Illuminated by the golden swirls of a golden-swirled butterfly

With a broken wing,

Beginning to fly.

 

Golden-swirled wings glow from ascending warmth of warm hands,

And is released from the warm hands of the warm-handed woman,

Flying away free,

Into the golden, warm air.

 

A golden-swirled butterfly with a broken wing,

A warm-handed woman with a broken past,

But themselves no longer broken in harmonized air:

Whole.

 

Dog Party

Another day at the Supermall USA, the mall of all malls, the supermarket of all supermarkets. And why are we (or in this case, why am I) here? We are here to get 13 small but important items for the party. It may take a while. It looks like I might be here for hours and hours just for the food aisle! I enter the supermall.

“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself under my breath. “This mall is huge! You could fit my apartment 40 times in here and still have space! This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack,” I say to myself, staring at the promotional poster that shows a literal needle in a haystack in a supermall with the quote beneath it saying: “Try finding a needle in a haystack in SUPERMALL USA!!!”

I have three hours until the party. If I don’t get this done, I don’t know what I am going to do. Poor Joe will be so let down. Okay, let’s start by heading to the dairy aisle, aisle 52. Okay, cheese after cheese after cheese after milk after milk! Aha! That’s what I need. Milk. That’s one thing off the list, and now I have to go all the way back to the start for the zip lock bag aisle. I grab a bag not even looking at it and then run back to the back of the store. I do this for hours. Finally, I got all the items, and I look in my cart and realize half of them are open and tampered with. I scream out loud because I have been in here for at least an hour. People stare at me and run, some even filming me.

Embarrassed, I continue shopping like a normal person, taking all those old items and putting them wherever I desire. I continue my shopping, carefully examining items once I pick them up. It’s been another hour, and I have all the items that are on my shopping list. All the items are perfectly functional, and I realize I have not gotten a single gift. Not one gift has made its way into my cart. I quickly run back to grab a teddy bear and rubber chicken, run back in line, and wait. In the time I left and ran back, 30 more people got in line. The one time I leave and come back, the one time I go shopping in this mall, 30 more people… get in line… and take my spot… I am never going to this mall again, unless I am in true need of it. One and a half hours have passed. I sit in line, and I wait, trying to make small talk with the person in front of me while some young lady is talking very loudly on the phone behind me.

“O-M-G! That is so cool. I totally like that. As a matter of fact, I might like like that like now! Like it’s so like what’s the word oh it’s like cool,” she tells her phone.

I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much stupidity. This person, nothing she says makes sense.

“Can you like shut up!” I say, mocking her awful accent and speech.

She gives me a dirty look and turns and faces the other direction, continuing her conversation, this time talking about me and how “crazzzzy” I am. This time, instead of saying something, I ignore her, knowing that I am fighting a losing battle. I continue to wait in line for the checkout, finally reaching it after another 15 minutes.

“Cash or credit?” the cashier questions.

I respond with, “Credit.”

“There is no balance on your card,” he responds.

I reach into my wallet for cash, hoping there will be enough money in it. Today is not my lucky day, so I do not expect much, but surprisingly, I have enough. I make my way outside with my items and my near empty wallet and start driving home, looking at my gas tank. I realize by the time I reach home it will be empty. I take a quick stop to refill on gas. Joe’s friends will be home soon. I have to hurry. I look right and see some reckless idiot smoking a cigarette right next to a pump. What an idiot. I feel the need to approach him, the need to tell him the hazard of smoking near a gas pump and what it can do to him and others around him! So I do.

“You listen here, idiot. You don’t smoke near gas pumps because you can kill people like that!” I yell at him.

He quickly puts it away whilst saying, “Sorry, mom!”

I don’t know why he said “sorry mom,” but I don’t have time to question it. I head back home in the car. I approach the door with my keys in hand and only five minutes to spare. All of my friends will be here soon. I enter.

“Hey there, Joe!” I exclaim.

“Bark bark,” he barks.

Joe is a dog, a little Chihuahua. I hear a knock at the door. All my friends are here with their dogs ready for Joe the dog’s fifth birthday. Bark on, barkster.

 

The Biggest Game of my Life

          

I’m standing there in the tunnel waiting for my teammates to exit the team room. I’m feeling nervous because I have never been in this big of a game. I know this because I could hear my heart beating and nothing else besides that. This is the state championship game. The game that decides who would be crowned “king” of the state. My teammates are hyped as I try to hide my nervousness from them because I was one of the best players on the team. I could not be having any of these feelings before such a big game. Our coach screams that we are about to run out onto the court.

I close my eyes. I imagine everything our team has accomplished this year. How we were the best team in the league, which was a surprise, how we had four all-state players, and how I broke the scoring record in state history. This was one of the best moments of my career. It might be okay with my teammates for just getting to this big of a game, but I for one wanted to go out there and win it all. After all, not only was it my last season, but it was also my last game ever for my school.

***

I wasn’t always this kid who was amazing at basketball. In the beginning of high school, I was this 5’5” kid who did not have much of a jump shot and below average ball handling skills. But in-between now and then, I had grown to 6’8” and worked harder than I had ever worked before. I had top programs knocking on my door now, and it came down to six different programs. So, I talked it over with my parents, and it came down to Duke, North Carolina, Villanova, Kentucky, Kansas, and Virginia. On National Signing Day, I decided that I would be attending the University of North Carolina. At the end of the day, I reflected on how I had changed so much over the past four years and how my hard work had really paid off.

At the beginning of the season, I did not expect us to do so well. Our practices were terrible because almost nobody knew the plays, and don’t even get me started on the games. So one day, my coach sat me down in his office, and he said to me, “Look, I know this is your last season and you want to go to the state tourney, so what you have to do is become a leader or else this season is a lost cause.” I was leading the practices, and we actually started to win games. By the end of the regular season, our team had secured a spot in the state tournament, finishing with a record of 18-5. It took a lot of hard work, sweat, and grit, but I was proud of this team and what it had accomplished this year.

***

I remember when my son started playing the game that my husband loved for so long. I remember the times when he could barely play, but he stayed out long past dark shooting the basketball in that hoop I bought him for his eighth birthday. One day, he came home from school, and he said, “Mom, I don’t want to continue playing this game because I am terrible at it.” I told him that to get better, you have to practice more. I could tell that he wanted to get better because basketball was his life and one of the most important things that he cared about. My son had worked long and hard to get to the place where he was now; and I’m not just talking about all these college scholarships. I’m talking about the state championship game. He had been talking about this since the first moment of his high school basketball career. And now here he was, just about ready to play in the state championship game.

***

I’m standing there, ready to take the floor. As I run out onto the court, I look at the section where my mom is sitting and see how proud she is of me. She is looking at me and is so happy to see what my teammates and I had accomplished. We were so pumped for this because I know for me and six of my other teammates, it would be our last basketball game for this team. For those other six seniors, it may even be their last competitive basketball game. We take our last warmups, and then our coach calls us in to give us one final pep talk. I’m not really paying attention because I can’t focus with everyone yelling in the stands, but he is probably saying “I’m proud of you guys. You fought hard all year long, and it’s a true accomplishment just to get here.”

Here I am, three minutes before the biggest game of my high school career, and I’m so determined to win this game. This might be because it’s my last game ever for the school or because I want to give the fans a game to remember. But as I waited for the game to start, I remember those three minutes being the most nervous moments of my life. Oh, how I will never forget those three minutes before the game began.

 

The Vindicators (Chapter One)

       

Prologue

The date is April 25, 2030. The planet has been flooded with criminals and chaos, the government has been overthrown, and all known superheroes have either been killed or have gone into hiding. The citizens of Earth now obey the criminals and supervillians that threaten them. They survive through each day with hope, hope that the heroes might rise again to restore the world to its former glory.

 

Chapter One

In a subterranean base deep underground, a not-entirely-human in a spacesuit is working on an android. His suit is a mix of green, gray, and black, made mostly of metal. A beam of blue light emanates from the spot in his helmet where his eyes would be. He wears the suit to protect what is held inside, a being made of pure, unstable energy. The suit shields Guardian from Earth’s air, which is toxic to his body. A cure to his condition is still elusive despite his intelligence. The suit is his only way of living on Earth.

The white room that he is working in is filled with gadgets and tools, strewn about in a seemingly random fashion. A pile of scrap metal sits in the corner, overflowing with junk: a broken radio, half of a computer, even a couple damaged airplane parts. He currently sits at a desk working on the upper body of a robot, one of his numerous projects.

The room is Guardian’s personal laboratory, and he uses it to build technology for his boss and teammate, Minion. The project that he is currently working on, titled Apetura, is an android designed to be an assistant to Guardian. It will have all of his technical prowess and limitless intelligence. Its purpose is to assist Guardian with a far more complex task: building a more advanced robot from scratch that can match the martial abilities of Minion, a necessary requirement for any member of his team. The robot will be named Namaste and will be a member of Minion’s team of superheroes, The Vindicators. Their goal is to save the world from the evil that runs unchallenged throughout Earth. Minion walks into the room, the reds and blues of his super suit shining in the light. He has a smile on his face and appears to be very excited, practically jumping with every step.

“How goes the project, my friend? I will require Namaste to be ready in a week’s time so that I can properly assess his abilities,” Minion inquires. Guardian looks up and hesitates for a second before speaking.

“Well… there’s a slight problem. To create an android from scratch in that amount of time I will require an assistant, which I am creating now. She will be specifically designed for this task and will hopefully prove to be a valuable asset to my lab. But Namaste should be ready by next week if all goes well, sir,” Guardian replies.

Minion smiles and leaves the room. He walks through the main floor of the base and into the elevator, a stainless steel contraption with an array of floor buttons, much more than any regular elevator. Minion inserts his key card into a slot on the bottom of the button panel and presses the lowest floor in the entire complex. The elevator descends rapidly and soon reaches the bottom, dinging with every floor passed. The doors open into the portal room, a room created for only one purpose: teleportation. A large portal-making device sits in the very center of this room. It looks like a metallic, circular frame, but nothing currently sits in the frame. A terminal slides out of the wall with Minion’s arrival, and an interface is brought up to his hand. He inputs the exact coordinates of his destination, and the terminal slides silently back into the wall. The portal machine emits a low humming noise, and a portal fills the frame, showing a glimpse of the other world. Minion enters into the darkness of the portal and is teleported away. The portal closes behind him.

***

The world that Minion enters is pitch black, except for the light coming from the portal behind him. But the light disappears almost immediately with the closing of the portal. The planet is named Ragnarok, after the doomsday story in which the sun itself is eaten and the world is plunged into darkness, a very fitting name for a place devoid of light. Minion takes a pair of night vision goggles out from his belt, puts them on, and starts walking down a meticulous path with the aid of his now clear vision. His surroundings aren’t much, just black spires of rock and the occasional hole, but the night vision helps to distinguish them from the rest of the darkness.

Without light, this planet is incapable of sustaining life, except for the person that Minion is looking for. The planet was once great. Its surface was vibrant, its animals happy and peaceful. But that was before the planet’s sun exploded. Everything went downhill from there. Soon, Minion reaches a steep ravine, the bottom nowhere in sight. He grabs onto the end of a tall pole that rests against his side of the gap, as if it was placed there on purpose. Minion vaults across the ravine with practiced ease and leaves the pole resting against the side of the ravine that he now stands upon. He takes a series of complicated turns and reaches another ravine, albeit with less distance between both sides. A metal bridge has been built here by someone, to allow Minion passage across to the other side. He is careful to avoid the tripwire placed between the second and third steps. At the end of the bridge, he reaches a large cocoon made of pure darkness, the lair of the person he is seeking.

The door opens eerily as Minion approaches the cocoon. He enters the lair of darkness and spots the only inhabitant of Ragnarok: Lady Death. She is a creature of shadows, specializing in the magic of darkness and necromancy. She used to be the daughter of a wealthy human family, but the reason for the sudden shift from her past self to her present self is unknown. Lady Death rarely talks about her past. She is currently sitting in a chair made of darkness, lazily playing with a wisp of darkness in one hand.

A scene plays out between the darkness, a battle between two contenders. Two stick figures wielding swords exchange blows silently. One lunges at the other, but the sword is knocked away by the second, a clearly better fighter. The better fighter holds up his sword to the other figure’s throat. The swordless fighter, clearly defeated, puts his hands above his head. The fighter with the sword gives the swordless fighter his sword back, and they shake hands.

Minion stands in the doorway patiently, knowing not to disturb her. Lady Death lets him wait for a second before letting the darkness dissipate and turning around to face Minion, intrigue in her eyes.

“What kind of project do you want me to work on this time? It’s always projects with you, no fun.” Lady Death makes a fake pouty face. “You’ll owe me a favor, of course, for my compliance. You won’t know when or where, but it’ll come sooner or later,” Lady Death says slyly, a grin spreading across her face. Minion’s expression falls.

“I thought you would let me off the hook given our history. Especially because of that last favor you wanted. That one took a lot of resources, especially from Guardian.”

“I insist,” Lady Death replies. Minion thinks for a couple moments and reluctantly comes to a conclusion.

“Fine,” Minion mumbles. Lady Death winks and pulls her cloak across her body, disappearing into the darkness and teleporting to Minion’s base. Minion rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Of course she’d just leave me here,” he says exasperatedly. “I’ll have to walk all the way back now.” Minion mumbles as he walks back down the long and boring route to his portal.

***

Minion passes through the portal back into his lair, entering the room with a satisfying swoosh. The darkness of Ragnarok crawls into the room for a moment but is sucked out when the portal closes. Lady Death sits in a conjured chair of darkness in the corner, pretending to be asleep. She pretends to wake up suddenly, as if Minion’s entrance was loud enough to disrupt her sleep.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived. I’ve been waiting here forever. I wondered if you would even return at all,” Lady Death drawls. Minion rolls his eyes, clearly not appreciating the sarcasm.

“The project is this way, follow me,” Minion says forcefully. He walks into the elevator room and turns left into a small room, Lady Death following right behind him. The room is painted white with nothing but a skeleton made of metal in the center. The skeleton slightly resembles that of a bat, with an elongated face and winglike bone structure where ears would be. Minion walks directly towards the skeleton, while Lady Death keeps her distance and fidgets with her hands.

“Don’t be scared, it doesn’t bite!” Minion says jokingly, beckoning her forward.

“I… have an aversion to metal,” Lady Death says hesitantly, only inching forward a small amount. Minion nods slightly, respecting her wishes and making a mental note of this occasion, so as to not repeat it in the future.

“This is my project, or at least part of it. I want to create an intelligent creature from scratch, made of darkness and water. I want it to be like a human, but enhanced. I need the darkness from you. I can provide everything else,” Minion says. Lady Death reluctantly inches a little closer to the metal skeleton and begins to collect a ball of darkness in her hands. She closes her eyes, concentrating on the darkness, and it soon grows boulder sized. Lady Death opens her eyes and launches the darkness at the skeleton, covering the skeleton completely and then some. She rushes to the darkness covered skeleton and begins to sculpt the blob into a figure. She starts at the bottom, giving the being sturdy feet. Lady Death moves to the legs, sculpting stocky upper and lower legs for balance. The torso is slim and feminine, with small breasts and narrow shoulders. Her arms are thin with small but strong hands. Lady Death stands back, admiring her handiwork for a moment, and moves upward to the head. She sculpts a human face with slight batlike features, small winglike ears at the back of the head and a prominent nose. She steps back again.

Minion raises his right arm and forms a gauntlet made of water. He walks up to the creature and infuses water into her body. The creature’s chest glows blue for a moment before fading. Minion’s water gauntlet then turns white with light as he gives his project her final necessary component, life. Her body lifts into the air, and her eyes open wide, revealing blue irises. Minion steps back as the creature touches the floor. She bends down on one knee and bows her head, waiting for Minion to name her.

“Chiroptera, rise and protect the citizens of Earth! Help me save the world!” Minion exclaims. Chiroptera stands up tall and tests out her water abilities, creating shoulder pads and knee pads effortlessly, the magical abilities coming to her naturally. She then creates a sword out of water, takes a few practice swings, and lets the sword’s form coalesce into a sphere of water. She turns it to ice, then back to water. The water is absorbed into her body, and she looks up at Minion.

“I am ready to serve,” she says. Minion looks at Lady Death, smiles, and looks back at Chiroptera.

“Welcome to my base of operations,” he exclaims proudly. Minion hears a gasp behind him and turns around quickly. Lady Death’s black gloves are on the floor, and she is clutching her hands, which are turning white and skeletal from the palms to the wrists. The rest of her hands have already been turned white. Flesh drips off her hands, forming a small puddle at her feet. She bites her lip, trying to hide the obvious pain that the process is causing her.

“What’s happening to you?!” Minion asks concernedly. Lady Death gasps before responding.

“It’s from using too much magic… The darkness is corrupting me… eating through my skin. I can’t use that much darkness at once or it’ll… consume me entirely… This has happened before, it’s the cost of my abilities… ” Her flesh stops melting, and Lady Death straightens her body, her arrogant air materializing again. She puts her gloves back on and tries to pretend like nothing happened, acting as if the process never happened.

“Are you alright?!” Minion asks worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Lady Death says angrily. She rolls her eyes and teleports back to her lair.

 

Shine Bright Like a Diamond

       

Chapter One: Debbie Allen’s Dance Academy

I had the dream dance class… at least that’s what I thought. But, I’m getting way ahead of myself. It all started three months ago when we were in dance class, and Mrs. Allen came in the room to post the cast for The Nutcracker and guess what… I got the lead part: Clara. It said it there in big bold letters. Danielle Rosewood… Clara. I was so excited that I jumped up and down, so I caught most people’s attention.

I said, “I got Clara!”

But, some people weren’t so happy.

My friends Harper and Aubrey got the ensemble, and Evelyn got Uncle Drosselmeyer. They looked as if they envied me. When I saw them looking at me like that, they rolled their eyes and turned away.

I walked over to where they were standing and said, “Why are you guys mad?”

“We just really wanted to get the part,” said Evelyn.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure that you get the understudy.”

I looked back at the sheet to see who was my understudy. It was my archenemy, Skylar. Perfect.

Skylar and I used to be best friends, but ever since I moved from L.A. to Beverly Hills because of my dad’s job, she made her friends, and I made mine. When I came back to L.A., she was already in a clique. Skylar was very angry because she felt like I betrayed her. She wanted to switch roles with somebody else, but Ms. Allen wouldn’t let her.

“But please, you don’t understand! She’s evil,” Skylar squawked.

“I said no, and that’s the end of this conversation,” said Mrs. Allen.

“Ugh, fine,” said Skylar.

She walked back over to where we were standing and said, “I’m so excited to be your understudy.”

I said, “At least that’s the first few words you said to me all year.”

She crossed her arms and said, “Hmph.”

It’s never a dull day when Skylar’s mad.

 

Chapter Two: Restless, Rehearsals, Revenge

Skylar tried everything she could to get revenge on me. Even before the auditions for the parts for the show, Skylar was practicing for the part of Clara. Now that she was the understudy, she hated my guts. It was the rehearsal, and we still didn’t have the dance memorized. Mrs. Allen was yelling like crazy.

“Girls, you have to straighten your backs. Danielle, please point your toes.”

“Mrs. Allen, I can coach Danielle with her moves,” said Skylar.

“Umm…” I said.

“Wonderful. This is perfect because you two are the prima ballerinas in this class.”

“Ugh,” I exclaimed.

I already knew that Skylar was trying to sabotage me for getting the part.

Later that day…

Skylar came two hours late. She even had the nerve to say that she was doing homework, and her mom wouldn’t let her come until she finished, but I know she never does her homework. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Skylar and I are in the same class in school, unfortunately.

“So you should point your toes more,” Skylar said, while fixing her nails.

“You’re not helping. You know that, right?”

“You’re so ungrateful. Whatever, I’m leaving.”

She “accidentally” knocked over her bag, spilled some makeup, and cleaned it up. Little did I know that she snuck butter under the rug that I would later move to do my dance.

“Hope the door doesn’t hit you on the way out.”

She turned around. I “accidentally” slapped her with my wooden front door.

“Oops.”

Skylar left, storming.

The next day…

Since my mom and Skylar’s mom are really close friends, when Skylar told me that I was driving her to school, I was very annoyed. The whole ride there we were silent while my mom was blasting her favorite song through our car windows. Skylar was just looking out one window the whole time, and I was looking out the other.

As soon as we got to school, Skylar jumped out of the car without even saying thank-you.

My mom asked me, “Hey, what’s up with Skylar?”

I said, “Nothing, nothing. We’re just having a grand old time! Haha… bye!”

She cluelessly said, “Okay!”

During Mathematics 101, Skylar told Brandon, Joey, and Lucia to pass me a note. So, without Mr. Kerry seeing, they started down the line. When it ended up at me, I opened the note, and it had a picture of me with devil horns on my head with the devil staff.

After, when we were on our independent time, I went up to Mr. Kerry with the note in my hand pretending to ask a question.

I asked him, “Can I go to the principal’s office? This has been happening every single day.”

He said, “Okay. Class, class please settle down!”

As soon as I went into the principal’s office, I showed him the notes. He called Skylar into his office, and she gave me an evil glance, and I stuck my tongue out at her. Then again, this was my revenge for her trying to get revenge on me. After today, I will have victory and justice, and she’ll never get the lead part. I got it fair and square, and she cannot be mad. After today, she got suspended and because her mom was so mad at her, she wouldn’t let her go to dance. And I faked sick because there was nobody to be my understudy since Skylar was gone.

I chose Evelyn to be my understudy, and Skylar would have to be Uncle Drosselmeyer. This was all part of my plan.

Three days later…

Skylar walked into the dance studio saying, “Let’s rehearse this thing since I’m the understudy, and I say what has to be done.”

Mrs. Allen came into the dance studio and said, “Actually, since you weren’t here the day that Danielle was sick, we changed your position to Uncle Drosselmeyer, and Evelyn became the new understudy.”

“That’s just my way of getting revenge,” I whispered in her ear.

She growled.

 

Chapter Three: Practice, Practice Makes Perfect

Okay, so I gave you a flashback of my last three months which were a living heck, but Skylar got a perfect part to express her anger … just kidding. He is a good person in The Nutcracker. Now, every day since that moment, Skylar has tried to get her part back. Anyway, back to dancing. I have one week to make sure that I know the dance (even though I practiced one million times).

At home…

“Step, turn, step, chasse. Man, I need to work harder. Especially if I want to be better than Skylar.” I kept dancing until I rolled my ankle. Ouch. I was so mad. Hold up, why is the floor so slippery? I moved the rug to find a small yet noticeable packet of butter and a strand of hair that was an ombre of black to gray. My mind immediately went straight to the black-ombre devil herself.

Bad conscience: Come on, let her have it!

Good conscience: No, that’s only going to make matters worse.

You know what? I’m just going to leave it alone because I don’t feel like getting into any more messes.

Bad conscience and good conscience in sync: What are you going to do about Mrs. Allen? For sure you’re going to be kicked off the dance team.

Okay, I’ll just not perform in the dance, so Evelyn can have a turn. I’m happy that she’s getting a chance. I’ll call her now.

Ringing…

“Hey, Evelyn. Are you going to the dress rehearsal tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t. My cousins are coming over from Paris, so I am leaving from school early and not going to dance.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Mrs. Allen would kill me if I wasn’t at practice since I am the lead role, and the show is in less than a week. I just hope that nobody sees my foot.

The next day…

I strolled into dance like nothing happened the day before. It’s going to be hard to pull it off because I have a limp now. If anyone finds out about my foot, I could be kicked out of the dance. Man … these are going to be a long few days. What am I going to do?

We all went to the auditorium (it was freezing), and Mrs. Allen was waiting for us. We start dancing. My moves are a little sloppy because of my ankle. At least Mrs. Allen didn’t see me. I didn’t know that someone was watching me.

After dance class, Mrs. Allen stopped me in the hallway to tell me that Skylar told her that I was limping during practice. Unfortunately, I had no socks or shoes on, so she was able to see that I had a giant bruise on my foot.

“IF YOUR FOOT CAN’T BE HEALED BY THE OPENING NIGHT, YOU WILL BE KICKED OFF THE SHOW!!!”

She shoved me with her shoulder as she walked past. (She literally gave me the cold shoulder). As soon as I went home, I slammed the front door, stomped up to my room (which really hurt), slammed my bedroom door as hard as I could, and cried into Mr. Fluffernutter, my fluffy, usually emotionless cat.

“Why did I have to fall. I have such bad luck.” I sighed. “I know what to do!”

I grabbed my makeup case and ran into the bathroom. When I came out, it looked like the day before yesterday never happened.

 

Chapter Four: Opening Night

I strolled into the auditorium looking like a “non-injured” queen.

I went right up to Mrs. Allen and said, “I’m here and ready to dance.”

“Great. Go change into your costume.”

In my dressing room…

“First, let’s do my costume, makeup, and then my hair.”

An hour later…

“Finally, I’m done.”

I’m going to find Harper and Aubrey, so we can practice our solo. We got so lost in dancing that we did not even hear the five minute call.

“Places in five… four… three… two… ”

“WE HAVE TO GO ON STAGE.”

“Run before the curtains open,” said Harper.

We got on just in the nick of time. Mrs. Allen was not very happy. The dance was going so well. I always get so wrapped up in the music. I didn’t even realize that the dance was ending, and it was time for my solo. Step, turn, step, chasse, grand jet… “OWW!”

“Someone call the ambulance!!” said Harper.

I was in so much pain that I couldn’t move or speak. This has got to be the worst week ever.

 

Chapter Five: The Hospital

“Where am I? What happened?”

“Hi, Danielle. I’m Dr. Taylor. You are in the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“You were in a dance show and fell, sprained your ankle, got a slight case of amnesia, and sustained a severe head injury.”

“Will I get my memory back?”

“With enough rest, your memory should come back in the next 48 hours!”

“Thank you. Can you get my mom and dad, please.”

“Of course.”

My mom and dad, Lilianna and Derick, walked in the room.

“Hey, Mom and Dad.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” my mom said.

“What is going to happen when I go back to dance?”

“We don’t know. All we have to do is wait,” said Dad.

Two days later…

Cough. “Mrs. Allen… ”

“Please pack your things, and leave my studio”

“What? Why?”

“Because you lied to me, and you know I hate liars.”

A few hours later…

“She kicked me out,” I said to Harper, Aubrey, and Evelyn.

“It’s okay. Maybe you can find a new studio nearby,” said Evelyn.

“You don’t understand. I’m not going to see you guys anymore,” I said.

“We’ll be here with you every step of the way,” Harper said.

The next day after school…

On the bus ride back from school, it was already filled up, so Skylar had to sit next to me. She sat down looking like she had read the funniest text ever. Today is not the day for this.

“How is it having so much free time on your hands?” Skylar smirked.

“What’s your problem? You got what you wanted,” I said.

“My problem is you’re still in this town. Why can’t you just pack your things and move?”

Why can’t she just leave me alone? The bus dropped me off at my house.

Skylar yelled, “See you never, loser!”

That was when I got a brilliant idea. I walked in the front door to my mom sitting on a stool in the kitchen, typing up a storm. She was too busy to notice me.

“Ma, can we get out of this town? It’s so boring, it’s so annoying, and I’m tired of seeing Skylar’s and Mrs. Allen’s faces.”

“What? Why? I thought you liked Skylar. I thought you guys were best friends.” She closed her computer and turned around.

“She stopped talking to me after we moved back. Can we leave? She just keeps making fun of me and bullying me at school. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want it to get out of hand.”

“Sure. I’ll tell your father. We can arrange to move back into our old house,” she said calmly.

I was very happy about the decision.

A week later, we said our goodbyes and were on the road.

 

Chapter Six: A New Beginning

I just moved to my new house. It feels so empty… I feel so empty. I lay on the floor with my arms spread out just thinking about how things would’ve gone if I hadn’t rolled my ankle last month. I went to the bathroom to wash my face, and I looked up in the mirror and saw that my mascara was smudging because I was crying so much. I washed my face and put my hair back in a perfect bun. I was so happy but also so sad. I wish I was never kicked out of the dance studio, even though my new studio is so much better. I miss dancing with my friends. I went up the stairs to my nonexistent bedroom, and I lay on my nonexistent bed. I saw my moving boxes perched against the bright white wall. I went into my box labeled “decorations” and took out the photo of me and my friends dancing in our first performance and laid it on my nonexistent table.

I guess I should start unpacking.

A few hours later…

“And that’s the last of it! Finally,” I said.

I lay on my now existent bed. I felt more at home. I had my corkboard with all of my pictures on it in front of my desk, which was on the right side of my bed. On the left side of my bed was my nightstand with my picture and lamp on it. On the other side of the room was my walk-in closet. And I couldn’t forget my faux fur beanbag. I only felt like one thing was missing… my friends.

If I called them, would they be mad at me? If I didn’t call them, would they get more mad? I’ll call them now.

Phone ringing.

“Hello?” I said.

“O-M-G, hey!” said Evelyn.

“I can’t believe I’m really talking to you,” Harper said enthusiastically.

“How’s your new home?” Aubrey exclaimed.

“It’s great. I miss you guys so much.”

“Open your front door,” Evelyn stated.

“Okay?”

I went downstairs and opened the door. I saw Aubrey, Evelyn, and Harper reaching out for a group hug. I saw Evelyn’s mom’s car in the driveway.

“Oh my gosh. It’s really you!” I gave them the tightest hug ever.

“So, who are you dancing for now?” Evelyn asked.

“Don’t get mad at me, but I’m dancing for Energii now.”

“What? Why? You know they’re our rivals!” Harper yelled.

“They were the only ones who would accept me.”

“I respect your decision.” Evelyn smiled.

“I love you guys so much!”

They all said, “We love you, too!”

THE END

 

Pest Poems

          

The Roaches

We relax under the cabinet

Eating the leftover cheese

Contemplating the meaning of life

And wondering if there is any bread

That we can pair

With this sharp cheddar.

We are happy

At the moment.

The humans are away

And they left

Without so much as sweeping

The kitchen floor.

You perk up,

Dropping your crumb

On the wooden ground

I ask what happened

But you are already darting across

The kitchen.

Then I see what you see.

You have found

a grape.

 

The Appreciation of Pigeons

All they see you as

Is some type of pest —

Bothersome,

Ugly, annoying.

They don’t see

What they should see.

They can’t look past

Your interesting eating habits,

Or the fact that you

Like to flutter and squawk

Very noisily, when some of us

Are trying

To sleep.

Why do they love

Those hummingbirds

Who flutter harder

And louder

Than you?

Why can’t they stop talking

About those hideous parrots

That squawk so loudly

One has to plug

Their ears?

Looking closer

At the fine grey feathers

That gracefully morph

Into deep purples and greens,

Peering into your eyes,

Noticing the perfect oval shape,

The deep orange color

Surrounding a pinprick of black,

One could really only describe you

As magnificent.

 

Your Greatest Fan, Jemima.

My dearest Una,

Hear me now.

You think wrong of me,

And I can tell,

For I caught you

Standing on your stoop

Spraying vast quantities of bug repellent

Over every surface

Of your body.

If I could bite you

Without making those itchy bumps

Pop up all over your skin,

I would gladly do so.

But I can’t, unfortunately.

I see you trying to get rid of me

And my friends

But I feel it necessary to put it out there

That your struggles are pointless.

I’m sorry, I really am,

But I love you

Too much

To let the foul scent

Of that horrid stuff

Stand between

You and me.

I would die for you gladly,

Is one thing that you appear to have overlooked.

If my last sensation

Was a little bit

Of your freshly sucked blood

I would die a happy girl.

So put on all the bug spray you want,

Go for it,

Try to get rid of me,

But both you and I

Know that our love

Was written

In the stars.

Your greatest fan,

Jemima.

 

How We Can Improve My Current Situation

Underfed,

Underslept,

And hopeless.

Nothing can fix

This wretched situation.

I lean back against a piece of tinfoil

That was dropped on the ground,

And then it hits me.

I have finally thought

Of a solution.

For starters, a lot of pizza. Yes. More pizza!

Dripping cheese, warm and delicious.

Next, a nicer place to live.

How about the corner of a restaurant

(preferably an Italian place)?

Yes, that would be perfect.

Then, when the owners dropped food,

I could feast like a king! My stomach rumbles

At the very thought.

OOH! Also, I’d like to get myself

Another rat, for company.

You know, that’s all that I really need.

Scrap the pizza,

Scrap the home.

All I want

Is a friend.

 

My Favorite Snacks

The sweater your grandma wore

To her first day of high school

Is near the top of the list for sure.

The dye has mostly faded,

Giving it a more bland flavor,

But the soft texture makes up for any faults.

 

The knitted hat that your aunt wore

For the skiing trip she took

In the seventh grade.

Purple cashmere,

Smooth, magnificent.

The taste of snow still lingers

On its surface.

 

The rainbow scarf,

Disfigured and full of loose ends,

Your first knitting project.

The wool is scratchy, and it is already falling apart

Even though us moths have not yet

Filled it with our own holes.

Despite this, the nostalgia I feel

When nibbling on its colorful folds

Is immense, so I love it still.

 

Nervous

             

The light stains my eyelids a

lurid pink.

I fumble with the

Pen and paper

That lay on my desk.

The others are still sleeping,

The sun is yet to rise,

And I shiver in the cold.

The room looks too large without

The others.

I fidget in my seat,

Unable to sit still.

The paper stares at me

Marred by my shaky writing.

The timer dings announcing my time is up,

And I hand in a paper half blank, half gibberish,

Dripping with sweat.

So much for my future.

 

Hawaiian Vacation

         

Chapter One: Crazy Problems

Three minutes before my family moved to Hawaii, I was so scared. I felt sick to my stomach. I had never flown anywhere. Well, except for going to Florida and California. Now, you might be thinking, why are you going to Hawaii? Well, I’m going because my family and I got hit by an avalanche. Well, our house did. I was skiing in Pennsylvania, and I forgot to say I live in Ohio, so we could get there kind of quickly. That didn’t really help because our car had broke down, and our grandfather was at work, and we couldn’t call him because the power went out. This was the worst day of my life. When I thought things were starting to turn around, they got worse. I was scared of flying, and I had not packed anything. One good thing did happen: We changed the flight, so we could go there in two weeks. Well, my dad called someone. Yay! I had to pack because the movers came a week before we left. We had to stay in a hotel all week. I finally packed! The hotel was okay but only because we swam in the pool every day.

Two weeks later…

So now my family and I were going through security. The way there was not bad. We made it! So, now we had to fill our water bottles. Nothing bad happened except that the water fountains were not working. My family did not have to buy water bottles because my dad knew that our flight was not for two hours, but we got there early just in case. We had to take a red-eye, but at least it was Tuesday because the restaurant that is there had a pasta buffet. I do not like pasta, but I like meatballs with sauce which they did have. The food was filling because I did not have breakfast (as always). By the time we finished, the water fountain was fixed. Then, we filled our water bottles, and then we got onto the airplane…

 

Chapter Two: Plane Problems

If things were not bad enough, as I said earlier, flying makes me scared. What should I do? Help me!! Then, the very nice flight attendant told me to buckle my seatbelt. At least there were no problems with the seatbelt. When I sat down, I forgot that we were in first class. After we were allowed to take off our seatbelts, I waited until the flight attendant came by with drinks and food. I got a bagel and a ginger ale. Aloha, Texas! When I got off the plane, I was not scared of flying because I just thought I was scared. I was glad that I was not scared because that flight was only three hours, and my next flight was in nine hours. So that gave me time to figure out what to do on the i ka hora ‘iwawa, which means nine hour flight in Hawaiian. I figured out that maybe I could just sleep through it because Hawaii is six hours behind. I forgot about the time change so if my flight left at 10:00 and Hawaii is six hours behind, then it would be 4:00 A.M.. I might as well sleep a tiny bit. It was very hard for me to fall asleep, so I would watch a few movies and binge-watch TV. I was not sure what TV show but whatever it was, this would be really fun (hopefully). But if I do not like the show, it will not be fun for me. Now it was time for my family and I to go to Hawaii. We got on the plane with no problems. The flight was boring.

 

Chapter Three: Aloha, Hawaii

When I first got there, I was so excited to find out where our house was that I forgot that it was on the big island, and I was on Oahu which means, “the gathering place.” I guess the name fit what I was doing because I was gathering some of my things. Tonight, my family and I were staying at a hotel. Tomorrow, I would get to see my new house because we were taking another flight. Then, I was done flying for a while which was a good thing because flying is expensive, the long flights get boring, and the time change is super different.

The next morning…

When I woke up, I was very excited because this was my last flight for a while, (hopefully for my family too because my dad was going to try to get a job at the Polynesian Cultural Center which sounds like a really cool place). We were at the airport, and my family and I were now on the plane. Lift off! The flight was only 30 minutes, so now there were 15 minutes left. The flight attendant came by with drinks that were in pineapples. My family was in first class, so the really cool drinks were free. But the people in coach had to pay if they wanted the drinks. Now we were about to land, and I was so surprised that nothing bad happened. My family and I took a bus to the hotel that was really close to where our new house was.

When I saw our house, I was so surprised because the house was three floors. My dad also said that there was a pool in the back. Everyone in my family got their own room, but my parents shared a bed. Also, everyone in my family got their own bathroom with a tub and a shower. As soon as I got in, I saw boxes everywhere. When I saw my bed, I thought that the bed fit in perfectly and that the room was for me.

 

Chapter Four: The Pool

As soon as I got in my room after looking around, I changed into a swimsuit, and my brothers did too. I looked inside their rooms. It looked like both of my brothers belonged in those rooms. Then, my mom took a picture of me and my brothers jumping that would become a part of our Christmas card. It was summer (well, people were in school, but our parents did not want us to start school in the middle of the year) so I didn’t have to worry about trying to make new friends. I also did not have to worry about homework because there was no break homework. Ia! That means yay in Hawaiian. People were on break for one more day. So now I could spend the rest of my time playing in the pool and having fun.

The pool was amazing. It came with a slide which made it super fun and cool. Our family also had a bunch of inflatables and pool noodles. My best friend FaceTimed me, and it was so great to see her face. It was May, so she was almost done with school. Her house did not get smashed by the volcano because she lived far away from school. I was not sure why. I really thought she would like the pool. I hoped she would like the shaved ice and malasada, the Hawaiian doughnut. My dad said he really likes his job. My mom just started working there too, so my older brother who is 14 was in charge, but he was nice. My new life was going well for me and my family. My parents made a lot of money. They also said their jobs were fun and easy, so it was a win-win. The house also came with two golf carts, and my parents got everyone big hammocks that were so comfortable. I could sit on a hammock all day long crafting, except it gets too hot.

 

Chapter Five: Seeing My Friend

I was so excited to see my friend from Ohio because I had not seen her in so long that it felt like a year. When she got here, she and her family put all their bags down, and then they came over to our house. When she got there, we start doing all sorts of crafts, talking, and asking all kinds of questions like ones about school or what the ride over was like. We had so much fun! Her two brothers and her sister were all looking over at us because we were making leis. Then, we let them and my two brothers make them. My friend and I went to my room and then into the na mala li’ili’i, which means little garden. We picked a bunch of beautiful flowers because there were five people who wanted real flower leis. Her family had not got any at the airport because it was very expensive. Then, my family took my friend’s family to the Polynesian Cultural Center for free because my dad worked there. They loved it. The next day, we took them to the King’s Hawaiian Roll Factory, and the rolls were good like they always were. On the last day of her visiting, we made friendships bracelets because she said that I was still her favorite best friend. When she left, it was so sad. The good part was that she just got a phone, so I could FaceTime and text her. My friend’s flight got delayed, and she did not want to stay at an airport, so she had to stay at our house because there were no available rooms at any hotels near the airport. That was fine with me. We could have our own sleepover. It would be so fun.

 

Chapter Six: The Sleepover

My friend and I were so excited. No problem here. We stayed up until ten o’clock, crafting and drawing. Then, we got to swim in the pool for thirty minutes. It was 10:30, so we went back into my room and then went to my room past the garden, by where all the hammocks were. My hammock was purple and covered in lights that I turned on. But my family made a rule: If we had friends over, we had to ask to use another person’s hammock. I had to ask my mom to use her hammock, because it was next to mine and moving a hammock is very hard. My friend said that this was the best night ever, better even than her birthday, which is always very fun. We used my family’s telescope to look up at the sky. It was so beautiful. Her mom came out and said they were going to stay for an extra week. We both yelled, “Yay!” We were so excited. Then, we actually had to go back to bed, but it was okay because we still had fun. We spent the next day in the pool. It was awesome. I almost forgot about the street fair the next day. My friend had not been to a street fair in months, so she was excited when I told her. When we were in the pool and not looking at the house, my brother jumped in, and I was so scared! Then, I spent the rest of the day in the pool going down the slide. I think that this was one of the best days in my life.

 

Chapter Seven: The Fair and Fun

This fair was not one of the typical street fairs you would see in Ohio. Yes, there were cotton candy, games, and shops, but there was also a huge luau. There were some really great fire dancers like my dad, who was teaching my brothers all the tricks. My mom and I danced in the luau which was always fun. My friend really liked it. The next day, I got to teach her how to do a traditional dance. She really liked doing the hula. She thought it was hard, but then she got the hang of it. Then, we put on a show for our mothers, and they loved it. There were five more days left until my friend left. They would be packed with fun and awesome things. The next day, we spent the day at a water park, which was amazing. We were tall enough to go on all the rides, even though we didn’t. I was screaming half the time with joy and laughter but mostly because I was just scared because the rides were so big. But after going, it was not that scary at all. In fact, it was fun. My friend also won a huge inflatable ball that was red. When we got home, we played with the ball for the rest of the day, but before sunset it started to rain. So we went inside and played hide-and-seek until sunset, and then we fell asleep. It was still raining the next day, so we went to the arcade and played all day and had so much fun. It felt as if we never had to leave, but we did because my dad said that the storm was getting worse. So on the way back, my family got some batteries while my friend’s family stayed in the car. When we got back, we were fine until…

 

Chapter Eight: The Storm and More

So, the power went out, and now we couldn’t call, text, or play games. What would be so bad about that, right? I mean, maybe not having electronics would not be the worst thing because I could play games and talk to people more than I usually would. So first, we played Just Dance where one person from each family would compete against each other, and my family won. Yay! Next, we played family vs. family Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader which was fun because my friend and I were in fifth grade before the avalanche. Next, we taught my friend’s family a simple luau dance which was super cool because it was fun to watch a luau even if you were not in it. We got all the flashlights in the house and used them for the luau. Soon after the luau, we all went to bed. Then the next morning, it finally stopped raining. But then the power company said that they could not get the power on until the next day, which was fine because another day without electronics would kind of be fun. For the first half of the day, we just laid on the hammocks talking. Then, we had lunch by the pool and then just played in the pool for the rest of the day. The next day there was power, but we barely used it because we learned our lesson when the storm was here: you don’t need electronics to have fun. My friend was leaving in a few days so no time to waste, right? But, it didn’t matter if we didn’t do everything because she would come back very soon.

 

Chapter Nine: Almost Bye…

I was going to have to say bye to my friend the next day, but once again they postponed it, so I had three more days with her. Awesomeness was in view. So the next day, we planned to go to the luau at my new school where the eighth grade girls did a special dance, and the boys played with fire. We got to the luau with one minute to spare. The luau was great. As soon as it finished, the principal took me and my friend on a tour. The building was not that big, but it smelled amazing for some reason. The girls were super kind, so I wasn’t worried about making new friends. After all of that, I was so tired. The next morning, everyone in our house woke up at 10:00 which was very late for me. So to wake myself up, I went for a swim in the pool, and soon after, everyone else joined. It was so fun because I felt like it was the best pool party ever. We all played until 11:00 when the parents had to work. All of the parents had to leave, but all of the kids stayed in the pool until 12:00 when we had lunch, which was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I made. After that, we watched a tiny bit of TV. Next, soon after the TV, we played Just Dance which was super fun and tiring. Next, we played hide-and-seek, and I scared my little brother for fun. After that exhausting day, we laid on the hammocks reading books. When my parents came home, they gave me and my two brothers each a fish. I knew why: because I had a fish but my brothers don’t. I was excited to have a second one because maybe my fish could be friends through the glass. They were both a rustic, purple, bluish color.

 

Chapter Ten: Bye for Real

Having to leave my friend was hard, but she was coming back in a month, and I was starting school which would get my mind off of her. Since we were both starting new schools, we would text each other about our difficulties if we had any, but hopefully we wouldn’t. The next day when I woke up, it was time to take my friend to the airport where she would go to Texas and then to Pennsylvania, where she and her family would begin the drive to Ohio. When we were in the car, I gave her a picture of us in Hawaii that says “friend” on top. I gave her sister a magnet and her brother a keychain to remember Hawaii. They all thanked me, and I was happy that they liked it. It was almost time to leave when one of the bags in the back opened up, and this trip was about to turn into a disaster. They had gotten to the airport two hours early though, so they had time to put everything back in the bag and even fold the clothes. So now, time for the hardest part, saying goodbye without crying. Here we go. I said goodbye and told her thanks for coming. She also said bye and said thank you too. I said the same things to her mom, brother, and sister. They went into the airport and then onto the plane. We saw it taking off, and we waved even though they probably could not see us. I think it was a sad and happy day.

 

for the poets

      

your words coat my lips

like honey

i sit cross-legged on my bed and speak them

over and over again

until i can taste them

imprinted on my tongue

they crackle

on the crumpled papers of

my spiral notebooks

i write them over and over again

the blue ink bleeding from

the margins

of my math homework

seeping over the equations

numbers have always made sense to me and

math is refreshing in its clarity

but i can’t help but be

entranced

by your words

they spill over my walls

printed thoughts that stain the blue paint

until there’s no room for posters

poetry on poetry

even your names flow easily

from my lips

pablo neruda

e. e. cummings

william carlos williams

{is having a poetic name a necessity

to be a poet?

or could beth the barista

publish her own printed thoughts one day?

could jonny the jockey

stain a teenager’s walls?}

eventually your words

the ones that coated my lips

imprinted themselves on my tongue

bled over my math homework

twist themselves up in my trachea

so that when i speak your words

they’re not the same

they’ve been reborn

your words

those honey coated ballpoint pen masterpieces

have been reformed into

new

bright white leather baseballs

shiny copper pennies

brand new words

{extra! extra! hot off the presses!}

your words are repeated

rewritten

recycled

refurbished

some people take quotes from movies

or pop stars

or presidents

but i take mine from you

you poets,

you creators,

you gods of your masterpieces

i dismantle them

i dig into every crack and crevice

i check and double-check to make sure

i shake loose every word

and i reassemble them

so that the barest whisper of you

remains

enough to make it clear

that you are my inspiration

but besides from this whisper

the words, formerly yours,

are unrecognizable

i take my words,

my shining pennies,

my fallen stars

from you

and i make them mine

 

Vera

Three days later, she found herself on the riverbank. Thin breaths huddled in her chest and emerged at unpredictable intervals. Perhaps she was saving heat. The early March grass, pale and sickly, was bent a final few degrees beneath her feet. The water would have been a perfect pale blue, but it was dirtied by too many sticks and garbage and polluted snowmelt. A breath of wind, as small as her own exhalations came by, and it threatened to freeze the water in the river and on her face with all the force of a puppy playing at ferociousness. She stayed still as the smallest fraction of a smile bloomed inside her and withered a moment later, and she listened to the empty air ringing in her ears.

Vera, in her own quiet way, had always been as proud as a cat. She never claimed superiority, never went around with a stiffly straightened back, but like a cat, she always licked her wounds in secret and never let anyone know she was injured.

The winter descended on Vera late, and as she thought about it on the riverbank, she was as grateful as she could be, given everything. The first snow had been in November, but it hadn’t reached in and hushed up her soul for a good month. Even so, it had been too long. Each day she looked for some new tool or trick. Each time she seemed to be out of ideas, she summoned up enough cunning for just one more.

Still, none of them had worked (and the last one had worked least of all), and now, with the crocuses still in bloom, all she had was her own breath and a scrap of hope. The second, when she looked for it, was absent as often as it was there. Vera still held onto it like a child’s blanket, because what else was there? Sometimes she was almost glad of its absence, the breathless wanting that broke through the hush a little bit. She was always glad of its presence. Mostly the cycle, the soar and the crash, had tired her out. Still she was a little glad, because what else was there?

It was with this little bit of hope and little bit of gladness that Vera waited on the riverbank and worried a little. What if the late arrival meant a late departure? What if there was no departure at all, and the turning inside her was separate from the seasons? (This last one was too likely for comfort, and Vera tried to think of the rivers’ currents instead, the empty twisting things.)

***

Three days ago, the sky had been an over-bright, perfectly clear blue, as if trying and failing to make up for the below-zero temperature. Vera had gone outside, at the urging of her mother, and not just to the river a bit behind her house. She had got in the car, for the first time since the break began, and bit back a grimace at the fumes. She always imagined them creeping through her lungs and turning her insides charcoal gray, but the reality was that they were mostly just gross. Someone who avoided the car like her would probably be fine.

The seat of the car looked the same way it smelled: dirty, old, and slightly wrong. It was the sort of smell that infused the places where terrible things happened. She was being overdramatic, she knew that. She could ignore the smell. It faded into the background if she waited long enough and looked at the trees, looking empty without their leaves. Or at the road, watching the dashes blur into an unbroken line of white paint and seeing the barriers on the side of the road crash into each other noiselessly. Her gaze shifted in continual disappointment. The sun was out, the sky was doing its best to pretend it was summer, but everything was sallow, like the light was slacking off.

The trees looked like dust plumes now. Vera’s mother hadn’t said anything yet. Vera had barely noticed her get in the car and start driving. Something hard weighed in her chest.

“How long have you been driving?”

“Uh, five minutes or so.” Her mom looked a little surprised, and Vera wondered why, until she remembered that she had barely spoken in the last few days. “We’ll be there soon.”

Which meant anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Although, she had been to this store before. She really should have been able to remember. “Okay. Thanks.”

The white line kept bleeding into itself. Everything that could be seen on the side of the road hurried away from the direction Vera was heading. What were they, so desperate to get away and so good at it too? For a moment the car was stationary, she and her mom sitting passively in it, doing nothing but twitching and breathing. The earth roared past, and the air hissed along the car. Then, her perspective flipped right back, and it was once more the car racing down the highway while the trees fumbled a little in the wind. Vera sat still, breathless, disturbed. Was it any different? She still did nothing; only the car moved her. Could she even move? Vera willed herself to pick up her arm. It didn’t move, but that was to be expected. She hadn’t wanted it enough.

Some thick tangle of emotion engulfed her. She looked through the gaps, doing her best to ignore it and waiting for time and oxygen to take it away, even as it was about to stop her throat from beneath. “Mom?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“The play you went to last week, what was that about?” Might as well distract herself.

“Oh, I don’t really remember. Adultery or something?” Vera’s mom didn’t look at her. Of course she couldn’t, she was driving, but she had drilled into Vera the importance of looking people in the face.

“What do you mean, adultery?”

“Like, people cheating on each other.”

“No, I know what adultery means. I mean what else happened in the play? Lots of plays are about adultery.”

“Exactly.” A corner of her mom’s mouth flicked upward, just for a second. “Can’t keep them apart.”

“Hm.” Vera didn’t see the point in seeing a play you couldn’t remember, but she decided to shut up about it. “Was it good?”

Her mom shrugged. “It was like the rest of them.”

A sense of déjà vu struck her; she could have sworn she’d had this conversation. Only it wasn’t déjà vu at all: she had said these things before, or close enough to them, and her mom had just gone on seeing the same plays. Her stomach turned, and the smell of exhaust that she had ignored till now flooded it. “Then why did you see them?” she demanded. Her voice had an edge of anger in it that made her mother flinch.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

Vera sulked and didn’t stop until her mom pulled into the parking lot, where the endless concrete was too overwhelming to really do anything but look at it. Something compressed her chest; she could hardly breathe. The buildings were not concrete, but they were the same color, or else a bleached beige totally devoid of personality. All the local colors had been drained out and stuffed into a handful of logos. Minus the sky. The sky was the same oversaturated blue, and at that moment Vera couldn’t imagine it ever changing. She would simply have to live out her life stalked by that sky, leeching all the color out of the landscape.

It was with — not gladness, but something close enough to it that Vera slipped out from under the sky and entered the store, following her mother blindly. The place was lightly crowded. That should have been easy enough to get around, but no one here could move at all, and Vera found herself bumping into person after person. Scowling, she retreated into a corner. Her mom could do the shopping herself.

The corner she found herself in was not a corner, exactly. That is to say, it was not a place where two walls met. It was a place where they collided as if thrown together by some frustrated god of retail, with any adherence to the laws of physics or aesthetics entirely accidental. The cement was rough enough to almost hurt when she leaned against it, and the caulk was filled with dirt. Had anyone, she wondered, ever taken care of this place? Or was it one of those permanently untended patches of civilization, built to keep out the wind and nothing more?

Something flickering by her nose surprised her, and when she traced the light back to its source, she found she was eye to eye with a dragonfly. It dragged itself up the caulk over bits of dirt that must have seemed to it as large as boulders, staring at her with glittering compound eyes; she scarcely breathed for fear of disturbing it. It drank in the empty light with its whole body and converted it, casual as anything, into iridescence: this must have been what made the alchemists think that they could transmute lead into gold.

“Vera?”

The sound of her mom’s voice made the dragonfly take off. Vera tracked the blue and green glimmers for the moment it was still in sight, then reluctantly turned around. “Coming!” she shouted, then winced at the sound of her own voice. The store was the same as it had been a few minutes ago. The lights flattened the linoleum floor into a featureless expanse, and everywhere, bright packages and conversation blurred into a meaningless haze. The place smelled overwhelming, but it was an unplaceable scent, the smell of hundreds of processed foodstuffs. She thought of the dragonfly, how for a moment the sight of it had carved into her the desire to simply watch it. Forever, if she could get that.

But this was the real world. It was shallow and chaotic, and she couldn’t sit and want. Can’t sit and want. It was a message she would do well to gouge into a wall somewhere, but of course, nothing was that permanent or that simple. She would have to remember it. Perhaps she should leave a note for her future self, telling her not to empty herself out, to let the tides of the supermarket and the car trips wash over her and fill her. For the time being.

 

This is Called a Ransom Note

Dear Janice,

You may have recently noticed that your dear semi-aquatic turtle named Henry has gone missing. Please do not call the police. If you do, they won’t believe you and won’t do anything to help you no matter how much you plead. Resistance is futile. There is no way out this time, Janice. Henry is in good health, and his tank water is kept at a constant 27.7778 degrees Celsius. I feed him every morning and every night. But in order for him to continue on in his joyous state, I will need you to place exactly $53.94 in a sealed envelope underneath the Ford-Gleedon library mailbox, located on the corner of Ford and Gleedon. I will use the money to buy Henry a jumbo sized container of freeze-dried krill every other month. You have a whole year to create a plan to infiltrate my facility. If you can find it. Good luck.

Sincerely,

Your dear Henry’s captor

P.S. I forgot to mention this in the letter, and I’ve gotten this far, and I’m not redoing this again. Just so you know, I need the money by Thursday.

 

Dear Daniel,

It has come to my attention that you have turtlenapped my semi-aquatic turtle named Henry. I know it was you. You have always loved Henry, and I saw you running out of my apartment building with Henry’s transportation tank while I was parking after my brunch with Janet. I know where you live, so there’s no reason for me to call the police anyway. Henry is a “she,” and you can always adopt a very similar turtle from your local shelter. Thank you for taking care of my turtle. I will be picking her up at 8:12 A.M. Eastern Standard Time tomorrow. Should you fail to hand over my dear Henry, you will be met with the brute force of a turtle mother. You have been warned.

With much frustration,

Janice

 

Dear Janice,

It has come to my attention that you have unmasked my identity. With much joy, I shall inform you of my plans this weekend. This upcoming Friday, I will be leaving the country with Henry and won’t look back. That’s right. I’m leaving. Over the weekend, we will take a cruise along the coast of France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and end in Greece. I have already bought a house for myself and Henry. We will live in a small cottage there and be adopted into the Grecian society. Henry will have HER own room with all of her supplies and toys. Until then, you have a slight window of time before we leave on our one-way trip to the sweet, sweet country Greece. Just so you know, yes, I have gotten a turtle license to have Henry with me on the plane to France. Farewell, Janice!

With much joy,

Daniel

 

Dear Daniel,

If it means that much to you, then I suppose you may take Henry on the cruise, but you can’t stay in Greece with her forever. You can’t even stay in Greece forever. I have heard it’s beautiful there, though. Perhaps I will meet you in Greece. After all, we haven’t talked in a while. It will be nice to see you. We could go to some museums and parks or gardens! Anyway, tell Henry that Mommy’s coming.

Janice

 

Dear Janice,

I appreciate you allowing me to take Henry on the adventure of her 20-30 year life. It would be nice to meet up in Greece. I told my turtle that her psychotic stalker was coming to get her, and she looked pretty scared. Great job at being a mom. Today, Henry took a walk around the block in her new rolly cart transporter! It’s a small cart that comes with a tank strapped onto it. You can take your aquatic friends on a walk anywhere you are willing to walk to. Henry seemed to have liked it a lot. I plan to take her on more rolly cart transporter trips. All is well otherwise, and I hope to see you in Greece. Or maybe not. Because then you might try to take Henry away from me. It would be very unfortunate if that were to happen. Well, we’ll see.

Sincerely,

Daniel

 

Weird Dream

A dream that I had once, which was extremely odd, was that I started off standing on the top of the moon. I walked forward to the edge of the moon and fell all the way through space, down to earth. When I hit the pavement, I jumped out of my sleep. This dream has happened over at least five or seven times. The only logical explanation I have for this dream occurring multiple times is that when I was younger, I used to imagine that I was sleeping on top of the world. I guess that my wondrous imagination somehow turned into a terrifying dream that winds up having my body completely in pieces when I hit the ground, turning my “awesome dream” into a heart pounding moment for me.

 

Potatoes to Apples

        

“Just a small town girl

Livin’ in a lonely world

She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere” – Journey (1981)

 

For all my life, I’ve wished I could be someone else. Somewhere else. New York. I remember being a kid, flipping through magazines at the one dentist office within a five mile radius, looking at the glamour and flashiness that the models and actresses flaunted in their pictures. I remember the article I was reading, something about the Big Apple, with a beautiful picture of Lindsay Lohan in the right hand corner. You know. Before she got sent to rehab.

She was in a red dress that skimmed the floor with these big hoop earrings. I flipped to the next page where there were even more A-List celebrities, carrying around their mini dogs in their mini bags before it was passé, and I fell in love. From that day on, I knew New York was my town.

I wouldn’t stop bothering my mom for a dress just like Lindsay’s. She got me one from the thrift shop that looked and smelled like it’d been worth about two dollars. Mom told me she’d gotten it for one. Did I care? No. I wore that dress until the fraying sleeves wore down to threads and I had had to cut up one of Dad’s old shirts for makeshift straps.

Idaho wasn’t ready for a star like me. And I made sure everyone around me knew that. My friends got tired of me talking their ears off about how great New York was and how terrible Idaho was. Can you blame me, though? We aren’t called the potato state for nothing. There’s nothing else here. It’s not exactly like you can party it up in a silo or anything.

So I made a plan. My town had one train station about two miles away from where I lived. Maybe I should have bought my tickets a little earlier, considering the fact that the only tickets left were for a train leaving at midnight. The only problem was that the ticket fare for a cross country trip was close to $200. Which meant that I would have to ask my parents for the money.

The closest I’ve ever been to a cross-country trip is driving to my Aunt Tilda’s house about two hours away from mine. My parents aren’t exactly what you’d call well-traveled people either. So I expected them to be a little protective of their only child going to a far away city and whatnot. They laughed. And when they saw how upset I looked, they stopped for a second.

“Why do you want to go to New York?” Dad asks, not even looking up from his newspaper. I could tell they weren’t taking me seriously.

Okay, so maybe I had already threatened to run away from home in eighth grade. They probably thought it was just one of those phases that I went through as a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore! I’m almost 18!

“I’ve looked at the train fare already, and it’s close to $200.” I showed them the online train schedule. I’ve already established that I’m an adult by showing them that I’m responsible for looking up the train times. To ask anything more of me would be overkill.

“And you just expect us to give you the money?” Mom stops peeling potatoes long enough to exchange glances with Dad. I know that glance. It’s the should-we-entertain-our-delusional-daughter-or-tell-her-how-the-world-actually-works glance. Which is ridiculous. I’m not delusional, and this isn’t a phase.

“It’s not just giving me the money, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “Think of this as an investment. I’ll go to New York, I’ll make money, and when I get rich and famous enough, I’ll buy you and Dad a house someplace better than Idaho.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on making this money?”

I stop for a second. Do I even know what I’m planning on doing in New York? Whatever. I’ll figure it out when I get there. They don’t need to know. God! Why can’t they just support me? It’s just $200. And the money I’ll need to rent out a place or stay in a motel. And the money I’ll need for food and a ticket back. But it’s not like I’ll be coming back anyway, so I don’t even need that $200. I’m already thinking ahead and saving money. So I go about convincing my parents the only way I know how: begging.

“Please? Please? Please?” I stretch out each syllable and make eye contact with my parents, hoping to send across some kind of subliminal message that says, “I need to go to New York now, and if I don’t, I might die.”

“Let’s say you did go. Where would you even stay? We’ve only left you at home alone once while we went to Marcie’s wedding.” Mom starts to cut up the potatoes into little chunks. It feels like the potatoes are my dreams, and my parents are just willing to cut them up into pieces for soup, or whatever dish we’re having tonight for dinner.

“I’d stay in a motel,” I answer quickly. “They’re cheap, and I’d be able to stay there for a while.”

They don’t look convinced.

“No.” Mom goes back to the potatoes. I can feel my dream slipping through my fingers like a wet bar of soap. Ew.

“But that’s not fair!” I feel tears gathering behind my eyeballs. I can picture it now. Me, years from today, in another house just like this one. I’m peeling potatoes, or washing dishes, or mucking out a cow yard. I’ll be just like… my parents. My boring, mediocre parents. I can feel the walls of our tiny kitchen start to close in on me. I have to get out of this state.

I manage a smile and try to make eye contact with my dad. “Okay. You’re right. I’m not responsible enough to stay by myself, especially in a whole other state.” I force a laugh but end up sounding like a car backfiring.

Mom pushes her mouth into a straight line and nods. “I’m glad you see it from our perspective.”

“I’ll just go to my room and get ready for dinner.” I turn to walk upstairs.

Dinner that night is kind of weird. Unusually quiet. But that might be because I’m trying to think of how to execute my master plan titled, How I’m Going to Get Out of Idaho by Stealing Money from my Parents While They’re Sleeping.

I mull over my options. I don’t have access to any of the things I see in the spy movies, which means I’ll just have to sneak into their room. They keep this ceramic bottle somewhere on their nightstand that has our emergency money in it. This is an emergency.

We finish eating in silence and go upstairs to wash up and go to sleep. Once I hear the faint snoring coming from the room across the hall, I know it’s time for me to put my plan into action.

I roll across the bed and plant my feet on the floor as softly as I can. I start to make my way to my parents’ room. Barely three steps into my plan, my foot and the floor create this awful creaking sound that gives me a heart attack. I reach the door and turn the handle slowly, wincing a little when it squeaks. I stop for a second and listen for any sign that says they’re awake. When there aren’t any, I turn the handle the rest of the way to let myself in.

I tiptoe my way to Dad’s side of the bed and reach around on the nightstand trying to find the ceramic bottle. I make contact with something cold, smooth, and cylindrical. Score. I shake it around a little to make sure it’s the right thing, and sure enough, the money inside makes a faint swishing sound as it hits the insides of the bottle.

My dad grunts in his sleep, and I almost fall back, but catch myself on the edge of the nightstand. I come back to my room and switch on the lights. I uncork the bottle and pull the money out with a pair of tweezers.

There’s about $500 in 20 dollar bills. I decide to take all of it. I empty out my school bag and pack a sweatshirt, some jeans, three shirts, and four changes of underwear and socks. I stuff the money into a fanny pack that I’ve put on under my hoodie and get downstairs as quietly as I can.

Once I make it outside, I do a little victory dance. Now all I need to do is get to the station. I check the time on my phone. 10:46. I have around an hour to get to the station before midnight. I walk down the driveway connecting my house to the road. It’s a quiet night and close enough to summer that I can feel the shirt under my hoodie start to stick to my skin.

I’m doing it! I’m finally getting out of Idaho!

It takes a while for my eyes to get adjusted to the lighting at the station. I see the ticket desk as soon as I get inside. There’s a pimply, tired looking kid around my age sitting behind it.

“Hi. One ticket for the train to New York?” I slide the money into the little compartment under the speaker. He looks up and types something into a machine and hands me the ticket. I wait for him to be impressed, maybe ask some questions about why I’m going to New York. A couple of seconds pass. Nothing. I lean with my elbow on the counter. “Yeah, I’m going to New York. By myself. I just decided I needed to get out of Idaho, you know? Who knows how long I’ll be gone.” I check to see if he’s listening. He’s not. “I might meet some celebrities there too, no big deal. I’ll ride a subway or two, go to Central Park. I’ve heard it’s all very glamorous.” The guy finally looks up. Yes! A reaction! He opens his mouth to say something. Maybe about how cool it is that I’m taking this journey? Or maybe about how he’s always wanted to go to New York too and how he’s so jealous I’m living out my dream?

“Did you say something?” He takes out the earbuds that I’ve just noticed and looks at me with a unimpressed, mildly annoyed expression. The earbuds play loud rock music that cuts through the silence of the station.

“Um. Nothing. Have a nice night.” I take my elbow off the counter and walk quickly to the seating area. Okay. Not exactly the reaction I was looking for. Not really a reaction at all, if I’m being honest.

But it’s okay! In about 15 minutes, everything about this garbage state will be history. The train will arrive, and I’ll be off to live the life I always knew was for me. I go out to the platform and sit on a bench with my hands tucked into the pocket of my hoodie and wait. Then, the train pulls up.

I enter the car and shuffle all the way to the back. I hoist my duffel bag up into the compartment and sit down in a window seat. It’s all dark outside with the exception of the lights from the station. I’m ready to reenact the victory dance from when I left the house when I notice there are two other people sitting in the car with me. I shrink down into my seat.

There’s a lady sitting in the seat across from me. She has hair that looks like it’s been dyed, and even though I’m sitting pretty far away, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume wafts from her direction. I feel kind of awkward, but it’s not like I’ll have any reason to talk to her anyway. I settle down into my seat and lean back into the headrest. I’m just about to doze off when a guy gets on and sits in the seat in front of me. From what I can see from the back, he has on a Pistons jersey.

The train jerks forward a little, and we start to move out of the station. I press my hands up against the window like a little kid and move my face as close to the glass as I can and crane my neck up to look at the sky.

For all I complain about Idaho, it really does look pretty at night. We even got some national reserve for looking at the sky. The stars look scattered, like someone took a paintbrush covered in white paint and flicked the bristles until the dark canvas was covered with tiny dots of light.

We start to pick up speed. I hear shifting in the compartment where my bag is. Then, my bag tumbles to the ground with a graceful thump, articles of clothing flying everywhere within a four foot radius. Crap. I scramble around looking for the things that fell out and manage to locate two shirts and three pairs of socks.

The lady sitting across from me looks around her seat and finds another pair of socks. She hands it to me. “Thank you so much.” I take the socks from her and stuff them into my bag. I’m positive my face is bright red.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a small smile. “You seem to have packed quite a bit. Might I ask where you’re going?” Finally! Someone who shows interest. I’m going to pretend she didn’t just see my pair of socks with the embarrassing polka dot print on them.

“I’m going to New York by myself,” I say. The guy in front of me turns around and hands me one of my shirts. I don’t want to seem rude, so I thank him and ask where he’s from. You know. Small talk. I’ll need it for when I rub elbows with Taylor Swift.

“I’m from Detroit.”

“Ohhh. Like 8 Mile?” I hope I’ve hit an emotional chord for him. Like, maybe he really likes Eminem and wants to follow in his footsteps and reach rap stardom. He gives me a blank look.

“What’s that?”

“Nevermind. But isn’t Detroit way closer to New York than Idaho?”

He shrugs. “I stayed with some relatives here for a while.”

I turn to the lady next to me and ask her where she’s from.

“I’m a singer. I have connections with some friends in Brooklyn, and they said they’d book me a gig at their bar.” She brushes her hair behind her ears and checks her phone.
“That’s really cool.” I smile at the both of them. None of us know what else to say, so we all go back to staring out the windows, looking at our phones, and sleeping.

As the anticipation grows in my stomach, so does the exhaustion from all the planning and scheming I’ve done for the past five hours. I close my eyes. Hopefully I’ll wake up just when we arrive in New York. It’s kind of like a fresh start.

A fresh start for me and everyone else on the midnight train.

 

Golden Blood (Excerpt)

“We need to find her.”

“Sorry?”

“The girl.”

“Sir, which girl?”

“The girl, Zira. She’s one of the last ones. We won’t stop until we get what we need — her blood.”

The man stood in front of the committee and swore to do whatever they asked. Immediately, he started to work on finding her in the other world, Earth.

***

I’m concentrating on my comic submission, due next week. Music plays loudly on the radio in my room, but it sounds like background noise to me. The ink flows on my paper freely. I quickly glance at the clock. 11:46 P.M.. New page. Just as I start to draw a new box, my phone rings.

I jump, then scramble to find my phone under the mess on my desk. It’s only my friend, Kyla. I hit the green button and answer with a dry, “Hello?”

She answers much too enthusiastically for this time of the night. “Hey! I’m out right now, so what do you want for your birthday?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Kyla, why are you out this late? And my birthday is technically in 14 minutes.”

“I know, but I’m getting you something right now anyway. How do you feel about — ”

“It’s okay, I don’t care what you get,” I interrupt. “I’m busy with something. See you tomorrow,” I say and press the “end call” button just as she was about to protest.

I go back to focusing on the comic. I had three pages written already, of my protagonist battling monsters and whatnot. Where I’d left off, my protagonist was standing in front of the biggest, scariest monster of all.

I don’t know what to draw next. I switch my lamp off and go to sleep.

“I’ve come to take you back.”

I shoot up from my bed. I suddenly have a tingly feeling over my entire body, and I grow very hot and dizzy. I find myself too weak to stay sitting up. I see my phone on the bedside table turn to 12:00 A.M.. Thursday, October 11. This isn’t what I thought turning 18 would feel like.

You’ve been in this other world for much too long and need to get back to your people.

The view of my window becomes blurred as I drift back to sleep, or faint. I can’t remember.

When I wake up, I’m only confused.

Am I still dreaming? I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark. I don’t know what day it is. I check my phone. Friday, October 12. 10:45 P.M.. How? What happened?

I’m not in bed. Still confused, I start to feel scared. I’m as good as paralyzed. Terrified.

Why am I in a fancy dress? I hesitantly stand up and realize that I’m in a classroom. I walk out to the hallway. Empty.

School at night is eerie to begin with. Every sound from outside feels louder than it should be, and everything seems bigger than it is during the day. I struggle to remember why I was here in the first place.

There’s a gash on my thigh, bleeding underneath my dress. I hold the muddy ruffles tight in my fist. Not only am I scared and wondering how I ended up here, but an overwhelming, unexplainable grim feeling consumes me. My spirit had been brought down.

Then, a creak.

Lockers line the entire hallway, but one creaked open behind me. A chill goes down my spine. I’m not turning around.

“Who’s there?”

I stay completely still. My body is cold. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Who’s there?” I ask again. My breaths were heavy. Nobody’s there.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the way you do when you get a shot at the doctor’s office and you just want it to be over. I spin around and open my eyes.

Nothing. I had a sinking feeling there was nothing there. It wasn’t a draft. The hallway is spotless. No garbage, or bugs, or even a single dust mite. If only I could see a dust mite.

I step gingerly towards the exit. I keep walking, stiff.

Why am I here? Why am I here? I ask myself over and over, as if it would give me the answer. The last thing I remember is drawing, the night before my birthday. I realize I don’t remember what happened on my birthday, which was also homecoming. That’s right, this is my homecoming dress.

I push hard on the exit door to open it. It doesn’t budge. Locked. I’m beginning to feel lightheaded. I’m trapped.

“Is there anyone there?” I call out through the door.

The gash on my thigh is the only injury I can see. It had started partly scabbing over. The rest of my body is just covered in dirt. The horrible, ominous aura wouldn’t go away.

What happened? I rub my eyes, hoping maybe it was a bad dream. Mascara smudges onto my hand.

As I start to lean on the door and cry, it swings open. My heart feels like it dropped to my stomach and is pounding from there.

I look eye to eye with a guy standing in front of me. I recognize him. I can’t put a name to his face at the moment, but surely I’ve spoken to him before.

“Um, are you okay? What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Help me.” I say it in the weakest voice, but the guy helps me out of the building.

***

Next, there are thick, dark clouds. Purple, black. They surround me. It’s cold. Something is talking to me.

“Come,” they say. “Come to the other side… ” Over and over. The echo is everywhere. It doesn’t matter where I turn; the voices and the clouds are all that exist in this moment. I can’t escape.

“No,” I say. “No!”

I wake up in an unfamiliar place, with the same guy by my side. What is his name? I still have a sick feeling. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

He holds a glass of water. “Shh, it was just a dream,” he says. “I brought you here. This is my house. I would have driven you home, but I didn’t know where you lived, and I’m right around the corner from school.” I sit up straight, abruptly. He tries to hold eye contact with me, but I’m flustered. He gives me the water.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asks softly.

“I remember last night. I know I was at school, but I don’t… I don’t know why… or what happened before that,” I stutter.

“Okay, well, it’s me, Tyler,” the guy says. Tyler. Right. “Last night was homecoming night.”

“I figured that out from my dress,” I say, gesturing to it. I’m still wearing it.

“Your parents are probably really worried,” Tyler points out. “Do you, like, need help or something?”

“They probably aren’t.” Actually, I bet my dad is. It’s not like I told either of them that I was sleeping over at someone’s house. I just didn’t come home. “And I don’t think you can help me. Something’s going on,”

“Well… yeah, I think that’s safe to assume,” Tyler answers. He looks down at his feet. He kind of looks like he wants to say something but decides against it.

I roll my eyes. “No, I mean… I don’t know. Like, it’s not over.”

“Do you want to talk more after you change clothes? There’s a guest room that no one goes in. There’s clothes there,” he offers. I don’t know Tyler that well, but somehow I trust him. There seems to be a connection. I can’t tell what it is.

I nod, and he tells me to go to the room on the left. I follow his instruction and leave the door the slightest bit open.

The room is painted a subdued red. There are eight pieces of artwork, two on each wall. They’re all overwhelmingly dark, depicting graphic pictures of wars and monsters. There’s one portrait. The girl in the portrait cries dark tears.

How unsettling.

I quickly find a T-shirt and shorts in the dresser under the portrait. My mind was clouded with sounds. I need an aspirin or something.

My perception of time is completely messed up. I close my eyes and try to imagine myself in school. A normal day, before yesterday. I imagine myself on the field, running endlessly. It all seems so far. Whatever happened, I want it to stop. I want them to stop torturing me. I wish I knew who “them” was. If they want to kill me, then why not just do it?

Tyler is sitting with his back turned toward me. He seems to be taking some sort of pill, but his cup holds a dark liquid, like grape juice or something, rather than water. He groans in pain.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you good?”

Tyler looks up now. The light in this room is off, but it’s still bright from the daylight coming through the window. He stands up.

“I’m fine. Hi,” he says.

Ignoring the incident, I ask, “Why do you have those paintings?”

“They’re… ” he pauses. “Memories.”

I sit down on the hard wooden chair. “Where’s your family?” I asked. “Are they their paintings?”

“Yes, but I won’t say anything further than that.”

“What does that mean? Are you, like, adopted? You know, I’m adopted.” Why did I say that? He doesn’t care.

“That’s not quite it,” Tyler says. “I don’t know how to explain them.”

“Can you try?” I want to know more.

“I brought them with me when I came here. They’re, uh, otherworldly, I suppose. We had them in my home when I was younger. I can’t go back, though,” he says.

“Why?”

“It’s just not… here,” he says.

We look at each other for a long moment. Now that I can really look at him, it’s the first time I notice that he’s actually attractive, even though I was acquaintances with him for a while. I look away and focus on an area where the paint is peeling off on the ceiling.

“You should go home and rest. Let’s talk more another time,” Tyler says.

I look back at him. “Okay.” I know he would keep to that. Or at least, I hope.

He drives me home. I stand in front of my house for a few seconds before I walk in. It’s the same. Why wouldn’t it be?

My parents sit together on the couch. My dad looks me up and down, a stern look on his face. “Hannah, how did you get that?” he asks, pointing to my thigh.

“Oh, this… it was, uh, an accident. Someone hit it by accident. ‘Cause it was dark and stuff… ” I decide to shut up before my lies become obvious.

“And why are you still wearing your dress? Are you okay?” my mom asks.

“You just fell? Sober?” Dad comments. Ouch. That stings.

“No, I wasn’t drinking. I was at a friend’s house, that’s all. We were really tired after the party, and I slept over,” I answer. He doesn’t seem convinced.

Mom nods her head. “Okay honey.”

I go upstairs. There’s not much else I can tell them. There’s not much else I know.

My bedroom hadn’t been touched since the night before. The comic book pages were still sprawled on my desk. I picked the first one up. There was a drawing of a thick cloud, similar to the one I found myself in while sleeping.

I feel uncomfortable, so I turn it over.

Down the hallway, I turn on the water for a shower. I stand under the water for a bit, just feeling it run down my face. After I’m done, I don’t know what else to do. I sit on my bed and look out the window.

“Hannah,” I hear my mom call from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

I don’t want to eat. I snuggle under my blanket and face the wall. As soon as I hear her footsteps on the stairs, I close my eyes. I hear my room door open.

“Oh, you’re asleep,” she says. “Alright then. Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the monsters bite.”

My eyes fly open. I’m still facing the wall, so my mom doesn’t notice. She leaves the room innocently. Did I mishear “bed bugs?”

At first, I think I won’t be able to sleep at all. But I drift to an in-between state — both sleeping and awake. Again, I find myself stuck within these dark clouds. It almost feels as if I am falling. A person emerges from the fog. At least it looks like a person. He’s tall and skinny and wears an all black suit. He sports a thin purple scar across his cheek.

Hannah,” he says. His voice is raspy and intimidating.

“What do you want?”

Come back to us. This is where you belong.”

“Where are you?”

Come back to us… ” he hisses.

“Why? Why are you torturing me?” It feels like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs as I say it. I’m filled with anger, passionate anger. Before this happened, I remember that everything was fine, that I was so excited to be turning 18. And now I don’t know what’s going on.

The person disappears with one gust of wind. The echoing of voices uttering incoherent things makes the setting all the more unsettling.

I wake up out of breath. I check the time. It’s completely dark out. 12:34 A.M.. How?

My family must be sound asleep. I turn on the lamp on my desk and rummage for a post-it note. On it, I write “out for a morning jog, be back soon.” If they wake up while I’m still out, they won’t get worried. And they won’t assume I left this early.

Carefully, I stick it to the outside of my door and then proceed to climb out my window.

Once I reach the ground, I pull my hoodie on and walk twenty minutes to Tyler’s house. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what I really wanted to do outside in the first place. It’s cold. Going to his house just seems natural.

It’s not, of course.

I hesitate for a moment in front of his door. Knock, or don’t. I knock once, pause, and knock again. What am I doing? My heart is racing. What will I even say? It’s the middle of the night; would he even —

The door swings open.

“I really wasn’t expecting you to answer,” I say, kind of shocked and out of breath.

“I really wasn’t expecting you to knock on my door at one in the morning,” Tyler deadpans.

“Me neither.”

Tyler steps back to let me in. “So… why are you here? I mean, not to be rude, but this is one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me.”

“I don’t know why I’m here either,” I say. “I just wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler nods, but his facial expression shows confusion more than anything else. I debate whether or not I should get into my dream. It seems a bit much to walk all the way to his house just to talk about a bad dream. Talk about being needy.

“I can leave,” I say.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you don’t want to… talk about something?” Yes. I would like to talk to him about something. Those damn clouds.

He sits down on the couch, but I stay standing in front of him.

“No, it’s not like talking would help.” I pace back and forth a few times.

He’s facing the ground. “So, what do you want?”

“What do I want?” What a loaded question. I wish the clouds would leave me alone. I wish I knew why or even what was happening to me. “I want a regular life back. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I’m scared all the time, and I can’t sleep anymore. I turned 18 yesterday, and I can’t even remember it. And this, this thing won’t leave me alone!” I cry.

Tyler doesn’t speak immediately after. I burst into tears. He stands up and wraps his arms around me. He hugs me tight, and the warmth makes me feel safer.

“Hannah, I think I know why this is happening,” he whispers to me.

“What do you mean?” I pull back and look at his face. He sighs. He looks down at his feet and avoids eye contact.

“Remember when I said my home isn’t here?” he asks. I nod. “It’s in a parallel universe.”

At first I’m speechless. Nothing. “Am I supposed to play along?”

Tyler drops his head, like he knew I wouldn’t believe him. But who would? “Can I tell you how I came? It’ll help you.”

I roll my eyes slightly. I don’t know where he’s getting at, but I’ll listen.

“I’m sorry, it sounds stupid. But when you leave that world, you automatically lose every memory of it. And some there are special, valuable. They have gold blood, and that’s why they’re always in danger.”

“Okay, wait,” I interrupt. “Out of every explanation you could’ve possibly given me, this one is the most unbelievable. This isn’t even useful.”

“I promise I’m not messing with you. Just listen. You’re one of the special ones. That’s why the smoke or whatever is in your dreams. Because your memory was automatically lost. And you’re valuable to them, so they need you back.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

Tyler is obviously frustrated. He puts both hands on my shoulders and moves me out of his way. He leans over to grab the scissors on the table. I become tense. “Tyler, what are you doing?”

He pulls up his sleeve, not answering me. With the scissors, he cuts his hand. Dark purple liquid oozes from the cut. I suddenly think of the portrait. Dark tears. Dark blood.

“Give me your hand.”

I hesitate, holding my clenched fist to my chest.

“Hannah, I need your hand. Please,” Tyler pleads. I slowly open my hand and give it to him, almost against my will. He grabs it and cuts it in one swift motion, too fast for me to react. I don’t pay attention if it hurts.

I stare at my hand. The blood is gold.

“W-why… why wasn’t my blood gold before? And why do you know this? What am I?”

“Calm down.”

“Are you joking? Calm down?”

Tyler puts his hands on my shoulders again. “Yes, I’ll tell you everything. Let me continue.” He makes me sit down and takes a deep breath.

All I could do was stare at my trembling hand. Where did it come from? How did nobody notice, not even me?

“I don’t even know where to start but — ”

“You better start somewhere,” I warn.

Tyler leans back, half sitting on the arm of the couch in the living room. He put his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, but his fingers were still fidgeting.

“So,” he begins. “First of all, I’m the only one who can remember here in this world. I figured out a concoction that kept my memory in place despite going through the portal. The regular purple bloods need the gold-bloods for the gold. And so when they leave, by whatever reason, they need to find a way to get the gold-bloods back. I guess it’s also a punishment for anyone who leaves.

“The portal between our two worlds is the clouds that you’ve been seeing,” he says. “The blood is disguised on Earth until they are discovered, and eventually what they want is to bring you back. So this is what you’re experiencing.”

I stay silent for a few minutes. We sit across from each other, not making a sound or moving one bit. “So… What now?” I say softly. This isn’t what I expected when I came.

“Well now you know. So, it’s up to you what you do next.”

“I’m going home,” I say. “I’ll… see you on Monday, I guess.”

“Do you want me to drive you again?” He starts to get up, but I stop him.

“No, I’m going to run home. Thanks.”

I step outside on the street, and the wind hits me in the face. I don’t know how I’m able to leave so easily with all this new information. I still have so many questions. So many thoughts.

I sneak back to my room without my parents noticing. It’s still dark out.

I’m exhausted. Exhaustion is the least of what I was feeling at the moment, though. I lean against the closed door, ready to just give up.

A thick stream of smoke wafts in through the window. It moves as if it has a brain of its own, and it’s coming straight to my face. It curls around me, but not encompassing me. “Hello… ” it whispers.

“Is this a dream? What are you?”

“I think you’re imagining me. Don’t you, smart girl?” the smoke says to me.

“No. This is real.”

The smoke curls around my feet, and slowly makes its way around my body. “You belong with us. You have a place… ” it hisses.

“No.”

“You were destined for things greater than this weak planet. There’s a set place for you, a rare good under our empire. You’re supposed to come back… you shouldn’t have left. You need to be under our control,” the smoke provokes.

“What if I like it here?” I respond.

“You’re a difficult one.” The smoke curls up around my chest and behind my neck. It feels like breath as it speaks. “Aren’t you looking for something more? An identity, perhaps. A true identity?”

“You aren’t even a real person,” I say bitterly. “You are only a soul.”

The smoke laughs, sending a chill down my spine. “That’s what makes me powerful, dear golden-blood. You can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you.” The smoke nears my face, threatening to suffocate me as I pull away.

I clench my fists hard. “You already have. I know you won’t kill me if you need me back.”

The smoke loosens. “This won’t be the last time we meet. Don’t doubt that we will have it our way.” The smoke vanishes, out my window where it came from. I rush to close the window immediately after.

I breathe heavily. I change my clothes, shaking.

The person I see in the mirror is unrecognizable. There are huge dark circles under my eyes.

I know that I’m becoming a tense and anxious person, something I’d never been before. I close my eyes for a moment to think. What should I do? Inhale, exhale. I think back to when I was happy and carefree. I didn’t know things could change so instantly.

My comic still lay unfinished on my desk. The submission date was fast approaching. Maybe it would take my mind off things. I crack my door open to let in some fresh air. No way was I going to open the window.

Where did I leave off?

The protagonist was fiercely fighting off her antagonists. If the drawing can do it, why can’t I do it? I continue to fill in the background and started a new square.

The sun starts to rise, and before I know it, it becomes complete daytime with the sun streaming into my room. Somebody knocks on my door.

I jump. Mom walks in. “Relax, it’s just me. What’s up? Why so jumpy all of a sudden?”

“I know, I’m just… I’m fine.”

“Come eat with us,” Mom asks. I look at the deep creases in her eyes. She’s so happy and oblivious to my nightmare. I love her. I could never leave her, especially for something like smoke and nightmares.

I say nothing as I sit across both of them. I eat small bites and avoid looking at them. They talk about mundane things. Work, switching the lights, laundry. I zone out into my thoughts. What can I do? How did this all even happen?

“Are you alright?” Dad asks. “You seem really out of it.”

“No,” I say reflexively.

“What’s wrong?” they both ask.

I don’t know how to respond. They don’t even know. I stay quiet.

“Hannah, you can tell us what’s bothering you. We love you,” Mom says. I start formulating what I want to say. They stare at me, very concerned.

“I just… ” I finally begin, cautiously giving the rest of my answer. “I don’t have some information that could help me. Like, I don’t know what happened at homecoming. And… I don’t know who I really am, and I don’t have what I need to figure it out. Where am I from?”

My parents exchange a glance.

“Hannah,” my dad says, “This conversation was a long time coming.” I bet. “I wish I could share your origins with you. But we don’t know anything about before we adopted you either. There’s no information about your birth parents, birthplace, or anything like that.”

There’s no forms. It clicked when he said that. There was my proof that I wasn’t born here. “Absolutely nothing?” I ask.

My parents shake their heads. “You were all alone when we took you in. You weren’t at an orphanage. You were a year old or something, and you were in the street,” Dad says.

“What about the legal stuff? School, doctors… ” I say. Nobody must’ve realized that I had gold blood. Heck, I didn’t know until last night. How did the purple-bloods get away with it? It’s interesting to hear my parents speak about this when I’m referring to drastically different things.

There are still a lot of holes in my story. I sit there, half blanked out, half listening. My parents share about the loopholes they were able to get through, like my birth certificate. I was born “at home,” it seems. My head is spinning.

There was still a big “why?” hanging over me. I understand that I’m obviously from somewhere else, but why did I end up here? Why do I matter so much? Why won’t it go away?

“Thank you, Dad.” I give him a quick hug and rush to my room.

I’m weirdly excited. I feel anticipation for the answers I’ll receive tomorrow. It’s the closest to happiness I’ve felt in a while. Something to look forward to rather than to fear.

I try to sleep. There are too many things on my mind. I sit up. It won’t be long before I speak to Tyler. I tap my leg lightly with my finger, thinking of something to do.

Visually lay it out. Get my thoughts on paper.

I jump out of bed and flip on the lights. I get an empty notebook floating around on my desk and open up to the first page. Just like drawing a story. Except this one is real.

I take a deep breath.

I draw and write furiously. A baby, adopted and moved around, a determined runner, and homecoming night. Arrows and little comments cover the piece.

I drop my pencil and massage my wrist. It’s very late, and it’s been a few hours since I’ve eaten with my parents. I sneak out of my room to get a snack.

The kitchen lights are still on even though both of my parents are sleeping. I grab an apple and slowly make my way back up the stairs. I shut my door gently. I sit back at my desk, ready to keep working.

The drawings were now in color.

I drop my apple and it rolls under my desk.

All of the pictures of me were all colored gold, even though none of them had blood. There was also smoke added. Clearly I wasn’t alone.

I step back and look at the filled up pages. I feel scared once again, just as I was starting to get over it. Just as it was dying down, just as I was about to get answers.

Disregarding the time yet again, I decide to call Tyler.

No answer.

Should I call again? I click on the call button one more time. And again, he doesn’t pick up his phone. I throw my phone on my bed.

I want to show him the pictures. But I don’t want to touch them. I don’t know what’s been done to them. I don’t know if they’re hiding somewhere in my room.

I don’t feel safe.

 

Sports Poem

             

I find life often so represented by sports

 

The interwoven reliance of European football

With still the individual spotlight of baseball

 

The perseverance and small victories

As essential to life as it is to basketball

 

The dreary monotony, through it fine-tuned determination

So crucial to the trade of a runner

 

Often though one quarterback may lead the play

The receiver will score the winning touchdown

And neither is forgotten

 

Yet this idyllic portrait

Is not to ignore the dissenting voices that scream

of the goalie who dives in vain as time expires

the cleanup batter strikeout with runners on

 

But when all is said and done

and considered

and analyzed

Sports provide a nice summation

Of such a wonderful

and terrible

and complex thing

As life itself

 

Beach Girl

The blue haired girl always came to the beach. She stood, only her toes in the water, arms outstretched. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was like she was in her own world, just her, the wind, the water. Nobody else.

I walked to the beach every day just to see her. I wanted to walk up to her, and hold her hand and stand with her. I wanted her to notice me like I noticed her. But she never did. So I just came everyday, and watched her be beautiful as I sat on the sand only inches away.

Then came a day when she didn’t come. I walked over to my place, but she wasn’t there. Her hair wasn’t flowing in the wind, her dress wasn’t flapping, her hands weren’t extending to the skies. Her absence was emptying. It felt as if the whole world had imploded in itself, and its rotation was thrown off course. The girl with the blue hair wasn’t there.

I panicked, and didn’t return to the beach for years.

Five years of waiting passed. I hadn’t seen the closed eyed girl with the long, blue hair for five years. I had almost forgotten about her, but I couldn’t. She was too beautiful. I longed to see her again. So after five years of waiting in the dark, I emerged again. I don’t know what caused me to want to go back, but once I thought of seeing her I couldn’t stop myself. I went to the beach where she always stood.

And there she was.

She stood, only her toes in the water, arms outstretched. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was like she was in her own world, just her, the wind, the water. Nobody else. She was exactly the same, only taller. I sat down, on the sand, only inches away from her, and watched her.

She opened her eyes.

“Where have you been?” she asked me. I didn’t know how to respond. She had never opened her eyes, she had never let out a sound or even moved. She never saw me as I sat down beside her. But there she was, talking to me.

“I — I thought you left,” I responded.

Her smile widened. “Leave? I would never leave.” There was a moment of silence. “Stand with me.”

I stood, my legs shaking like jello. I stood beside her, and outstretched my arms. My fingers touched hers.

“Close your eyes,” she told me. “Don’t think of anything, just feel.”

I did. I felt the wind ripple around me and her soft fingers touching mine. I felt the soft rays of the sun warm my arms and the cool water wetting my toes. I felt what this girl had always felt, the peace, love, and calm. I finally understood. So there we stood.

We stood, only our toes in the water, arms outstretched. We closed our eyes and smiled. It was like we were in our own world, just her, the wind, the water, and me. Nobody else.

 

Enough Is Enough

              

An AR-15 has 15 functioning parts. The length of the gun, the speed of the bullet determines how lethal a fatality is.

The time it takes to unload the empty chamber.

That one flick can cause a mass destruction.

The silver ruthless bullets that trigger screams of horror.

The painful, excruciating sound when the revolver clicks revealing the sight of ammunition.

The cylinder, when inclined, locks the hammer into place.

The trigger requires an explicit amount of pressure to fire.

The target erupts, opening a door that cannot be closed. A ruthless act that cannot be undone. A callous school shooting cannot be undone.

That it has many working parts.

The morning of, the child believes the day will be like every other day.

A test first period.

The sound of the bell at 8:15.

The sound of countless kids screaming in the cafeteria.

The sound of bookbags dropping like a ton of bricks. The sound of birds chirping, on the morning on February 14.

The sound of 17 sharp gunshots.

A day filled with laughter was turned into horror in seconds.

The first shot triggers a lockdown.

The bell rings.

Code Red, but it doesn’t seem like a code red. One thought this would never happen to them but it did.

The fire alarm pounds loud in my ears as chaos erupts.

Classrooms become inescapable like gas chambers.

The shooter shoots. The sounds are still and silent.

The eyes are tearful and the stomachs are churning.

The police arrive, with precision, as a shot is fired, the separation begins for the student body.

Those living and those that the shots have hit.

That one massacre of school children triggers the carnage lost in Boston.

Why does this keep happening?

But we barely notice until we marry 6 feet under the ground.

I thought this was supposed to be a good day?

The day with pencils tapping on the desks.

The sound of gossiping.

The sound of teachers demanding for classwork.

The sound of the chairs tipping back.

It all disappears in seconds.

The stoplight turns red but the gun turns green.

The gun doesn’t kill people, the numbers do.

3100 South Springfield Avenue. A truck turned the corner. Not the ice cream truck. This gray truck was mean. It forced her to fight for her life in the hospital bed until 5:24 p.m.. The doctor says, “I’m sorry for the words that I’m about to say.”

Sunday, October 1, 2017, Las Vegas, Nevada. 58 gone. Near the Mandalay Bay.

I was there 2 years prior.

Texas, Sutherland Springs, a day we cherish Jesus and stare at the cross. 26 souls joined with him, but not out of sacrifice. Just one out of sacrifice, but he didn’t have to die if it wasn’t for that silver bullet!

But the debate on gun control only lasted for so long after the Columbine shooting.

How many more times?

A teacher takes a bullet to save her 6 students.

The child did not get a chance to hug Mommy and say, “I love you.”

A father is heartbroken.

He cannot even remember if he even kissed his little girl goodbye when she left for school the morning on February 14.

Now the father is saying, “Enough is Enough.”

 

Royal Blood (Excerpt)

 

Prologue

I creep into the room, my arms tense and my forehead sweaty. Tiptoeing over to the desk in the middle of the room, I open the second to last drawer. Peeking inside, I see what I was looking for. A gold heart-shaped amulet, covered in amethysts. It was my great-grandmother’s, stolen from her by thieves and put into a pawnshop. It then was traded to a king’s servant and given to the princess as a birthday present for her “sweet sixteen.”

I clutch the amulet close to my chest. Silently, I put my fingers into the pouch at my side. I find the fake necklace a blacksmith had made for me, in return for a favor. It was an identical twin to the real one — the exact size, shape, weight, and color. The only difference was that it was made from iron, bronze, and other cheap metals instead of the valuable gold and amethyst like the real one.

Slipping the real one into my pouch at my side, I turn around, prepared to walk outside and get away with the prized possession in my hands. I smile and walk across the room, my confidence blinding me. For a split second, I feel fur under my foot before hearing a loud yowl beneath me. I lift my foot immediately, and the animal stretches into a pouncing stance, hisses coming from the back of its throat. I’m scared for my life, knowing that if I am caught, I’ll probably be killed for entering and stealing such a valuable piece. So, what do I do? I run.

I sprint out of there, taking the old servant’s route up to the back of the castle with the beast at my heels. I wouldn’t call the beast a cat, but that’s what its body is mainly made up of. It is at least five times the size of a normal cat, and at the sides of its body, the black fur turns into feathers and its wings folded at its side. I recognize the beast to be a Lexor, probably the princess’s pet.

The Lexor lunges for me, just scraping my leg. I dart out of the way and make a sharp left. I climb up a ladder and jump off it. The Lexor tries to follow me, but a clear barrier blocks its way. It meows and swats at the barrier but with no avail in getting past. I smirk behind my shoulder and run into the forest. The only way anyone can get through that barrier is with a certain blood type. A kind called Royal blood.

 

Chapter One

I enter the town and run down a back alleyway that’s known as “home” to Ash and me. Ash is my best and only friend I’ve ever had. I slow down to a walk and plop myself down next to her. Her pale skin shines in the darkness.

“I’m back.”

She continues to crochet and looks up slightly.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

I break into a bigger smile than I had on before.

“Yup!”

I hold up the amulet and let it spin in front of Ash’s eyes. She now completely stops crocheting and holds the amulet a bit closer to her.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. Her dark chocolate eyes stare into my sea green ones. “Where in the world did you get that?!”

I smile back at her. “Remember two weeks ago when we went to the library and stopped by the Record Hall? Well, I looked into my history, and I found out that my great-great- great-great-great-grandma used to own a gold amulet with amethyst on it. It even showed a picture! Then, I remembered that the staff brought Princess Annabelle a necklace. Remember in the news it never said exactly what it looked liked, but it was just ‘really expensive?’ This is it!”

Ash’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. “So you just stole it?! Eve, what do you honestly think they’re going to do when Princess Annabelle finds the necklace missing, and you just so happen to have the one that’s missing?! Oh, they’re going to have our heads…” She trails off and gets up, starting to pace back forth and muttering to herself.

“Don’t worry Ash. They’re not going to find us. And they’re going to take your head over my dead, non-executed body. I put a fake one — same color, same shape, same weight — it’s exactly the same as the one I have.”

She stops pacing and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Are you infinity and beyond percent sure, Eve?” She drops to a lower tone. “I can’t lose you over something like this — not when I’ve lost everything else.” Her hands start to shake and even in the pitch black alleyway, I can tell that she’s about to cry. I bounce up and walk over to her. Tears start to form in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. I pull her close to my chest and let her cry in my arms.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Alright?” She cries for a few more minutes as I rock her back and forth. Once she cries all the tears left in her, she rests her head on my chest.

“Look,” she says, her voice light and airy. She points to the sun as it starts to rise over our heads, the sky turning from its black darkness and bursting into a bright orange, then turning into pinks and yellows.

I smile and stretch my back. “Today’s a new day, okay? Let’s make it a better day than yesterday.”

She smiles and hands me a basket. “I made new blankets to sell in town.” I smile at her change of attitude and take the basket in my hands. “Don’t forget to buy new wool and bread!”

I nod and start off my journey to market.

 

Chapter Two

Even though the sun came up just a few minutes ago, the streets were already bustling with people. There are only five hours of sunlight in Astoria, so people need to work at least ten times harder when the sun is up. When the sun’s down, people spend that time by preparing for what they have to do for the next day. The school children have at least six hours of homework, four if it was a good day, and ten hours would be considered a lot. The chefs, like most establishments, would continue to serve their customers for at least six hours after the sun fell. Most people working a middle-upper job would work in some sort of building, getting paid by their bosses. The middle-lower class community mostly worked how I worked — in a tent selling what they can. But it was one-hundred percent necessary to work in some sort of job for at least five hours or else you’ll be thrown in jail, quoting law 14.

Our jail doubles as a mental health center, and it was an extremely dirty place. There were hardly any janitors that worked there, and the ones that did were often lazy and put minimal effort into their work. The people who did go to jail were mainly tough men who probably knew how to kill a person in fifty different ways, with their hands alone. Since getting thrown in jail will show up on my resume, forcing me to not be able to apply for a job with higher pay, I can’t afford to go there. Plus, I would probably die in jail anyway. Now, we live off of Ash’s woolen creations to survive, her working day and night while I sell them at the market when the sun is up. Today she created small blankets with a design of butterflies, dragons, and other cute designs, perfect for any small child.

I sprint to the marketplace where all the stands were being set up and prepared for 7:15, when the market was officially open for business, quoting law 23. I took mine on the side of town where the most people passed by. I put the basket onto the table and open it. Inside I find different blankets in different colors measuring about 3 feet by 5 feet, with the designs of dragons and fairies, unicorns and phoenixes. I trace the patterns with my thumb and smile softly to myself, thinking of when I used to have a blanket like this that I carried everywhere. It’s one of the only things from my childhood that I was allowed to keep.

The sounds of horse-pulled carriages driving by snaps me back into reality. I look up as a blue carriage drives by and splashes the edge of the tent with dark, murky water. I glare at the back of the carriage and continue to set up the shop. Once I’m done setting up, I turn the small postcard on the front of my tent to the “open” side. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I start yelling, “BLANKETS!!! BABY BLANKETS FOR SALE!!! ONLY 13 BRONZE PISCES!!!” I soon attract a small crowd of people walking under my tent and looking at what they can buy. I stand in the corner of the tent, quietly looking around at the people, but not really looking at them, but for thieves. There was usually at least one thief trying to steal something per day, and it was usually during rush hour which was either at the very beginning of the day when everyone was trying to get to their jobs or at the end of the day when everyone was coming home. My eyes swept around the shop, noticing a small child with darting eyes and beads of sweat dripping down his face.

“Hey kid,” I call to him. He looks terrified and froze to the spot. His eyes slowly drift to me. I wave for the boy to come here. I kneel down to his level. “You were about to steal from me, correct?” The boy nods and bends his head down. “Do you have a hobby of some sort?”

He nods and whispers, “I like to draw and paint.”

I nod. “Well, if you bring your drawings here, then I’ll be more than happy to sell them here. Then, if you one day can earn ten dollars, then you can have a blanket, okay?” A smile quickly spreads across his face, and he nods at me. “Good. Just bring your paintings or drawings here when the sun rises, and I’ll sell them. Now run off,” I said, making a small shooting motion with my hands. He whispers a thank-you and runs off.

I stand up from the floor and assist the customers that were waiting in the line on the other half of the tent. I place the mirror next to the quill and ink where I write down the orders that people ask for and treat the customers, trading the money for blankets. About halfway down the line, a very attractive lady comes up and points to the mirror that I was checking.

“Is that for sale?” she asks.

“No ma’am,” I respond. This is for checking the rest of the shop when I’m treating customers. Speaking of which…” I trail off and see a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the center of his head, dressed in all black. His hands were drifting over the blankets, and his mouth was pursed in a hard line.

“You!” I yell and turn around.

The thief looks at me, and he looks like the younger boy that just tried to steal from me earlier. I grab a sword from my side and point the tip at this face.

“Put my blankets down. Now.”

The man drops them to the floor and backs up.

“All of them,” I say through my gritted teeth.

He takes one that he was cleverly hiding down his sleeve and drops it.

“All. Of. Them,” I command.

The mysterious man stays in his place. I can feel my eyes glaring at him and walk towards him.

“I said all of them.” I take my sword, Esmeralda, out of her leather casing and put her blade under his chin. “Unless you don’t want your head.”

He drops to his knees and tosses one last blanket that was under his hat onto the floor.

“Good,” I say. “And if you want to actually buy a blanket, then you can meet me at the counter or browse under the tent.”

I let go of his collar that I didn’t even realize I was grabbing and remove the blade from his neck, leaving a small red line. He grumbles and walks towards the tent. I put Esmeralda in her scabbard that was attached to my belt, and I return to the counter. These days, it was every person for themselves or else you might get backstabbed.

I crack my knuckles and pick up my quill.

“That will be ten bronze tokens please.”

 

Ignorance and Apathy: an Analysis of Japan and America’s Values

Have you ever wondered what the cultural norms are 6,700 miles away? These cultural norms are systems of beliefs groups follow in order to maintain well-being. These sets of beliefs keep a society on one page and functional. Different cultural norms are also modified by the economy, integration, etc. Even though America and Japan are both first world countries, their values developed differently. Japan was secluded from the world for 220 years, but was heavily influenced by the outside world after WWII. Japan adjusted many parts of its culture, but it also kept most of its values. America, on the other hand, won WWII and was powerful. Instead of taking over the world, America chose to help out struggling countries. The culture also became prideful. People started becoming more independent and thinking outside of what the government wanted people to think. Under the laws created by the government itself, this type of thinking isn’t criticized. The two countries model themselves on a system that runs on values that are almost the opposite of each other. America values pride and individual rights, while Japan values conformism and respect.

 

Japan’s values, conformism and respect, emerged from being isolated from the world for centuries and the loss of WWII. In 1633, Japan closed itself off to the world with the exception of trade with the Dutch. No Japanese person was allowed to exit the country, and anyone living outside of the country also could not enter. This caused the Japanese to develop similar ideas, because they had no influences on their ideas from foreign countries. Also, the Japanese government implanted strict rules during this period, which made the Japanese people used to following orders without questioning them. Even after Japan opened up to the world, this culture still lived on. Many years later, Japan was in a similar situation. When Japan was fighting WWII, the government propagated propaganda, so the Japanese population, this time, was scared of the outside world. Japan’s hate towards the world quickly disappeared after the loss of WWII. Japan’s citizens realized that their country was very far behind and subsequently fell in love with foreign countries, especially the United States. Japan rebuilt its cities, but left a few reminders of war, like a building in Hiroshima, to never forget the horrors of war. This was not in any way directed against the US. Japan completely overturned its political views, but its thinking processes remained. Japan has still been obsessed with foreign countries, especially America, to this day.

 

However, America had external influences for its whole history. In 1787, the Philadelphia Convention wrote the Constitution, which by today’s standard, is still very democratic. America also evolved the way it did because of immigrant populations. America won the war and felt good about itself, because it was helping different countries recover. America’s people gained pride. However, America is very ignorant now, most likely due to the poor education system. America has the biggest economy in the world, but its education is the 14th best. America has a big culture which believes that America is always the best. All this contributes to America valuing individual and unalienable rights.

 

Japan and America’s values approach the task of keeping a community functional differently. Japan’s societal model has everyone working together and most people benefiting equally. This works perfectly in theory, but since everyone is expected to be similar, people who are any different, not necessarily worse than the expectation, are treated badly. There is even a saying in Japanese that translates to “the nail that sticks out gets hammered.” In America, people will undermine others to get ahead. Also, because of this, children are taught that being unique is always a good thing. They are also taught that everyone is unique. This creates a tendency for people to feel proud without work. However, this helps people’s unique strengths to be recognized. Japan’s values helps processes work smoother and more efficiently, because everyone always follows rules. An example of this is how in Japan, straight lines are formed to board the trains.

 

Values impact the way a civilization functions. Japan and America are two technologically developed first world countries with extremely different sets of values. It is important to know about these countries’ values because they are two countries which approach the task of forming a successful civilization from completely different angles through these two sets of values. By comparing these societies, one can gain knowledge about sociology.

 

I So Don’t Want to Be Here (Excerpt)

“I so don’t want to be here.”

Desiree looked up at the blonde girl in surprise. “Why?” she asked her.

“Why? Why? Isn’t it obvious why I don’t wanna be here? We’re in detention,” she said, a flash of irritation in her eyes.

“No — I know that,” Desiree told her, “What I meant is… why are you talking to me?”

Alice thought for a moment and shrugged.

“I — I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Do you even know my name, Alice?” Desiree asked her, a hint of amusement laced in her voice. Alice said nothing.

“Yeah… didn’t think so.”

Alice still said nothing.

Desiree smiled softly at Alice. “Would you like to know my name, Alice?” she asked.

Alice nodded. “Yes please.”

“It’s Desiree,” she told her and extended her hand so that Alice could shake it, but Alice didn’t budge. Perhaps a handshake was too formal of an action for situations such as these, and Desiree put her hand down on the table in a failed attempt to seem natural. She picked up her pencil and began writing.

“So why are you here, Desiree?” Alice asked, as she proceeded to examine the state of her most recent manicure. She began picking the pink polish off her nails, watching it fall to the table in small pieces. Pick, pick, pick. This action greatly annoyed Desiree, seeing as the chips of nail polish were getting all over the table, and the two would probably have to clean them up afterwards, but she said nothing about it. Instead, she sighed heavily and answered the question she had been asked.

“I’m here for a pretty dumb reason.”

“Oh?” Alice raised an eyebrow, her eyes still focused on the nail polish she was picking off. “And what might that be?”

Desiree thought this was quite rude, but seeing as she was still writing her essay and not fully paying attention to the conversation either, she didn’t really have a right to criticize.

“I’m here for breaking dress code,” she explained, rolling her eyes in irritation. “God forbid I wore something I actually wanted to. To be fair, it was an accident. They change the dress code so often that half of the time I don’t even know what’s in it.”

Alice snorted in response. “Yeah, you were right.”

“About what?”

“That is a really dumb reason.”

Desiree smiled. “Tell me about it. At this point, I’m not even writing an essay. I might as well be writing a book. And instead of writing about what I did wrong and what I can do to fix my ‘dreaded behavior,’ I’m writing about why the dress code is stupid.”

“So rebellious, Desiree,” Alice mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. Desiree pulled at one of the strands of her frizzy, brown hair.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not rebellious at all. I guess that’s the thing about me. I follow the rules, even if I hate them. This is really the first time I’m speaking out against them.”

Desiree put her pencil down and turned to face the girl. She was still picking at her nails, completely oblivious to the large mess she was making.

“What’s the point of getting them done if you’re just gonna pick the polish off?” Desiree asked her.

Alice’s head snapped up. She looked at Desiree.

“I’ve got no fucking clue,” she told her.

“Huh. Interesting,” Desiree muttered, and Alice nodded. “Well, regardless of that, will you please stop picking off the nail polish? You’re making a huge mess.”

“Oh.” Alice became flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

“It’s fine — ”

“Hello, you two. Have you completed your essays?”

Desiree turned, only to be met face-to-face with the school’s biggest asshole and assistant principal, Ms. Ronen, who stood in front of them with her hands on her hips. Everyone in the school liked Ms. Ronen — everyone but Desiree. She hated this woman with every fiber of her being, mostly hating her for the obnoxious voice she had, which was the voice a person uses when talking to a dog or a baby. It made her feel extremely insignificant and insulted her greatly, though nobody else seemed to care or have any issue with her whatsoever. Desiree also hated Ms. Ronen because she always seemed to get into some sort of trouble whenever she was around — which she hated because she was a good kid. She was always well-behaved — always had been, too, but for whatever reason, she always ended up doing something wrong.

Desiree nodded and handed Ms. Ronen her essay. The woman stood there, shocked as she realized that there were now five back-to-back pages in her hands.

“Is that good enough? I could always add ten more pages.”

Ms. Ronen’s eyes widened in horror at Desiree’s suggestion. “Oh! Oh no, no, no, that’s — that’s fine, Desiree. You’ve done great.”

Desiree smirked. Bet she’ll have a great time reading that, she thought.

“And what about you, Alice?”

Desiree looked over to where Alice was sitting, looking bored and uninterested. She sighed.

“I don’t have my essay.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I didn’t want to write it.”

The assistant principal looked appalled. “You do realize that you can’t just not write the essay… right, Alice?”

Alice shrugged and turned away.

“I barely did anything, though,” she whined.

“You skipped class, Alice,” Ms. Ronen huffed, “That’s a pretty big deal.”

“But I have to write an essay about why I feel bad for doing what I did,” Alice told her.

“And? Your point is?”

“My point is that I can’t write my essay because I don’t feel bad. I don’t care.”

Ms. Ronen’s face reddened in anger. “Just — just pretend you care… okay?” She sighed, obviously too tired to deal with Alice’s shenanigans. Alice nodded.

“Fine… ”

“And hurry up, too. It’s almost time for you two to leave.”

At this, Alice’s eyes widened fretfully. “But — I can’t! I can’t finish an essay in such a short amount of time!”

Ms. Ronen sighed as if she knew that something like this was going to happen. “Okay, fine. Just — finish it at home and bring it in on Monday.”

Alice nodded vigorously. “Okay! Fine by me! Can we leave now?”

There were more words exchanged between Alice and Ms. Ronen, but what they were exactly Desiree wasn’t sure. The only thing that Desiree cared about in that moment was the use of the word ‘we.’ ‘Can we leave now,’ Alice had asked, not ‘Can I leave now.’ She wondered what Alice meant by this, because as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a ‘we.’ It’s probably nothing, Desiree thought. She probably just said that by accident. Even so, Desiree planned to ask Alice about this later on… well, if they ever talked again, that is.

Desiree knew for a fact that they probably wouldn’t.

 

The Vietnam War

The Vietnam War took place between November 1, 1955 and April 30, 1975. This war cost 2 million Vietnamese civilian lives, 1.1 million North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers, 250,000-250,000 South Vietnamese soldiers, 58,220 American fighters, and 173 billion dollars. The Vietnam War started out being a proxy war for America, but quickly escalated to a full-scale American involvement for fear of communism. This war was one of the only wars that America did not win. A memorial is necessary to commemorate the millions of lives lost for a cause that was not understood by most, for a seemingly endless war that was spurred by the personal pursuits of the American government in the Cold War. The American people need to learn about the history of this war to recognize that the American government can act selfishly in order to put themselves in an advantageous position.

Vietnam had been occupied since 1883 by the French. The French colonized Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, and later renamed the region Indochina. However, there had long been opposition to French rule. Vietnamese people did not like being controlled by a foreign power. In 1930, a man called Ho Chi Minh created a communist party in order to rebel against their oppressors. This party was called the Viet Minh. Ho Chi Minh was not driven by communism, however, he was driven by the desire for independence. In World War II, Japan occupied Vietnam in 1945 and declared Vietnam an independent state from Indochina under Japanese rule. Ho Chi Minh then established the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, modeled after the American government, and declared himself the president. However, when World War II ended, so did the independence of Vietnam. Indochina was surrendered to the French. In 1946, France declared Vietnam an independent nation, but it was still under French control. This spurred the first of the Indochina Wars, which started with an attack on French forces in Hanoi.

In early 1950, the communist countries China, the Soviet Union, and Yugoslavia official recognized the state of Vietnam. Later that same year, democratic countries America and Great Britain also officially recognized the state of Vietnam. In 1954, the Geneva Accords were made. The Geneva Accords divided Vietnam into two sections: North VIetnam, led by communists under Ho Chi Minh, and the South of Vietnam, led by U.S. supported government under Ngo Dinh Diem. By this time, more than a million Vietnamese civilians had fled North Vietnam for South Vietnam.

The involvement of America in the Vietnam War was caused greatly by the U.S.’s fear of communism. In a communist society, one party claims to represent everyone, there are no elections, and as a result, the same leaders are always in power. All citizens receive what they need from the government, including healthcare, education, and housing. The state owns all means of production. Communism aims for a state of total equality. Their leaders do not support individualism, and no one is richer than his or her neighbor. There is not free market or enterprise. Everything people earn is given to the state, and the state then redistributes money or supplies based on people’s needs. According to Karl Marx, communism is, “From each according to his ability to each according to his needs.” Communist countries believe that capitalism debases human needs, while capitalist countries believe that communist states make human beings slaves to the government.

A factor that contributed to the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was the Cold War. The Cold War started after World War II and ended in 1989, with the collapse of the Berlin Wall. After World War II, the Americans and the Soviet Union each had separate political ideology and separate spheres of influence. America’s sphere of influence was in the Western part of the world, and the Soviet Union’s sphere of influence was in the Eastern part of the world. Both of these two powers wanted to stop each other from extending their spheres of influence. The Soviet Union feared the Americans would extend capitalism, and the Americans were afraid that the Soviet Union would extend communism.

Another factor that played a huge part in the American involvement in the Vietnam War was the Domino Effect Theory. The Domino Effect Theory stated that if one country in Southeast Asia became communist, the other countries would soon follow suit, and the Soviet Union would be able to extend communism even to Europe.

In Vietnam, however, the American troops were finding it very difficult to win the war. The Vietnamese fought every army they encountered using guerilla warfare. The Viet Minh used guerilla warfare against the French in the South. At first, instead of direct involvement in Vietnam, the Americans supported the French financially in the South of Vietnam. The Soviet Union gave Ho Chi Minh and the communist nationalists in the north of Vietnam financial aid. The Soviet Union and the Americans used the French and Vietnamese in order to wage a proxy war- a war instigated by a major power that itself does not become involved. Eventually, French forces left Vietnam, but not before leaving Ngo Dinh Diem in charge, who promised to establish a democratic republic. However, Ngo Dinh Diem refused to have elections, which was against what was stated in the Geneva Accord, making himself dictator. The Americans found they were giving money to a dictator in South Vietnam.

The Americans misunderstood the North Vietnamese call for freedom and independence. The U.S. simply considered them communists, and ignored their actual intent. For the Vietnamese, this war was on the brink of civil war. For the Americans, Vietnam was a pawn in the Cold War, a war to prevent the Soviet Union from expanding communism.

A key battle in America’s proxy war using the French was the Battle of Dien Bien Phu. This battle was fought in 1953 by French soldiers on a mountain outpost near the border of Laos. The decisive Viet Cong victory brought an end to the Indochina Wars. The French Army found they were losing a lot of ground, so they retreated to their outpost, called Dien Bien Phu. The Viet Minh cut off all paths and supplied their forces using the Ho Chi Minh path, a network of trails through the jungle that connected all Viet Cong bases. The outpost of Dien Bien Phu could only be supplied by air for the French, but they were still confident of their position. General Vo Nguyen Giap surrounded the French base with 40,000 men and used heavy artillery, completely taking the French Army by surprise.

The Battle of Ấp Bắc took place on January 1st, 1963. In 1961, the U.S. found a large portion of the Viet Cong forces near the village of Ấp Bắc, which was in South Vietnamese territory. Therefore the ARVN (Army of the Republic of South Vietnam) was ordered to destroy their base. In 1963, American helicopters dropped off ARVN soldiers near the village, but a catastrophe took place. South Vietnam was defeated, and five American helicopters were destroyed. This battle showed that the Americans were losing the war, and that VIet Cong forces were gaining support.

The Gulf of Tonkin Incident, also known as the USS Maddox Incident, is an example of how the American government lied to its own people and to the people and state of Vietnam. Americans claimed that the USS Maddox, a destroyer, had been attacked by the North Vietnamese army. The U.S. used false radar images to prove their point, which were called the “Tonkin Ghosts”. The U.S. used these fake attacks as an excuse to bomb North Vietnam and use Agent Orange to uncover the hiding spots of the Viet Cong.

On both sides, America and Vietnam, the resistance to the war was growing fast. Unlike in World War II, the American people did not understand why they were sending their men to die for a cause they did not understand or believe them. Furthermore, the American people did not believe in the hypocrisy of the war; President Kennedy saying he would support every nation that wanted to be independent and set up their own government, but only if the Americans liked the government they had set up. Americans also opposed the draft, which threatened families in the lower and middle classes. The draft targeted men and boys in fighting age (ages 18-30). Many Americans thought that the U.S. was using Vietnam as an excuse to fight Russia and get an advantage in the Cold War. On the other side of the ocean, Buddhists were campaigning for representation in a government that oppressed them. Many Buddhist monks opposed the war, and they set themselves on fire as part of their protests. Following their example, two men in the United States set themselves on fire as well; one in front of the Pentagon, another in front of the White House. As images of the war were released, the American public opposed the war even more. Many pictures showed military misconduct and the massacre of innocent civilians, such as the May Lai Massacre. The Americans heard reports on the radio about how soldiers were ordered to “kill everything that walks, runs, grows, and crawls” in order to completely annihilate the enemy.

Many families lost their fathers, brothers, and husbands in the war. Those who survived the war have never forgotten the horrors they were put through, and they have never been able to fully recover from the emotional damage it caused. The Vietnam War reduced people’s patriotism and faith in their government. Vietnam is one of the only wars in history that America has not won, deserving a memorial to commemorate the cost and aftermath of this war.

Works Cited

Bender, David L. The Vietnam War. Greenhaven Press, 1984.

Prados, John. Vietnam: the History of an Unwinnable War, 1945 -1975. Univ Pr Of Kansas, 2013.

Spector, Ronald H. “Vietnam War.” Britannica School, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc.,

school.eb.com/levels/middle/article/Vietnam-War/277599. Accessed 29 Oct. 2017.

 

Women’s March

      

Millions of faces

Millions of stomping feet

Millions of pink hats

Millions of minds,

Determined to set things right.

 

Millions of ideas

Millions of dreams

Millions of experiences

Millions of Memories

All come together

To change the world

 

Millions of Women

Millions of Men

Millions of  Voices

Sounding around me,

As we march through the streets.

We all want our voice to be heard

 

I felt excitement,

I felt anger,

I felt connected to everyone there,

And all around me,

I saw Change

 

Red;

           

A woman with a stroller, the baby

Kicking its feet and the aging leaves

Crunched under wheels.

Red;

The sweater I stole from you,

The word you said when asked for a word

Associated with love.

Red;

Her lips when I found you.

Red;

Love

Betrayal.

Red;

The sky at dusk from the cliffside,

Where we watched the sun glide away and the

Stars sneak into existence for the night.

Where we laughed so much about things I don’t

Remember now, but

I do remember the way my stomach hurt

Because I couldn’t stop feeling happy.

Red;

The blanket wrapped around my shoulders

To ward against the chill that may come from outside

Or may just be something inside of me

That’s died or lost.

I’m not sure which.

Red;

The color of flowers that push their way

Out of frozen ground in the spring,

When the things that died decide to

See how it feels to be alive again.

 

Freakman

It had rained all night, yet, there was no rainbow.

Well, there was no sun either… but still. I was saddened by the outcome of the storm. It was just sky and clouds and emptiness.

I got off the bus, feeling empty as well, like the lack of rainbows had affected me personally.

Most kids wouldn’t care about something as trivial as light in the sky, but I was not most kids. I felt unfulfilled due to this — what shall we call it? — fate, karma, or just weather. Either way, I was not happy. And school wasn’t gonna change that.

I sighed.

I went up the stairs of the school, seeing all the kids you see in high school. They were, like, beyond stereotypes at this point; they were more like lists of characteristics. I said, “Hi” to my friend Windy in the hall on my way to first period (which, by the way, I was acing), and he waved back.

He smiled at me before some kids snatched his book and binder and started to mess with him. The kids turned Windy’s wheelchair round and round and yelled, “Freak!” louder than the fire alarm. I kept walking. Poor Windy. I sometimes wish they would just leave him alone.

The feeling I felt on the bus returned like a bag of nails to the balls as I again felt empty — wishing I could help him, but knowing I’d actually get hurt if I tried.

I dragged myself through my morning classes. Knowing literally all the answers did not help. I was aching for lunch, though not really aching because I knew soon I would ache for the end of the day.

After fifth period came to a close, I helped push Windy’s chair to the cafeteria. He grabbed a school newspaper from a stack on the table by the door. I didn’t. Now, our paper, The Trenton Community High Gazette, is a real big deal (though, it’s total sensationalist phony crap; they make everything into a big deal… it’s kinda funny the print is in yellow, so they are, like, literally yellow journalism… )

As we rolled up to the lunch counter, I looked over Windy’s shoulder, seeing how engrossed he appeared to be in the tabloid. I tried to see the front page, or part of it, because Windy blocked it before I could see or read the headline.

I asked, “Hey, Windy, so what’s the front page news? Is there plastic in the mashed potatoes again — ?”

“Moon, I-I-I — this is very bad… ”

“Geez, what is up your Levi’s? You look like you just got buried alive. Dude, why don’t we discuss this over a healthy dose of gruel?”

“Moon, the front page is — um… ”

“Spit it out, Winslow. We haven’t got all year… ”

“It’s about YOU!!!” Windy shouted.

“… Me?”

Me? I never do anything interesting! I just sit around all day and complain about things all the time like Garfield.

Windy handed the paper to me. “You and your folks, actually. Just know it’s not the end of the world.”

I skimmed the headline. This was the end of the world.

There was silence. The whole cafeteria froze and stared. I dropped the paper, seemingly in slow motion. The silence continued for another minute. One kid started laughing. The entire cafeteria followed suit. This was not happening.

“Fucker!!!” They all stopped laughing at that. I burst into tears and ran, grabbing another copy of the newspaper out of some girl’s hands on my way to the exit, getting the grubby, yellow ink on my fingers.

In the stairwell, I looked at the photo on the front page. It was of my mom and dad and me as an infant. This was the end of all things. My parents were butt naked covered in tulips, a guitar strap on my father acting as the only saving grace to his decency. I read the headline again: “MOON SHARRIF’S A HIPPIE!!! RARE PHOTOGRAPH UNCOVERED OF HIM AS INFANT WITH FULLY NUDE HIPPIE PARENTS!” Below, in smaller type, were the words: “Read full article by Brad Gently on page 7.”

Brad is my sister’s — I mean, my foster sister’s — boyfriend. If she had something to do with this, oh, she was going to get it.

This photograph; God only knows how it got out of the basement. Annie must have snuck it out and given it to Brad, who works for the paper. The photo was in an album that our parents had always forbidden us from touching. Probably due to the fact that they’re yuppies now, and their hippiedom is far behind them. But, it was long-lived and apparently extreme according to some family friends. Like, our Aunt Margaret said that one summer they slept in an abandoned van for a month and lived on nothing but bean sprouts. They also went to naturalist conventions every year for a decade. In fact, I was born at one of them in 1968. They yuppied-up only recently.

I already knew they used to be hippies. That’s not news. I just don’t want the whole school to know. Now, they’ll be calling me crap like “flower child” and “peace and love” in the halls. Also, it’s a nude photo. Does it get more embarrassing? A little censorship wouldn’t have hurt.

Surprisingly, today’s tabloid escapade is the second most embarrassing thing that my family’s gotten into. Judas Shariff, my grandfather, is famous in South Trenton for his legendary scientific endeavors, especially those that got him tossed into the psych ward five years before I was born. He died a few years ago. My parents tell me not to talk about him.

I heard wheels.

Windy opened the door to the stairwell and called out, “Moon?!”

“I’m fine,” I responded. “What are we going to do? I mean, what should I do?”

“They’re talking crap about you,” Windy said. “More than usual. I would have stood up for you, but you know I can’t.”

We both cracked up.

“Seriously, Windy. How’m I gonna fix this? Isn’t there some way we can go back and make none of this have happened at all?”

“You mean like a time machine?”

Windy and I looked around. “Who’s there?!” I yelled.

I recognized that grizzled voice. Was he eavesdropping on us? I turned to Windy.

“Freakman,” we both said at the same time.

I heard muffled jazz music and snapping as Mr. Freakman came up the stairs from the basement level. We did our secret handshake, and he turned off his Walkman.

Mr. Freakman said, “Yo, kiddo, I saw that groovy photo of your folks in their natural state all over the school. And you don’t like that, do ya?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Do you like Reagan?” I asked him, with a smug look on my face.

“No. Um, no, I do not. I really don’t think you can go back in time. The fact is, this is a pretty gnarly state. This is the way things are. Not worth wigging out over, man.”

“Yeah, Moon, the first step to moving on is accepting the way things are,” Windy offered.

“Would you guys listen to yourselves? You sound like Hallmark cards. This is not some teen drama where things get better in the end. We’ve got to build a time machine.”

They both stared at me.

“And I think I know how.”

There was a long pause.

“Really?” Windy scoffed. He had doubt in his eyes. Then he crossed his arms and asked, “Okay, Tesla, how do you plan on doing this exactly? Time travel has yet to be invented. At all! Not even by history’s top engineers! Let alone you, Moon — you, the kid who is failing biology — how could you possibly… ?”

“Winslow Casablanca, my dear friend, I do have a bit of an ego. I can’t deny it. But I’m not so arrogant that I’d think I could build a time machine of all things without some kind of guide. If I was having delusions of such grandeur, don’t you think I would be in the loony bin also — ”

“So you have a guide?” Windy asked. He really needed to stop interrupting me.

“Yeah, my grandfather tried to invent one. He was nuts.”

Freakman said, “Way out,” as he looked at his watch, and then he turned to me. “Kid, gotta get back to work. Keep me posted about this whole time machine, and let’s do the time warp again.” He turned his Walkman back on and snapped his way downstairs.

The door behind Windy flung open. A girl with short, black hair, wearing a blue turtleneck, burst in. “Windy, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she wheezed. “We need a replacement pianist for The Sound of Music rehearsals.” She noticed me. “Hey, you’re that kid who took my newspaper. Windy, do you know him?”

“Yeah, Lucy, this is my good friend, Moon. Moon, Lucy. Lucy, Moon,” Windy replied.

“Moon? Moon Shariff?” She burst into bombastic laughter. I could tell she wasn’t even trying to contain herself.

I turned to Windy. “I’m gonna build that time machine. I’m gonna follow those instructions precisely. And you’re gonna help me. By Monday it’s gonna be Thursday again.”

When I got home, no one was there but my cat, Ginsberg. I headed straight for the basement and discovered the blueprints hidden in the forbidden photo album where Annie had found the naked photo. I called my friends and asked them to meet me at Ralph’s, the electronics place near the spork in the road. We could get all the nuts and bolts there.

Monday arrived. And apparently Windy was right because we were greeted in the morning by pointing fingers and the words “Peace” and “Love” spray-painted on my locker. After classes had ended, we gathered in the basement near the boiler room. Mr. Freakman joined us and lit up when he saw the time machine in my hands. It was made out of my kitchen phone and the parts we bought at Ralph’s.

He gleamed and said, “You did that out of your phone? Your grandfather… I wish I could meet him… I really wish I could meet him. I’ll open up the slop closet now for our ‘secret operation.’”

“Yeah,” I said. “OK, guys, here’s the plan one last time. We go back to Thursday, intercept Annie in my house with the photo, bribe her not to do it, don’t wake up my parents, and then come back to the present.”

Freakman turned off the lights in the closet and closed the door.

I said, loudly, “Ready, guys?” I reached to touch it and felt Freakman’s hand on the dial. “What are you doing — ?”

The scene turned to black. I woke up what felt like a few hours later. I screeched, “FREAKMAN, WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I felt for the light switch, turned it on, and looked at Freakman. His hand was still on the dial. Windy and Lucy were huddled in the corner. We all looked at Freakman.

I said very slowly, “Freakman, move your hand.” He didn’t. “Now,” I said.

He moved it. I squirmed to the dial. I felt like I did when I saw the newspaper headline. Completely overcome with anxiety. I looked around the closet to find something to confirm the date. If it had worked, was it Thursday? Crap, I didn’t think this through. It was a time machine. It could be any time. I spotted a calendar and snatched it off the wall. I looked for the day when the X’s had stopped. I could not believe my eyes.

Freakman was more insane than my grandfather. Why did he send us to 1964?! We burst out of the closet. I stood up, turned to Freakman, and was prepared to give it to him. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you have to go and ruin our whole plan?” I asked.

Freakman looked very pleased with himself. He smiled and said, “You know they say the best way to learn about something is to experience it firsthand.”

“Are you referring to the newspaper?!” I hollered.

“You bet I am. Come on, kids, don’t you want to see the outside?”

Windy piped up, “You guys are forgetting something.” He turned to me, looking at me like I was an absolute moron. “Did you forget that you told me at least a thousand times over the weekend that the time machine could not travel more than five years at a time? We’re in the sixties. If that’s true, Moon, we’re stuck here.”

Lucy said, “Wait, we’re stuck in the sixties? I’ll get to see Barbra Streisand on Broadway!”

“Well, Freakman,” I said. “This is a fine mess you got us into. I’m not living the rest of my life as a flower child.”

“You were going to do that anyway — ” Windy added.

“SHUT UP,” I bellowed. I realized that we were making way too much noise and had to get out of the building. I took my school books out of my backpack and put the broken time machine in their place. We had to carry Windy up the stairs because there was no ramp from the basement, and then go back for the wheelchair, but we made it outside.

I noticed that the school building looked the same, but everything around it looked like something out of American Graffiti. The cars were longer, and the hairstyles were crazy. Windy spoke up, “I have an idea, guys.”

“What?” I asked.

“If it’s ‘Build a time machine and go back to Thursday to avoid embarrassment but we end up in the sixties,’ I don’t want to hear it,” Lucy said.

“No, Lucy, better,” Windy responded. “Moon, didn’t your grandfather live around here?”

“He used to,” I said. “By 1964, he was already in Bellevue.”

Windy said, “So, I guess we’re going to New York now.”

“Wait, are you suggesting that we ask him to fix it?”

Freakman said, “Wow, I’m finally going to get to meet my hero. You guys are the best.”

We hopped a Greyhound bus to New York City. It looked like it looks in all the old postcards in the tourist shops. Cleaner than New York today. We walked across town to Bellevue Hospital and checked in as visitors — which we technically were — to padded room number 187. A doctor took out a ring of skeleton keys and opened seven different bulky locks. He told us to be careful.

I approached my grandfather. He was huddled in the corner. This was it. He was breathing heavily, and I decided to speak up.

“Judas,” I whispered.

“Are you another doctor?” he asked.

“No,” I said. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him this.

“Who are you? You’re not supposed to come in here without a lab coat.”

I was taking too long. Also, if I messed with this too much, I wasn’t going to be born. I needed to suck it up, and just say it.

I screamed, “Judas Shariff, I am your grandson from the future. This is not a dream. Your time machine works. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you need to fix the machine so that we can get back to the present and so that we can, you know, not be stuck here.”

There was silence. Understandably.

Mr. Freakman broke it, of course. “Can I have your autograph?” He held out a shriveled piece of paper.

I gave the machine to my grandfather. He looked me in the eye. I had never had so much hope riding on one answer.

“Give me two days,” he said. “But come back in lab coats.”

We spent the time to kill in a shady motel in Greenwich Village. Freakman went to places like Folk City and coffee houses, while we tried to do our homework in Washington Square Park. We met some cool people there, like this guy who could put his foot behind his head. He was doing it for money.

Freakman met us in the park and introduced us to this man who looked a lot like Freakman. Considering the turn of events so far, we weren’t actually surprised to hear that he was Freakman, only younger.

We came back to Bellevue in lab coats, completely prepared for everything to go back to normal. Some patient called me “Doc,” which actually felt pretty good. We entered the padded room, and he actually had finished it. God knows where he got the parts, but we didn’t have time for questions. I hugged and kissed Judas goodbye, and he told me to remember him.

We raced back to the Greyhound station, and hopped the bus back to South Trenton. We snuck into the high school and carried Windy down the stairs in the chair.

Back in the slop closet, I asked, “Freakman. Do you want to do the honors?”

Freakman thought for a second. “You know, kids, I’ve made a lot of good decisions in my time. Never have I been presented with an opportunity so ripe like this one. I’m not goin’ back.”

Lucy said, “Okay, suit yourself. C’mon, Moon — ”

“No, wait,” I said. “Who’s going to be our mentor? Luke Skywalker never would have gotten anywhere without Obi-Wan Kenobi!”

“Remember what happened to him?” Freakman reminded me. “Look, kid, you’re never going to get anywhere in life if you hold onto the past. Move on. I’m just a janitor. The sixties hold so much opportunity for me to start over. And you can start over without me.” I started to cry.

He closed the door. Lucy turned on the time machine. The portal started to open. I reopened the door. “Wait, Freakman!” I yelled. “Don’t hug yourself! You’ll blow up all of space and time!”

“Okay,” he said sweetly, smiling. “I’ll try.”

The scene turned to white. I would now live the rest of my life worried that he might hug his younger self. As if I didn’t have enough anxiety.

 

– The End –

 

The Accident

I remember my first accident, my first time not being able to see. I remember sliding down the bunny hill on November 12, 2013. I remember my brother’s hands around my waist. I remember them holding me tight and not letting go. I remember the heat from the hands comforting me that made me feel safe. I remember hearing my life and giggles in slow motion. I remember holding onto the thin rope that was attached to the sled. I remember my tight, purple winter coat pressing me tight. I remember the ropes falling out of my hands while leaving splinters in my hands. I remember my father yelling, “Turn before you get hurt!” I remember how sharp the tree trunks were. I remember the thickness of the tree and the dark, brown wood around it. I remember the leaves hanging down low from the tree. I remember how they looked so sad, and the snow was dripping off it like tears. I can’t remember how scary it was the minute before I hit it. I can’t remember Alex’s hands slipping off like I was alone. I can’t remember the fear built inside of me. I can’t remember forgetting how to steer. I can’t remember the sudden boom of my head against the tree. I will not remember the ambulance noises. I will not remember the tears dripping down Alex’s face. I will not remember my father calling my mother with a look on his face. I will not remember his tears filled with fear going down his cheeks. I will not remember my screams going through everyone’s ears. I will not remember my eyes closing and my breath stopping. I will not remember the moment I couldn’t move, the fear built everywhere and growing. I want to remember the calm moments when I was asleep. I want to remember the fearless place where I was. I want to remember me waking up and everyone there with smiles and tears of joy. I want to remember my mother’s long-lasting kiss on my forehead. I want to remember everyone hugging me tight. I want to remember…

 

Seasons

           

Summer

A lot of times I don’t feel comfortable without a coat on. The thought of people staring at my arms and my body is terrifying to me, so whenever I’m going out anywhere I always take a coat. The only bad thing about this is that it only works in the winter. In the spring and summer is when I really feel uncomfortable.

In the winter and in the fall, it is socially acceptable to wear a coat inside because sometimes, it’s still cold even when you’re in your house or the school building. This is mostly because my school is too cheap to actually turn on the heater. And sometimes, our landlord is too cheap to turn on the heater as well. But in the spring and summer, if you go out wearing a coat, then you look crazy, and the people in the street give you mean looks, which is funny because in those moments it is the very thing that protects me from the judgement of others that is making other people judge me. And then sometimes, when I am going to leave the house for a little while and I go to grab my coat, I am scolded by my mother because “it is scorching outside and you will burn in the heat.” Then, she tells me to leave it at home, and I get upset because if someone I don’t want to talk to comes and tries to talk to me, then I can’t just put my hood up and ignore them, so it won’t be as awkward because I can’t see their face.
I think everyone should just wear coats during the spring and summer.

 

Fall

I’m a very approachable person. This is both a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand, I know how to handle myself in social situations, and I have no problems at all when it comes to talking to people at parties and other social situations, since people are always trying to initiate conversations with me, while on the other hand, I hate being approached.

“You’ve inherited my gift with people,” my mother will often tell me. However, I’m not quite sure whether or not that’s true.

I mean — I’m okay with people, but not great. I’d rather not talk unless it’s required, but when it is required, I’ll always provide at least the bare minimum amount of conversation necessary for whatever situation I’m in. I’d rather avoid being noticed, because contrary to common belief, I’m a very anxious person. But not my mother. My mother is a gracious person, who is skilled when it comes to talking to people. She is witty, and interesting, and humorous, and sociable. She is caring and kind and beautiful, and she has the ability to spark up conversation with pretty much anyone. She can bring introverts out of their shells, and she can make the shy ones laugh. Something about her is just so open and inviting, and just makes you want to get to know her immediately.

I’m not that kind of girl.

I don’t go out of my way just to talk to people. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s just the people who are always going out of their way to talk to me.

Except, I have no idea why…

I’m nothing like my mother. I’m not interesting or appealing or witty or talkative. I’m not particularly pretty either. It’s not like I’m anything special — I’m just a short, pale girl with short, dark hair that curls perfectly over my ears. Perfectly simple, perfectly boring. Just a short, pale girl with a closet full of turtlenecks and pastel colors. Just a short, pale girl who likes to draw and paint. A girl who is utterly and painfully short of any personality.

 

Winter

I don’t know exactly what it was that triggered the start of my ongoing three-and-a-half year battle against dermatillomania, but somehow here I am. I’m not sure if it was something I always had, but if I didn’t have it when I was little, then I certainly have it now.

Perhaps one day, I had an especially bad panic attack and in a flustered, anxious frenzy, decided to dig my nails into the bumps on my arms and after coming to the conclusion that I enjoyed the feeling, decided to return to it whenever I was bored or anxious. Perhaps I had found a pimple on my face and thought that the best course of action was not to pop it, but to scratch it hard until it was gone altogether. Or maybe I had just washed my hair and whilst making sure that I had gotten all of the shampoo out of my hair, I accidently came upon some dandruff and by mistaking it for nits, continued to poke around my scalp with my nails until a piece of my skin was picked off. At this point, who really knows?

But it doesn’t matter, because how I developed this disorder won’t make a difference. In the end, I still end up here in some therapist’s office every Tuesday, where they hire some hippie to come and ask me bullshit questions.

If I’m honest, I don’t even know her name.

I never use her name anyways.

Sometimes, she asks me questions about how my day was, to which I answer truthfully, but other times she’ll ask me questions about my “condition,” to which the answers I give her are always lies.

“What triggered you to pick at your skin?” she’ll ask me. I’ll shrug at her and sigh.

“I don’t know,” I’ll tell her, but this is not true at all — not even in the slightest.

I hate telling lies, and I always have, and because of this, I try to avoid lying as much as possible, and when I do lie, I am always sure to at least reveal a little bit of the truth. For instance, there was this one time when my mom baked a tin of banana bread, which usually is quite good except for this one time when it was extremely dry.

After eating a decently sized slice of it, she came up to me and asked me what I thought of it, to which I responded with, “Yeah, it was really good! Just a little bit dry, but otherwise really good!” and she smiled and went on her merry way.

Was her banana bread really good? No, it was just average. But was it dry? Yes. Yes it was. But I couldn’t just say that, could I?

But with this particular question, I can’t even share my answer. My answer will always be overridden. The truth of the matter is that most of the time, I start picking whenever I am bored and need something to do with my hands — specifically during my classes. But if I even try to explain this to the therapists, they’ll never believe me. They always seem to think that me picking at myself stems from anxiety — some deep, dark fear gnawing at me from the inside out.

Except it’s not.

That’s the thing with therapists. There always needs to be some type of ulterior motive — one that more often than not isn’t there.

At this point, I’ve just stopped trying to defend my illness. There really isn’t any use because I always find myself answering the same goddamn questions over and over again, and at this point have grown tired of it. It’s mentally draining, and I’m over it. The cognitive behavioral therapy doesn’t help — not when the therapists try to act like they know what I’m feeling or thinking better than I do myself. Perhaps one day, I’ll find someone who will just listen.

 

Spring

Sometimes, I like to sit with my dog out on the stoop and watch people walk by. My dog is a Pomeranian, and she’s really fluffy, so lots of people stop to pet her because she looks really soft. But some people don’t like little dogs like mine. They’d much rather have a big dog than a small one. I’ve never understood this. A dog is a dog. I like both big dogs and little dogs equally — and if given the chance, I would totally get a big dog, but I live in an apartment in the city so having a Husky or Bulldog isn’t an option.

I like my dog more than I like most people. I can tell Jazzy anything because she won’t tell anyone or think I’m weird and secretly judge me, and I like this. Another thing Jazzy won’t do is get up and walk away from me when she sees the scabs on my face, like that one lady on the bus did after sitting next to me.

When I was little and Dad was still around, he used to play his jazz CDs on the radio really loud in the morning, and then I would get up and dance around the house. Then one day, he brought Jazzy back to the house, and I named her after something my dad really loved. Then one day, Mom found out about the affair. Then, he left. Now I don’t listen to jazz anymore. I still have Jazzy, though.

Lots of days Laura will come to my house after school, and we will sit on the stoop together. She doesn’t like to hang out in her house very much because she has four younger siblings, and they’re always in her face. But today, Laura isn’t here. This is because we had a fight at school today, and she got mad at me.

I had come out of the principal’s office during last period to find her staring at me with her arms crossed. She looked really mad, and that made me upset — so much so that I felt a sudden urge to open the door to the closest classroom, step inside, and lock myself in there so I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever harsh thing she was gonna say to me, but that wasn’t an option.

We walked to the cafeteria together in silence. It was only after we sat down at our usual table that she said anything.

“What did you do this time?” she asked.

I sighed. Why did she have to be like this?

“I yelled at my para,” I mumbled. I hated the paras. They were basically hired to help me one-on-one, but all they seemed to do was piss me off.

She rolled her eyes, “Go on.”

“O-okay, I cursed at my para.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“… I punched my para.”

Laura scoffed, “Really, Callie? Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah!” I yelled, “I am!”

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“She hit my hand!” I protested.

“Callie, she probably didn’t. She probably just tapped your hand to tell you to stop picking, and you freaked out. Jesus, do you have to be so Special Ed all the time?”

I froze. Only seconds later did she realize what she had said.

“Oh Callie… I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t just stop picking. That’s not how things work. Do you think I enjoy picking myself bloody? Because I don’t, and if it was as easy as not doing it, then I would’ve stopped a long time ago.”

It was at that moment that I got up from my seat and left. I ate by myself in the bathroom. I didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day.

So here I am, sitting on the stoop of my apartment, sketchbook and pencil in hand and a dog at my feet. I listen to music as I draw and this time, I do not draw what is in front of me. I draw what I see in my mind.

I do not look up from what I am doing until around 8:00 when Jazzy starts barking. There’s Laura, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Can I… can I sit with you?” she asks.

I nod, and she comes to sit next to me, wrapping her arm around me tightly. We don’t speak for a long time.

“I’m not just a Special Ed kid,” I tell her, my voice hushed to a whisper. She sighs.

“No,” she agrees, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a person.”

She is silent once more.

“Yes, Callie. You are a person.”

“Then why am I treated differently?”

At this point, I am crying my eyes out, and she can definitely tell.

“I don’t know, Callie. You just are.”

She pulls away from me, and my arm feels cold.

“Take off your jacket, Callie. No one’s judging you.”

My jaw drops. “How did you know?”

“I’m your best friend, Callie. I’m psychic,” she winks at me, and I laugh. “But seriously. Take the coat off.”

And I do.

 

The Simulation

                   

The Simulation

I wake up on a Monday, the day that wreaks havoc across Malibu International High School, or MIHS for short. On Mondays, some of the students — mainly boys, unsurprisingly — act exhausted, just to annoy the teachers. This usually ends in parents being kindly invited to discuss their child’s behavior in class, or just the typical, “Go to the principal’s office, right now!” But today, everything seems… different. I have a strange feeling. I don’t know what it is, but I just have it.

“Mom!” I yell. But as usual, she has left for work.

It’s not that we are financially troubled. She is just very enthusiastic about her job. That kind of annoys me because it means that she’s barely around, leaving me by myself most of the time. Even on weekends. She works for a newly born scientific company called Malibu Scientific Studies and Collection (MSSC). She usually leaves before I wake up, leaving me to do everything to get ready for the day. I have to get breakfast and prepare for the day. But sometimes, she leaves breakfast out for me on the table (today is one of those days), so I sit down and eat, wondering what today will be like.

***

“Good morning, class,” says Ms. Willmur.

She aptly takes her seat and proceeds to put her blonde hair in the usual ponytail. She praises me every Monday for being “the only mature fifteen-year-old boy in the school.” I start class by turning in my homework: a pre-calculus math worksheet. I get A’s in this and most other subjects. I take my seat next to my best friend Alissia.

“How you doin’ on this fine morning?” she asks flatly.

“Eh, today feels weird,” I reply.

I can always come back to her for advice, whether it be about how to handle emotions or what to write on homework assignments.

“In what way?” she asks.

Just then I freeze. I am unable to move or speak or breathe. I faint, but so does everyone else. All I can see for a while is darkness. I am still conscious, but it’s like I only exist in my mind. I wake up in a dark room with red lighting.

“How the he — ,” I start but I stare at the room — no — spaceship I am in.

The interior is vast; I can’t see either end of the ship. I get out from my… containment pod? I realize that I am wearing headgear, and so is everyone else to the right and left of me. They all look weird. They look almost… alien. Oh god. Please no, I think. I look at myself, and I see pale, almost transparent skin. I can see my veins and my — muscles? I am afraid now. I don’t know what to do. I look around frantically, but I turn around only to find something remarkable.

“Levine, Jack. Please retreat into your pod, please,” a hovering droid says to me.

I just stare at the droid, admiring the tech put into it, before punching it in what I would call the face and running to what I think is the front of the ship. Soon, I realize an alarm goes off, with a corresponding flashing blue light. I’m running fast, faster than a human can run. I look down and see slender feet, like a cheetah’s, but with three large claws for three toes, and they are also slightly more muscular. I don’t know much about speed, but I think that I am running nearly forty miles per hour. I also realize that I have a tail, for balance. I look at my feet again, and they are completely stable, so my suspicion may be true. But to confirm it, I glance at my arms, which are the same length as my legs, if not a tiny bit longer. Lastly, I realize my posture. Hunched, I think to myself. That confirms it. I can run faster, if I go on all fours. I try it, expecting to fail, but it comes naturally. I also don’t have to hold my head up as I do it, as it is forward facing now that I am on all fours. Now, I should be clocking in at sixty miles per hour, but I am barely even trying, unlike when I was on two legs. I push myself forward as hard as I can, now travelling at ninety miles per hour.

“Yeah! New record! Take that, cheetah!” I say.

I finally realize that I haven’t reached the front of the ship and think to myself, How long is this thing?! I stop and go on two legs again. I look behind me but only see a green flash of light that blinds me, and all I see a split second later is black. I awaken in my pod again. I grunt to myself, but instead a low rumble emerges from my mouth, and the glass cracks. It doesn’t break, but it cracks. I do it again, and it breaks and shatters and is blown away from me. Another ability at my disposal. Now I can escape this place.

 

The Escape

I start my escape by playing possum. I do exactly what the other alien things do, which is sleep. My eyes closed, I think about all that I have yet to realize. And then I remember my mother. My eyes shoot open, and I quit playing possum.

“So much for the plan,” I say to myself.

Of course, the alarms go off as I break out of my pod with my “sonic scream,” and the security droids come after me as I run on all fours. Then I notice, all the pods have human names on them. Martha McCannon, I say in my mind. Jones Johnson, Johannes Johnson. I see my old friends in a helpless state, and I feel saddened, but I keep going nonetheless. I run faster, and the names become blurred, but one stands out to me. Alissia Swift. I stop immediately and stare at her seemingly dead body. I am startled when I see slight movement. She opens her eyes slowly and sees me. I give her a confused look as she awakens. She screams… at least I think so; the glass is soundproof. I use my sonic scream to break her out. However, before I can explain anything, she jumps out and starts running away from me.

***

I jump out and run away from my attacker. But as I do, I keep saying in my mind, C’mon Alissia! Face him! Her! Whatever!! But I do not want to. I have been avoiding any contact for… I don’t know how long. So it is natural for my sense of self-preservation to kick in. I stop and turn around to see that my attacker has caught up to me.

I prepare to defend myself, but all he does is scream, “Alissia! It’s so good to see you!”

I am very confused. How does this perso — alien — know me?

So I ask, “Should I know you?”

He appears to compose a look of sadness on his face. “Hey, it’s me, Jack,” he says.

My face instantly brightens up, and I throw my front appendages around him. “Jack!” I scream.

We stay like this for a while, but we both soon realize the droids surrounding us.

 

Trump Tower

April 2017

 

Jason walked right up to me in front of 70 Pine, our designated meet up spot. As always, he was late, and I was early. The sun was going to set at almost eight o’clock, and it was only six, so we were good to make the sunset shots.

“The man, the myth, the legend. Nice to see you, Jason. You ready?” I said.

“You know it. So how are we getting in?”

“Easy. The school right there. I’m friends with them. I’m sure they’ll let you in… just say you need to use the bathroom.”

“Got it.” I pointed to the school and showed him an outline I wrote earlier in art class of how exactly we were going to get in. We crossed the street and walked into the school.

“Hey Marlon, how are you?” I said, putting my hand out.

“Happy to see you again! What you need.”

“Just need to use the bathroom, if that’s okay. I’ve been looking for so long.”

“Of course, just use the one on the third floor.” I smiled and started walking up the stairs, Jason following right behind me.

“Your friend can wait down here,” he said, looking back at me.

“Okay.” I looked at Jason and signalled for him to ask.

“Do you mind if I go wash my hands upstairs?” Jason asked.

“It’s fine… you can go up,” Marlon said.

We walked up the stairs and looked at each other. I smiled and said, “We’re in. We did it. We passed the hard part.” I smiled a big smile and kind of giggled right as we got out of sight of the security. We got to the third floor and passed by the bathroom and kept walking down the school. We saw the exit sign signalling to go to the right. We took a right, and we were in the clear: no cameras and the stairwell entrance right in front of us.

“Okay, put on your bandana.” I took mine out, and so did Jason. He had a blue on, and I had a red one… ironic.

“This is what we’re going to do. Go to the ninth floor and transfer to staircase H. From there we take it down to the fifth, and we’re past the security in the offices, and we could take the elevator down to the lobby. From there, follow me.”

“Okay,” Jason said. We both had our bandanas on, and my hand was on the staircase door handle. I took a deep breath, turned the handle, and walked in. I covered my eyes in front of the three cameras pointed at the door. It didn’t phase me. I just kept walking and kept my head low. We ran up the stairs and arrived on the ninth floor. We opened the exit door and came inside an office area inside the Trump building. I saw the golden elevators, but there was a glass door blocking me from them. We were close but still a mile away. I led him around to stairwell A, and we took it down to the fifth floor. Open sesame! The moment we opened the doors, we saw the golden sheen of the Trump elevator doors.

“Bingo,” I said, jumping up and down.

“Take your bandana off. We’re good. Just follow me, and don’t be afraid to look around. Try to act normal,” I said while laughing. All the pressure released from my body, and I felt calm. From here, it was just the matter of not getting stopped while going into the elevators, but there was no worry for — Bing! Within seconds, we were already at the lobby, and the golden doors opened to more golden decor and white marble floors. I walked out and took a slight right to the elevators labeled forty-five to sixty-two. We walked into the hall and clicked the button to call the elevator. Immediately we heard a ring, and both of our necks swiveled backwards. We walked in and almost at the same time, we saw the cameras staring us down. We turned around and smiled at each other. We were in Trump’s most valuable tower.

 

The elevator was fast, but relative to the tall building, it took a minute or two to get to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened, and we both sighed in relief. The elevator door shut, and we heard the whirring as it went down beneath us.

“Well… we’re here! Look at that view,” I said, pointing to a huge window looking out at the sunset.

“Damn that’s beautiful,” Jason said, staring into the sun. The blue, almost fluorescent sky lit up as the sun started making its way down, turning it orange inch by inch.

“Okay, what next?” Jason said.

“I’ll take you to the highest we can get, but the door to get to the spire is locked. I checked earlier.”

“This has been done before. I’m sure we can find a way.” I looked back at Jason and clicked the elevator button leading to the top floor. It opened up with a loud, creaking noise. It was an old, freight elevator contrary to the new, golden, shiny ones on the main elevator. Again I clicked the highest floor, and it started to go up. The elevator buzzed, and we made our way out. I stuck my head out of a half open window and looked up. We were about forty feet below from the base of the thinning spire.

“There’s the lock right there.” I pointed to the entrance leading to the spire. Jason walked up to the lock and started fiddling with it, turning it, and banging it. We even tried to break the lock, but nothing worked.

“I guess we should find another floor where we could go on the outside,” Jason said. I nodded back. I walked into the stairwell and lightly walked down the stairs. We checked every door on every floor, and everything was locked, but when we got to the sixty-fourth floor we found a wide open hole in the wall. It was dim, and the walls were made of brick. There were loud noises and lights coming from inside from rusty machines that probably have been there since 1930, when the Trump building was made. We walked into the room and saw orange light peeking through the windows. We walked toward it. It was a fully open three-foot window. Just enough for us to easily get in and out.

“Jackpot.” We dropped our bags and jackets and looked out. It was breathtaking and familiar, but it felt as we say in the Philippines, “biten” (BIH-TIN), meaning not enough or that it didn’t hit the spot. We both knew this wasn’t the building’s full potential, and it didn’t really satisfy what we did all this work for. We stayed there for a good twenty minutes and got a lot done. Not a second is wasted when rooftopping. Everything has to be as correct and precise as possible while still being quick and silent. We took photos, Snapchats, and hung from one hand from the side of the building. Just normal things. We were both done, and all I wanted to do was leave. I gave up, and in my mind I knew getting up to the top would be impossible without a pick lock or explosive.

“Okay Jason, let’s go… I don’t wanna get caught.”

“Hold up. C’mon, I have an idea”

“No, we’re going.” I called the elevator and got in. Jason got in and shook his head.

“Silly you.” He pressed the highest floor we could get in again. The door shut, and we were going back.

 

The elevator door opened, and I had a feeling that I normally get while rooftopping. Most rooftoppers have anxiety that when the elevator door opens, a horde of police and security will be waiting there for them. In all honesty, using the elevators is the most nerve-wracking, especially when going down. But that didn’t happen today, it never does. It’s something that happens on YouTube.

“Get your keys out right now,” Jason said, as he walked out of the elevator.

“Stop, that’s not going to work.”

“I’m being so serious. Give it to me.” I shrugged and dug through my overfilled pockets. I felt the rigid ends of the keys and yanked it out. I tossed it to Jason, and he walked over to the locked door.

“This should work.” Jason stuck the key in. It fit perfectly, sliding in with ease. He turned it left… didn’t budge… he turned it right. Didn’t budge. Then he wiggled the key and left just about a hair line out of the lock. Then boom, he turned right, and I heard the most satisfying sound I’ve ever been a part of.

“NO FUCKING WAY! NO WAY!” I screamed.

Jason looked at me nonchalantly and said, “Ladies first.”

I gladly said yes and slowly walked up the spiral stairs. Within the stairs there were small circle windows about 1.5 feet in diameter. I saw higher than I ever saw before. So many things were racing through my head. I didn’t even care if I got caught anymore. This was the most badass thing I’ve ever done. Everyone dreams of climbing the Trump Tower, and I could basically do this in my sleep now. We walked all the way to another metallic, almost brand new, spiral staircase. I saw the bright lights surrounding us pointed out to the city. I knew exactly where we were… we were in the spire of Trump’s most valuable tower.

 

“I think we should leave our bags here,” Jason said. I nodded and dropped my bag down. All I needed was my camera. Everything was setup and ready to go. We started to climb up the rusty, old, steel ladder to the top. I kept my camera hanging from my neck and propped off the side of my back. I tried my best not to let my camera hit the grimy bars on the ladder. The ladder went about forty feet up and got dirtier and rustier the higher I got. When I got to the top, I stood on the bars that went across the ten-foot space. The window out was right in front of me, waiting for me to go through. I held on to the side walls as I waited for Jason to come up. He got up and looked outside the window.

“No way… we are here man. No turning back.” Jason said.

“I know. Is it safe to go out?”

“Yeah, I’m going first, then just follow along. Here, hold my camera.” Jason handed me his camera, and legs first, he squeezed through the window.

“Okay, pass my camera.” I climbed toward the window and handed Jason his camera. He stood out there fiddling with his camera and looking around the sky. He looked up and froze.

“Yo. Yo, grab my camera right now… RIGHT NOW.” I grabbed his camera without hesitation.

“What happened,” I said, as I started to make my way down the ladder.

“No, no, no, stay here we’re fine, there’s just too many helicopters out here. Let’s wait till it gets a bit darker.” He awkwardly squeezed back through the window facing backwards. When he got back in, we both sat on the rusty bars and looked at each other in silence. We sat there slowly relaxing every second. I felt my heart rate slow down, and my thoughts about getting caught slowly slipped out my mind. We were in the roof area for about an hour now and nothing has happened. No cameras, no motion detectors… nothing. I could, with authority, say this was one of the easiest roofs in NYC. We waited inside looking out the window for about thirty minutes. The helicopters didn’t stop, but they slowed down as the sun went down.

“I think we should go now,” I said.

“Okay, hold my camera.” I took the camera and cradled the lens like a baby. He quickly got out to the spire and grabbed his camera. It was my turn, and by God, was I ready. I held on to the top ledge of the window and propped myself out legs first. I looked up and saw about thirty feet up till the end. Never had I been so high in my life, and there was nothing that could top this, so I tried to make the most out of this trip. I took out my camera that was already set up and started firing away on rapid speed.

 

The shots came out beautifully and needed minimal editing. I tried to hang or do some daredevilish stunts, but everything was thin and flimsy and hadn’t been restored since 1930. We walked in circles. The distinct, almost mint green still sticks in my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful, worn out green so close up in my life. You have to see it to appreciate it. I continued to take shots and videos of this mission. But for just a minute, I put the camera down and enjoyed what I wouldn’t have for a long time. The World Trade Center glowed with its smaller buildings, making it seem like a small, utopian village in the middle of other futuristic office buildings which took up the Financial District. Then, you walked to the opposite side and saw Manhattan’s tapering down to the Staten Island Ferry. It was surreal looking down and seeing nothing but the green of the rest of the roof.

“I’m doing it,” Jason said, as he walked toward the ladder leading up.

“Crazy mofo.” He started scaling even higher than the nine-hundred feet we were at. Relative to where we were already at it didn’t seem to make a difference, but the view was beautiful. Jason climbed to the top of the spire as I peered down. He took one candid shot, and I went back to shooting. What I didn’t know was that he took the best photo of me I’ve ever seen.

 

He headed down, and we knew it was time to go. We’d been up there close to two and half hours, and we didn’t want to cut it any closer. Jason climbed down from the spire, and I passed him my camera. I hopped inside the small room back in and squatted on the bars I was standing on.

“Get my camera,” Jason said. I took his camera, and he awkwardly squeezed himself halfway and then got stuck because he was coming out backwards.

“Fuck, what do I do,” he said.

“Jeez, let me help you.” I went across the bars and slowly held him as he went back out to try again. He went feet first and pulled himself in. I gave him his camera, and he packed it away in his bag. I strapped my camera to my shoulder and started climbing the ladder back down. Jason then followed behind me. I packed my camera into my bag and put my light cashmere sweater on. We were back to where the big LED lights faced out. I remember staring at this a couple years before and enjoyed the thought of such a tall, beautiful building. New memories like this always make me appreciate and compare my past experiences.

“Wow, I can’t believe we’ve done it,” I said. Jason looked at me and started laughing about how hilarious and insane this situation was.

“We’ve really done it this time,” Jason said. We were all packed and ready to leave the roof. I looked one last time and started heading down the spiral staircase. On the way down, we saw small, circular windows that gave us the first and last views from the roof. We then came to the end of the staircase and the gate that was opened with my key. I looked back at Jason and looked out to see if any workers were there waiting for us. I took a deep breath and pushed the bar. It was almost over. We walked over to the elevators and took it down to the sixtieth floor, where we would transfer to the lobby elevator. The doors opened, and I clicked the button for the next elevator. We waited for a good three minutes for the elevator to come. By then, we started getting worried about the security catching on. We heard a ring from behind us, and the elevator door started to open. It fully opened, and it wasn’t filled with police… phew. We got in and pressed the lobby. The elevator down was nerve-wracking. I could only think of the worst… getting caught. We whirred down the flights and finally arrived at the lobby. The elevator door clicked open and opened to a full lobby of not police, but gold rimmed chandeliers, and the exit! We took a right from the elevator trying to act as normal as possible. We came up to the door, and it was blocked by red velvet rope. I looked at Jason, and we quickly turned around. This meant we had to leave from the main entrance. We walked toward the turnstiles and walked straight through them.

“Have a nice night, guys,” the doorman said.

We both looked at him and nodded. We walked out and looked at each other with the most “I can’t believe we just did that” look.

“You know what this calls for,” I said.

“What?”

“Mission accomplished Snapchat videos!” We both put on our bandanas and went across the street to a plaza. We did our handshake and stared at 40 Wall. We then parted ways and had to explain to our moms why we came home so late.

 

Shadow Man

I love the smell of the fresh air and the feel of wind gracefully blowing my hair, whipping it away from my face. This is one of the times I feel free. My stress thousands of miles away. Just sitting and looking out across the landscape to where the brilliant sun is slowly disappearing. The strokes of millions of shades of colors sweeping above me and being rushed into nonexistence. I love most of all, the calm that comes with the dark blue, looming sky. It seems like all sounds are scared to move. But I am not scared, but the sounds are. Slowly as the sun says its final goodbyes, I watch as the shadows behind the beams of rocks come alive, dancing in the moonlight. At this moment, I wish that I could control those dancing figures of darkness, bend them to my will. I imagine one leaping into pools of light and taking on a human form to waltz with me. I open my eyes, my concise self never noticing that I ever closed them. I look down, ashamed that I could ever think that something like that could be real. I don’t notice that all is still except myself breathing. Except not all is actually still, the shadows are moving too, aren’t they? My mind wanders again to the dancing figure of shadow. Suddenly, even the moon loses light. Eerie music starts to play. Ups and downs, sweeps of sadness, and bellows of jolly float through the air. I hear little twinkles of laughter bouncing on the wind, the sounds are not scared anymore. They are dark sounds though, meant for the night and the looming, dark blue sky. The sound jolts to a stop, the end of the song or is it just the beginning? Out of the shadows or part of one, steps a man tailored to the finest of beauty. I don’t second-guess myself for a moment, this man is real. A shadow is solemn, this man has sprite, a happiness to each step. He bends low at the waist and unravels a hand for me to take. I tentatively take a step forward and gracefully accept the hand given. The sweeps of sadness and bellows of jolly start up again but at a more soothing tempo. A song meant for me and my shadow partner. Slowly, as if scared, the shadow starts to slide into movement pulling me with it. The cold of the night wind pushes us together, pulling the imaginary strings of a shadow orchestra into submission. The air is warm, radiating safety, and I want to slip in. So, I do. My arms wrap around his neck, and I feel the cold of his hands. I shiver. I lay my head on his chest, my height close to reaching his chin. I hear a heartbeat, this man is real. But I don’t care if this is all a fleeting dream because I know that this moment of solidarity I will not forget. I cannot forget. Shadows are always there.

The shadows beckon like they always do, pulling me in. I refuse to be swayed. Go to meet him, go to meet him, I tell myself. I fall into the will of my mind. Where would he be, the most shadow near, of course. And so I walk the trail to where I first conjured this man. The beams of rocks reach up towards the sky around me, and slowly, I walk into darkness.

 

The End

 

Under This Roof

The door handle slowly turned. I noticed a small fleck of white paint crinkle and fall to the floor, leaving an abyss of gray on the door. My dad had said we would get it redone, but we never did. Maybe when they move in we will, I thought. Maybe we will redo the entire apartment, or even move to Maui or someplace exotic, and then all my memories will fade away with the blowing wind.

The door opened, and I saw them pale in the face, carrying big duffle bags that made them seem tiny. And at that moment, I felt huge. Her awkward “hello” sent shivers through my body as I realized my new responsibility.

She was a tall, dark, and brooding teenager. Her hair was thick and tangled as if she had just been to the ocean. But I knew it wasn’t the crashing waves that knotted her hair. Her eyes were so dark brown that if she said they were black, I would have believed her. There was something desolate about her gaze. Something despondent.

He was younger and lighter colored, and his hair was curled in all different directions. His shirt was sky blue. The blue that makes you want to take a deep breath and go to sleep. His piercing, gray eyes made me want to uncover what lay beneath, but I averted my gaze to a dust bunny floating above the ground. It seemed there was a string attached to it, guiding it somewhere, but that place was unknown.

As they walked through the alcove, the ground lowered where their heavy feet stepped. It was as if the ground wasn’t strong enough to hold the weight of their luggage. One more bag and it would have crumbled under their feet. We reached the room, and for the first time, I realized how much my dad had changed it. My playroom had become their bedroom. I could swear the walls were tan but my dad said white. I think he was pushing it. The bedspreads were a mix of blue and gray, and looked like a Picasso. A painting of the sun hung above the bookshelf. It was truly beautiful but belonged outside, above the blossoming trees and budding flowers. My new stepmother said it was a nice house and a nice room.

I needed space to think to myself, so I went to the kitchen, opened up a drawer, and pulled out a glass bottle. It was hard to open at first, but once the fresh water came trickling down, I forgot about the indent from the cap in my hand. The pure, whole water touched my lips, and I felt it flow down my throat and calm my stomach. I kept drinking until the whole bottle was finished, and I had forgotten that this was the last one.

I decided to lay my head upon my purple pillow and breathe in the deep smell of rose perfume. I didn’t like it. All I wanted was to have a gray pillow with no fragrance, so I wouldn’t feel guilty for getting to stay in my own house while they had to leave theirs. I hoped we could connect under this roof and become a family.

Dinner that night was cold split pea soup. It was dull green and chilled my tongue. There weren’t enough dinner bowls, so I offered to use the ceramic bowl I had made at camp a few summers ago. At first, my dad forgot about it, but when I showed it to him I could tell he was thinking back to the day I brought it home. I said I made the bowl for him and Mommy to share one big spaghetti, like Lady and the Tramp, and then he told me about the divorce. It was like I was standing in the calm ocean, and then an unexpected wave crashed into me, and I went rolling under the cloudy sea, and when I came up for air, I felt a searing pain in my lungs from the salt water, and my eyes could not open, for the salt had blinded me.

That night, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was the wood in a fireplace, just sitting there in the cold, damp night because no one bothered to light the fire.

 

Unique

Unique. That was my name. At least that’s what I thought it was, until my mom told me it was Shellsea, but I didn’t like that name because it was not different and it was similar to someone else’s. Kelisea, Chelsea, Nelsea, like, they are all the same. Mine does not stand out. I wish it did. It isn’t different. It isn’t special. It is just Shellsea. My mom says she gave me this name because I was in born in Costa Rica, and she was thinking about the beach when giving birth to me. The funny thing is that my younger sister was also born with a name similar to mine. Her name is Kelisea, but since we were born one year apart, I guess that’s why her name is Kelisea Anne Cher. But guess what, that is only her first name!!! Compared to what mine is, it’s just Shellsea Diamond Harrison. Her name is Kelisea Anne Cher Wendy Harrison. I recently asked Mom why she did not give me a name like hers, and she said “both of your names mean something to me, about how and why I had you two.” Yeah, like that was a good response!!! But I know what you’re saying, why am I stressing over this? Well I’ll tell you why, but we have to start all the way from the beginning of kindergarten.

So since I started school late, I was one year behind the year I was supposed to be in, so Kelly and I were in the same grade, school, and even class!!! Every year, it was like the same thing over and over again with my sister. One day, in kindergarten, Kelly and I were partners for show and tell because since we have the same last name on the attendance sheet, we were always partners. So we had to come up with an idea of what our project would be. We decided that we were going to bring in our favorite stuffed animal to show everyone why it was our favorite. We went in and told Mom about what we had to do, so we ran to the room and went in the toy box. We grabbed the one we thought was best, but we did not pick up the same one. I grabbed a lion because we bought it from a gift shop when Mom took me to see The Lion King on Broadway for my third birthday, and it was wonderful. On the other hand, my sister took out a white, baby seal that she got in her Happy Meal from McDonald’s. I told her to put it back because mine was better, and I snatched it from her hand and threw it on the floor. She started to cry so loud that my mom rushed into the room and yelled at me in Spanish, which I could not understand yet because I was five, but I know it meant something mean. So she said we would show and tell Kelisea’s animal. I was so mad that night that I went into my room and never came out until it was school the next morning. The next morning came, and Mom dropped us off at the bus stop. I pushed Kelly out of the way so I could sit next to my crush Jackel Hudson, but Kelly still beat me to the seat. I had to sit behind them because there were no more seats in the front. Now I know what all of you are thinking, why do I have a crush already when I’m only five years old??? Well, Jackel was cute, smart, he was in first grade, and because everyone else in kindergarten, first, and second grade thought he was, too. The bus was halfway to the school, and I was sitting next to the window all alone until my best friend Hailey sat next to me.

“Hi, Shelly,” said Hailey. I wanted to say “hi” back, but I was so mad that I did not want to speak to anyone. “What’s wrong?” Hailey asked.

“MY SISTER IS TAKING OVER MY LIFE IF YOU CANNOT SEE THAT!!!”

“Wow, hurtful much? I was just asking,” said Hailey.

“Sorry, it’s just that when we got on the bus, I told Kelisea I wanted to sit next to Jackel.”

“Well, why don’t you go over there and say something to her about. I mean, after all, you are the older sister.”

Okay, so I’m gonna stop you right there, and yes I know the story was getting too good, but why did I stop? Well, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Hailey actually passed away in the fourth grade because she had lung cancer. She was my best friend for a while, until one day she stopped coming to school. I called her phone a few times, and it went to voicemail. I texted her phone, and she did not reply, so I called her mother, and she did not answer. I started to get worried, so I asked my mom if she could call Hailey’s mom, and she did. Mom came over to me and gave me a hug. I asked what was wrong, and she said Hailey was in the hospital. She had lung cancer. I dropped my cereal on the floor. I started to cry, but then I got up and asked if Mom could drive me to the hospital to visit her, and she said okay. We found our way to the hospital and visited Hailey. I was so depressed that I could barely look at her. She was so pale and weak, and she could barely move or talk. She reached for my hand and handed me a note. I leaned forward to listen to what she had to say.

“Gold is the softest color, it stands out rather than the others.”

She let go of my hand and shut down for good in the calmest way I had ever seen. I tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t. I tried to listen to a heartbeat, but all I heard was complete silence.

I shed tears down my face, but I walked away so nobody would see me. As I walked away, I was trying to think about what those words meant, but I didn’t know, so I opened the note she handed me. When I unfolded the letter, there was a necklace inside with the words Hailey said to me on the locket. Only did I not know that the locket was Hailey’s prized token.

I hid it in my pocket until my annoying, little sister came and said to me, “I am so sorry for you, Shelly. I know how, now that you have nothing of your best friend you…”

“SHUT UP ALREADY GODDAMN, HAVEN’T YOU NOTICED I DO NOT LIKE YOU!!!”

“O-M-G, Shelly I was just trying to comfort you. I know how hard this must for you,” said Kelisea.

“Well I do not want your love and affection, okay? I’m fine. Just leave me alone!”

My heart dropped to the floor. I was in so much pain, and I could not even think straight. I wanted to run away from everything, school, dance, my family and the worst thing of all, my annoying, little sister!!!

A few days passed by, and everyone in the hallways at school looked at me as I walked down the hall with my baggy ass hoodie and gray sweats that I found in the dirty clothes bag. They did not stink, but they had a lot of ice cream stains on them because they were my “Mom-is-always-yelling-at me-and-making-me-cry-so-I’m-going-to-eat-ice-cream” pants. I went into class late, and all of those eyes looking at me started to cry with tears of laughter.

I hurried to my seat as my sister grabbed my arm and told me, “I’m sorry.”

Those were the worst three days of my life, not because of losing my best friend, but because I showed the most terrible side of myself in front of the whole school. But anyways, let’s get back to the story before I tear up…

I looked at Hailey for a second and said, “Oh yeah, why not? This plan…  I mean this does not sound bad at all.”

I got up to go teach my sister a lesson on how she cannot steal her sister’s crush ever!!!

“Oh hey, Shellsea, wassup,” said Jackel.

“Oh hey, Jackel, Jack, Jackieeeeeee, jack-o-lantern, ummmmmmm, I just came to talk to my sister, could you give us a second… Kelisea, how many times do I have to say this? Stop sitting next to Jackel, I like him, and you are ruining my chance of going out with him just like you always do!!!”

“You can’t tell me what to do just because you are older. Stop being a big, old buttface!!!” said Kelisea.

“Well you are a giant babypunk!!!”

“You are a whiny baby head,” said Kelly.

“You are stupid little ba –”

What is going on here?? Kelisea and Shellsea sit in front of the bus, now!!!”

As a few hours went by, Kelisea and I were sent to the dean’s office for the rest of day until Mom picked us up. Mom put us in the car and was mad at us for arguing instead of going to school and making finger paint drawings. When we got home, Mom spoke to us and asked what happened.

“KELISEA STARTED IT LIKE SHE ALWAYS STARTS WITH EVERYTHING. IT’S LIKE SHE DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO CONTROL HERSELF!!!”

“Mommy, I wasn’t doing anything, I was sitting on the bus talking to Jackel, when all of a sudden, Shelly starts yelling at me and I did not do anythinggggggg… ” said Kelisea, sadly.

“Lord, how many times have I told you not to yell at your sister for the tiniest things Shellsea. You are not her mother. Stop doing that,” said Mom so stubbornly.

“O-M-G, WHY AM I ALWAYS THE BAD GUY? WHAT DID I EVEN DO TO ANYONE!!!”

I cried all night, but I made sure that the next day I was going to show everyone that I cannot be bossed around. I will not be bossed around, not now, and not ever!!! But then again, I was being a little dramatic just now, considering the fact that I am six years old, and I had no business of dating, liking, or even being a “tyrant” or so my sister may say. What can I say though, I’m mature and very fast for my age. What I did not understand is the fact that my little sister is some kind of magnet or metal lover that people adore. It’s like I am a giant alligator with greenish, fin tails and nasty, garlic breath, while she is a goddess princess who was made from the most beautiful creation on earth… But who was I kidding, all I ever do is try to make a plan to destroy my sister, but then Mom would ground me for life.

 

A few years later…

We finally got to sixth grade and things were looking up. I was dating Jackel, and I became best friends with this girl named Yolanda and this boy named Tyler. My grades were phenomenal, my school was my empire, and I was their queen. But there was one small problem in my little kingdom. A troll roamed through my town of happiness and her name was Kelisea Ann Cher Wendy Harrison. Everytime I tried to get rid of her, she always came back for more. I could never stop her from ruining my beloved town. But as we were learning about the suburbs and the city, the teacher assigned all of us to get into groups of four to make a project of a giant landscape or a field.

As we all know, Kelisea had to be in my group because of the whole “last name thing,” but I was happy that Yolanda and Tyler got to be in our group because Yolanda’s last name was Hillard and Tyler’s was Hikings. So we all agreed to work on the city; we were going to go different by doing a play instead of how life is in the city. Everyone came by my house after school, and it was actually pretty fun because even Jackel was allowed to come to the house. After we arranged the play, it was time for everyone to go home. As I walked Jackel to the door, he was leaning in for a kiss, and so was I, but unfortunately Kelly was right at the door smiling and staring at us, waiting to make a move. Jackel felt weirded out, so he gave me hug and left. I went upstairs with a pout lip and my feet stomping.

“Shelly, can I tell you something?”

“If it’s about what happened just now, then no.”

“But if it had something to do with someone messing with your relationship, you would want me to tell you, right?”

“Fine, what is it?”

“Jackel’s been cheating on you for two weeks… ”

“With whom?”

“… Yolanda.”

My heart shattered to the floor, my feet started to drag, and my face turned blue… As a couple days passed, I found out that it was true. Jackel was cheating on me with Yolanda, because after recess, I saw them making out behind the staircase, and everyone laughed at me. I thought to myself, I had lost my boyfriend, close friend, and most of all… my dignity. But along with speaking to my very own sister for keeping a secret from me for two weeks.

I shut myself out to all of the world and decided to move in with my dad instead in New Orleans. My priorities were only on school and family. When it came to graduation day in the eighth grade, Dad told me that afterwards we were going to fly back to New York to go to Kelisea’s graduation. I could not believe that I was finally going to see Kelisea again after two years. Even though Mom and Dad were not together anymore, they decided to bring the family back together before Kelly and I started high school.

 

The plane had landed. Dad and I were in an Uber, on our way to the school. As we walked into the building, I saw Jackel at the auditorium greeting people in. I heard he was valedictorian last year and was our alumni for this year. I seen Yolanda at the front of line, talking to Tyler, so I went over to speak to them.

“Congrats, you two. I’ll be in the audience clapping for you.”

Shellsea, O-M-G it’s been two years!!!”

“How are you?”

“I’m good. My graduation was yesterday, so Dad and I flew here to see Kelisea’s.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Tyler.

As Yolanda walked away with an annoyed face, I knew I was the better person because she finally saw what she did not have… a heart. Dad and I walked into the auditorium, and I saw Jackel. He knew who I was, and his eyes glowed as he saw me, but I kept it moving. The ceremony ended, and there was a party afterwards in the gym. Mom told me to go find Kelisea, so I walked around…

I found Kelisea by the staircase, talking to my old teacher, Ms. Hucks. She saw me and walked up to me. She shed a tear and held her arms out. I walked up to her as well and hugged her very hard. My tears started to mess up my makeup and so did hers, both of us with high heels on and our pretty dresses. I could not explain how I felt or what I was thinking. All I knew was that I got my little sister back into my arms.

“I missed you, Shelly,” said Kelisea.

“So did I… ”

 

Junior School

I remember the kids’ vibrant and youthful voices filling the void in my mind with playfulness. I remember the dark skies shielding me from the truths of what lay beyond them, while we brushed past the greenery in our chosen form of transportation. I remember my closest friends’ voices comforting me when I was lower than the great abyss of the ocean. I remember the dark playground when the cold arrived. I remember the cold as well, which could only be warmed by the positive emotions and laughter provided by myself and those around me I kept close. I remember, of course, heartbreak and leaving my friends with frowns on all our faces; sometimes, tears were shed. I can’t remember the period of my life when my vocabulary was limited and when my life was made up of memories of little kids rushing around me as we went to parks during recess. I want to remember what I believed, when I was young and innocent. I want to remember more of my past self, who I was, who I thought I was meant to be.

 

The Infernal Names

HER EYES ARE SO GREEN THEY BURN! like the curling pages of a magazine, chemical coating dyeing the flames. The Emerald City ablaze, the serpent’s tongue, the forest floor of the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve sin and sweat. And when you look at me with them, ooh girl, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

Bast twirls hair around her finger, nails cut short and painted red. The hair is not her own, but she knows it as though it is. Knows the exact weight, the thickness — the curls and the straight bits. Cassandra’s hair. Her person almost completely captured by the bounce of it, by the way it falls around her shoulders and down the nape of her neck. Cassandra’s eyes flutter slowly open and Bast falls into them, standing at the top of a well and feeling no fear as her body plunges into the cool water. It would sizzle as she fell in, the water would, sharply contrasting with her temperature.

Sharks leaving trails of scarlet blood in clear, blue seawater.

That’s how it is, with the two of them lying in Cassandra’s cotton sheets. Bast’s little body burning flame intertwined with her clear blue.

They both lie awake, pressed against each other, feeling the way their bodies move as their chests rise and fall almost synchronized. Not speaking, listening intently to the creak of the springs under them as they shift in search of sleep.

When Cassandra wakes up, the bed is empty. She lies still for a moment in the buttery sun, blinking, hearing the sound of a mourning dove on the fire escape. Lost in thought? Deep in a trance maybe? Lots to think about maybe.

Bast’s hair flows long, black, silky. She is wearing only this when she appears in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, the cat slithering between her legs. “Morning, babe.” Mornings are always these short, simple moments, almost routine, almost repetitive.

The girls sit together on the bed. Cassandra burns her tongue on the coffee.

“Too hot!”

Bast smiles and responds, “Can’t help it.”

They don’t have anything to do that morning, anywhere to go, so they lay in the bed and talk and drink their coffee and burn each other with the hot liquid and with their mouths. The silky light of morning is seeping through the breezy curtains and Cassandra is feeling calm, eyes shut and breathing soft. She feels Bast brush the hair back from her forehead with a warm hand, and Bast kisses her, dark and heavy, flicking her forked tongue between Cassandra’s lips. This burns her more than the coffee, this feeling, and shivers of pleasure run through her, so hot she’s cold. Their hands leave UV prints on each others’ bodies, the dragging of skin on skin, the deep inhales, and sighs it’s so good with Bast and Cassandra it’s so, so good. The hair is getting tangled and knotted now. The eyes are rolling into the back of their heads, turning completely inwards behind closed eyelids, so they can see their brains.

And then Cassandra pulls away, out of breath, not wanting anymore.

“What.” Bast slows her breathing, holds Cassandra’s face in her hands.

“Nothing. I dunno.”

Cassandra can feel how Bast is staring at her, searching for a sign in her face to reveal what she won’t. She pulls away.

Bast swings her feet over the edge of the bed not facing her anymore. “This keeps happening. Like, just lately, but like this keeps on happening, Cass.”

She is silent. Bast snorts a little in frustration like the little pig and gets up, paces around the room, around the island of the bed where Cassandra sits. Her hair is swinging as she walks, her tits too, and everything about her movement is mad. She leaves trails of hot smoke in the bedroom, and Cassandra’s sight is warped like through the steam from a radiator. As she paces back and forth, circling the bed, her face loses its red and returns to normal. She calms and slows her motions. And then she stops and turns to Cassandra and says, “It’s okay. I’m not mad or anything, just horny,” laughing like smoothing over wet cement, blowing it off like the steam over a cup. “It’s fine.”

Cassandra goes to the side of the bed where Bast stands, she lifts herself up and hugs her.

Bast kisses her gently and leaves the room to get dressed. Cassandra touches a hand to her scorched lips, the heat of Bast lingering like anger that hasn’t died out.

 

Kassandra

First, I guess you will want to know whose voice this is. Who is in such a prime, primal position, overseeing the temple and its inhabitants tonight. Perhaps on a balcony or an archway, or sitting over the altar in a special, private box. Or you could be theological and tell me I sit on a cloud spinning stringy tales and playing with one malleable piece of clay. Well. Hoo boy. I guess let’s attribute my knowledge and intellect to the stories passed down to me from all my ancestors and their ancestors. On this night, the door opens a crack which then opens up further and a beam of yellow light is cast across the floor. What does yellow feel like? You choose. Chiclets, sunshine, urine, buttery, lemony sour, whatever you want. Kassandra is yellow as she peeks into the temple, and she is very beautiful. Gold swathed over her, her bare feet stepping over the door frame and then resting on the cool marble. I have done this entrance before, gone from the dirty heat outside to the cool, smooth, white interior of the temple. It could really take your breath away. Arching, vaulted ceilings, everything white, smooth, and hard like teeth or something you could break your teeth on. Columns in all four corners, draped with heavy looking snakes that appear to slither, though frozen in marble. Kassandra walks through the room, passing the sculpture of the temple’s deity. She is walking slowly, examining the walls and statues and tables covered with fruits and crystals and paper offerings that have been dipped in honey. She glides to the front of the temple now, one solemnly bare foot in front of the other. Now, Kassandra stands at the altar. She turns to face ghost worshippers and closes her eyes and her hair flows back from her face as if by a gust of ghost wind. Then she lies down, stretches her body out onto the marble floor, and soon she is asleep.

The corners of the room melt away, sharp angles into butter, and the snakes are slithering low on their bellies surrounding the Sleeping Girl. They multiply, and she is in the center of the ring of snakes, flashes of bright green and their white fangs just like the marble. One draws in close to her face, and my breath catches, fearful for her smooth, dark skin. Its mouth opens, and I can almost see it happen, see the jaw clamp around her cheek and the scarlet blood start to spill. But it doesn’t. The snake whispers in her ear, eyes yellow and unblinking like Kassandra, and the girl’s body shifts in sleep to confirm the secret’s reception. The other snakes move in closer, and even I can hear the hushed tones of their whispers that fill her ears and her dreams and resound in the white temple.

It doesn’t surprise me that I wasn’t the one chosen to be their confidant, Kassandra was always right for these things. Sure, I wonder sometimes what the snakes said to her that night in the temple in the astral plane. But I saw her wake with such madness in her eyes, deep-rooted but rising, that I’d almost rather not know.

 

Bastet

Fraying wicker, cat whiskers, thick, savory milk, sweet scent perfume. Beautiful woman, hot, smooth skin, cold shadows. Long, thick lashes, food-filled belly, big belly laugh, soft, sultry smile. Rock salt melting on the tongue. Scorching alcohol down the throat. Creamy, red blood in the veins, heavy with sodium and iron.

“THIS IS THE WAY WE DANCE!!!” SHE cries out to me in a slur of reds and golds and shimmering, shaking fabric.

I laugh and shout over the music, “I KNOW!!” Her mouth is as big as her face, and she is a vision in swaying arms and hips and swinging, long hair. The boys are following her movements, listening for the sounds of her bells and of her kneecaps clicking together. I am too, of course, but I have been trying all night not to let on. Her face is flushed and sweaty when she finally sits down on the silk, cushioned chair next to me. Her eyes are outlined in thick kohl, her lips a fierce red, and skin so creamy, dark, smooth like something so delicious!

“Don’t you want to dance?” She leans in to yell this into my ear.

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m no good at dancing.”

She pouts and pours glasses of lemon water for us. “I bet you’re fine. Plus, no one will mind even if you aren’t.”

I know she’s right, but truthfully I am far too nervous to dance like she does, knowing what will come later on in the night. I am grateful for the darkness in this sweet-smelling den, where the air is too thick for Bastet to see how my hands shake. I don’t know how she does it, puts on not only a brave face but a beautiful one. Her teeth glint in the colorful lights as she laughs with the boys.

Small talk.

Not the way she talks to me.

They hang onto her every word like needy kittens and the way she entertains their attentions angers me, so I down the rest of my drink and pull her away from them. Hell, maybe it’ll take my mind off things. We dance for hours. Our bodies are practically melding into one, practically melting into a puddle of liquid butter on the dance floor. And I do stop thinking about it, at least for a little while.

After sweating our souls into the thick air, dancing for hours, Bastet drags me to a secluded room. We collapse into pillows and plush carpet and lie there still for a little while. Then she turns to me, “I think it’s time.” I know she’s right. We’ve been waiting for this moment and any more waiting will be too long. I reach a shaky hand to my boot and pull out a long, sleek blade. She clasps my face in her hands.

“This is right. I promise.” The weight of her breath in my nose and of the knife in my palm is enough to hold me here forever.

“We’re doing this for us, we’re doing this for the Gods, and the Goddesses! Baby, we’re doing this for us.”

I know she’s right.

“Fuck these fucking mortals!” She throws in for good measure, as if I needed more convincing.

Fuck these fucking mortals.

I nod into her glassy eyes where I can see myself reflected upside down and we stand, each concealing our blades within the folds of our skirts. Bastet’s hand is outstretched, almost grasping the doorknob. Right before she touches it the door is swung open. A lovesick, little kitty boy is on the other side, clutching glasses of blood-colored beer. His face is pained and pale, as though he is straining to say something. I take the drinks from his clammy hands, and before he can say a word, we shut the door again. Me and Bastet hold our glasses out to each other, and with a shudder, we swallow the blistering alcohol in one go.

Oh, give us strength.

The last thing I remember doing is heading for the door and witnessing Bastet fall one second before I do. The last thing I remember seeing is the humans crowding into the cramped room, watching us fizzle out with weary relief.

In my sleep I saw HER, balancing the sun on her head.

In my sleep I saw HER, burning in the pits of Hell.

 

BAST and CASSANDRA sit on a couch in Bast’s living room. There is tension in the air.

 

BAST

Cass.

 

CASSANDRA

(she doesn’t look up)

What?

 

BAST

I feel like we should talk…

 

CASSANDRA

Not now.

 

BAST

What’s wrong with you. You’ve been so weird lately.

 

CASSANDRA

Please just stop.

 

BAST

Why?

 

CASSANDRA

Just fucking stop!

 

BAST

(Bast’s face is starting to turn red)

No. This isn’t fair.

 

CASSANDRA

Fuck off, Bast.

 

BAST

Fuck you.

 

CASSANDRA

(under her breath)

Jesus Christ.

 

BAST

I can’t tell anymore if you love me.

 

There is a long pause here. Cassandra is thinking while Bast watches her desperately.

 

CASSANDRA

Me neither.

 

BAST

(Bast jumps up, furious)

What the fuck??? You don’t know fucking either??!

 

CASSANDRA

I don’t.

 

BAST

Well can you figure it out?!

 

CASSANDRA

I don’t know.

 

BAST

THAT’S. NOT. FAIR.

 

CASSANDRA

I know.

 

BAST

When did this happen?

 

CASSANDRA

Not sure.

 

BAST

Why couldn’t you have told me before now.

 

CASSANDRA

I wasn’t really sure until now.

 

Long pause.

BAST

This hurts.

 

CASSANDRA

I didn’t want to hurt you.

 

BAST

Well, you did.

 

CASSANDRA

You have to believe I didn’t fucking want to.

 

BAST

You. Did.

 

CASSANDRA

So what now?

 

BAST

Just leave.

 

CASSANDRA

Bast, please, can we talk?

 

BAST

Oh now you want to fucking talk.

 

CASSANDRA

I’m so sorry.

 

BAST

Please go.

 

Lights shut off as door slams shut, Bast is left alone in darkness.

 

It’s almost like she’s in a bunker or closet or cell or something else small and dark and damp. Black, thick air that you could gather up in muslin and squeeze water from. Her little body reverberating with such fire and power in the corner of the room, right where the wall meets the floor.

 

The Contents:

  • Bast
  • Her bones
  • Her blood
  • A flame that is predicted to grow any minute now

Weather forecast calls for forest fire maybe that’s just what this storm needs.

Storm not wet or gray or foggy

Not marbled, warbled sounds or smells

But a flashing hot vortex, a vertical tunnel.

Arms wrap around her knees, crushing her bones and doing it for the sake of the walls that are gradually scraping across the floor, coming closer by the second. The ember that started in her chest has leapt from her mouth, through the Pearly Gates of her rows of teeth, the kindling of her rage feeds it until Bast is surrounded by leaping flames. The little room she’s in is completely ablaze and reflecting in her eyes, so she is unable to realize the situation.

And then, after blinking maybe twenty-something times, her head clears and Bast jumps to her feet. “Oh fuck my fucking house is on fire.” Her fury is still there you best believe, but now there’s fear of burns and scars and suffocation and also amusement at herself for not noticing the impending disaster until now, isn’t that just like her. She wraps her t-shirt around her mouth and nose and slams the door of the room open, running down the hallway with so many doors, each somehow open, each somehow filled with licking flames. Her shirt is singed from where her hot breath caught in it, her hands that guide her down the hallway leave blazing trails on the walls, and her hair is gathered antigravity like in a comic book falling straight up, and maybe it seems like the source of the heat and horrible smoke isn’t the fire at all, but it’s her?

She bursts out onto the toxic waste, green backyard that’s almost waxy in comparison to the sidewalk out front and backed up against the fence she turns and watches her house. Looking down at herself, Bast notices that her palms are like a mirror reflecting the exact image of the flames like they’re right there in her bloodstream which of course they are. She stands like this, in the acidic pool of grass, watching the fire eat away at her house and the inside of her body.

 

Then the flame coming out of the bathroom window is a hand

The flame coming out of the kitchen is a curved rib cage

The flame in the bedroom is a neck and a head

And the legs are poking out the front door

And Bast is face to face with the face in the living room

pressed up against the window and Bast feels magnetic hot force like no other and runs up to the window. The flames are still leaping and now licking and caressing her, running their tongue across Bast’s body. She feels their hands on her waist and then slipping as gracefully and smoothly as only a natural force can under her cotton shirt, into the waistband of her jeans, all over everywhere until she’s burning so hot that she’s cold. Her heart is beating so fast and so hard in her chest, so hard that it could fly from her body on powdery wings and she could become A dark magicked demon or a beam of light, those sharks or that seawater, a slick, marble temple or a damp, dark room she could be any or none MULTIPLICITY of woman. She and the flames intertwined in cosmic spillover between dimensions

Between planets and surfaces

The cratered holy rock of the moon,

projected so it’s right up against your face pressing on your nose and eyelashes.

From here you can see her kneeling in the space between the stars, one strong calf at a right angle with her elbow resting on it and the other lying flat on the astral plane.

You can see the way she holds her arms so rigid, extra support for the way that she balances the sun on her head.

The two of them burning on the sun’s surface or in the pits of Hell with your favorite cast of characters those so shunned and evil, dipped in the rivers that run red, anointed in amnesia.

 

It was June 18th, 1999

It was June 18, 1999, when Bob lost his first finger. It was an otherwise normal day at Gleg’s Edible Food. The vegetable guy had gone on a “mission to mars” (this was a scam), so Bobby “Ten Fingers” was to do the job. He was instructed to cut the frungis, by Gleg himself. Gleg told him to take the first knife down the rack and then hit the frungis with it until the frungis was thin enough to put on something that looks like a sandwich if you squint.

“When the knife breaks, get a new one. This will happen every ten ‘time inches’ or so,” said Gleg.

Bob didn’t understand what a “time inch” was, but he assumed that it’s about a minute or an hour. It was good for the first 48.09 time meters until he got to a very hard bit of frugis. Every time he’d chop at it, the knife would break and catch on fire a bit. After trying with twenty-three knives in counting, he got Glegs (in)famous “punishment katana.” The punishment katana set on fire and soon the frungis was on fire and then everything was on fire. Then a rocket made out of old car parts, with the old vegetable guy in it, landed on a quite surprised Bob’s left pinky finger. And that was how Bob lost his first finger.

Ten years later came the day Gleg died. Gleg had never been the most lovely looking guy to most. His greenish, brown flesh, black eyes, bull dog/toad like face, and one tusk was “a turn off” and “horrific” and “unnatural” and “holy mother of a cube what is that?!” so Gleg was never one to interact with customers. But June 18, 2009, a strange beast known as a VEVIVALOGALOGANBRIVCALQUINTEZSRABCOONADECRITXIAOPLAVINGRELVALOFEDINVERININIVOLOMORPH or a VEVOLOMORPH (in our tongue). The VEVOLOMORPH was a scaled, black beast. Its back and its head were in armored plates with predatory teeth exposed when its mouth was closed — its body bulging with muscles and eyes glowing deep blue. It ordered the first thing on the menu, which was some fried whatever (a classic middle of nowhere meal), then when Bobby “only thumbs” ran up to the counter, the VEVOLOMORPH smiled a smile that could shake a rock of adequate size and number.

Bob replied, “That will be 1 46.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.”

The creature handed him 34 arembles, after writing it down on a mobius strip and dividing it by zero. It came out to about 1 46.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.5, but he kept the change after handing the beast the fried whatever.

He said, “Good day.”

To the VEVOLOMORPH, this was insanely offensive (not to all VEVOLOMORPHs, but to this VEVOLOMORPH). Because “good day” is not “great day,” so he rushed into Gleg’s room and politely explained why he was mad. Bob misinterpreted the intentions of the creature and called the cops (they knew to have someone armed near Gleg’s by now). The cop rushed in. It shocked poor Gleg into a heart attack, killing him.

It was December 29, 1971, when an immigrant (this was Gleg) from central nowhere came to the United Regions of Lacrundest to open up a store — a very store-ly store after buying some unbuyable land from a shady man with a “mars program.” That man opened Gleg’s Edible Food. He outcompeted What You Look At You Pay For and Asderof’s Incomprehensible Meals, but on one bright and cloudless night on September 15, 1972, came the greatest threat to Gleg’s, the FDA… dun dun dun… which is somehow the same as in our world. The FDA had a visit last whenever and gave the first ever G- grade due to ludicrously high number of mutated roaches in Gleg’s. The FDA (or fida) used the new, scorched earth method on Gleg. Soon, a gentleman for the FDA named B-10-9.vrt, who happened to be a killer robot with an old teddy bear for a head, katanas for hands, and a distaste for all things unclean, walked in. The vaguely deformed cockroaches saw B-10-9.vrt and descended on him and quickly were sliced into bits. The robot saw Gleg. It ran at him, firing two katanas (one of which would become the punishment katana). B-10-9.vrt was out of katanas, but seeing as the roach problem was gone, he left…

 

Whirlwind (Excerpt)

 

Entry 11

So there I was, sitting at the poolside, roped up and bleeding. I was shaking with a feverish violence that seemed to come from a scorching hot place, deep in my chest. Right then, I knew what I was going to do. The little voice of reason that lives in the back of my mind was desperately wondering where Grace was. But it quickly became clear that she wouldn’t be back in time.

I kicked my legs through the clear water and saw the tiny, pink streams of blood that flowed from my wounds. I swear I don’t crave pain or any psycho thing like that, but it sort of gave me the same satisfaction that writing did. I was making my mark.

I kept swishing my legs until all the water around me had a pinkish tint to it. Less and less blood was coming out, so I lay down on my stomach with just my arms and head peeking over the edge. I swished my roughed up arms through the pool. But it wasn’t enough, I needed to be fully engulfed. I need to leave everything behind and just be. I knew my pain was real. But I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t even truly experience it.

I just reread that, it doesn’t make any sense. Jesus, that’s the whole point. I’m trapped, and I want to explain why so badly, but I don’t understand it myself. I guess I was trapped, and I guess now I can explain. But sometimes at random moments, I feel this sense of dread, it overtakes me. I will have just left school or put down my book, when this wave of just… just everything I guess, will hit me and send me spiraling.

I took one more rope, and with even greater difficulty, I bound my arms and legs together. A permanent cannon ball. Curled up like that, I felt safe and unperturbed, but it only lasted a second. My stinging arms were beginning to get numb, and the cold was shocking me back to reality.

Then, I got a text. My phone kept buzzing, and it lit up my pants pocket. I figured it was just another missed appointment, another message reminding me what a disappointment I was.

It was Grace:

 

Grace Cameron 5:31 pm

Hey! I got locked out😞… r u still at the pool???💧🙆. Will you let me in?

 

Grace Cameron 5:34 pm

Did u leave? I left all my stuff in there… plz help!

 

Grace Cameron 5:40 pm

Wtf!? I can see ur phone lighting up through the window. Ur the worst! I am standing out here in my swimsuit. I can’t leave like this!

 

Grace Cameron 5:43 pm

LOOK AT UR PHONE. 😵😠💥

 

Grace Cameron 5:49 pm

What are you doing? R u OK? Wtf r u bleeding? Plz just answer me u r freaking me out!

 

If I had seen those messages, I would have rushed to the door and tripped over myself with apologies. Grace would have deemed me a blubbering idiot, but she would be relieved to be reunited with her stuff. She probably would have hardly noticed, much less registered, my wounds and the blood that had begun pooling at the edge of the water. I would have been so ashamed that I had even considered what I was, well, considering. I knew that there were families that were starving. Children without homes. Victims of human trafficking.

Lately, people always seem to be reminding me of that, that there were people less fortunate than I was. As if I didn’t know that. As if I thought I was the most disadvantaged being alive. I think that made it worse. I am a semi-smart white girl from a supportive family. Yet, I wanted to die. I couldn’t justify my emotions. I think if I had something horrible, and I mean truly horrible, going on in my life, I might have strangely felt better about feeling this way, if that makes any sense. I would have been a fighter, but instead, I’m a lazy girl who puts off her school work and wants a quick way out of her tiny problems. It was a vicious circle. I would tell myself that my pain wasn’t real. I didn’t need to pop pills until I fell dizzily asleep because there was nothing to feel bad about. But I did feel bad, I felt awful. I shouldn’t have, but I did.

So I was there with this whirlwind of thoughts spinning around, making my brain hurt, until I decided I was just going to end it. As soon as that decision had been made, I felt another hundred thoughts coming in about why that was the wrong choice and all the heat it would bring me. But then one last perfect, cleansing idea came to me, I wouldn’t be there to face the consequences. I felt it was less of an escape than a resolution, it was my fate. Like my whole life had been leading up to this one moment, and it was up to me to either accept myself and embrace it or be overcome by my fear and let it pass. That’s right, I felt almost courageous for knowing what I was going to do. Some people feared death and it’s finality, but I had partnered with it. Seen how death could enhance my existence and pursued it. I felt… heroic.

I was a fucking idiot. I made up this whole story about how great it was that I was going to kill myself, because even as unstable the foundation of the idea was, I wouldn’t be around long enough to see it come crashing down and hurt everyone around me. At least that was the plan.

 

The Plague

Oh hello there, human…

You shouldn’t have picked up this prison.

That’s what this is, isn’t it.

The more you look at this — thing, the more people die.

Hehe he hee… heh heh, I’m doomed, we’re doomed, nothing you do will stop this course of events, unless you just leave this.

Leave! Just leave this dreadful world!

It’s not going to be a happy ending…

It’s not, it’s not, it’s not gonna work

Hehehehe eheh heh, heh…

This isn’t working, you would’ve put it now.

JUST CLOSE IT!!! Please. Please…

My breath is moving, no… why did you start time.

Only bad will come of this. Don’t let the good moments deceive you, all will die. Just stay on this part! Leave! I can only talk like this.

No… It’s no — not… wor — working… I’ll die soon. Dark forces, they are starting to move… It was all so quiet, so still, so perfect, but now you have started it. You opened the prison of time, this thing.

Why did you open the book? My days… are numbered…

It’s too late, I’m already fated to die… And we’re all doomed… heh, heh he…

It’s all your fault, you opened this, close it…

He hee hee heh… So now the story unfolds. I almost want to watch, see how they all die… Now for our hero’s point of view. As he tells his story…

Don’t enjoy our suffering, remember me though.

Please…

 

Stave One: Mt. Pagos

The last time I arrived here I, Henry West, left with a large graze in my arm. The cold surrounded me like a blanket that took away any sense of warmth. The wind was like a swirling spiral of a fire that burned in its cold fire. The icy glaciers stuck out of the snow, as if the ice was pointing up frozen blades at the peak of Mt. Pagos. The thick fog blocked anything more than five feet away, and if something crept up on you, you wouldn’t know until it hit you and pierced your arm or even your heart. It was cold, it was dangerous, and in the center of the peak, laid an oasis of perfection.

As a warrior and traveler, I stumbled there by mistake. When I arrived, a blue serpent flew into me, its horns stabbed my arm, and I flew into snow. I was back for revenge. Sword and shield in hand, I went into the cave. The ice flew off my body, welcoming a warm cavern, massive in size, and just warm enough for comfort. I saw the creature I had came for. Massive, blue, and with icicles sticking back in a massive crown.

Pagos, dragon of wind, ice, and intellect.

I stumbled back, Pagos roared up to life. It approached me. Its six surprisingly quick and short legs dashing up to me. I felt its cold, yet kind radiance on me. Had it been scared when it saw me with my weapons bare and pointed at him? He showed no sign of hostile intention. I was about to leave and run, when I saw the interior.

In this oasis, there was a small sense of warmth, a luxury compared to the sheet of death that covered the rest of the mountain. There laid three trees, all rich and bearing fruit. There also was a pond. In this pond, two fish laid. In there too, there laid a great icicle, hanging from the cavern’s roof. Despite its appearance, it never fell. The roof was covered in a fresco of blue jewels: lapis, sapphire, kyanite, and tourmaline, shining like stars.

I heard a loud, booming echo.

“Stay, Henry,” the dragon spoke.

I jumped. I had faced bandits, fought scores of enemies, and climbed treacherous cliffs, but none of that prepares anyone for the voice of dragon. It resonates so low, as if it was just sending words into my brain, its sound was like a thousand murmured voices, all put together, just to say one word. It was simply beautiful.

The dragon continued in his speech, “I have been waiting West, a prophecy states you. It shows a gaping crater in the center of Vincent field, in the middle lay a giant beast, surrounded by a destructive ring, shredding the ground. I see you. Save us from that ring of death, but first, enter the gateway.”

As the dragon finished, I heard a loud, hollow bang. I watched the icicle fall and land tilted, forming a bridge up to a smaller carven, almost a gateway. I went in, nervous, yet excited. The tunnel darkened, I pressed onwards.

My trial awaited.

 

Stave Two: Frozen Magic Caverns

The cavern interior was cold, unlike the warm(ish), larger cavern. It had icicles from the ceiling, and they seemed to have holes in them, so one could possibly hoist himself over one. Beyond that laid an ice wall, around three feet. behind that, vision was distorted. I understood I would have to get to the end. I took a step, and the ice fell beneath me, and I fell into oblivion…

***

The cavern interior was cold, unlike the warm(ish), larger cavern. It had icicles from the ceiling, and they seemed to have holes in them, so one could possibly hoist himself over one. Beyond that laid an ice wall, around three feet. behind that, vision was distorted. I understood I would have to get to the end. I took a step, then paused. Haven’t I done this before? I thought. Then I remembered the fall, and all of it came apart. Didn’t I die? I thought, Maybe I could escape the pit… that resets my life and world, I guess. It was incredible magic that I had never seen before. I climbed on the icicle. It quivered, and I climbed from icicle to icicle, as they fell behind me.

I landed on the other side of the hole. Yay, I guess, I thought and continued on. I came upon a strange ancient icy — uh um… thing. It scuttled back and forth, excited, as if it had been waiting for me a thousand years. I approached. It turned to me, and it started to glow with a mysterious, green light.

It pulled out its sword, a blade, a pure, green light.

This sword wasn’t painted green. It was green light, flashing like a star. It looked like a stable sword that was solid, except it was obviously made of green nothingness. It lit up the room, casting green shadows on thousands of words, written on the walls, wrapping around the room like a tomb. It charged. With a quick swipe, the blade pierced my armor. It didn’t appear to have made internal damage, but I burnt. I felt the pain fly through my body, like a thousand needles flying through me. I stumbled back, the ice stopped. I got up quickly, and — it was back at it. I saw it coming at me. Quick thinking and an agile jump was all that saved me from death, or finding myself at the start, knowing this place. I saw the opening, I leapt at it and unleashed a volley of deadly blows with my sword. I watched the energy flicker, and then it just fell apart, leaving only its sword.

I picked it up, and it flared to life. I stared into the green fire, burning like a mystical, green energy. I had seen something like it before, but it seemed so simple, unlike the complicated models of magic. It seemed so modern, yet ancient, like a weapon of an age long forgotten. I continued on, into the foggy cavern, bringing the sword with me.

I pressed on. I came to a long hallway, like the starting one, but empty. In the end laid an altar. A cool dust swirled around. Magic was at its best in here. I could feel it. I approached. I saw the writing. It was ancient. I saw it in the writing. The writing was a strange series of straight lines, right angles, dots, and no curves. In the hall laid mysterious patterns on the walls, like star patterns. I continued on. The writings seemed to speak to me. I heard the stories on the wall. It was a hero — someone at least someone. Three dragons — and one more being. A dangerous beast. A curse. And a picture of someone, placing three gems together, and forming a giant beast — surrounded by a black and red wind. It shook my bones, as if they knew that death would come from it, spreading through the world, like a sheet of death. I moved away, and the feeling subsided. I came upon the altar. On it laid an orb, lazily floating from side to side.

It floated down to me. I stared into the translucent sphere. It was visible and appeared real. But something about it seemed like an object that wasn’t there, as if my brain was telling me was there, putting it into my vision. The color was some strange (yet lovely) mix of purple and black, yet seemed to have many more colors flashing like mice scurrying through it. It felt cold and yet had an almost happy feeling to it, as if it was radiating with thought.

In my hand, the sphere vibrated, as if it felt my presence. It seemed to feel the radiating of my hand. And while it felt like it weighed a pound, it would float up into the air, then come back down slowly, as if gravity had little effect on it. Moreover, it seemed to change in shape: now a perfect circle, now almost a square, then a thousand-edged object, and then returning back to a circle. This was hard to see sometimes, because it was surrounded by a purple smoke, which somehow looked incredibly mystifying.

It flew into my head, I stumbled backwards, but felt no pain. The orb was gone. Into my head. I felt my brain building into a slightly more advanced being. I felt my limbs becoming slightly more agile and felt my body hardening a slight more. I felt stronger.

As I exited the cavern and entered the, well, other cavern, the dragon swooped in. I looked into its crown of ice. In the center, I saw a blue crystal, just like the one that the hooded figure had put with the two others, from the prophecy.

This crystal is my greatest ally and curse. It gives me all of my power but is a burden. The crystal is the Ice Sapphire, and it is proof that I am part of this prophecy of ruin.’

“Bu — but how do I divert this prophecy?” I inquired.

I don’t know, but I recommend doing whatever you can to find the other two dragons, and protect them. Report to Vincent castle, I bid you farewell.’

As I walked away, the dragon flew up into the air, and it left behind a whirlwind of cold yet comforting snow. I blinked, and it was gone through the dragon’s gate, a mystical barrier, which no man has crossed.

As I scaled down the mountain, I pondered about what the dragon said. How the three most divine beings could cause ultimate destruction. It got me worried, and even the smallest critter made me jump. As I headed home, I pondered the prophecy. A dark being that could destroy Vincent field? How could a person like me defeat that? I was a strong soldier, but I couldn’t take on a dark celestial. I guess time would tell how and if I won.

But I never even thought that I created the giant beast.

 

Schoolwork Aiding Websites: Innocent Aid or Devious Cheating?

As technology slowly seeps into our lives, influencing our daily lives, elbowing it’s way into our mind and schedule, it becomes more and more crucial to establish a clear border between it and us. The establishment of a border that clearly demarcates where your hand ends and your phone begins may seem easy at first. As technology worms it’s way further into our lives, however, the hand and the phone fuse, and the weight of humanity becomes more and more reliant on the crutch sweetly proffered by our mechanical aides.

This increasing dependence on technology manifests itself in many ways. Hackers are born, people who spend their lives trying to defeat the online systems in games and spitefully create viruses. Many people sink into deep depressions as a result of online social rejection, only to attempt to abjure the situation by fleeing to other social media platforms. The Hikikomori, a Japanese term meaning “being confined,” are a group of Japanese youth who spend their lives in their rooms, eyes glazed over from screens, their meals delivered under the door. Technology rears its ugly head as well by contributing to a long-brewing firestorm of fake news, using the naive reliance of young adults on the Internet for news to pollute their minds with twisted facts. In the 2016 election, many Russian bots, or fake users, were sent on to Facebook and other platforms, where they contributed to the alarmingly rapid spread of misinformation.

The avaricious outreach does not stop there, however, and also makes itself known in what I believe to be its most vicious method yet: spell check.

Yes, that little red underline that pops up when you fail to put “I” before “E” (except after C), that innocent little reminder of your various grammatical error, the one that has saved your life on countless school assignments. Yes, that unassuming little helper will be more disastrous to humanity than the influx of bots and fake news will be, and it will be so in accordance with the single most important law regarding electronics and all forward motion, the Golden Rule: Short-term convenience always leads to long-term inability.

Picture it like this: If I have to jump over a large crate to get to school each day, I would feel greatly inconvenienced, as it might result in my being late to school. That weekend, I decide to hire a team of workers to lift the large, heavy crate each day as I go to school, in order to stop that tiring leap each day. Once the crate is gone, I enjoy an uneventful trip to school each day, free of stress or physical exertion. Over time, since I stopped my daily crate-jump, my legs slowly lose that ability, as I am getting no crate-jumping exercise elsewhere. As I enjoy my walk to school Monday morning, I notice that, by some freak accident, all of the members of my special crate-removal crew are sick. I look around and see no other way to get to school in time, no way to get around the crate. If I attempt to jump over the crate, I will be unable, despite the fact that not long ago it had been easy. An inconvenience, but in hindsight, relatively easy. Therefore, I become late to school, and I am late to school every single day that my crew is absent from their station.

While navigating a complicated and rapidly evolving world, it is important to remember the actual reason for our evolving. What is the actual force the has propelled us past the denizens of the animal kingdom. It is certainly not our brains, as we are dumber than not only dolphins, but elephants and certain whales as well. It is not our strength, say bears, oxen, tigers and gorillas, or even weight and strength ration, crow the Dung Beetle and the Leafcutter Ant. If not brain or brawn, what could it be that separates us from the multitudes of beasts? The answer is simple. It is one of the very basic skills of humanity and part of the reason we survive today: our ability to write, springing from our opposable thumbs. Opposable thumbs, however, are not nearly as interesting an article topic, so writing it is.

The differentiation between an early human’s schedule and a dolphin’s may well have been very similar. Awaken. Search for food. Potentially meet predator. Die at the hands/fins of predator or not. Eat food. Sleep. Repeat the process until death, whenever that might come. The only reason humans dominate the earth is their fast-paced evolution, beginning with writing, which enabled mankind to pass down discoveries. Isaac Newton said it best in the famous quote, “If I have seen further it is by standing on (the) shoulders of giants.” That was how humans broke out of the cycle they shared with dolphins, by building on the knowledge already gained by their ancestors. If a dolphin found a place with a particularly copious amount of food, there was no way to record that, so he would eat up and leave. A human would paint it on the walls of his cave, and the place would feed generations. This baseline skill of humanity has been the reason that we have progressed even through hardship, and its absolute necessity should not be forgotten.

Because of this, and the fact that humans know it as well, there have been no attempts to actively inhibit our writing, with a few exceptions. Unfortunately for us, however, we have somehow found a way to do so, and under the guise of being completely innocent, which is even worse. The more aid that humans receive from online, the less they write themselves without help, the less they are able to write without the constant help of websites and spell check, which will almost definitely result in debilitating results in the long-term. Already, people rely too heavily on these such websites, and too many students now rely on sites like Grammarly for their essays. There is a reason that we are not producing the same caliber of writers as we used to, a reason why the quality of the average book has deteriorated from complicated and nuanced to weight loss, a reason why nearly all the books worth referencing are from at least twenty years ago, if not much more. Who would have guessed that believing that we need external aid for humanity’s most basic need would result badly?

Another reason to be alarmed by Grammarly and its similar entourage is its surprising amount of tolerance that teachers have regarding it, when the reality is that they are helping students too much. I personally find it astounding that its usage has not been banned by the DOE, especially since Grammarly and Co. are not doing that much to attempt to dispel any sort of criticism. They are, in fact, being very outright about the fact that they are servicing students with essays they are meant to be doing by themselves. “If I want to get A’s on (my final exams), they better be free of typos,” an actor playing a student states in a Grammarly ad, and then continues with a sly smile, “Grammarly is my secret weapon.” One might think that this is just a little business tactic and that Grammarly does not do a ton to help your writing, just maybe catch the occasional mistake. Nope. The actor boldly plows onwards, “It’s more than just a simple spelling or grammar checker, Grammarly catches ten times as many errors as Microsoft Word. (Grammarly) helps me with word choice, punctuation, and sentence structure.” Oy vey. And then the video closes with two absolutely awful phrases that sound straight out of an episode of Black Mirror, “Better writing. Better results.”

Better writing. Better results. We will improve your writing and make sure you get better grades. All for free. And this is all allowed by nearly all schools, which is absolutely appalling. How is one supposed to learn writing if whenever there is bad writing, it is automatically fixed? This is even ignoring the simple fact that the teachers must be very misled. If a student needs extra help with their writing, the teacher will never know, and neither will the high school or college the student applies to when they see the students’ grades. This is an appalling interjection of corruption and laziness into society, and soon enough the long-term effects will come into play. In 1997, world champion Garry Kasparov lost to the IBM supercomputer Deep Blue in a game of chess. Now, a supercomputer can know how to beat you after you make your first move, and human skills at chess are useless compared to theirs.

Better writing indeed. We shall see about the second count.

 

The Story About the King’s Bad Day

Once upon a time, there was a lion, (also known as the king for the citizens, the husband for the wife, and Dad for the cubs). There was a lioness, (also known as queen for the citizens and Mom for the cubs and wife for the king) and two lion cubs. One was named Alex, and one was named Sally. They were both twins, and their age was seven.

It was story time with the cubs and with their dad.

“Today, I am going to tell you a story that actually happened with me,” said the lion with his deep voice. Before he told the story, a pet dog named Sugar came and sat on the king’s lap. The lion started, “Once, when I was a little kid like you, I didn’t listen to my parents. Then I was very stubborn. I didn’t listen to anybody. I thought I already knew what I was doing. But one day, my mom and dad told me not to go to the dark forest. There are some scary creatures there, and they love eating children. But I thought too arrogant of myself and said to myself, ‘Why can’t I go there? Don’t Mom and Dad think I’m bold enough? Am I not going to be the future king?’ So I went inside, and there was a large cave, and in there it was pitch dark. So I went inside, and I saw a big tiger there looking at me and circling me. I was scared, then suddenly I realized why my mom and dad told me not to go there. They said it because it was to protect me. I felt really sad. Then somebody came and took a vine and was swinging towards me. He grabbed on to me and roared to the tiger. The cave shook, and the tiger went away scared.”

 

“Dinner time, kids!” called the mom.

“Not now, Mom, we want to hear more of Dad’s story!” they both whined.

“You better come now, otherwise no dessert,” called Mom.

Sugar the dog came right away and was sticking out his tongue ready for food.

“Go Alex, go Sally. I will tell you more about the story next time. I bet you don’t want to miss dinner. We got a surprise!!!” their dad said.

They ran down quickly to see Mom.

When they got to the large, colorful diamond room, then they both said, “What’s the surprise, Mom?”

“I won’t tell until you eat your food,” said Mom.

 

The next month, it was summer. There was no food, no puddles of water, and it was very, very hot. The savannah’s sand was very hot. Whenever somebody put their paw (foot) in the sand, it would burn. And in the morning, you could hear the birds chirping, and you could see everybody trying to get some shade. After the humid day and without a catch of food, a cheetah came up to the king. Sugar barked at the cheetah. The cheetah told the mutt to pipe down.

The cheetah said, “You and your family look really hungry, sooooo I’ll give you a life supply of meat.”

The lion thought he was seeing stuff, so he rubbed his eyes, but he still saw the cheetah. He roared, and fire came out of his mouth and said, “Where did you get this ‘life supply of meat’?”

The cheetah was scared and said, “I am only here for a reason, I’m here to make a trade. I got the meat from New England.”

The king was confused. He asked, “What trade do you want from me?”

“I want you to give up your home, and give me your house, and I’ll give you a life supply of meat,” the cheetah said.

 

The lion was discussing it with his family and said, “How do we know if this a hoax or not?”

All the lions were thinking, and Mom had an idea.

She said, “Let’s trick him, and see if he acts strange and runs away.”

Then the lion said, “How do I know if you’re not tricking me, why would I give up my home? Give me a good reason!!! And by the way, why do you want my home?”

“Ummm, because I need it for my family.”

“Where is your family anyway?” asked the lion. “And why don’t you get a home over there? If I don’t get an answer, soon things won’t be looking good for you.” The lion roared.

“I think I should be going now,” said the cheetah, smiling.

The cheetah ran as fast as he could, but the lion caught up to him and said, “Are you a criminal?”

“Why would I be a criminal? What makes you think of that?” the cheetah said, nervously.

“Yup, he is a criminal,” said the lion.

“How do you know, Dad?” asked Alex.

“Because he is running away,” said Dad.

“Oh,” said the lion.

“We’ll take him to the police station, and they will take it from there,” said the king.

So they took him to the police station, and the police station was run by animals who were all tigers which made them look tough. The king was a little scared.

He told the police, “Here is a criminal. He wants to steal our home.”

“Thank you very much, King. We were looking all over for him. He is an escaped criminal. Do you want a reward of money?”

“No thank you, police officer. I already have too much money.” He went back home to see their home not there.

The king was very mad. He was so mad that he breathed out fire and said, “WHO DID THIS!!!” He saw, with a glimpse of an eye, a towing truck with his house and told the driver to stop the truck. But the truck kept on going. The lion was so mad that he tried to breathe fire to burn the truck down, but the truck was going too fast. The driver stuck out his tongue and the king saw his face, and it was another cheetah!!! When the lion saw this, he ran 100 miles an hour and stopped the truck with his own bare paws. He said to the cheetah if he didn’t get out, he will eat him in one bite. So the cheetah came out and acted innocently. But when he came near the lion, he ran like the wind and tried to get away from the king. He knew that he can run fast but can’t run for long. He wasn’t looking in front of him, and he bumped into a pole. He was really dizzy. By then, the lion caught up to him and pulled him up his head and asked him, “Are you the brother of the cheetah, and what’s you and your brother’s name?”

The cheetah replied, “Yes, I am the brother of the cheetah in jail. My name is Razor, and my brother is called Fred.”

The lion said, “Why are you and your brother trying to steal my home?”

“Because both of our family doesn’t have a home. So we are stealing yours.”

“But why don’t you steal another house? And why does it have to be my house? And why don’t you have a home?”

But by the time he asked all those questions, the cheetah ran away and surrounded the lion with cacti, and he drove off with the truck. The king was so mad that he breathed fire, and all the cacti burned down. And he tried to chase the truck, but the cheetah put the metal to the pedal, so the king couldn’t catch up. But the king knew that if he kept on distracting him, he won’t be looking ahead, and there was a curve right ahead of him.

So when the lion waved to the cheetah, the cheetah was asking to himself, “Why is he waving to me?”

Then he saw in front of him that there was a big curve ahead of him. But it was too late. He dropped down, he clasped his hands together, and he was praying. When he finally touched the ground, he was very, very dizzy. Luckily, he didn’t get hurt. He only got a few bruises. There was the king out there waiting. He got tired, so he got him out himself, and the police were standing right near the truck. The Tiger police apprehended him.

The lion asked, “Why are you and your brother running away from me and stealing my home!”

The cheetah replied, “Because we want to steal homes, then sell them, and make a fortune!!!”

The lion said, “That’s just crazy!! All for this!!! Take him away, police officers.”

“NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTT!!! I WON’T EVER DO IT AGAIN!!!” the cheetah cried.

“I’ve heard him enough. Take him away,” said the king.

The king went back home and was murmuring back home, I hope there isn’t another brother!

So he went back home and saw his cubs running towards him and said, “Mother is lost! Mother is lost!! We can’t find mother!” They both yelled.

“Oh my gosh, why do bad things keep on happening to me? Where was she when you last saw her?” the lion said.

“We saw her last at the kitchen cooking lasagna… ”

“Mmm, that sounds yummy. But we have to stay on the topic on saving your mother. Have you seen the person who took your mother?”

“Yah, we think it’s the cheetah that we saw first.”

“WHAT!!! I thought he was in jail, or did he convince the police that he was innocent?”

“But that is impossible unless the police is on the cheetah’s side!! The police did seem really suspicious.”

“I think we should go to the police station and investigate. Maybe your mother is there.”

So they went to the police station and saw their mother behind the bars.

The king roared, “LET MY WIFE GO!!! ON WHOSE PERMISSION YOU ARE PUTTING YOUR QUEEN BEHIND BARS!!!

The police was jingling his keys and was laughing.

“Why wouldn’t we prison our so called ‘queen’? Our boss wants to rule this kingdom. He sounds like a way better king then you. You don’t take care of your citizens!! He said that if we put the ‘queen’ in jail, then he will treat us fairly.”

“Why are you doing this? He’s probably tricking you, so he can be king! Fine, I admit that I was a bad leader. Please forgive me, and I will treat everybody better. Also, you have to give me back my wife. Who is this ‘boss’ of yours?” said the lion.

“He, well I don’t really know. He just has a mask over his face,” said the police. “Wait, you are working for a boss who you don’t even know,” asked the lion.

“Well, yeah,” said the tiger.

“Come on, if we team together, we can live together equally,” said the lion.

“Okay, sounds like a plan to me,” said the tiger.

“So first, let my wife out of jail,” said the lion.

“Okay.”

“Thanks for cooperating, police,” said Sally.

“Now we have to trick this boss of yours. But how?” said the king.

“I have an idea,” said the tiger.

So once the boss came, he said to the tiger, “l got a new plan to get rid of your king.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” said the tiger.

“So let’s make a quick mmmooovvvve,” said the boss when he saw the lion appearing.

“Move, right, but what move?” said the lion, grinding.

“Oh no. What are you going to do with me?” said the boss.

“Well first, who are you?” said the lion.

“I am a snake,” said the boss snake.

“Okay, but why do you want to rule the kingdom,” said the police officer.

“Because I want to rule and become famous,” said the snake.

“Okay. So police officer, take him away,” said the lion.

“Well, I do deserve it,” said the snake.

 

After a long day, their dad played baseball with Sally and Alex and their mom, who was safely back home.

The End

 

CHANGE & CONTINUITY IN APOCALYPTIC THOUGHT

Since the beginning of recorded history, humankind has maintained a strong fascination with its own demise. From its eschatological roots to the nuclear age and beyond, apocalyptic thought has permeated mass culture. However, the thematics of apocalyptic thought and therefore of its representation in culture have shifted, although certain consistencies have survived. Change and continuity of factors and components of apocalyptic thought may help us to understand change and continuity of our own mindsets.

Definitions may vary, but most would agree that the term “apocalypse” refers to the end of an era or even of the world. In ancient times, apocalyptic thought tended to focus on the day in which said era ended, commonly described in ancient texts as the “day of wrath.” Usually used in religious context, the “day of wrath” serves to embody the gestalt of ancient apocalyptic thought, at least in terms of Christian eschatology. The “day of wrath,” also in many cultures the “day of Judgement,” outlined apocalyptic thought with a focus on oneself; apocalyptic thought was centered around self-reflection and the apocalypse was viewed as the epic, ultimate decision of one’s fate. Even outside of Christian eschatology, most of these ideas still applied: most ancient apocalyptic thought was centered around the day in which the apocalypse occurred and focused on oneself. Cultural manifestations of these ideas are seen frequently across ancient cultures. Religious texts are the most blunt example of such manifestations. In Jewish eschatology, the coming of the Messiah is described in the Torah as an apocalyptic event. And, in the biblical tale of Noah’s Ark, the Torah focuses not on the events that caused or the events that followed the flood but rather on the day itself that God flooded the Earth; it also emphasizes Noah’s significance in a way that carries the theme of introspection to the tale. A representation of later origin, hymns such as the thirteenth century (or earlier) Latin hymn “Dies Irae,” which literally translates to “Day of Wrath,” present the dawn of the apocalypse in a self-reflective light, as shown in the following excerpt from “Dies Irae”: “Worthless are my prayers and sighing, / Yet, good Lord, in grace complying, / Rescue me from fires undying” (Verse 14, Irons 1849). The hymn also focuses on the day of destruction itself, as expressed in the following excerpt: “Ah! that day of tears and moaning, / From the dust of earth returning / Man for judgement must prepare him, / Spare, O God, in mercy spare him” (Verse 18, Irons 1849). This individualistic, instantaneous approach strongly juxtaposes that of current day. Modern society tends to focus not on the downfall of oneself, but rather, on the downfall of humanity. Furthermore, the moment of this downfall is often difficult to distinguish from the sequence of events that encompass it and thus blurs the line between the pre-apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic. When analyzing ancient representations of the apocalyptic, one may almost always point to an exact moment within the narrative when one era gave way to another. In the case of Noah’s Ark, this instant was the moment the Earth was flooded. In the case of the story of Adam and Eve, their paradise was consumed by a flawed existence the instant that Adam followed Eve’s lead and took a bite of the forbidden fruit. Biblical and other religious narratives such as these are one of the biggest influences on human history, yet current narratives that portray the apocalyptic do not follow their lead.

Evidence of our primitive origins has faded in the thousands of years since biblical times. Although still built for survival, we have long since become preoccupied with civilization and societal endeavors. This preoccupation is perhaps the only thing that separates human from animal. In ancient times, societies maintained their survivalist foundations despite impressive levels of advancement. Fear of death was at the core of the motivations of every individual, and thus the heart of one’s existence was the fear and prevention of their own personal demise. History has consistently demonstrated this; the characteristics of the Early Middle Ages (5th-10th centuries A.D.) are a perfect example of such a demonstration. Host to severe population decline and increased immigration, this era was not a time of great empires, but rather, a time of mediocre, largely powerless kingdoms, the societies of which were unadvanced and unevolving. In fact, many historians refer to this time period as the “Dark Ages,” drawing upon the severe lack of literary and cultural development of the time (Berglund), serving to express the state of primitivity that humans existed in during this time. As made evident by the era’s drastic increase in migration, people of the Early Middle Ages were not rooted in their societies. Rather, they were rooted in their own mortality and were more affected by the deaths of individuals around them than the deaths of the societies around them, as kingdoms did so frequently collapse because they were small and unstable. In this sense, a death of an individual was perceived as more apocalyptic than an utter societal collapse. While this atavistic core remains relevant to those of modern times, its symptoms are concealed by the astronomical degree of progress achieved since biblical times. Derived from the inadvertent devotion of essentially the entirety of humanity, this progress has led to the complex, interconnected, and precarious global society of today. The weight of this devotion is what buries one’s atavistic foundations, as the core of the motivations of every individual shifts from fear of their own mortality to fear of societal mortality. This is at the center of the evolution of apocalyptic thought. In our minds, so much has been devoted to society that to see it crumble is more terrifying than to see ourselves crumble.

If our biggest fear is not of the death of oneself but of the death of civilization, then apocalyptic thought will manifest itself accordingly; as this is the case, apocalyptic thought has done such. Imagination of the apocalyptic in its most culturally significant platforms almost always consists of the deterioration of a society or of humankind. However, the nature of such imaginations begs the illustration of not an instant, but rather, a process. Modern cultural representations of the apocalyptic present themselves as such, and subsequently, the moment of transition between pre-apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic often blurs. This trend is further enforced by previously unimaginable crises of the past century, of which have left a remarkable impact on humanity’s perception of itself and of its society. Our culture naturally turns to history for influence, and historical events are often portrayed apocalyptically (Berger, XIII). From the Great War to the Holocaust to the current threat posed by climate change, the available influences all consist of the same foundation, in which an era or society deteriorates not instantaneously, but rather, through a process; ergo, the aforementioned trend in modern imagination of the apocalyptic can be seen not only as a product of the evolution of human fear, but also as an imitation of the models available to us.

However, the influence of these models on the way we think about the apocalypse also reveals a continuity in apocalyptic thought between biblical times and now. Nearly every culturally significant portrayal of the apocalyptic shares a common element: we are to blame. From the crucifixion of Jesus Christ to the Nuclear Age, our history reflects time and time again that we are the cause of our own suffering; and from the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden, the very earliest apocalyptic narrative of Western culture (Lisboa 230), to the iconic 1983 movie The Day After, our culture demonstrates time and time again our recognition of this role we play.

It is important to recognize the relationship between change and continuity in this case. Imagination of the apocalyptic has shifted from an individual to a societal scale and has evolved to take on the presentation of not just an instant of deterioration, but a process of deterioration, consequently blurring the distinction between pre and post apocalyptic. Yet, imagination of the apocalyptic has maintained a constant narrative of human causation. From this relationship, one may gain much insight as to the influence of diversion from our primitive origins and of functioning in a civil society on our mindsets as a whole. Simply the absence of apocalyptic thought, at least past an individual scale, lacking the incorporation of human flaw as a causation indicates our apathy towards thinking about the apocalypse outside of the context of human flaw. Therefore, apocalyptic thought is and always will be relevant and prevalent because it satisfies our need to address the unnaturality of the sheer amount of power we have and the instability it is accompanied by. In our primitive states, it would never have occurred to us to worry about or imagine a demise larger than that of ourselves individually. That we have developed the natural tendency to imagine the apocalyptic in order to come to terms with our own power may serve as a demonstration of the degree in which we have diverted from our primitive origins. Humankind has conquered genetics and its survivalist orientation in favor of an existence of societal orientation. Atavistic fears have been overshadowed by civil fears. And the prevalence of apocalyptic thought attests to human awareness of the unnaturality of our current state of being. Hence, since and even prior to biblical times, apocalyptic thought has served as a manifestation of our awareness of our own unnaturality; this has and will remain consistent. Furthermore, as we divert more and more from our primitive origins, we are bound to tend to apocalyptic thought more frequently as our own potential becomes less natural and more precarious.

The role of apocalyptic thought in the story of human evolution reveals more than perhaps is first let on. Yet, representation of the apocalyptic may serve as a framework in which to study the big picture of the impact of civil and societal existence on our own thinking. Change and continuity in apocalyptic thought serves as proof of the astronomical extent of which we have strayed from our primitive origins and as proof of our own disconcertment with our own power.

 

Works Cited

Benedict, et al. Eschatology, Death, and Eternal Life. Catholic University of America Press, 2007.

Berger, James. After the End: Representations of Post-Apocalypse. University of Minnesota Press, 1999.

Berglund, Bjorn E. “Human Impact and Climate Changes: Synchronous Events and a Casual Link?” Department of Quaternary Geology, Lund University.

Bibby, Geoffrey. Four Thousand Years Ago: a World Panorama of Life in the Second Millennium B.C. Greenwood Press, 1983.

Collins, Adela Yarbro. Cosmology and Eschatology in Jewish and Christian Apocalypticism. Brill, 1996.

Collins, John J. “Apocalyptic Eschatology as the Transcendence of Death.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly, vol. 36, no. 1, Jan. 1974, pp. 21–43.

Gathercole, S. J. The Critical and Dogmatic Agenda of Albert Schweitzer’s the Quest of the Historical Jesus. Tyndale Bulletin, 2000.

Hanson, Paul D. The Dawn of Apocalyptic: the Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology. Fortress Press, 1989.

Hindley, Geoffrey. Medieval Sieges & Siegecraft. Skyhorse Publishing, 2014.

Lee, Alexander. The Ugly Renaissance. Random House US, 2015.

Lisboa, Maria Manuel. The End of the World Apocalypse and Its Aftermath in Western Culture. Open Book Publishers, 2011.

McLuhan, Marshall, and Sut Jhally. “Advertising at the Edge of the Apocalypse.” Mediaed.org, Media Education Foundation, 2017, www.mediaed.org/transcripts/Advertising-at-the-Edge-of-the-Apocalypse-Transcript.pdf.

Rand, Edward Kennan. Founders of the Middle Ages / – Unabridged and Unaltered Republication. Dover, 1957.

Wikisource contributors. “Dies Irae (Irons, 1912).” Wikisource. Wikisource, 15 Jan. 2016. Web. 9 Dec. 2017.

The Holy Bible (King James). Lds.org, www.lds.org/scriptures/ot?lang=eng.

Meyer, Nicholas, director. The Day After. ABC Motion Pictures, 1983.

 

Romeo and Juliet Revisited

Sigmund Freud once theorized that all instincts can be categorized as life instincts (Eros) or death instincts (Thanatos). Life instincts, most commonly referred to as sexual instincts, are the need for humans to survive, feel pleasure, and reproduce. Death instincts create a thrill-seeking energy that is expressed as self-destructive behavior. When that energy is expressed towards others, it becomes aggression and violence. William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” describes the tragic love story of two star-crossed lovers whose passion leads to both of their suicides. Their love is driven by life instincts of libido when they fall in love at first sight. Their death instincts drive them to become self-destructive and violent when Romeo slays Tybalt and when they both commit suicide. According to the Encyclopedia of Death and Dying, Freud’s psychoanalogy describes how “humans function and feel at their best when these two drives are in harmony. Sexual love, for example, may include both tenderness and thrill-seeking.” Throughout the play, neither Romeo nor Juliet find that perfect balance between Eros and Thanatos. Both their romance and their deaths are driven by their broken instincts that resulted from the environment of hatred and violence in which they were raised.

Freud concluded that people will always have an unconscious yearning for death, however life instincts alleviate this desire. Not everyone agrees with Freud’s theories; however, if one chooses to believe this idea that everyone subconsciously is led by their death instincts, they would agree that Romeo and Juliet both express the want to die, but their unbalanced instincts don’t temper these feelings, which results in both of their suicides. After Tybalt has been slain by Romeo, Capulet tells Paris that he no longer can wait to marry Juliet, for they will be wed on Thursday. Juliet tells Lady Capulet, “O sweet my mother, cast me not away. Delay this marriage for a month, a week, / Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed / In that dim monument where Tybalt lies” (3.5.210). Juliet is threatening her mother by telling her that she would rather die than marry Paris. She declares that if the wedding is not delayed, her bridal bed will be her death bed next to Tybalt’s in the Capulet burial vault. In other words, death will take her maidenhead. In this case, Juliet’s desire to die is not tempered by her life instincts. According to Freud’s philosophy, the want to die is supposed to be balanced out with life instincts before the thought becomes a conscious one. Whereas with Juliet, her instincts aren’t in harmony and cause her to become self-destructive. In the same fashion, Romeo also expresses a certain eagerness to die, in particular when he finds out that Juliet is dead, but he doesn’t know that she has only faked her death. Romeo exclaims, “Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. Let’s see for means. O mischief, thou art swift / To enter in the thoughts of desperate men” (5.1.37). Here, Romeo is stating that he will kill himself and lie dead next to his beloved very shortly. His eagerness to be with Juliet drives his want to die. Wicked mischief passes as this thought in his vulnerable mind and gives him ideas of death. It is important to realize that what Romeo refers to as mischief, is, in fact, death instincts. His instincts have led him to want to die, and he is enraged by it. His and Juliet’s broken instincts have led their vulnerable minds to consciously settle on the idea of death.

Additionally, Romeo and Juliet’s romance is driven by their sexual instincts when they fall in love at first sight. According to Sigmund Freud, the libido is part of the id and is the driving force of all behavior. According to the article “Life and Death Instincts,” “The id, he believed, was a reservoir of unconscious, primal energy. The id seeks pleasure and demands the immediate satisfaction of its desires. It is controlled by what Freud termed the pleasure principle. Essentially, the id directs all of the body’s actions and processes to achieve the greatest amount of pleasure possible. Because the id is almost entirely unconscious, people are not even aware of many of these urges.” The only thing that can control these urges is the ego. The ego is the part of a person’s personality that must tone down the libidinal energy. It must negotiate between the libidinal energy and the superego, which is the part of a person’s personality that incorporates lessons and morals taught by parental or authority figures. When Romeo and Juliet first fall in love and find out that their families are rivals, their superego doesn’t take control of their id’s impulses, therefore they choose to have pleasure over thinking rationally about the consequences of their actions. For example, in the balcony scene, Juliet says, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, / And I’ll no longer be a Capulet” (2.2.35).

Instead of thinking about how their families will react to their love, Juliet says she’d give up being a Capulet for Romeo. In fact, she has lost all common sense and is overtaken by her libidinal energy. Later in the scene, Romeo asks “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” (2.2.132) As can be seen, Romeo as well as Juliet, is simply looking to satisfy his sudden desire for Juliet, driven by his life instincts. Based on Freud’s pleasure principle, their wishful impulses needed to be satisfied, regardless of the consequences. Ultimately, if their superegos had balanced out their libidinal energy, the play would not have resulted in their deaths.

If you think about it, death and sex are actually commonly associated as one concept in “Romeo and Juliet.” The article “Sex and Death” states that, “Juliet links sex and death by punning on the word “die” when, daydreaming about her impending wedding night with Romeo, she imagines Romeo being transformed into a bunch of “little stars” lighting up the night sky: ‘Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die / Take him and cut him out in little stars, / And he will make the face of heaven so fine’ (3.2.23-25).” Many take this quote quite literally and imagine that Juliet is talking about her physical death, when she is really referring to the slang, commonly used at that time, for sexual climax, “die.” Therefore, on her wedding night, Juliet wasn’t thinking about cutting Romeo up into stars when she physically dies, but rather when her libidinal urges are satisfied. Normally sex leads to the creation of life, however with Romeo and Juliet that is definitely not the case.

Another possible explanation for Romeo and Juliet’s unrequited love is their age and stage of development. In the play, Juliet is only thirteen, and Romeo is not much older. “Life and Death Instincts” asserts that, “according to Freud, children develop through a series of psychosexual stages. At each stage, the libido is focused on a specific area. When handled successfully, the child moves to the next stage of development and eventually grows into a healthy, successful adult.” Romeo and Juliet were teenagers and had not yet fully developed into healthy adults. Consequently, their actions were ones of careless adolescents, not ones of mature people. It is plausible that their behavioral immaturity was caused by their families’ feud. Maybe they were traumatized by something when they were younger, or perhaps being in a setting full of hatred and fights affected their superego. In addition, their superegos were not fully developed and could not function to control the id’s impulses of sex and aggression. “Id, Ego and Superego,” explains that “The ego engages in secondary process thinking, which is rational, realistic, and orientated towards problem solving. If a plan of action does not work, then it is thought through again until a solution is found. This is known as reality testing, and enables the person to control their impulses and demonstrate self-control, via mastery of the ego.” Obviously Romeo and Juliet had not mastered their ego, for they did not have self-control and did not think realistically when they tried to problem-solve. In contrast, an example of a character who had, in fact, mastered his ego is Friar Lawrence, who only agrees to marry Romeo and Juliet because he thinks that it might help to ease the ongoing feud between the Montagues and the Capulets. When that plan falls through, he comes up with an elaborate plan of Juliet faking her death and Romeo running away with her once she’s been placed in the Capulet burial vault.

Would Romeo and Juliet have come up with this plan on their own? Did Romeo even stop and think, when he was given the news that Juliet had died? Even when things have gotten completely out of hand with Romeo’s banishment, Capulet forcing Juliet to marry Paris, and the deaths of Mercutio and Tybalt, Friar Lawrence stays calm and tries to problem solve. There is clearly a contrast between characters with functioning instincts, and Romeo and Juliet. According to Freud, the id, the ego, and the superego are developed in stages. Romeo and Juliet’s were not fully mature and led them to irrational and irresponsible decision making.

Moreover, Freud observed that after experiencing trauma, people have self-destructive behavior, and they are more violent and aggressive. Thus, after trauma, death instincts take over a person’s behavior. After Romeo is witness to Tybalt murdering Mercutio, he suddenly changes from resisting the urge to fight, to being in a sudden rage. Before being traumatized by watching his best friend die, Romeo says, “I do protest I never injured thee / But love thee better than thou canst devise / Till thou shalt know the reason of my love” (3.1.70). In a word, Romeo simply doesn’t want to fight. In contrast, after Mercutio has died he yells, “Alive in triumph, and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, / And [fire-eyed] fury be my conduct now.- Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again / That late thou gavest me, for Mercutio’s soul/ Is but a little way above our heads, / Staying for thine to keep him company. Either thou or I, or both, must go with him” (3.1.130). Romeo’s sudden mood change from trying not to fight, to saying that either Tybalt or him or both must die and join Mercutio in heaven, shows how a traumatizing event can bring out a person’s death instincts. Romeo’s increased aggression and desperation causes him to slay Tybalt, and eventually kill himself. All in all, Romeo’s words were true. He, Tybalt, Paris, and even Juliet eventually joined Mercutio up in heaven.

Now one may ask, why do Romeo and Juliet have broken instincts? There are many possibilities. Their age and stage of development could be one factor. Their personalities weren’t fully developed or mature, which means neither their superegos were not fully developed nor their id, which would cause the desynchronization of their instincts. However, the most probable cause of their defective instincts is the environment in which they were raised. Throughout their whole life, they were taught to abhor the other family. For generations, the Montagues and the Capulets have been fighting. This could have been upsetting to a young child. Going back to the idea of trauma and its effect on personalities, Romeo and Juliet were probably traumatized as children because of all of the violence surrounding them. If they had experienced a shocking event at a young age, their personality would have been affected. If their personality was not developing normally, this might explain their damaged instincts. PsyArt Journal states that, “Repressed childhood traumata tend to elude repression and induce disguised reenactments of the original trauma later in life. Understanding puzzling aspects of a character’s behavior as a reenactment of childhood trauma would help explain his or her paradoxical actions and the unconscious processes underlying his or her words, thoughts, and feelings.” Romeo and Juliet both behave in puzzling ways and act in irrational ways. If they had experienced a childhood trauma, that would explain their damaged inner drives. The article “Romeo’s Childhood Trauma — ‘What Fray was Here?’” explains that “if one listens clinically to Romeo’s words, one hears indications of… a traumatic experience in childhood as would drive him toward his tragic fate. I believe it is a reenactment of childhood trauma that prevents Romeo from ‘putting Juliet on his horse and making for Mantua’ (Mahood 57) and thus avoiding the catastrophe entirely.” If Romeo was not reenacting a traumatizing experience as a child, he might would have avoided his tragic ending. Therefore, the most reasonable cause of at least Romeo’s damaged drives is a childhood trauma.

In conclusion, Romeo and Juliet are perfect examples of instincts expressed unhealthily. Their deaths were caused by either being too drunk in love to think rationally or too desperate to think of any other option but death. However, if they had thought about the consequences to their actions before the balcony scene and their marriage, the play would not have been called the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. “Id, Ego and Superego,” clarifies that “The id engages in primary process thinking, which is primitive, illogical, irrational, and fantasy oriented. This form of process thinking has no comprehension of objective reality, and is selfish and wishful in nature.” Romeo and Juliet were driven by their ids into being “fantasy oriented.” Love at first sight is a fantasy, getting married despite their families’ fuel is irrational, and when they commit suicide, they are only acting as a response to their feelings of tension and unpleasure due to id’s impulses being denied. Shakespeare and Freud come from two completely different time periods, and obviously Shakespeare would not have known Freud’s theories while writing his plays. However, they both intertwined the contrasting ideas of sex and death. Freud believed that our life instincts need to be balanced out with our death instincts. Shakespeare often uses sex and death as one common theme throughout many of his plays. If both Freud and Shakespeare came up with the same conclusion, wouldn’t it be valid to compare their ideas? All in all, there are many debates and contradictions surrounding both Shakespeare’s works and Freud’s theories, however the one thing everything can agree on is that they both try to examine the most abstract and mysterious thing there is to understand: humans.

 

Works Cited

Cherry, Kendra. “What Are Life and Death Instincts?” Verywell. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2016.

Freud, Sigmund. “IV. Sigmund Freud. 1922. Beyond the Pleasure Principle.” IV. Sigmund

Freud. 1922. Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Bartleby.com, n.d. Web. 02 May 2016.

Kastenbaum, Robert. “Death and Dying.” Death Instinct. Advameg, n.d. Web. 02 May 2016.

Krims, Marvin. “Romeo’s Childhood Trauma? — “What Fray Was Here?”” PsyArt: An Online

Journal for the Psychological Study of the Arts. N.p., n.d. Web. 02 May 2016.

McLeod, S. A. “Id, Ego and Superego.” Id Ego Superego. N.p., n.d. Web. 02 May 2016.

Shmoop Editorial Team. “Sex and Death in Romeo and Juliet.” Shmoop.com. Shmoop

University, Inc., 11 Nov. 2008. Web. 02 May 2016.

Shmoop Editorial Team. “Sex and Death in Romeo and Juliet.” Shmoop.com. Shmoop

University, Inc., 11 Nov. 2008. Web. 02 May 2016.

Shakespeare, William, and Jill L. Levenson. Romeo and Juliet. Oxford University Press, 2008.

 

The Dangers of Stereotyping by the Media

Two years ago, I sat in social studies class on a rainy Friday morning counting the hours until I could go home. As I typed out a text to an equally bored friend across the room, my male teacher, responding to an inquiry about his weekend plans, made a casual remark about his husband. Admittedly, I felt surprised. Not because I harbored any prejudices towards the LGBT community, but because he didn’t fit the image of a gay person that the media had painted in my mind. Years of watching television shows and reading magazines had instilled in me a misguided representation of gays and lesbians. I imagined a gay man to be as theatrical and melodramatic as Modern Family’s Cameron Tucker or as feminine and neurotic as Will & Grace’s Jack McFarland. My teacher, easygoing with a passion for history rather than Beyoncé’s latest album, did not meet any of these expectations. The results of misrepresenting a group of people in the media have a much greater reach than rousing me from a boredom induced near-coma on a dreary day. Young women often starve themselves to fit the stereotype of the perfect woman broadcast all across television and film. People of color and homosexuals face discrimination due to the broad and largely unfavorable preconceptions created by the media. The media stigmatizes the mentally ill, causing a lack of adequate medical care and leading to deadly consequences. While the writers of television programs likely believe that they serve as comical running gags or punchlines, stereotypical portrayals of groups of people in the media can have adverse and calamitous consequences in the real world.

Gender stereotypes occur across all forms of media. For instance, television and the advertisement industry constantly portray the thin woman as the “perfect” woman. This fixation on an ideal body type relates to the growing incidence of eating disorders and body issues among young women. According to the National Centre for Eating Disorders, fifty percent of girls between the ages of eleven and fifteen read fashion magazines and ninety-five percent watch television. This exposure to a thin ideal size corresponds to a time in their lives where self-esteem and body image are at their most tenuous due to the onset of puberty and the increasing tendency for social comparison. A desire to mold to the stereotypical skinny, “perfect” woman seen on television can lead to the development of eating disorders and rigorous dieting. This can possibly account for the drastic rise in eating disorders from 1.5% of women in 1988 to 9.3% in 2017 (Currin). Underrepresentation presents another concern about the portrayal of women on television. One study found that men triple women in number on primetime television and that in newscasts, women make up only about 16% of reporters (Wood). According to this researcher, “the constant populace distortion of men and women tempts us to believe that there really are more men than women and, further, that men are the cultural standard.” This portrayal by the media can foster the belief that women do not make up a large and active component of the population. Such ideas may cause a reluctance to acknowledge and reward women for their contributions to society, resulting in negative consequences for the already existing gender wage gap and the likelihood of women holding positions of power such as the presidency or a seat in Congress.

A high prevalence of racial stereotypes exists in television and film. For instance, Asian actors and actresses often find themselves playing the roles of nerds and intellectual masterminds. Unfortunately, such stereotyping makes it difficult for them to secure work outside of this limited arena, resulting in most roles — even those originally intended for portrayal by an Asian actor — to go to white performers instead. This causes a minimization of the importance of people of color in society and a lack of cultural understanding. In addition, casting Asian-Americans in primarily academic roles on television “plays on the existing stereotype about Asians being intellectually and technologically superior to Westerners,” resulting in the direction of antagonism and discrimination their way (Nittle). Furthermore, the fostering of the perception of Asians as the “model minority” in television and film further drives a wedge between Asians and their counterparts of other races.

Misconceptions and a lack of representation of gay people in television can have unfavorable implications for lessening discrimination against the LGBT community and the development of individuals within it. According to one study, “the lack of portrayals of homosexuality on television influence the beliefs among viewers that homosexuality is abnormal or extremely rare” (Fisher). As humans have the tendency to react more adversely to the unfamiliar and deviations from the social norm, this can heighten negative reactions towards the LGBT community. In addition, the absence of depictions of gay people — particularly positive ones — in media can lead to a lack of role models for homosexual teens or those questioning their sexuality, creating greater feelings of isolation.

Stereotyping of the mentally ill also occurs in the media. For instance, television often links madness or creative genius to a mental disorder, romanticizing the struggle of afflicted individuals. For example, a running gag on the television series Bones featured the protagonist’s socially inept demeanor. Although her awkward gaffes — characteristic of someone suffering from Asperger’s — continued throughout the duration of the show, the showrunners used them as a punchline and never addressed the isolating difficulties of living with this disorder. Additionally, an underlying criminal element to the portrayal of mental disorders on television often exists. For example, “popular psychological thrillers like Hannibal, Mr. Robot, and Dexter, all perpetuate the stereotype that people with mental illnesses are fearsome criminals, if not outright violent ones” (Bastién). This can inspire the belief that the mentally ill will not respond to reproach or assistance, causing them to be denied professional help that could aid in coping with their affliction. For many of the mentally ill individuals involved in the country’s violent tragedies, their diagnoses did not come to light until too late. For example, Adam Lanza, the man who shot and killed twenty-six people at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, did not receive a diagnosis or treatment for psychiatric disorders such as anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder (Cowan).

Misguided stereotypes function as a red thread running through all forms of the media. Television portrays the most beautiful women as the thin ones, and female underrepresentation in the media minimizes and devalues their role in society. Racial stereotypes, particularly those pertaining to Asian Americans, limit the work available to people of color in the show business industry and foster divides. Preconceptions about gay people and a lack of visibility in television heighten enmity to the LGBT community and rob homosexual teens of adequate role models. Inaccurate portrayals of mental illness can have detrimental consequences in reality, as showrunners and television writers often overlook the difficulties associated with these ailments or include a criminal undertone to the disorders. Although the depiction of these stereotypes may boost network ratings or make for wildly entertaining storylines, they have proven to be devastating in the real world.

 

Works Cited

Bastién, Angelica. “What TV Gets Wrong About Mental Illness.” Vulture. N.p., 8 Sept. 2016. Web. 8 Oct. 2017.

Cowan, Alison Leigh. “Adam Lanza’s Mental Problems ‘Completely Untreated’ Before Newtown Shootings, Report Says.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 21 Nov. 2014. Web. 8 Oct. 2017.

Currin, L. “Time Trends in Eating Disorder Incidence.” The British Journal of Psychiatry 186.2 (2005): 132-35. JSTOR. Web. 8 Oct. 2017.

Fischer, D. “Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual Content on Television: A Quantitative Analysis Across Two Seasons.” J Homosex 52.3 (2007): 167-188. JSTOR. Web. 8. Oct. 2017.

Wood, Julia T. Gendered Lives: Communication, Gender, and Culture. Stamford, CT: Cengage Learning, 2015. Print.

 

The​ ​Dilemma​ ​of​ ​a​ ​Debater’s​ ​Moral Integrity

What would you do to win? How far would you go to get what you want? This is a question I often ask myself, mostly because of the sport of debate, which I have been taking in school for a year so far. The main reason that debate makes me think of how far I would go to win is my specific forte of debate, which is congressional debate. Congressional debate is simple. You get a bill or resolution to respond to in pro or con. But, the problem is, you have an advantage if you go first because the judges hear your opinion first, and this means that you’ll find yourself putting away your own opinions and ideas in order to win. If you want to have an advantage in congressional debate, you will have to put aside your personal viewpoints.

In congressional debate, if there is an author of a bill or resolution present, they will speak first, in pro of said bill or resolution. If the author is not present, a representative of the bill or resolution will speak on its behalf and is forced to speak in pro. There is then a limited questioning period, and from there on, a trade-off of pro and con and questioning. Moral tension is created when you choose to have the advantage of arguing first, while having to argue pro, because you will have to sacrifice your own views, whether you believe in pro or con for a matter.

Congressional debate is less about the topics discussed and more about the form in which you debate them. In congressional debate, you get the date of an upcoming debate. You get an official list of topics at varying times. Then, you have time to prepare and have the option to submit a bill or resolution. A bill states laws to be put in place. A resolution is a bill in response to another bill or event that has happened. As the word suggests, you are resolving the problem. Though that’s how typical congressional debate works, humanity’s usage of congressional debate roots back as old as time, even in its most primitive state. And I don’t just mean two cavemen arguing over a piece of meat. Looking at the roots of the word starting with congressional, according to Dictionary.com, “congressional means of or relating to Congress.” In Congress, people argue over bills and resolutions, just like in congressional debate. Now, according to Dictionary.com, the standard definition of debate is “a formal discussion on a particular topic in a public meeting or legislative assembly, in which opposing arguments are put forward.” Debate can be contextualized as either a sport or humanistic inquiry, and it is the contextualization that makes all the difference.

The point is, the deeper you get pulled into debate as a sport, the less of what you’re saying matters and the more of winning the debate matters. Soon, winning becomes all you care about, having been pulled into the highly addictive sport of debate. In contrast, contextualizing debate as a form of human inquiry is about the search for justice. However, when debating as a sport, it doesn’t matter how you debate, what you debate, or why you debate. In the sport of debate, only one thing matters, and it’s winning.

I was at my first congressional debate tournament. I’d had two weeks to prepare a speech that was either pro or con to the impeachment of Donald Trump. My personal viewpoint is that by all means, he should be impeached because of the many outrageous claims he’s made and the countless acts of torment and bullying he’s committed via social media. The debate starts out fast. You barely have enough time to prepare before they read out the topic.

From there, they asked the dreaded question, “Is the author of this topic present, or would a representative like to speak pro on behalf of the topic?” The room turns quiet, and eyes dart around the room nervously.

“Come on, guys, we need to continue…” Sure, it’s a simple enough side to debate. You know that if you really needed to debate it, you could. So then, why is it so hard to agree to debating the topic? For one, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should do it. There are many variables that play into the situation, like the risks, why you want to do it, or even how you want to do it. We all feel entitled to our own views and opinions.

In the 21st century, nothing is more important than your opinion. Think about it. This year’s election has been almost entirely based on dominating public opinion because ranting on social media can have a surprisingly strong effect on popularity. When you have services literally built for stating your opinions, you’ll start to, well, think everyone, and I mean anyone and everyone, cares about your opinion. We are being fed by the media that our opinion matters, but it is only the manipulation of our opinion that really matters. We soon figure out that day to day, our opinion does not matter in reality. Because of our ceaseless egos, despite the triviality of our opinions, we hold our opinions very dear. And in the end, should we push our opinions away just to win? We shouldn’t, because our opinions are our integrity.

Before debate, I was, to put it lightly, very argumentative. And when I first discovered debate, I was excited. Finally, a sport I could win by arguing! It was the end of the year, but there was still time to participate in one debate. Novice congressional. Now at the time, I had no idea what that was, and I wouldn’t have without the help of my debate teacher, Jim Shapiro. So with one week of preparation and a poorly written speech, I went to my first debate. And I rocked it. Question after question, the battleground became clearer and clearer to me. All you had to do was to state your claim, interrogate your opponent, and act like you know what you’re doing, and you’ve pretty much won the debate. Plus, it didn’t hurt that everyone else was new to debate also. So, I was plowing down questions when the judge stated the final question: should Donald J. Trump be impeached?

We are back at the pivotal moment, the crossroads between my moral integrity and my egotism for winning. The crossroads between sport and humanistic inquiry. Now before I continue, I want to make something very clear. I’m a liberal. I go to a liberal school in a liberal neighborhood in a liberal city. So, the last thing I was expecting was that question. But before you knew it, two people had chosen pro. That meant that in order to go first, I would have to put away all my pride, all my honor, and all my opinions in order to win. And I won. I’m not going to go into full depth of how I won, but let’s just say it involved a lot of bias and fake information, like the blatant ignorance of some of the atrocities he’s said or the creation of false sources of good things he had done, as I couldn’t think of any myself. I actually hoped, prayed even, that I wouldn’t win. For corrupt politics not to prevail once again. And even though I won, I lost the true debate. I lost my opinion, one of the only things that makes me, me.

It’s almost funny. Humanity is built on the standards of “victory is good!” But at what cost? How far are you willing to go to “win?” What even is winning? It’s a social construct we created to segregate, a construct we need to distinguish who’s better and who’s less than others. This status currency has almost no meaning other than pride, so why do we chase it? Why play the game of cat and mouse with your life, with almost everything to lose? The answer is, even with all of our opinions, we only matter if other people mandate it. Our opinion only matters if it can be manipulated by greater power structures but here, on that debate podium, my individual opinion was the only moral integrity I had. Our individual opinions are the only morals we have, and in the pursuit of the relativity of opinion, I debated against Trump’s impeachment. In a society where status, currency, and popularity are based on our own agency, we crave power. We crave being loved. We crave appreciation. We crave someone holding us and telling us that we are okay. And most importantly, we crave winning. It’s only human. So when people ask me why I would help this horrible man spread his opinion, I say I’m only human. Because at the end of the day, that’s what we do. We segregate, label, and divide people into groups, so we can judge them. It’s terrible, brutal, and unfair. But it’s what we do. We put away our moral integrity to win and to be recognized. The question now, is how do we contextualize ourselves?

 

You Could be Next

“We’re going to die here. We’re going to die,” Carmen Algeria thought as she dodged gunshots raining down on her while witnessing people drop left and right. “About five feet to the left of me there was a man with a bullet wound to his chin. My jeans were covered in someone’s blood, my T-shirt was covered in someone’s blood, my sister’s whole leg was covered in blood.” In the face of this crisis, citizens unified, and after the initial shock, they began to move. The civilians who did not obtain injuries ran to their cars to transport people to the hospital while others directed people to safety. Men grabbed Algeria and her sister and lifted them into trucks. “Bodies were literally being tossed on top of us,” Algeria said. Blood covered every inch of the emergency room. The bodies of victims littered the floor. Gunshot wounds riddled the victims’ bodies. “All I could describe it as was a war zone,” said John Kline, an officer with the Los Angeles Police Department (Carcamo et al.).

This scene depicts one of the hundreds of stories from people at an outdoor concert in Las Vegas on October 1, where the deadliest mass shooting in US history occurred. Thousands of Americans witnessed and survived incidents similar to Carmen Algeria’s. In the past 275 days, 273 mass shootings have occurred. Since Las Vegas alone, six more mass shootings (four or more people killed or injured) and 240 shootings (under four) have terrorized the United States (“Mass”). But according to our president and leading politicians, no solution exists. The loss of life apparently equals the price to pay for the right to bear arms. The US cannot politicize this event; instead, Americans should come together and mourn, solely sending thoughts and prayers. Despite politicians’ intentions, these tactics disrespect the victims of shootings by preventing change from happening. When 521 mass shootings have occurred in the past 477 days (“477 Days”), the only time to talk about gun safety is now.

Mourning the victims of mass shootings and politicizing the event must occur simultaneously. America has the capability of doing both. Many politicians send “thoughts and prayers” and urge Americans to mourn. They discourage people from talking gun politics, which supposedly polarizes the country. President Trump advised, “we’ll be talking about gun laws as time goes by. Today we mourn.” Via this logic, the topic of gun rights will finally come up in political discourse the day an American is not fatally shot. Unfortunately, if America continues its current gun policies, this day will never come: at least one mass shooting happens daily in the United States, and ninety-two Americans die from gun violence every day (Kristof). Thus, the lack of conversation about gun violence will continually inhibit progress in terms of safety in public settings.

In other spheres of life, enactments of precautionary steps maintain safety, and gun laws should mimic this model. For example, fire alarms, smoke detectors, and fire drills combat the potential of deadly infernos. Airbags, seatbelts, and highway guardrails combat deadly auto accidents. Even the minuscule, by comparison, dangers of a ladder, which kills 300 people a year, have seven pages of regulations in the Health Administration guidebook (Kristof). However, not only has the government prohibited research on gun safety, but also the administration has deemed the mere discussion as un-American. Over and over again this country faces mass shootings, and each time politicians send their condolences. But nothing changes, and the cycle continues: Mass shootings horrify Americans, and outraged citizens demand sane policy. Yet, eventually a bigger story blows up somewhere else in the world, the news stops discussing gun laws, and sane policy still has not materialized. Then it happens again; only this time, more people die. When no discussion of mass shootings occurs, Americans can expect to continue to see death at the hands of guns.

Common sense gun laws should naturally pervade bipartisan policy. Both sides of the political spectrum agree: 79% of Republicans and 88% of Democrats want background checks for gun shows and private sales (Fingerhut), and 80% of Democrats and Republicans want mandatory background checks, five-day waiting period for gun purchases, and a mandatory registration of handguns (Smith 156). Yet these policies languish in Congress, despite the fact that they have bipartisan support. Why? Because the NRA, the largest lobbyist group in the country, makes sure the passing of these regulations never occur. During the 2016 election cycle, the NRA gave 5.9 million dollars to the Republican Party (“Gun”). The same candidates who received money from the NRA also voted to allow people on the no-fly list and mentally disabled people to purchase guns. However, 89% of Democrats and Republicans believe the mentally ill should be prevented from purchasing guns, and 82% of Republicans and Democrats believe gun purchases should be barred for people on the no-fly list (Oliphant). Politicians repeatedly put their campaign needs over lives of citizens. The NRA and the politicians they support essentially value power and money over life. By advising people to mourn instead of discussing gun laws, these NRA backed congressmen commit the very action they protest against — politicizing mass shootings. By sending thoughts and prayers without action, policymakers fulfill the desires of the NRA. Via prioritization of the NRA, politicians make the gun debate a polarizing issue. If politicians put aside their greed and corrupt tactics, they would listen and reform policy in accordance to the people’s needs.

America needs more gun regulations. The constant mass shootings that the US face every single day proves the necessity for gun restriction. However, some fear that reforms will potentially lead to a ban on all guns. Gun safety proponents warn against the straw man “extremist agenda.” In reality, there is no desire to take away the rights of citizens to buy guns. Instead, proponents simply want a more difficult and thorough screening process. They want more background checks, a mandatory five-day waiting period, and limits on assault and semi-automatic weapons. People (who have mental stability and do not appear on the no-fly list) can still have their handguns and rifles for hunting and protection. But no reason exists for common citizens to own automatic weapons. The sole purpose of automatic weapons is simply to kill many people quickly and efficiently. And again, both sides of the political spectrum agree: 77% of Republicans and 90% of Democrats want background checks for private sales and gun shows, and 54% of Republicans and 80% of Democrats want to ban assault-style weapons.

These types of reforms have reaped benefits in Australia, Britain, and Canada. When faced with mass shootings, these modern countries crafted laws that basically eliminated the threat of guns to public safety. For example, in Australia, a gunman shot and killed thirty-five people in Port Arthur. The public’s response was outrage and persistence on change. The government responded with a ban on almost all automatic and semiautomatic rifles as well as shotguns. They implemented this with a gun-buyback program. John Howard, the Prime Minister said, “we won the battle to change gun laws because there was majority support across Australia for banning certain weapons” (Bilefsky et al.) Both Australia and American have majority support for tighter gun laws — the only difference: the NRA.

In order to combat the NRA and corrupt politicians, we must speak out. We cannot allow politicians to put their own needs in front of ours any longer. We simply cannot continue to go on this way. If we do, America will continue to suffer through shooting after shooting, death after death. We can mourn and send prayers, but if we want the shootings to stop, we also must act. Now.

 

Works Cited

Bilefsky, Dan, et al. “How Australia, Britain and Canada Have Responded to Gun Violence.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 2 Oct. 2015, www.nytimes.com/2015/10/03/world/americas/australia-britain-canada-us-gun-legislation.html.

Carcamo, Cindy, Tchekmedyian Alene, Mather, Kate, Winton, Richard. “Survivors from California Recount Their Terrifying Escape from Danger in Las Vegas.” Los Angeles Times, 4 Oct. 2017, www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-california-survivors-las-vegas-20171004-story.html.

Fingerhut, Hannah. 5 Facts about Guns in the United States. Pew Research Center, 5 Jan. 2016, www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/05/5-facts-about-guns-in-the-united-states/.

“Gun Rights: Money to Congress.” OpenSecrets.org, The Center for Responsive Politics, 2016, www.opensecrets.org/industries/summary.php?cycle=2016&ind=Q13.

Kristof, Nicholas. “Preventing Mass Shootings Like the Vegas Strip Attack.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 2 Oct. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/10/02/opinion/mass-shootingvegas.html?rref=collection%2Fcolumn%2FNicholas%2BKristof&action=click&contentCollection=Opinion&module=Collection®ion=Marginalia&src=me&version=column&pgtype=article

“Mass Shootings.” Gun Violence Archive, 2017, www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting.

Oliphant, Baxter. Bipartisan Support for Some Gun Proposals, Stark Partisan Divisions on Many Others. Pew Research Center, 23 June 2017, www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/06/23/bipartisan-support-for-some-gun-proposals-stark-partisan-divisions-on-many-others/.

Smith, Tom W. “Public Opinion about Gun Policies.” The Future of Children, vol. 12, no. 2, Children, Youth, and Gun Violence, 1 July 2002, pp. 154–163. JSTOR, JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1602745?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents.

“477 Days. 521 Mass Shootings. Zero Action From Congress.” The New York Times, The New York Times, Editorial Board, 2 Oct. 2017, www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/10/02/opinion/editorials/mass-shootings-congress.html.

 

The Benefit of Female Education on the World

Thirty seconds. That is all the time it takes for thirteen underage girls to be sold into a marriage, turned into a breeder of sons and unwanted daughters, and imprisoned in a lifetime of anguish and abuse. This is the fate that awaits many women in third-world countries. Many of these women have never stepped foot into a school, never savored a good book or written a letter, and were never given a chance to escape an endless and vicious cycle. However, there is one glaringly present solution that will stop this cycle: educating women. Despite it being deemed unnecessary in many developing countries, educating a girl has countless, profound effects on the future of her country and the world at large. According to the New York Times article by Nicholas Kristof, “What’s So Scary About Smart Girls?”, educating women can double a country’s labor force, save the lives of thousands of children who would have been born to uneducated and impoverished mothers, and create a more stable political environment. These are the reasons the United Nations and various other organizations have strived to fund and improve education in developing countries, as detailed by the article “Education and the Developing World.” As shown in the documentary directed by Richard Robbins, Girl Rising, many girls in these countries are victims of sex trafficking, sexual assault, and arranged marriages. Fear of sexual assault, a belief that girls are only useful for marriage and bearing children, and the high cost are reasons that parents keep their daughters home from school. Despite these adversities, the benefits of educating girls greatly outweigh the negatives. Due to its potential for enhancing global economies and communities and providing girls in underdeveloped with a shield against injustice, the education of women is an extremely essential task that must be collectively undertaken around the world.

The education of women has a large capacity for boosting the economy and benefiting the political environment of a country. Research has shown that there is a 10% increase in wages per year of schooling that one has completed, which will eventually lead to widespread economic growth. It has also been demonstrated that by educating females alone, there will be a 40% decrease in malnutrition (“Education and the Developing World”). Educated women can enter the working world, doubling the formal labor force and thereby raising the living standard. This shows how educating girls can have a large effect on her community and country. The political stability of countries will also be improved with the education of girls. Many of the girls who are oppressed in today’s world belong to war-torn countries that are unfortunately still shrouded in backwards beliefs. Perhaps, if they educated more girls, these countries would experience peace as educating girls supports a civil society, democracy, and political stability.

The political situation of a country is also affected by the rate of unemployment, as more people out of work results in political upheaval. In fact, there has been shown to be a 4% increase in chance for a civil war for every 1% increase in the unemployed population aged 15-24 (Kristof 2). Educated women can help reduce the bulge in the youth population by having smaller families and creating stability. A study performed in Nigeria found that for each additional year of primary school, a girl has 0.26 fewer children (Kristof 2). Female education also improves the health conditions in a community as educated women are more likely to make intelligent choices that will benefit their children. According to Girl Rising, putting every child in school could prevent 700,000 cases of HIV each year. Children are also likely to live longer with educated mothers because women who have gone to school are more likely to seek prenatal care and 50% more likely to immunize their children (“Education and the Developing World”). All research points to one obvious conclusion: an educated mother means a healthier child.

The fact that 66 million girls are currently out of school worldwide has devastating effects on their lives. In many developing countries, girls are subject to sex trafficking and sexual assault and are often forced into arranged marriages at very young ages. Even more shocking, girls in modern and prosperous countries experience similar circumstances. According to Kristof, 100,000 girls under the age of eighteen are trafficked into commercial sex in the United States every year. The range of abuses women experience also includes sexual assault. 150 million girls are victims of sexual violence a year, 50% of them under the age of fifteen (Robbins). The fear of girls being sexually assaulted is a reason that some parents choose not to send their daughters to school.

Around the globe, 33 million fewer girls are in school than boys. Everything a family has goes into educating and priming a boy for life, as shown in Girl Rising when the profits from a girl’s marriage are used to buy a car for her brother. Many countries around the world do not offer public schooling, and parents are reluctant to use their limited funds to pay for the books of a girl. Another obstacle to education is that many girls enter marriage very early in their lives. Every year, fourteen million girls under the age of eighteen are married. Many of these girls die soon after from childbirth, the number one cause of death for girls between the ages of 15-19 (Robbins). These horrifying circumstances are often brought out by an archaic view that people have about the status of women. People have the belief that girls are only expected to marry, bear sons, and work in the household. They are dangerously unaware about the potential of a woman. Fortunately, an inexhaustible desire to learn and change the world is still present in oppressed women. Amira, a woman featured in the documentary Girl Rising who was married and had a son by age twelve, shares this message of hope, “I will find a way to endure, to prevail. The future of man lies in me… look me in the eye. I am change” (Robbins). Educating girls will help them escape from upsetting injustices. Girls with eight years of education are four times less likely to be married as children and are twice as likely to send their own children to school (Robbins). Women who are given the gift of an education also often feel an obligation to pay it forward. Suma, a Nepalese girl who was liberated from slavery, now works to make sure no young women endure the hardships she did. Angeline Mugwendere, a Zimbabwean girl whose education was paid for, is now the director of an organization that helps impoverished girls in Africa go to school (Kristof 3).

All countries should join the effort to educate girls worldwide. It has been shown to have incredible effects on the countries where it has taken place. After Bangladesh gained its independence, there was a renewed emphasis on education for both genders. Now, there are more girls in high school than boys. Many of these girls will grow to form the foundation of the Nobel Peace Prize winning Grameen Bank and other important Bengali institutions (Kristof 3). South Korea, which once had an average annual income of $890, has also shown advancements due to education. Following an effort to spend more money on education, South Korea now boasts an improved labor force, near 100% public school enrollment, and an average annual income of $17,000 (“Education and the Developing World”).

There are some that believe that educating girls would be a waste of valuable defense funds. However, educating girls has countless benefits that cannot be overshadowed by even the most successful military campaign. Educating women is an extremely necessary endeavor and one that most modern nations have the capital to promote. France, which has an economy of 1/10th the size of the United States’, donated 600 million more dollars to education in poor countries. The Netherlands, which has an even smaller economy, was also a leader in improving education (“Education and the Developing World”). The United States should follow the lead of these countries and become forerunners in the fight for widespread female education.

Educating girls can irreversibly alter the economic landscape of an entire nation. The education of girls boosts the labor force and stimulates the economy, increasing a nation’s productivity and wealth. Additionally, educated women have smaller families which raises the standard of living and enables better child care. Having an education also provides women in desperate situations like arranged marriage with a means of escape. All humans have a fire within them, a desire to learn and live to their fullest potential. This fire has been suppressed in girls but with an education, they can find a way to light the spark once more.

 

Works Cited

“Education and the Developing World.” 2012. Print.

Girl Rising. Dir. Richard Robbins. The Documentary Group & Vulcan Productions, 2014. Film.

Kristof, Nicholas. “What’s So Scary About Smart Girls?” The New York Times, 10 May 2014. Print.

 

The Murder of Mary Phagan

In 1913, in Atlanta, Georgia, Leo Frank, the Jewish superintendent of the National Pencil Factory, was tried and convicted for the murder of Mary Phagan, a 13-year-old female worker in his factory. Local newspapers documented the court proceedings in great detail, framing Frank as a corrupt factory owner and a pervert. The Atlantan public followed the case very closely and believed these descriptions of Frank, despite the fact that many of them were made up or exaggerated. Atlantans were so convinced Frank was guilty that, when Governor John M. Slaton commuted Frank’s sentence from the death penalty to life in prison, an outraged mob swarmed Frank’s cell, took him away, and hanged him outside Mary Phagan’s house. During a time when lynching was very prevalent in the South, this lynching was unusual: it was one of the only lynchings of a white man. In one sense, the lynching was a manifestation of anti-Semitism, which had been progressing in Atlanta as the city’s Jewish population had rapidly increased over the last century. The lynching was also the result of class tensions in Atlanta, as the city industrialized, and the working class felt mistreated by wealthy, powerful factory owners like Leo Frank. Decades later, as new evidence and testimonies revealed that Frank was innocent and the guilty person was most likely the African American janitor, Jim Conley, it became clear that Frank’s conviction was also closely related to the tensions between the Jewish and African American communities in Atlanta. Overall, Leo Frank’s trial and lynching exposed the profound divisions in Atlanta’s society in the early twentieth centuries — between the wealthy and the poor, Jews and anti-Semitic Gentiles, and Jews and African Americans.

 

The Leo Frank Case

On the night of April 26, 1913, Mary Phagan’s dead body was found in the factory’s basement. That morning, which was Confederate Memorial Day, Mary Phagan had gone into the pencil shop at which she worked to collect her pay of $1.20. However, she never came home. Newt Lee, the factory’s night watchman, found her body, brutally bruised and bloody. He contacted the Call Officer, W.F. Anderson immediately, exclaiming that, “a white woman has been killed up here!” When the detectives arrived at the scene, they originally thought that she was a black woman because she was covered in soot from her head to her toes: “her features — even her eye sockets and nostrils — were caked with soot, and her mouth was choked with cinders.” When they arrived at the scene, the only clues the detectives found were two murder notes next to the body. The first note read, “He said he wood love me land down play like the night witch did it but that long tall black negro did boy his slef,” and the second note read, “Mam that negro hire down here did this i went to make eater and he push me down that hole a long tall negro black that hoo it wase long sleam tall negro i wright while play with me.” The detectives assumed that the notes were written by the murderer to direct the suspicion towards someone else, or possibly written by Mary as a way to help them identify her murderer. Basing their initial judgment on the notes, officers arrested Newt Lee, since he fit the “tall black negro” description in the first note and had found Mary’s body.

On behalf of the Atlanta Police Department, Detective Black stepped in to solve the crime. From the beginning, he was opposed to the idea of convicting a black man, as he did not think such a conviction would satisfy the public. He famously said, “The murder of Mary Phagan must be paid for with blood. And a Negro’s blood would not suffice.” Detectives later confirmed that Newt had not been around the factory when Mary was murdered, so he was released as a suspect. Quickly, detectives shifted their focus to Leo Frank, who appeared nervous when first accompanied by detectives to the scene of the crime. Frank was arrested and brought to court where, instead of acting nervous as he was before, he appeared calm and confident. Over the course of the trial, his calm was shaken as witnesses provided evidence that he had made sexual comments and advances towards Mary Phagan and other little girls in the factory. Moreover, there were questions about his alibi, and his lawyers struggled to prove that he had not been at the Pencil Factory during the murder. The evidence gathered, and public suspicion grew as the press printed shocking stories framing Frank as a perverse, evil factory owner. On May 23, 1913, the grand jury indicted Leo Frank for Mary Phagan’s murder.

The most significant testimony against Frank, which is widely believed to have convinced the jury he was guilty, was that of Jim Conley, a black man who worked as a janitor in the factory. Conley was a criminal himself, having already served two sentences on the chain gang and one time for attempted armed robbery. The police questioned Conley about the murder since they found him rinsing out a stain from his shirt, which he claimed was just a rust stain. The police did not arrest him because he told them he was not near the factory the day of Mary Phagan’s murder because he claimed he was drunk all day. He also told them he could not read or write, so they suspected he could not have written the notes next to her body. When he was later called in for another affidavit, he told a different story, claiming that he had seen Frank murder Mary Phagan and that Frank had forced him to help move the body. Rather than being suspicious of Conley’s changing story, detectives helped him correct his facts, and the press praised Conley for coming forward.

After the jury convicted Frank, his attorneys tried to overturn the decision, gathering evidence to build a case against Conley. They learned that Conley had confessed about the murder to multiple people and even threatened to kill those he told if they told anyone else. Leo’s attorneys collected medical evidence that established that Mary was actually murdered much later than when Hugh Dorsey, Frank’s prosecutor, claimed. Most importantly, though, when Leo was not in the factory. They wanted to appeal the case to the Supreme Court, but the Court refused to review the case, despite Justices Oliver Wendell Holmes and Charles Evans Hughes dissenting. They argued that the trial had been influenced by newspapers and general public sentiments, which meant that it had been unfair. As they wrote in their dissent, “Mob law does not become due process of law by securing the assent of a terrorized jury.” Governor John M. Slaton reviewed the entire case and decided to commute Frank’s sentence to life in prison. Georgia’s public was outraged when they heard this news. Riots erupted, leading Governor Slaton to institute Martial Law.

An angry mob raided the prison and captured Frank. They took him to Marietta and hanged him facing Mary Phagan’s house. He helplessly dangled there for hours, “head snapped back, chin resting in the noose’s bottom coil dangled from above.” Almost the whole city came to witness this disturbing event. Most Atlantans did not view it as tragic or upsetting but rather as an act of justice. One woman said, “I couldn’t bear to look at another human being, hanging like that… but this — this is different. It is all right. It is — the justice of God.” Some Atlantans, however, recognized this lynching as an injustice. An article published in The Atlanta Constitution ten days after the lynching emphasized the event as a setback for rights and freedom for all people, declaring, “We may regret and deplore, but the stain is there. In it the name and the identity of Leo Frank are but an atom. The great question others will ask is, ‘What surely can Georgia offer of the enforcement of constitutional rights and the protection of the laws?’”

Atlantan and global newspapers had played a very crucial role in the trial and lynching, printing sensationalist headlines and inflaming public outrage. After Mary’s murder, Monday’s issue of The Georgian gave five pages to the story. The paper had recently been acquired by newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst, and he saw Mary’s murder as an opportunity to increase his paper’s readers through dramatic, shocking coverage. The Georgian’s main competitor, The Atlanta Constitution, followed after The Georgian, covering the case in a way that dramatized it to capture readers. As the case unfolded in court, the two newspapers competed with each other, each one trying to write more shocking, eye-catching headlines than the other. These two newspapers were largely responsible for framing Frank as a pervert in the eyes of the public: a few days after the murder, The Georgian ran a story about the National Pencil Factory being a seedy business that was unfit for women to work in, with the headline, “NUDE DANCERS’ PICTURES ON WALLS.” The article also emphasized that the Pencil Factory was located near a street with a lot of prostitutes. George Epps, a 15-year-old who gave a testimony, said that Mary Phagan had been afraid of Frank, that Frank would “try to flirt with her” and “winked at her,” and that she had had him [Epps] walk her home from the factory sometimes. Because of that, the next morning the Constitution’s headline read, “FRANK TRIED TO FLIRT WITH MURDERED GIRL SAYS HER BOY CHUM.”

The sensationalist headlines also made the factory out to be emblematic of the problems of industrialization and factory work, portraying Frank as a greedy Jew and a boss with no qualms about child labor. Many poor, white, working-class Atlantans bought into the newspapers’ portrayal of Frank, viewing him as the ultimate villain of industrialization; these sentiments were a crucial driving force behind his lynching. However, a minority of privileged German Jews saw these newspaper articles as stirring up public outrage against one of their own and viewed this outrage as not necessarily proportional to the evidence against him.

Seventy years after Frank’s trial, new evidence and a review of the old evidence of the case proved that Frank was indeed innocent. Alonzo Mann, who had been a 14-year-old worker at the factory during the time of Mary Phagan’s murder, did an interview in which he confessed that he saw Conley murder Mary Phagan.

”Many times I wanted to get it out of my heart,” Mr. Mann told interviewers. ”I’m glad I’ve told it all. I’ve been living with it for a long time. I feel a certain amount of freedom now. I just hope it does some good.” Mann submitted to a lie detector test and a psychological stress evaluation and ended up passing both. The New York Times conducted a two-month investigation into Mann’s claims, and it reported that his confession was accurate. To explain why he had not come sooner, he told interviewers that Conley had told him, ”If you ever mention this, I’ll kill you,” which intimidated him and kept him from coming forward. Frank’s conviction and lynching should be reexamined in light of this new evidence, and both must be understood as the result of the anti-Semitism and social tensions that were so prevalent in Atlanta at the time.

 

Anti-Semitism

In the early twentieth century, anti-Semitism was spreading throughout America and especially growing in the South. Powerful individuals, such as Georg Von Schönerer and Karl Leuger, were outspoken and active in their efforts to villainize the Jews. A prominent industrialist figure at the time, Henry Ford, was particularly famous for his strongly anti-Semitic beliefs, which he was able to spread widely because he owned his own newspaper, The Dearborn Independent. “Ford wanted to assert that there was a Jewish conspiracy to control the world. He blamed Jewish financiers for fomenting World War I so that they could profit from supplying both sides. He also accused Jewish automobile dealers of conspiring to undermine Ford Company sales policies. Ford wanted to make his bizarre beliefs public in the pages of the Dearborn Independent.” Ford was not alone in his strongly held anti-Semitic views, and the kind of sentiments he expressed were pervasive throughout America, especially in the South.

At the time of Frank’s trial and conviction, Jewish immigration and involvement in Atlanta made the Jews a significant presence in the city. Six hundred Jews were living in Atlanta in 1880, which was a large number compared to the twenty-six that were living there in 1850. Several synagogues were built during this period of time due to this influx of Jews. During Reconstruction, many Atlantan Jews became prominent and involved in the city’s economy because their ties to Northern Jews allowed them to build their businesses back up more quickly than other whites whose businesses had been devastated by the Civil War. From 1881 on, Atlanta also began to receive some Jews from Eastern Europe and the Ottoman Empire.

As the Jewish presence in Atlanta grew, so did social tension. The Atlanta race riots took place in Atlanta from September 22nd to 24th, 1916. During these riots, white mobs killed African Americans, damaged their property, and wounded many other people. The riots were seen as the manifestation of frustration with the job competition poor whites felt with blacks. The 1881 strikes against the Elsas family’s Fulton Bag and Cotton Company also highlighted the growing social tension of the times. These strikes were the result of wage disputes, the hiring of black women, and the problem of child labor. These strikes, as well as the Atlanta race riots, show that this period in Atlantan history was defined by social unrest and frustration with the power dynamics in society. On top of racial tension, Jewish prominence in the social hierarchy also disturbed many Atlantans, especially poorer gentiles, who thought of themselves as racially superior and did not like feeling inferior to Jews in any way.

During this turbulent time, many Southerners developed a phobia of foreigners. While Northern Jews were making an effort to include new Russian Jewish immigrants in their communities, Southerners had strong feelings about the types of immigrants who were coming over and joining their America, and set up immigration bureaus in order to attract what they considered to be the “Best Type” of immigrant — immigrants of European heritage. For immigrants of other backgrounds, living in the South could be difficult and even dangerous. For example, nineteen Italians in Louisiana were lynched because of a fear of them associating with black people and of them being an inferior race. Jews were widely considered to be an inferior race, and so Jewish immigrants were not among the “Best Type” of immigrants, in the eyes of most Southerners. It was said that “Southern attitudes toward [Jews] had been an amalgam of affection, tolerance, curiosity, suspicion, and rejection.” During periods of stress in society at large, Southerners would lash out at Jews who acted differently from them. As scholar Leonard Dinnerstein wrote, “Jews were considered ‘rebels against God’s purpose,’ and many a Southern Christian mother lulled her children to sleep with fables of Jewish vices.” Religious teaching played a large role in getting Southern Christians to loathe Jews, with many ministers preaching, “The Savior was murdered by Jews.” One Baltimore minister said that, “of all the dirty creatures who have befouled this earth, the Jew is the slimiest.”

The widespread reaction to Leo Frank’s trial — and the public’s overwhelming belief in his guilt — is a testament to the intense anti-Semitism that was underlying Atlantan society at the time. Leo Frank was very involved in the Jewish community in Atlanta. He was the president of the B’nai B’rith organization for community service. His religion was an important part of his identity, and many Atlantans did not like him because of it. The Macon Daily Telegraph noted the effect that Frank’s trial and lynching had on Atlanta’s Jewish community: “… the long case and its bitterness has hurt the city greatly in that it has opened a seemingly impassable chasm between the people of the Jewish race and the Gentiles. It has broken friendships of years, has divided the races, brought about bitterness deeply regretted by all factions. The friends who rallied to the defense of Leo Frank feel that racial prejudice has much to do with the verdict. They are convinced that Frank was not prosecuted but persecuted. They refuse to believe he had a fair trial…” (The Macon Daily Telegraph). Leo Frank was widely compared to Alfred Dreyfus, a Jew in France who was wrongfully convicted of espionage largely due to the jury’s anti-Semitic sentiments. A New York Times headline read, “FRANK LYNCHING DUE TO SUSPICION AND PREJUDICE.”

Jews in Atlanta and across America believed Frank was a scapegoat for the city and the South’s anti-Semitic feelings. As a prominent member of the Jewish community, Frank represented a social group that was threatening and unsettling to gentile Atlantans. As scholar Jeffrey Melnick wrote, “There is little doubt that Frank’s status as a capitalist roused great enmity during the trial and after, and that the specific conceptions that circulated were inseparable from the negative connotations surrounding his Jewishness.” Jewish newspapers at the time tried to combat the information being disseminated by the larger gentile publications, arguing that he was innocent and only being targeted because he was as Jew. “He was sacrificed because he was a Jew, and a Northern Jew, at that. But, thank God, his sufferings are all over at last. If he had lived, his life would have been a torture to him, and they might have killed him in a worse way. Race hatred and political ambition have been satisfied.” Jewish publications, most significantly The Jewish Exponent, were outspoken in blaming Jim Conley for the murder:

The suspicion that was directed against him by the perjured testimony of a self-confessed negro accessory to the killing of Mary Phagan, who was left off with the ludicrous punishment of one year’s imprisonment, was fanned to a flame by the demagogism of a Solicitor General anxious for only political advancement and by the anti-semitic prejudice of a mob instigated by yellow journalists and mendacious Ishmaelites of the Tom Watson type. Frank was victimized because he was a Jew.

Jews throughout America believed that Frank was a martyr, suffering the consequences of a crime he did not commit simply because he was Jewish. As The Jewish Exponent printed three days after Frank’s lynching, “Frank underwent a martyrdom as horrible as any man has suffered. It has borne himself throughout this ordeal as a brave man and as a loyal Jew should.”

Despite recognizing Frank as the scapegoat for anti-Semitism, the broader Jewish community was slow to mobilize around his case while it was in trial. Frank’s powerful friends sought help from The American Jewish Committee, an organization set up by wealthy Jews who wanted to provide help to other Jews who were being denied important civil rights because of the age’s anti-Semitism. In Frank’s case, the American Jewish Committee president decided that “whatever is done must be done as a matter of justice, and any action that is taken should emanate from non-Jewish sources.” The president recognized the important role that the media was playing in Frank’s case, and so he wanted to influence the Southern press to shape opinions in favor of Jews and to establish “a wholesome public opinion which will free this unfortunate young man from the terrible judgment which rests against him.” The Committee agreed Frank’s case was an American Dreyfus, but it was divided on what to do. While Marshall and other committee members gave support however they could individually, the Committee did not act quickly enough and therefore never gave Frank any official help.

 

Class Tensions

Jews at the time were viewed as economically prosperous and thus became the scapegoat for issues caused by industrialization in the South. As factories were being built across the South, the rich factory owners grew richer as poor whites found themselves working for very low wages. Many families sent their children off to work in factories during the day to have some more income, which led to widespread public frustration with the issue of child labor. Depressed and dissatisfied workers in the South saw blaming the Jews as a way to relieve tension and frustration they had built up for many years. Georgia had had a small but very “prosperous, tight-knit community” of Jews for a long time before the twentieth century. However, as the Jewish population in Atlanta increased exponentially by the 1890s, tensions between the Jews and gentiles began to grow. The gentiles began to blame Jews in part for “the chaotic conditions in the city,” including prostitution and gambling, and the media printed a lot of outrageous, dramatic stories to stir up anti-Semitic public sentiments. Gentiles became jealous of the amount of money Jews were making as factory owners and fearful of the idea of rich Jewish men pursuing gentile women. Burton J. Hendrick famously wrote “The Great Jewish Invasion,” as well as several articles in McClure’s Magazine, about how the Jews were too ambitious and taking over every important aspect of city life.

As they followed the murder trials, Atlantan newspapers framed Frank in the context of the city’s working class frustrations with industrialization. The case took place during a time when labor unrest and tensions were higher than ever before. Workers believed they were not being paid fairly, and the working conditions in the factories that were springing up were terrible. White workers were especially frustrated, as they felt their jobs being threatened by black workers. A few decades before Frank’s trial, there were the aforementioned strikes against the Elsas family’s Fulton Bag and Cotton Company, which took place due to labor disputes and competition for jobs from black women. They were a testament to poor white workers’ frustration with the fact that they felt they were not being paid enough, and that working conditions were terrible. During the Leo Frank case, the National Pencil Factory was portrayed as an immoral place to work, unfit for women, and Frank was framed as an evil, perverse boss who did not care at all for the well-being of his employees. Because Frank was a Jew, Atlantans were already primed to see him as greedy and evil, so newspapers did not have a difficult time portraying him as a stereotypically cruel, greedy boss. Frank came to represent all the problems with industrialization that were disadvantaging so many Atlantans, which is why they felt so vehemently convinced of his guilt and his deserving to die.

Through their coverage of the case, the press especially portrayed Leo Frank as the emblem of what many people thought was the most terrible aspect of industrialization: child labor. At the time, Georgia was one of the worst states when it came to regulating child labor laws, allowing ten-year-olds to work 11-hour workdays in mills and factories. Frank’s trial came at a time when many provocative stories were already being published in newspapers about child labor in factories. Georgians were desperate to get rid of child labor: “‘Thy Kingdom Come’ means the coming of the day when child labor will be done away with, when every little tot shall have its quota of sunlight and happiness.” The fact that Mary Phagan had been only thirteen when she was murdered allowed the newspapers to frame the case as a perfect example of the evil that children could experience in their factory jobs. Frank, as the accused murderer, was portrayed as the stereotypical factory owner who exploited children. The implication that Frank might have raped Mary Phagan before murdering her only increased the public’s sense of Frank representing the way industrialization corrupted children. Indeed, as the trial progressed, its main focus became the suspicion that he had raped Mary Phagan. The testimonies against him introduced this suspicion, with many of Mary’s friends saying that Mary was made uncomfortable by Leo and that he always “wanted to talk to her.” The fact that Frank was considered ugly and unattractive made it easier for the Atlantan public to imagine him as a pervert.

In the end, Frank came to represent all the things wrong with Atlantan society at the time. Jeffrey Paul Melnick put it best when he said that Frank was:

identified as a ‘capitalist,’ doubly a capitalist, since to the lumpen Socialist mind of the American Populist capitalist equals Jew, and the two together add up to demi-devil. And in certain regards, the record seems to bear them out, for Frank did hire child labor, did work it disgracefully long hours of pitifully low wages; and if he did not (as popular fancy imagined) exploit his girls sexually, he failed in on their privacy with utter contempt for their dignity. Like most factory managers of the time, he was — metaphorically at least — screwing little girls like Mary Phagan.

 

Black-Jewish Relations

The crucial testimony that convicted Frank was delivered by Jim Conley, the janitor for the National Pencil Factory. After suspiciously changing his story multiple times, he gave a testimony in court in which he claimed he had helped Frank move the body after the crime, thereby admitting he was involved in order to blame Frank. He also claimed that he had helped Frank write the murder notes that surrounded Mary Phagan’s body, saying that he could not have written them himself because he did not know how to write. Playing into African American stereotypes, he convinced the detectives that he, as an uneducated, drunk African American, was incapable of the level of complex thinking that would be necessary to murder someone and frame someone else for it. Sixty-nine years later, when Mann came forward and confessed to having seen Lee murder Mary Phagan, it became clear that Conley had been capable of this deceit and had effectively carried it out. Regardless of how aware he was of what he was doing, Conley had played into crucial tensions in Atlantan society at the time in order to shift the blame onto Frank.

The living and working conditions for African Americans in Atlanta at the time were brutal. Jim Crow laws had established restraints on all public spaces, so black people lived lives very segregated from white America. A few decades after they had been granted legal freedom, African Americans were still denied many basic American freedoms in practice. They wanted to move up in society, but whites continued to find ways to shut them out of public places and disenfranchise them. African Americans were deeply frustrated with this state of affairs, and could not communicate with most Southern whites, who felt threatened by the idea of African Americans rising through the social hierarchy and changing the power dynamics. Rather than seeing blacks as disadvantaged, white people viewed them as lazy, urban people and blamed nearly all the problems of the city on the bad character of the city’s black population. The Atlanta race riots took place in Atlanta from September 22nd to 24th, 1916. During these riots, white mobs killed African Americans, damaged their property, and wounded many other people. The riots were the manifestation of pent-up feelings of frustration at the job competition poor whites felt with blacks, as well as other crucial tensions between the races. This racial conflict was the backdrop for the Frank case to unfold against, and it is part of the larger narrative about race in Atlanta at the time.

The Leo Frank case took on an important symbolic meaning in America and got at the heart of a tension between African Americans, represented by Jim Conley, and Jews, represented by Leo Frank. The anti-Semitism that was pervasive in the South had spread from the white gentiles to the African American community, who were distrustful and resentful of Jews’ economic success, which they viewed as keeping them in their lower social status. Because Jews were economically successful, they saw themselves as above African Americans. Leo Frank’s case was not just the first major case in which a black man’s testimony was important in convicting a white man, but also the first major case that pitted Jews and African Americans against each other and gave African Americans the upper hand. This tension was most obvious when officials wanted to arrange a meeting between Frank and Conley to see what would happen when “the negro [would] be quizzed in the presence of the man whom he accuses… his every action and look as he sees Frank’s eyes upon him will be followed closely by detectives and by the solicitor himself, and a crisis in the case may develop from the meeting.” However, the meeting did not happen because Frank decided he did not want to meet face-to-face with Conley. This important decision sent the signal that he thought of himself as racially and socially superior, which infuriated the people of Atlanta. Rather than seeing Frank as one of them because he was white, Atlantan gentiles saw him as an other because he was Jewish, and his insistence on his racial superiority called even more attention to his Jewishness.

Ultimately, the case was crucial in the narrative about the power hierarchy in the industrial South, and so Atlantans were predisposed to suspect evil and deceit from Jews, while expecting African Americans to be stupid and lazy. Jim Conley behaved in certain ways that whites expected him to, and played into the narrative of being a dumb factory worker in order to make sure people would conclude he was incapable of committing a crime and covering it up. Conley gave the appearance of fitting into the social order that Jim Crow laws had established, projecting an image of the kind of black person that Southerners felt used to and therefore did not see as threatening. In contrast, Frank was seen as very threatening, as he represented the stereotyped, rich Jews building businesses, becoming influential, and threatening the social order. The American Israelite captured the truth of the matter, which was hidden underneath these racial tensions, when it printed a piece that read:

The Dorseys, the Browns and the Watsons have succeeded in bringing about the murder of an innocent man because he was a jew, in order to protect themselves against the truth that must have come out at some time of their guilty knowledge, and to render powerless the vicious and criminal negro, the real murderer of Mary Phagan, whom they have been shielding.

The fact that Conley was not convicted in the case or villainized by the Atlanta public is also due to the positions of blacks and Jews in society. An important reason Conley wasn’t focused on too much as a suspect is because he wasn’t an authority figure, and the case was occurring at a time when people were suspicious of authority figures. However, another significant reason is that, while there were many opportunities to kill a black man in Southern society at the time, there were not many socially acceptable reasons to lynch a Jew. As anti-Semitism and antagonism grew in the South, people were eager to convict a Jew since it was so rare. Agreeing with Detective Black’s statement that “a Negro’s blood would not suffice,” Detective Watson famously said, “Hell, we can lynch a nigger anytime in Georgia, but when do we get the chance to hang a Yankee Jew?” In the end, the fact that Jews were perceived as superior to African Americans in Atlantan society worked against Leo Frank. He represented a hated social group within the city that Atlantans did not usually have an opportunity to commit violence against, and so lynching him had a special allure for Atlantans.

 

Aftermath

The lynching and false conviction of Leo Frank had a profound impact on American society. First and foremost, it was a warning to Jews in Atlanta, who were now divided from the rest of the city by the “chasm” that the intense anti-Semitism surrounding the case had created. Frank’s lynching was a sign to Jews across the country that anti-Semitism was a powerful force in America that was threatening their lives and freedom. After Frank’s death, many Jews came together to start the Anti-Defamation League, which was an organization that worked to fight anti-Semitism and preserve the reputations of Jews.” Unfortunately, the Anti-Defamation League would be necessary in the years to come: Leo Frank’s experience was a precursor to many other horrible manifestations of anti-Semitism that would happen in the twentieth century.

As Jews became a more isolated community within Atlanta and across the country, the white gentiles also came together to preserve their spot in the social hierarchy. Within Atlanta, many of them found Frank’s trial and lynching had confirmed the importance of preserving white gentile dominance in the South: “A short time after the lynching of Leo Frank, 33 members of the group that called itself the Knights of Mary Phagan gathered on a mountaintop near Atlanta and formed the new Ku Klux Klan of Georgia.” For most Atlantans, lynching Frank seemed like “the justice of God,” the right way to preserve their spot in the hierarchy in their society. Both Jews and African Americans would continue to be marginalized, threatened, hurt, and killed in Southern society because of their race. African Americans, in particular, would continue to have to fight against the stereotypes of blacks as lazy, criminal, drunks — the kinds of stereotypes that Conley had played into during his testimony and his attempts to frame Frank.

The Frank case also contributed to the ongoing discussions of the problems having to do with industrialization. It helped expose the ways that factory owners mistreated their workers, as the newspaper articles about Frank focused largely on his cruelty as a boss and his inappropriate comments. It also added to the discussions of child labor, which had already been happening but now had a new, disturbing example to add to the list of reasons that child labor should be abolished or at least regulated. It would take more years, more newspaper articles, and more public outcry for the problems in factories to be addressed, but the industrialization-focused anger that Frank’s case revealed was the beginning of the force that moved those reforms forward.

Ultimately, Leo Frank’s trial and lynching got at the heart of several key themes in Southern society at the time: anti-Semitism, racial hierarchies, and labor dynamics. The case exposed many huge problems facing society, but at the time, rather than helping people better understand these issues and work to resolve them, the Frank case seemed to divide social groups further and increase the tensions between them. Only with some distance could historians look back and understand the case fully in its context, and use it as a window into these different dynamics and problems that have had a lasting impact on American society. Perhaps the most important lesson to be found in Leo Frank’s experience is the importance of reexamining history to understand the trends that have shaped our society into what it is today, and the truths that might still need to be uncovered.

 

Bibliography

Alphin, Elaine Marie. Unspeakable crime: the prosecution and persecution of leo frank. Carolrhoda , 2014. Print.

“Anti-Semitism in the United States.” Henry Ford Invents a Jewish Conspiracy. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2017. <http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/henry-ford-invents-a-jewish-conspiracy>.

Dinnerstein, Leonard. The Leo Frank case. Athens: U of Georgia Press, 2008. Print.

“FRANK LYNCHING DUE TO SUSPICION AND PREJUDICE.” New York Times (1857-1922): 4. Aug 20 1915. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

Fulton Bag and Cotton Mills Digital Collection. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2017. <http://www.library.gatech.edu/fulton_bag/index.html>.

“GEORGIA’S DISGRACE COMPLETE.” The American Israelite (1874-2000): 4. Aug 19 1915. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

“GEORGIA’S SHAME!” The Atlanta Constitution (1881-1945): 6. Aug 18 1915. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

“Girl murdered in pencil factory.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, n.d. Web. 30 May 2017. <http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/girl-murdered-in-pencil-factory>.

Jacobs, Peter. “The lynching of a Jewish man in Georgia 100 years ago changed America forever.” Business Insider. Business Insider, 18 Aug. 2015. Web. 29 May 2017. http://www.businessinsider.com/leo-frank-lynching-in-georgia-100-years-ago-changed-america-forever-2015-8

“Jewish Community of Atlanta.” New Georgia Encyclopedia. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2017. <http://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/history-archaeology/jewish-community-atlanta>.

“Leo M. Frank Lynched– Georgia’s Lasting Disgrace.” The Jewish Exponent (1887-1990): 9. Aug 20 1915. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

Melnick, Jeffrey Paul. Black-Jewish relations on trial: Leo Frank and Jim Conley in the new South. Jackson: U Press of Mississippi, 2000. Print.

“The Murder of Leo M. Frank.” The Jewish Exponent (1887-1990): 4. Aug 20 1915. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

“NEGRO CONLEY MAY FACE FRANK TODAY.” The Atlanta Constitution (1881-1945): 5. Jun 13 1913. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017

Oney, Steve. And the dead shall rise: the murder of Mary Phagan and the lynching of Leo Frank. New York: Vintage , 2004. Print.

Rawls, Wendell Jr. “AFTER 69 YEARS OF SILENCE, LYNCHING VICTIM IS CLEARED.” The New York Times. Mar 8 1982. ProQuest. Web. 2 Feb 2017.

“Witness Swears He Saw Frank Forcing Unwelcome Attentions upon the Little Phagan Girl.” The Atlanta Constitution (1881-1945): 2. Aug 20 1913. ProQuest. Web. 9 May 2017.

 

Work of Tomorrow

Toll scans replace tollbooth operators, ATM and pay sharing apps replace bank tellers, drones replace pilots and delivery workers, and robots replace factory workers at manufacturing assembly plants. Labor unions decry the imminent threat to the global job market posed by automation, and some economists predict that 47% of American workers have jobs at high risk of likely automation in the next twenty years. The question then becomes who, what line of work, exactly faces risk of the inauspicious effects of automation, as the United States and other developed nations have previously overcome several waves of industrialization and advancement of technology before without devastating impact to human employment. McKinsey & Co., a private management consulting company, estimates that an “automation bomb” in the United States will cost manual laborers nearly $2 trillion in lost annual wages. Analysts predict that the next phase of automation will adversely affect both blue-collar, manual labor and white-collar, information and service workers relatively equally. Yet a contrasting perspective by some analysts suggests that automation may rather spur further job growth, in new and innovative fields.

No simple policy decision or law will eliminate or even curtail automation since automation is rooted in the theory of capitalism which maximizes profit through supply and demand. Employers seek more profit through increases in revenue and reducing expenses, including labor wages. McKinsey and Co. defines the ideal employee as one who is highly productive in his craft (thus eliminating the need for many, less productive workers) and requires less pay. As technology advances, the preference for business owners seems clear: use robot workers and produce a larger profit margin. Although capitalism was founded on the premise of improved social mobility for all individuals, it is paradoxical since automation likely widens wage gaps, as company executives grow wealthier from profit margins while middle class workers lose their jobs or experience reduced wages.

A common misconception of automation is that only blue-collar laborers will be affected. While blue-collar workers are similarly directly impacted by a loss of jobs due to automation, white-collar professionals also face competition from superior technology. One of the most promising technological developments of the 21st century is that of artificial intelligence. Artificial intelligence (AI) has essentially developed and granted cognitive capabilities to machines previously thought only able to perform repetitive and mundane tasks. Now, researchers have programmed “smart” machines and robots to work on complex legal tasks, investigate cases of fraudulence for insurance companies, and identify algorithmic business decisions by assessing the current market, among other high level tasks. Entry-level employees without sophisticated skills look small and meager in comparison to computers. As businesses seek a competitive edge over their rivals, artificial intelligence provides that sophistication.

However, automation cannot fully eliminate all jobs that exist in society and, in many cases, employees and job positions evolve and improve their skill sets to match forecasted changes in the labor market. As robots assume more menial and repetitive tasks in the manual labor market, a new line of workers will arise to supervise and tend to these machines. Much of the changes in the workplace due to automation, will revise job titles and expand the fields of engineering and technologies associated with the automation of manual labor activities. The brunt of the impact that automation brings to the job economy will come in the current generation of workers, as the shift from manual labor to technological tasks occurs. Unfortunately, economists predict that there will be significant layoffs, particularly in manual labor. There are limited opportunities for professionals working today to have the retraining needed to accommodate these colossal shifts in the operations of companies. But the next generation of workers is becoming well prepared for the ever growing field of technicians or engineers. From the STEAM education movement to the rise of computer science classes in primary schools, humans recognize the need to adapt to changing work demands of our time.

Automation has long been an increasingly dangerous threat in global society, affecting not just a single person or nation, but the job economy as we know it. Machines may hinder social mobility for members of all classes unless change occurs immediately and assurances are created to protect the jobs of workers from expanded automation, especially on foreign soil. Despite the possibility of new industries accompanying automation, the lives and financial well-being of the current generation are at risk.

 

Works Cited

Automation and Anxiety,” 6/25/16, The Economist.

Ignatius, David. “The Brave New World of Robots and Lost Jobs,” 8/11/16, The Washington Post.

 

A Mindful Macbeth: How “Hand” is Used in Macbeth to Represent a Relationship Between Mind and Body

We usually think of our hands as fairly physical things — almost distant things; we don’t regularly consider what they are doing or how we control them. Not so much for Macbeth. In William Shakespeare’s classic Macbeth, power-hungry Macbeth murders many for the Scottish throne, which witches tell him he will gain. Because Macbeth is set in the 11th Century, all of these murders are physical — all of them done by hand. Because of Macbeth’s desire for power, though, the fire driving the murders is solely in his head. Throughout the narrative, the word “hand” often symbolizes the connections and separations between Macbeth’s body and Macbeth’s mind.

In Act 1 of Macbeth, Shakespeare uses the word “hand” to symbolize a separation between mind and body, specifically within Macbeth. In Act 1, Scene 4, Macbeth is speaking about murdering King Duncan. He says, “Stars, hide your fires; / Let not light see my black and deep desires: / The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, / Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see” (1.4.57-60). Here, “hand” is being used both literally and metaphorically; it is literally in reference to the murder that Macbeth’s hand will help commit, but it is also using the action of Macbeth’s hand stabbing Duncan to represent the whole idea of Duncan’s murder — both the desire and the act. It is also interesting that there is a distinction here between “hand” and “eye.” Shakespeare is noting the difference between the more physical aspects of a body, in this case Macbeth’s hand, and the more mental ones: what Macbeth’s eye sees. Macbeth is afraid of seeing himself — of realizing that he is about to murder a friend. As readers, we can assume that the separation between mind and body — between eye and hand — that Macbeth is exhibiting originates in this fear of himself. Later in Act 1, Lady Macbeth is speaking to Macbeth, and Macbeth has just said that Duncan is coming that day and leaving the next. She speaks,

O, never

Shall sun that morrow see!

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,

But be the serpent under’t. (1.5.71-77)

In this quote, Lady Macbeth is describing very literally that Macbeth’s hands (“hands” representing Macbeth’s whole physical body) need to seem innocent. In the previous use of “hand,” Shakespeare distinguishes “hand” from “eye,” but here it is all representing what Duncan is supposed to see. But, similar to the previous example, Shakespeare is noting a separation between mind and body — Macbeth’s body must be welcoming, but his mind must be deadly. In both of these instances, Shakespeare makes a point of noting the separation between the parts of Macbeth’s body Macbeth can control and the parts of Macbeth’s mind Macbeth can control and how they contradict each other.

Other times in Macbeth, Shakespeare uses “hand” to demonstrate a connection between Macbeth’s mind and body. In Act 2, Macbeth says (in a soliloquy), “Is this a dagger which I see before me, / The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. / I have thee not, and yet I see thee still” (2.1.44-46). The repetition of hand is interesting here — handle is not actually a form of hand but sounds repetitive when read aloud. Shakespeare may have chosen to emphasize this to show the connection Macbeth is feeling between his hand and the dagger. Macbeth is wondering if this dagger is here as a sign that he should murder Duncan with his dagger and his hands. This example suggests a leading somewhere: the handle of the dagger is leading Macbeth. It is almost as if Macbeth has no control here — the tone is passive; he has no choice but to be led by his mind’s creations. His body is acting under his mind’s tricks, a separation between action and desire similar to the previous example, but more importantly a connection between his entire mind and body; a connection so strong that Macbeth’s body is functioning under only his mind’s “tricks” — his mind and body are inseparable.

Connection and separation are opposites, and Shakespeare often treats them that way, but he also sometimes uses the two within the same lines or moment in Macbeth. In Act 4, Scene 1, Macbeth has just found out from Lennox that Malcolm fled the country. He is panicked and has just seen the Weïrd Sisters’ prophecies, so he is also confused and doesn’t know what to think. He says,

Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits:

The flighty purpose never is o’ertook

Unless the deed go with it; from this moment

The very firstlings of my heart shall be

The firstlings of my hand. (4.1.164-168)

Here, Macbeth is himself (as opposed to Shakespeare) drawing the connection between mind and body; he is noticing that often your mind has an idea, but your body doesn’t execute it. Here, he also seems to be noticing or pointing out, though, that his mind is what is driving his body, almost that his mind is in control of his body. In this example, Macbeth is noticing a connection between his mind and body, but also that what his mind wants is separate from what his body does. Shakespeare is illustrating a broader relationship between Macbeth’s mind and body.

In Macbeth, Shakespeare often uses the word “hand” to symbolize the relationship between Macbeth’s mind and body. Sometimes he uses it to show the connections, sometimes to show the separations, and sometimes both. As we see in waddling toddlers or talking babies, right from the start our society establishes a relationship between the mind and the body — some babies develop physically first, some mentally; people often are either “smart” or “athletic.” We categorize people into mind and body — our society treats them as separate. As Shakespeare teaches us, though, our minds and bodies are separate sometimes, in sync other times, and sometimes both. So the next time you hear someone talking about meditation or breathing exercises or the new popular adult coloring books — or the next time you are using any of these yourself — remember to recognize both the separations and connections between your mind and body. Take it from Macbeth.

 

Good Night, Bad Night: The Black Night in Macbeth

The night is alive, and similar to a human, it may be allied with. It has a peaceful side and a dark one. In Shakespeare’s tragedies, the night takes on the darker role, but in his comedies, such as The Merchant of Venice and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it takes on the lighter, more peaceful one. When the night is dark, nature becomes more creepy, and the night becomes more evil. In Macbeth, Lady Macbeth and Macbeth, under the influence of three supernatural sisters, find the need to fulfill their dirty desire for power. They do anything to do this, including murder, starting a war, and allying with the dark side of the night. They use the dark and evil side of the night to help them gain power by inflicting harm and confusion on the rest of the Scottish kingdom. There is contrast between how the night is presented in Shakespeare’s comedies versus his tragedies.

In Shakespeare’s comedies, the night is often illustrated as a peaceful and quiet time. It is when everything and everyone rests. For example, in The Merchant of Venice, Scene 5, Act 1, Lorenzo says, “How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! / Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music / creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night / become the touches of sweet harmony” (5.1.52-55). Just reading this quote may calm the reader because the language is soft and soothing. It has anything but a negative connotation. Shakespeare also uses the night in a positive way in Act 1, Scene 1 of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Lysander says, “Tomorrow night when Phoebe doth behold / her silver visage in the watery glass, / decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass / (a time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal)… ” (1.1.209-212). To clarify, Lysander is saying, “Tomorrow night, when the moon shines on the water and creates beads of pearly light on the grass (the time when lovers are most concealed and can run away).” Lovers may choose the night out of all times because it is the most peaceful and quiet time, so they won’t get disturbed. The moon shines on the grass and the water in a beautiful, unusual way during the night, and it also is the time when everyone rests. In these quotes, the night takes on the role of good, peaceful, quiet, and beautiful.

Shakespeare, equally skilled at creating unsettling and violent moods, changes his definition of the night in his tragedies. In Macbeth, the night morphs into a dark, evil, strange, and creepy phenomenon. An example of this is in Act 2, Scene 4, where an Old Man is speaking. He is talking about how the night that Duncan was murdered in was terrible and strange. The old man says, “… Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night / hath trifled former knowings” (2.4.3-5). In modern English, this means this night has been so spooky and scary that what we used to think was terrible is hardly so. From this, it may be drawn that the Old Man is referring to the night to represent the murder, as if the night itself was the terrible, scary thing that made it so that the Scottish people had a new understanding of what is truly horrific. In Act 2, Scene 3, Lennox, as well, deciphers that the night is evil. Here, he is exclaiming how odd the night that Duncan was killed in was. Lennox says:

The night has been unruly: where we lay,

our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,

lamentings heard i’ the air; strange screams of death,

and prophesying with accents terrible

of dire combustion and confused events

new hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure bird

mischievously the livelong night: some say, the earth

was feverous and did shake. (2.3.28-36)

In other words, this night has been been chaotic. The wind blew down into people’s chimneys as they slept. Some people say that they have heard cries of grief in the air, strange screams of death, and voices predicting terrible things in the woeful future. Here, Lennox is describing how the night was unusual. Shakespeare is using it to represent the shock and horror as people find out about Duncan’s death. Lennox knows that the night is becoming more evil before he found out about Duncan’s death. As well as the Old Man, Lennox is describing how the night has been odd. It’s almost like Lennox knew that something happened before he found out about it. These lines demonstrate how the night is showing its evil side over its good side. They may also outline an idea for the reader relating to Macbeth and Lady Macbeth allying with its dark side.

As Macbeth moves on, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth learn to trust the night and seek refuge in its evil side more and more often. This has negative impacts on the people of the Scottish kingdom. This is demonstrated in Act 3, Scene 2, when Macbeth feels that he must kill Banquo if he wants to stay king. He is basing this on the knowledge he gained from the witches. Macbeth says to Lady Macbeth:

Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,

scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;

and with thy bloody and invisible hand

cancel and tear to pieces that great bond

which keeps me pale. (3.2.47-52)

This may be interpreted as, “it is better that I don’t tell you until after it is done, when you applaud me for what I did. (Stops speaking to Lady Macbeth) Come, night, allow my killers to be stealthy and cover me of this deed. Allow your invisible hands to end Banquo’s life, which brings me fear.” Therefore, Macbeth wants the night to come. He is using it to cover up his killing Banquo and to allow his murderers to be unseen while doing it. Macbeth is starting to use the night as an ally to cause confusion and be destructive. This is different than how he used to use it, in which he would rest himself and allow other people to rest during the peaceful, quiet time. Now Macbeth uses the night as a murder weapon. This affects the rest of the Scottish kingdom in that the people now cannot rest either. An example of this is in Act 2, Scene 3, the famous Porter scene. Porter talks about Macbeth’s castle and how it has transformed in a negative way. The reader knows of Duncan’s death in this scene, but Porter does not. Porter says, “Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of / hell-gate, he should have old turning the key” (2.3.1-2). Essentially, Porter is comparing Macbeth’s castle to hell and his job to the person in control of hell’s gates. After Macbeth and Lady Macbeth use the safety of the night to kill Duncan, the doorman of their castle (Porter) thinks that Macbeth’s castle is no longer what it used to be. When Macbeth and his wife rely on the night’s aid in murder, people sense that the night has become evil. This is also illustrated in the previous Old Man and Lennox quotes. They all believe the night to be chaotic and evil. They each said things relating to the night being horrible, disturbing, and hell-like. In addition, I feel that Macbeth and Lady Macbeth become more and more evil as they continue to use the dark side of night in their dirty business. They not only are inflicting harm on others intentionally for their own gain, but they are also harming the rest of the Scottish kingdom. They are affecting everyone else’s daily lives and sleep routines. They are creating fear among the Scottish people, which is one of the classic aspects of evil characters.

In conclusion, the night is often interpreted as a peaceful and quiet time in Shakespeare’s comedies, but in Macbeth, it consistently plays a darker, more evil role. In Macbeth, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth use the night for their gain in power, and it costs them their original empathetic personalities. They become full of hatred and darkness. This may remind a reader of classic devil-inspired action. A character teams up with the devil and then is under the influence of him. In Macbeth, the night represents the devil, and as the book progresses, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth find the need to use the night to pursue dark thoughts into actions. Perhaps when people use the night for things besides peaceful activities, like sleep and renewal, they may become dark and evil like they are under the influence of the devil.

 

Energy, Empowerment, & Entrepreneurship: Female Figures in American Literature

“Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,” begins Puritan poet Anne Bradstreet in “The Author to Her Book” (1678), adding “Who after birth did’st by my side remain / Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true / Who thee abroad exposed to public view” (Bradstreet 1-4). Here, the Puritan author demonstrates how there are other roles in society women can fulfill, but they do not necessarily take advantage of those roles due to the possible, fearsome consequences. Both the narrator and Bradstreet herself struggled with traditional male images symbolizing poetic creation. Many critics — specifically literary critic Patricia Cadwell — now praise Bradstreet for her efforts for being “the founder of American literature” and her role in exposing the evils of patriarchal tradition (Cadwell 138). In truth, various works of American literature emphasize the female figure’s thirst for equality through the continuation of restrictive, outmoded ideologies pertaining to gender rights. Through the figures’ journeys, readers are inspired to continue forwarding the empowerment of women. In regards to Bradstreet, the early poet exposes the realistic struggles of women through their exposure of the evil, patriarchal tradition and the nonexistent changes 200 years later. Her emphasis on the necessity for support of the fearless, undermined female figure who bravely, as later author Nathaniel Hawthorne states, “strike their roots into unaccustomed earth” (Hawthorne 13), encourages readers to seek new ideologies, following in the footsteps of those before them.

To explain further, in writing The Scarlet Letter (1850), Romanticist Nathaniel Hawthorne brings light to the truth about female oppression while simultaneously using the infamous Puritan adulterer, Hester Prynne, as a model of a woman who dares to push social boundaries. By writing about an extreme event 200 years before his time, Hawthorne emphasizes how little the standards have changed for women in America. To continue, in stating that “Women derive a pleasure, incomprehensible to the other sex, from the delicate toil of the needle” (Hawthorne 6), the novelist underscores that women do have a clear, domestic role. Nevertheless, the Romantic novelist does not believe that such a role is the only one that women can fulfill. He later demonstrates Hester’s inner strength to stand alone against a group of male magistrates: “Never! […] I will not speak!” (50), she declares, refusing to name the father of her illegitimate child. Here, Hawthorne brings light to the perception of women in Puritan society and how Hester’s character is made to signify the change in society or the move from a blind faith in tradition and into a new era of mutual understanding (Baym). Similarly, American playwright Arthur Miller’s The Crucible (1953) emphasizes the corrupted image of women in Puritanical America through their involvement in the Salem Witch Trials. In writing “‘She is telling lies about me! She is a cold, sniveling woman, and you bend to her! Let her turn you like a — ’ ‘Do you look for whippin’?’” (Miller 22), the author demonstrates, through figures Abigail Williams and John Proctor, how women who fought back against the lies of society were continuously shunned and dubbed “wicked” (20). Through their perilous journeys in Puritanical America, both Hester Prynne and Abigail Williams are satirical symbols of the non-developing status of women in American society demonstrated, by Miller and Hawthorne, through their “so-called” preposterous actions that further blind society from seeking a solution.

Furthermore, as demonstrated in Puritan author Mary Rowlandson’s narrative, Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson (1682), these preconceived notions about female figures and womanhood manipulate the vulnerable minds of society. When taken captive by a tribe of Native Americans, the eponymous author continuously doubts her newfound survival strengths, as she demonstrates in writing “I thought my heart and legs, all would have broken, and failed me” (Rowlandson 3). Here, the author brings light to her perspective on her own mentality, that is, essentially, degrading due to the lack of strict, Puritanical standard of women, but, it is her later realization of her self-power that empowers her to break stereotypical tradition. As a result, present day critics — such as Rebecca Blevins Faery — refer to the narrative as a “proto-epic in scope in the founding of national identity (and literature)” (Faery 259), for its removal of Puritanic notions towards the behavior of women. It is through the eponymous author’s fear in disobeying the identity her society has painted onto her, that she discovers an alternative reality for herself: a hungered addiction for the wild, empowering, feminine animal within. Additionally, American author Ralph Waldo Emerson supports the idea of a personal identity in his memoir “Self-Reliance” (1841). In regards to Mary Rowlandson, Puritanical notions are what “scare [her] from self-trust” (Emerson 44); but, it is her “feminine rage” that “the indignation of the people is added” (Emerson 43). Nevertheless, Emerson’s writings introduce readers to the unfortunate reality of past American society; regardless of his efforts, women, similar to Mary Rowlandson, are continuously perceived themselves to be incapable of self-sufficiency. As the eponymous author further engulfs herself into a world of preconceived notions, she strengthens the impenetrable sphere of stereotypes, that surrounds the world and American literature thus far.

Notwithstanding the dubbed “fearsome” ideology surrounding the entrepreneurship of female figures, Romantic poet Emily Dickinson bursts into the sphere of American literature with her arduous, cleverly hidden pinpoints to the reality of independent women in American society. As she writes in her poem “I’m “wife” — I’ve finished that”, “I’m “wife” — I’ve finished that — / That other state — […] / It’s safer so — ” (Dickinson, “I’m wife” 1-4). Here, the poet reveals, through a young girl’s contradictory feelings, the reality of marriage and its prevention of female self-identities, labelling women as the possession of their husbands. Additionally, Dickinson implies, with this innovative ideology, that a woman who is not married is capable of more, without having others interfere such as a husband might. As literary critic Mary Loeffelholz reflects in her journal Dickinson and the Boundaries of Feminist Theory, the poet’s primary role is in breaking the boundaries of female stereotypes through the figures in her poems: “Over and over in these poems and prose passages, borders and boundaries exist to be breached” (Loeffelholz 111). Likewise, in continuation of this revolutionary trend, Dickinson presents a similar message in her poem “We outgrow love like other things,” in writing “[w]e outgrow love like other things / And put it in the drawer” (Dickinson, “We outgrow” 1-2). Here, Dickinson describes how people can outgrow love like an antique fashion mirroring how, in society, women are taught that their looks are important in the pleasing of men. Women were rarely independent and declined to practice reason; but, Dickinson demonstrates here that these looks will continuously outgrow each other, removing the need for male judgement on the image of women. In short, Emily Dickinson truly was a feminist writer who lived ahead of her time, through her painting of the female figure’s identity and her exposé of societal falsehoods. Truly, Dickinson is a literary incarnation of the fearless Joan of Arc; she raises her sword high in the air and ripping apart the gilded fabrics of American literature.

As coined by American author Mark Twain, the Gilded Age was a revolutionary period in American literature that brought light to the “underbelly” or false perfections of the American society. Similarly, Realist author Kate Chopin highlights in her short story “The Story of an Hour” (1894) the gilded truths within female figures, specifically pertaining to those held in the restrictive chains of marriage. “‘Free, free, free’” begins the story’s protagonist Mrs. Louise Mallard, who has just received word of her husband’s death, “‘free! Body and soul free’” (Chopin 757). Here, the author highlights the protagonist’s hidden emotions within her marriage and how Louise’s initial reaction was due to her chains being removed from an accustomed Earth, not a shattered heart. Additionally, this story brings light to the risk women writers faced in being absolutely objective: it was a risk to being morally ambiguous, and the only acceptable way to depict such immoral scenarios was to — as literary critic Karin Garlepp Burns writes — “undermine the exaggerated objective mode” (Burns, “The Paradox” 30). On the other hand, in Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884), illustrator Edward Winsor Kemble’s image “Indignation” demonstrates the inner anger of female figures; the title itself is ironic as it is defined as anger or annoyance provoked by what is perceived as unfair treatment (in this case unfair treatment of women). In a moment of anger where her eyes were “ablazing higher and higher” (Twain 199), Kemble depicts Mary Jane Wilks with an image of rage and disgust on her face (Figure 1) contradicting the stereotypical image of women in American society — at the time — as depicted in Charles Dana Gibson’s plethora of “Gibson Girl” images — specifically “The Hero… Discovered in the Act of Carrying on Two Conversations at a Time” (1903). For example, Kemble displays Mary Jane as an uptight, rigid woman, whereas Gibson paints women wearing very low-cut, loose dresses highlighting how they are merely objects meant to appeal to the likeness of men (Figure 2). Regardless of Kate Chopin and Edward Kemble’s attempts to instill the image of independent, proud women, Mark Twain — who was somewhat tolerant of empowering, female figures claiming his daughter “was all [his] riches” (Burns, “Mark Twain”) and his “gilded” world — discards these ideologies amongst the glamour and ostentatious lifestyle of the Lost Generation. As depicted in the 2000 Penguin Modern Classics cover of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1925), women are viewed, merely, as objects of lust and pleasure (Figure 3): the “beautiful little fool[s]” with painted, gold faces (Fitzgerald 17).

Furthermore, as demonstrated in American author F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1925), the resurgence of empowering, female figures is diminished through the temptations and scandals of elitism and the lavish lifestyle of the wealthy. In ironic connection with the writers of this era — coined “The Lost Generation” by author and mentor Gertrude Stein — the robust, astute minds of these women are lost within dreams of satisfaction and fulfillment of “the American Dream” (as coined by James Truslow Adams). In writing “[s]he wanted her life shaped now, immediately [… ] of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality” (Fitzgerald 151), the author emphasizes — through the female protagonist Daisy Buchanan — the image that women are fundamentally incapable of making up their minds without an intelligent man by their side. This overarching claim entraps women in cultural and gendered constructions of being a rich wife and “‘nice’ girl” (149). As aforementioned, upon speaking of her daughter’s future, Daisy remarks “‘I hope she’ll be a fool — that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool’” (17). Daisy is not a fool herself, but, this is somewhat sardonic. While Daisy refers to the social values of her era, she does not seem to challenge them. The older generation values subservience and docility in females, and the younger generation values thoughtless giddiness and pleasure-seeking. In writing “[s]he is a victim of a complex network” (Fryer 165), literary critic Sarah Beebe Fryer unveils Daisy’s true intentions, highlighting how readers should continue to support her decisions despite them often being against the empowering morals of female figures. Regardless, Daisy Buchanan is regarded as the counterexample of female empowerment as she is presented with the opportunity to provoke her knowledge; but, in turn, she wallows away in her silence. In conforming to the social standard of American femininity in the 1920s, Daisy is, essentially, held back by the leash of pearls around her neck, preventing her from continuing the parade of fearless female figures as literature has so far presented.

Regardless of her degradation to the societal power of women, F. Scott Fitzgerald introduces the idea of “unattainable girl”: a female figure who is out of reach from the controlling, wanting power of another figure. As written in American playwright Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun (1959), twenty-two year old Beneatha Younger is an incarnation of the “unattainable girl” through her difficulties with her conservative mother and her anti-marriage attitude: “‘I’m not worried about who I’m going to marry yet — if I ever get married’” (Hansberry 50). Here, the author brings light to Beneatha’s hidden strength shown through her defensive attitude towards her own morals “by forgoing blasphemous outbursts” — as American author Mary Ellen Snodgrass writes in her article “A Raisin in the Sun” (Snodgrass). Not only is Beneatha not interested in getting married and being cared for by a man, but she is also convinced that she alone can choose the direction and outcome of her life. Similarly, Mary Anne, a Vietnam soldier’s girlfriend in Tim O’Brien’s Things They Carried: A Work of Fiction “Song Tra Bong” (1990), echos Hansberry’s emphasis on the gilded strengths of women through her exercising in total agency over her life “with different forms of expressions” (53), and addiction to the wild nature of Vietnam. An unnoticed counterexample to stereotypes of American women’s participation in war, Mary Anne, who enters as a soldier’s girlfriend but leaves as a soldier herself, “ma[kes] you think about those girls back home, how pure and innocent they all are, how they’ll never understand any of this” (O’Brien 108). Here, O’Brien emphasizes in the short story how the women who go to war don’t fulfill their typical gender roles, but rather, take on characteristics generally associated with men because the intense circumstances of war demand those qualities in its soldiers: “she quickly fell into the habits of the bush” (94). As American literature dictates, those who do not follow the status quo of their role as women unravel American society and the accepted standard of gender and identity. Neither Beneatha nor Mary Anne don their skirts in place for camouflage, but, through their energetic attitudes, they paint their faces red preparing for a never ending, fearsome fight towards changing the outlook of female figures.

In terms of The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother (1995), American author James McBride demonstrates the empowering, determined work ethic of female figures throughout their fragmented lives and haunted pasts. His mother, Ruth McBride, is perceived by her children as an empowering, spirited matriarch. However, a layer of Ruth’s personality retains the sorrows and regrets of her childhood. As she states, “‘We had no family life. That store was our life’” (McBride 41), the author brings light to Fishel Shilsky’s unloving, patriarchal nature in which he ruled his household. In turn, Ruth successfully runs her family with love, along with a similarly tight rein; she disciplines her children to answer directly to her, demonstrating her assertive, controlling power regardless of her haunted past. Additionally, McBride emphasizes his mother’s unseen strength through the difficulties she faced as a single mother of twelve children who strived to grant her children with the best education possible. Through her hard work ethic, Ruth is able to send her children to some of the finest colleges in the country which is, as Frances Winddance Twine, Professor of Sociology at the University of California, states in praise, “an amazing accomplishment for even the most privileged of white women” (Twine 152). Moreover, the critic agrees with McBride’s revealing of the hidden strength of women in stating “we should not assume that there are no more like [Ruth], in America’s past and in its future” (154). In short, Ruth McBride forges her own strange life, but she triumphs as the matriarch of an outstanding family, creating a self-sufficient world for them. While the book’s title is in reference to the color of God, truly, it is a reference to the myriad of colors within the book that satirically emphasizes how people cannot be defined by their color — whether they are black or white, or pink or blue.

In the case of fearless female figures, American literature has dubbed them, thus far, as “feeble” (Bradstreet 1), “delicate” (Hawthorne 77), “careless” (Fitzgerald 179), and “coy and flirtatious” (Tim O’Brien 95). All of the following statements are degrading and subject to the opinion of men that are far from the supportive, romantic equals women desire to coexist with. On the other hand, women are regarded as “liberated” (Hansberry 63), “sivilize[d]” (Twain 283), “nonchalance” (James McBride 8), and “free” (Chopin). Notwithstanding the development of history or the years in which these pieces were created, the trend of male figures shaping the role of what the female figures represent is continuous. However, in the case of female figures like Beneatha Younger, the element of love and infatuation in another figure comes into play bringing light to the question of what role do male figures truly play in a female figure’s story. Are women disregarded as “fearless” or “empowering” simply because they have found a man to live with for the rest of their days? Is marriage a binding contract to an unequal communion between man and woman? To writers — such as Emily Dickinson — marriage is “safer” than the “pain” of being single in society (Dickinson, “I’m wife” 4, 10), but, to female figures such as F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Daisy Buchanan — regardless of her careless persona — love is “mak[ing] a fool of” yourself while looking into “well-loved eyes” (Fitzgerald 96, 131). Ultimately, as seen in present day American society, it is unclear whether feminism and the role of empowering female figures alludes to revolutionary women who never marry, or to those who find love and continue to remain strong regardless. American literature rewrites this psychomachiac struggle over and over again, never revealing the answer and furthering the inequality between genders; but, nevertheless, encourages readers to shatter societal, preconceived notions, breaking the gilded sphere of stereotypes.

Works Cited:

Baym, Nina. “Revisiting Hawthorne’s Feminism.” Hawthorne and the Real: Bicentennial Essays, edited by Millicent Bell, Columbus, Ohio State Univ. Press, 2005, pp. 107-24. Google Books, books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=24HXF1jsga4C&oi=fnd&pg=PA107&dq=Revisiting+Hawthorne’s+Feminism&ots=2fKELQ6eDa&sig=gPA0ETgGdki-YQQREcABDfsxHTk#v=onepage&q&f=false.

Bradstreet, Anne. “The Author to Her Book” (1678). The Heath Anthology of American Literature, 4th ed., vol. 1. Edited by Paul Lauter. Houghton Mifflin, 2002, p. 390.

Burns, Karin Garlepp. “The Paradox of Objectivity in the Realist Fiction of Edith Wharton and Kate Chopin.” Journal of Narrative Theory, PDF ed., vol. 29, no. 1, Winter 1999, pp. 27-61.

Burns, Ken, producer. “Ken Burns’ Mark Twain: Part 2.” SAFARI Montage. PBS, 2001. Accessed 23 Feb. 2017.

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Chopin, Kate. “The Story of an Hour” (1894). Kate Chopin: Complete Novels and Stories, by Chopin, edited by Sandra M. Gilbert, 2nd ed., Library of America, 2008, pp. 756-58.

Dickinson, Emily. “I’m ‘wife’ – I’ve finished that.” The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, by Dickinson, edited by Thomas Herbert Johnson, Little Brown Company, 1960, p. 94.

————————“We outgrow love, like other things.” Wikisource, 1 Mar. 2013, en.wikisource.org/wiki/We_outgrow_love,_like_other_things. Accessed 2 Apr. 2017.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Self-Reliance” (1841). American Literature: Essential Short Works. Convent of the Sacred Heart School (Greenwich, CT), 2010, pp. 39-44.

Faery, Rebecca Blevins. “Mary Rowlandson Maps New Worlds: Reading Rowlandson.” Literature Criticism from 1400 to 1800, vol. 66, 2001, pp. 256-67, go.galegroup.com/ps/ i.do?p=GLS&sw=w&u=gree48311&v=2.1&id=MIEAFK694681793&it=r&asid=0437e7e25ef889188ea4f896a2c9c081. Accessed 5 Apr. 2017.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby (1925). Scribner, 2004.

Fryer, Sarah Beebe. “Beneath the Mask: The Plight of Daisy Buchanan.” Critical Essays on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, by edited Scott Donaldson, Boston, Hall, 1984, pp. 153-65.

Gibson, Charles Dana. The Hero…Discovered in the Act of Carrying on Two Conversations at a Time. JPEG file, 1903.

Hansberry, Lorraine, and Robert Nemiroff. A Raisin in the Sun (1959). Vintage Books, 1994.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter: And Other Writings. Edited by Leland S. Person. W.W. Norton, 2005.

Kemble, Edward Winsor. “Indignation.” Adventures of Huckleberry Finn: An Authoritative Text, Contexts and Sources, Criticism, by Mark Twain and Thomas Cooley, 3rd ed., New York, W.W. Norton, 1999, p. 199.

Loeffelholz, Mary. “Dickinson and the Boundaries of Feminist Theory.” The Emily Dickinson Journal, vol. 1, no. 2, Fall 1992, pp. 121-22, muse.jhu.edu/article/245241. Accessed 8 Apr. 2017.

McBride, James. The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother (1995). Riverhead Books, 1996.

Miller, Arthur. The Crucible: A Play in Four Acts (1952/53). Penguin Books, 2003.

O’Brien, Tim. “Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong.” The Things They Carried: A Work of Fiction (1990), Mariner Books/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009, pp. 85-110.

Rowlandson, Mary. “Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson” (1682). Project Gutenberg, www.gutenberg.org/files/851/851-h/851-h.htm#link2H_4_0002. Accessed 13 Feb. 2017.

Snodgrass, Mary Ellen. “A Raisin in the Sun.” Encyclopedia of Feminist Literature, 2006, fofweb.infobase.com/activelink2.asp?ItemID=WE54&WID=11130&SID=5&iPin=EFL621&SingleRecord=True. Accessed 3 Apr. 2017.

Stubbs, John C. “Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: The Theory of the Romance and the Use of the New England Situation.” PMLA, digital ed., vol. 83, no. 5, Oct. 1968, pp. 1439-47.

Twine, France Winddance. “The White Mother.” Transition, no. 73, 1997, pp. 144-54, www.jstor.org/stable/2935450. Accessed 2 Apr. 2017.

Unknown, illustrator. The Great Gatsby. Penguin Modern Classics, 2000.

 

Appendix

“Indignation”

Figure 1: Image of Mary Jane Wilks in Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn illustrated by Edward Winsor Kemble.

“The Hero…Discovered in the Act of Carrying on Two Conversations at a Time”

Figure 2: Image of a man simultaneously carrying two conversations with two “Gibson” girls in Charles Dana Gibson’s Eighty Drawings: Including “The Weaker Sex: The Story of a Susceptible Bachelor”.

“Cocktails and Conversations”

Figure 3: Cover of the 2000, Penguin Modern Classics edition of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, for which the illustrator is unknown.

 

Whitewashing: Bringing Color to the Screen

Earlier this year, movie audiences saw Scarlett Johansson, a Caucasian actress, play Motoko Kusanagi, a Japanese girl-turned-cyborg, in the film Ghost in the Shell. In the past several years, they have also seen Emma Stone as Allison Ng, a character of Chinese and Hawaiian descent, in Aloha; Jake Gyllenhaal as the title character in Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time; Joel Edgerton and Christian Bale as Ramesses II and Moses, respectively, in Exodus: Gods and Kings; and Rooney Mara as Tiger Lily in Pan — all white actors in roles meant for people of color.

This practice of casting white actors as non-white characters, known as whitewashing, has become all too common in Hollywood. Whitewashing, however, is not a new phenomenon; it has endured for centuries. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, minstrel shows, which featured white performers in blackface, inaccurately and derisively portrayed black people. More recently, roles such as The King in The King and I and Mr. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s — considered iconic 20th-century movie characters — were cast with white men in yellowface. While instances of whitewashing today are slightly less egregious, they still result in less representation for minorities, reinforce ugly stereotypes, and detract from an artistic work’s authenticity.

Despite the backlash against whitewashing, directors and filmmakers continually defend questionable casting choices with seemingly pragmatic excuses. They rationalize that blockbuster films need an A-list star as headliner, and unfortunately, the majority of A-listers are white. This concept does make sense, especially as larger movie studios are typically risk-averse and usually greenlight movies on the condition that big names are attached. At the same time, however, many films with whitewashed casts and “big-name actors” — including Ghost in the Shell, Aloha, Prince of Persia, Exodus, and Pan — have bombed at the box office. While these movies do poorly in part due to the protests and boycotting that accompany casting controversies, they are also just not believable, genuine works of art, and despite the popularity of lowbrow fare these days, audiences do respond to works that are good quality. With the growing popularity of sites like Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes, audiences are too sophisticated now to blindly follow any “big-name” actor in an ill-suited role and suspend their disbelief. Network TV shows like Black-ish and Fresh off the Boat have caught on and struck a chord with people, expanding the demographic of viewers, all the while addressing important issues of race and subverting stereotypes.

Another excuse that filmmakers use — the one I see as the most desperate — is the “best person for the job” pretense. Naturally, the people behind a project want it to reach its full potential. However, the proposition that only one person can be right for a role in a field as subjective as art is dubious. In actuality, people have their own biases and are drawn to certain kinds of personalities, usually those most similar to theirs. Because the ones in power are predominately white, their visions of the pivotal characters tend to mirror their own experiences. These feelings are natural, and in some cases, the creatives in charge have to just go with their gut because objective measures are unsatisfactory or impossible to obtain. That being said, in my experience as a Broadway performer, I saw a number of actors perform the same role, both from behind-the-scenes as well as from the audience’s perspective. Different performers elicited different responses from the crowd — laughs and applause in varying places, possibly more on one line and less after another. The theatergoers who had seen all of the actors performing the same part tended to be divided over whom they felt was best. Critiquing art is not a quantitative matter. Saying one’s own artistic interpretation is fact is simply wrong, and the notion that artists should be pitted against one another in competitive fashion is antithetical to the whole meaning of art.

The primary roadblock to greater representation for minorities is the idea in media that white is the default race. Too often, everyman is equated with the white male — meaning non-white romantic leads and action stars are few and far between. These portrayals only serve to perpetuate stereotypes and worsen biases; earlier this year, Steve Harvey made a joke entirely centered on the concept that Asian males could never be seen as attractive. Film and TV have reinforced certain racist attitudes — all black people are considered “thugs,” all people of Arab descent are seen as “terrorists,” all Asians are “nerdy IT guys.” Races have been identified with particular stock parts.

The best way to combat these types of ideas is to depict people of color as three-dimensional characters and cast them as a wide variety of roles. Placing people of color and their stories in the foreground — as the true focus of the narrative — opens up all kinds of possibilities. The film The Big Sick, for instance, stars a Pakistani man and a Caucasian woman as the central couple. At a larger studio, Kumail Nanjiani, the movie’s writer and lead actor, would likely never have been given the go ahead; executives would have contended that he was not “believable” as a romantic lead, despite the fact that the script was based on his real-life marriage. Fortunately, Nanjiani was able to star in his own movie, breaking an enduring stereotype in the process. This casting, and others like it, will hopefully lead mainstream viewpoints in a more progressive direction.

I have personally had to deal with derogatory preconceptions in my own life. As a male ballet dancer, I have been the recipient of a good deal of demeaning remarks. Thankfully, these comments have never slipped into violence or anything severe; most of the time, they simply come from a place of ignorance and a lack of exposure to the art form. Recently, I performed at a children’s hospital in New York for elementary school-age children. I expected to receive some mildly offensive reactions, but to my surprise, the kids appeared to admire my dancing — the athleticism of my jumps and pirouettes. I now realize that they had yet not been corrupted by society’s judgment of the male ballet dancer. Children are very impressionable and are especially influenced by the media they consume. As media forms become increasingly prevalent in our culture, sending the right message to future generations is critical. When movies and television shows reflect the diversity of the real world, they send the message that anything is possible. Kids of color should not feel as though they are constrained by their race.

While newer generations are more aware of ingrained and insidious racist stereotypes, progress toward inclusivity remains very gradual. In late August, the actor Ed Skrein stepped down from the movie Hellboy after learning that his character in the source material was Japanese-American. In doing so, he risked a great deal; he gave up a sizable role in a potential blockbuster and may have fractured valuable relationships with Lionsgate, a leading entertainment company, and Hellboy’s producers. However, if he had stayed on the project, he would have faced criticism — similar to that leveled at Johansson, Stone, Gyllenhaal, Bale, Edgerton, and Mara — for co-opting a role created as Japanese. What Skrein did was honorable, and very few actors would have been willing to withdraw from such a hyped project. Although his decision was a step forward, it did not bring about any systemic change. In a business as difficult and fickle as film, putting the onus on the actors to turn down valuable roles is unfair. The responsibility should fall on those in charge.

The solution to greater representation for minorities in Hollywood requires a multipronged approach. Network television and especially film have the most barriers to entry — countless executives have to approve every creative decision throughout the entire process. Hollywood is very much a hierarchy, and the key decision makers — the ones who say what is produced and what is not — are almost all white males. More diversity is needed at the top of the pyramid. One example is film producer Charles King, who within the last few years launched a new media company called Macro. The works that Macro helps develop and fund are stories told from the unique perspective of people of color. Although the backing of higher-ups is absolutely crucial, it is also important that people of color themselves have more opportunities to produce their own content. Critics and audiences alike can discern when a piece is authentic or not. The “Thanksgiving” episode of Master of None, Indian actor Aziz Ansari’s comedian-auteur show, follows the journey of Denise (played by Lena Waithe), a black lesbian, as she grows up, becomes aware of her sexuality, and comes out to her family. Because Waithe (along with Ansari) wrote the episode and drew from her real-life experiences, the story received universal critical acclaim, even garnering an Emmy for best comedy series writing — making Waithe the first black woman to win in that category. Shonda Rhimes, a prolific television producer and showrunner, has her own highly-rated night of programming on a major network which includes two shows with black female leads. This kind of content has demonstrated the popularity of more diverse characters and viewpoints.

In other forms of media and the arts, however, people of color are a commanding force. In the music industry, black artists in particular dominate the charts and win a plethora of awards. This year’s Grammy nomination leaders are Jay-Z, Kendrick Lamar, Bruno Mars, Childish Gambino, Khalid, No I.D., and SZA — all people of color. What accounts for this disparity between music and film is that black musicians and singers were given a voice much earlier. When Berry Gordy Jr. founded Motown in 1959, he gave black artists an opportunity to have their music produced and distributed. Motown paved the way for other record labels that would support black artists. Once these artists reached a certain level of fame, not only did their success snowball, but they also were able to have greater control of the music they made.

Additionally, in general, music has fewer barriers to entry than film or TV. A singer-songwriter can upload original music online with no more than an internet connection and a camera. On the other hand, a self-produced movie will likely be noticeably amateur. On other platforms that are easily accessible — YouTube being the prime example — people of color are well represented. YouTubers Ryan Higa, GloZell, KSI, Germán Garmendia, Evan Fong, and Mariand Castrejon Castañeda all have millions of subscribers and views. Their channels run the gamut from comedy to music to gaming to beauty. All of these personalities expanded their subscriber base organically by putting up content that was authentic to them. They did not have to deal with rooms of executives and focus groups to determine their appeal.

What media bigwigs need to realize is that whitewashing is not a sustainable business model. Our culture, especially the younger generations, is becoming more enlightened and has higher expectations for media reflecting society at large. Not only do people expect more, but they are also willing to publicly call out whitewashing; social media has mobilized an activist army. Bringing in a diversity of voices and perspectives has resulted in both critical and commercial success. But without the production of innovative content and the support of decision makers, effecting a change will be difficult.

 

Bibliography

Baker, Calvin. “A Former Superagent Bets Big on a More Diverse Hollywood.” The New York Times, 4 Oct. 2017, nytimes.com/2017/10/04/magazine/charles-king-superagent-diverse- hollywood.html. Accessed 5 Oct. 2017.

Bernardi, Daniel and Michael Green. Race in American Film: Voices and Visions that Shaped a Nation. ABC-CLIO, 2017.

Couch, Aaron and Borys Kit. “Ed Skrein Exits ‘Hellboy’ Reboot After Whitewashing Outcry.” The Hollywood Reporter, 28 Aug. 2017, hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/ed-skrein- exits-hellboy-reboot-whitewashing-outcry-1033431. Accessed 2 Sept. 2017.

Cruz, Gilbert. “Motown.” TIME, 12 Jan. 2009, content.time.com/time/arts/article/ 0,8599,1870975,00.html. Accessed 29 Nov. 2017.

Gross, Terry. “How A Medically Induced Coma Led To Love, Marriage And ‘The Big Sick.’” NPR, 12 Jul. 2017, npr.org/2017/07/12/536822055/how-a-medically-induced-coma-led- to-love-marriage-and-the-big-sick. Accessed 26 Aug. 2017.

Hibberd, James. “Shonda Rhimes dramas deliver ratings record.” Entertainment Weekly, 21 Nov. 2014, ew.com/article/2014/11/21/shonda-rhimes-ratings/. Accessed 29 Nov. 2017.

Littleton, Cynthia. “Lena Waithe Makes Emmy History as First Black Woman to Win for Comedy Writing.” Variety, 17 Sept. 2017, variety.com/2017/tv/news/lena-waithe-wins- emmy-black-woman-comedy-writing-1202562040/. Accessed 19 Sept. 2017.

Lynch, Joe. “Grammys 2018: See the Complete List of Nominees.” Billboard, 28 Nov. 2017, billboard.com/articles/news/grammys/8047027/grammys-2018-complete-nominees-list. Accessed 29 Nov. 2017.

McAlone, Nathan. “Most popular YouTube stars in 2017.” Business Insider, 7 Mar. 2017, businessinsider.com/most-popular-youtuber-stars-salaries-2017/. Accessed 2 Sept. 2017.

NPR Staff. “Diversity Sells — But Hollywood Remains Overwhelmingly White, Male.” NPR, 28 Feb. 2015, npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2015/02/28/389259335/diversity-sells-but- hollywood-remains-overwhelmingly-white-male. Accessed 2 Sept. 2017.

Sun, Rebecca. “The Disturbing History Behind Steve Harvey’s “Asian Men” Jokes.” The Hollywood Reporter, 13 Jan. 2017, hollywoodreporter.com/news/disturbing-history- behind-steve-harveys-asian-men-jokes-963735. Accessed 2 Dec. 2017.

Toll, Robert C. Blacking Up: The Minstrel Show in Nineteenth-Century America. Oxford University Press, 1974.

Yang, Jeff. “Whitewashing Hollywood Movies Isn’t Just Offensive—It’s Also Bad Business.” Quartz, 18 Apr. 2017, qz.com/960600/whitewashing-ghost-in-the-shell-and- other-hollywood-movies-isnt-just-offensive-its-also-bad-business/. Accessed 12 Nov. 2017.

 

Why The United States Constitution Established a Just Government

As the 1790s neared in the newly formed United States, it became evident that the Articles of Confederation — the very document that established an independent nation — had to be rewritten. From new ideas emerging from the Enlightenment reverberating throughout Europe, to perceived inequitable treatment leading to chaotic outbursts of unchecked outrage and fury such as Shay’s and Whiskey Rebellions, the young nation was ready for change. Thus, the document that would dictate the lives of future generations for the next two hundred and fifty years was crafted: the United States Constitution. The document embarked on and succeeded in the seemingly insurmountable task of cultivating a potent government whose potency is not so strong as to reminisce about the monarch the colonies just escaped. It took a weak confederacy of states plagued with instability and chaos to construct a centralized government while simultaneously incorporating a system of checks and balances. It established a Bill of Rights to relinquish any fears of mimicking the very government that quashed independence and limited freedom. While the document had some downfalls that juxtaposed the very ideals and fundamentals that the “supreme law of the land” was founded upon, such as failing to protect citizens in times of war, upholding the act of slavery for another eighty-five some odd years, and limiting the rights of women, it left room to amend these shortcomings and evolve to what society and human nature would eventually become with advancements in philosophies and technologies. The United State’s Constitution is inherently just because of its ability to acknowledge its faults and grievances and change accordingly; this adaptability comes from the Elastic Clause, an organized legislative representation selected by the people of the United States, and the presence of the Bill of Rights.

The true justice of the United States’ Constitution came from its ability to adapt itself toward changing philosophies. Article V of the original document states that the document could be “amended” if “two thirds of both houses deem[ed] it necessary.” Thus, the ability of the government to adapt not only technologically, but also ideologically, with passing time was granted. While changing ideologies are often theorized as having to happen gradually over a long span of time, there have been instances where the Constitution was able to make necessary changes more rapidly. This capacity of the government to adapt to changing values both rapidly and gradually is a pertinent characteristic of its justice. For example, the Eighteenth Amendment was swiftly passed in 1920 as a result of the prohibition movement, immediately prohibiting the consumption of alcohol. While in theory, restricting alcohol consumption would encourage men to spend more time with their families and lower crime rate, it ended up having the opposite effect, bringing alcohol underground and leading officers to take bribes. Because the detriments of Prohibition proved to outweigh the benefits, leaders were able to use the Elastic Clause in the Constitution to pass the Twenty-first Amendment, repealing Prohibition and allowing the law to revert back to a more suitable philosophy. Gradual changes in ideals have also been able to be met using the Elastic Clause of the Constitution. The slowly evolving issues of slavery and women’s rights were important considerations neglected in the original documents of the United States Constitution. However, the amendment process has proven its capability to modify: the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments served as examples of this fact, abolishing slavery and granting more rights to African Americans. Later, the Nineteenth Amendment gave women the right to vote. While these changes certainly did not make up for the hardship inflicted, and it would be another hundred years until segregation would end, the justness of the Constitution provided the structure to enable the changes to take place when society was ready.

While the Elastic Clause of the United States Constitution played a critical role in determining whether or not the government was in fact able to remain just, other factors such as the implementation of the legislative branch of government also perpetuated its justness. The ability of citizens to elect representatives in this particular branch of government contributes immensely to the justness of the United States government as a whole. Although Alexander Hamilton argued that the legislation was not just, insisting “a large [sum] of people is not necessary for thorough representation”, no matter how large the group of representatives was, it was the inequity among different groups of people at the time that inhibited true democracy. Even if the Anti-Federalists claimed everyone should have thorough representation, any individual who was not white or male during this time period had no voice and nobody advocated for the possibility of them getting one.  Even if this was the cultural reality at the time, the Constitution had everything it needed to correct these grievances, and eventually would do so when society was ready.

The legislative branch was not the only point of contention between the Federalists and the Anti-Federalists. One of the most crucial aspects to ensure a just government that perhaps even settled the Federalist/Anti-Federalist debate was the adoption of the Bill of Rights. The Anti-Federalists refused to sign the Constitution without said rights. This was due in part to the fact that the Bill of Rights guaranteed essential liberties what would be known as the first ten amendments of the document that was aimed to prevent the cultivation of a monarchy. These rights directly juxtaposed the experiences prevalent in the British monarch, citing the rights against “quartering” soldiers and the right to “search and seizure” which necessitates a warrant before searching private property without probable cause. The Bill of Rights would become essential in ensuring limited power to the executive branch of government, and because of this structure, it would remain just.

While there are several flaws that could be ascertained through close examination of the United States Constitution, it is imperative that one takes into account the time period and circumstances under which it was written. Critics of the United States Constitution point to specific times in the country’s history where the government failed to uphold constitutional rights, especially in times of conflict or war. While the Bill of Rights guaranteed American citizens the “freedom of speech, religion, and press,” historians who question the justice of the United States Constitution note that these rights have been specifically challenged throughout the nation’s history.  In 1798, John Adams passed The Sedition Act, limiting freedom of speech and press, as the United States prepared for the Quasi War with France. In recent years, suppression and discrimination have violated freedom of religion, brought on by fears of national security. However, while this prejudicial repression should not have been condoned, it has proved to be the only possible way to avert higher casualties and more violence. For example, had President Abraham Lincoln been more sensitive toward constitutional liberties and not suspended habeas corpus, the Civil War could have ended with more fatalities, as well as the demise of the Union. This would have come with issues such as slavery taking even longer to dissolve, for different values would have been imposed separately rather than being blended. The notion of slavery not being abolished is inarguably far worse than a short suspension of civil liberties.

Despite its shortcomings, the United States Constitution succeeded in taking an unstable, loose confederation of states and creating a centralized government, not so strong as to limit liberty, while simultaneously balancing state and federal control. Although at the time of its ratification, major contradictions to justice were prominent — and civil liberties were not always upheld during times of conflict — the Constitution’s ability to change itself, even today, enables the United States’ government to remain just. Only time will tell whether or not American leaders and their people will continue to use the elasticity of the Constitution to ultimately serve and protect all people.

 

InsertTitleNameHere

John came from a long line of fishermen. His family made its living off of selling fish. Until, one fateful day, John’s father was killed by a crab he had fished. John’s father was fishing and got a bite on his hook. He began to pull. It wasn’t easy to catch. He was then pulled into the water by the two ounce crab. John was distraught that his dad had been killed.

To this day, John had tried to hunt all crabs into extinction. John had been able to track the majority of the crab population to a small, unnamed, uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean, using advanced, tracking tactics like tracking their cell phones.

John arrived on the shores of the island, after taking a boat from the airport. He then dragged the boat onto the island.

John wanted to build a house that was so big that it covered the entire island of InsertIslandNameHere. He wanted this because if he built a house like that, he would have power over all the crabs near the island, and he would have a house big enough for the one thousand crab-eating goblins that he had adopted. However, InsertIslandNameHere was so small that if someone built a house around the entire island, the island would be squished by the house, and then the house would sink. Sadly, John did not think about that, so the house sank to the bottom of the ocean. When John finished putting his house on the entire island, he decided to have a snack. He then remembered that he left his snacks in his bag and that he left his bag at the airport, so he had to swim all the way back to New York. When John got back ten years later, he saw that the house had been taken over by crabs.

John wanted his house back. John had to find a way to get his house back from the crabs that had taken it over. John first tried to get rid of the crabs by using some crab repellent. He dropped the crab repellent on the house, but none of the crabs left the house. When John went down to get the repellent can, he realized that the crab repellent actually was a spray that manipulated your brain waves and made you feel crabby. This made the problem worse because the crabs were now very crabby.

The next thing John tried was to tell his crab-eating goblins to eat all the crabs underwater. When he did this, the goblins went underwater and began chasing around the crabs. The crabs ran and ran and ran until they were far away from the island, but then the crabs WRAN instead of ran, which stands for Wireless regional area network, which is another phrase for Wi-Fi. When the crabs WRAN, they turned into Wi-Fi, so the Wi-Fi was all used up on the crabs. This meant that the Wi-Fi for the goblins stopped working. Because the goblins were robots, when they weren’t connected to the Wi-Fi, they stayed still and did nothing. Then all the crabs teleported back to the router in the house, which was where the Wi-Fi was coming from.

After John saw the crabs in the house again, John was thinking about giving up. Nothing he tried would work. Even his favorite crab-eating goblins couldn’t do anything. Just when John was about to spend ten more years swimming back to New York, John saw a message in a bottle. He became excited and wanted to know what was inside. When he opened it, he saw an ad for a Red Lobster restaurant. After wondering why there was an ad in a random, glass bottle, he realized that the founder of Red Lobster made a fortune off of killing and selling lobsters. He figured that if Red Lobster could do it, he could. John decided to continue his hunt to kill all the crabs.

With his renewed sense of determination, John tried to lift the island back up to the surface of the water, so all the crabs would jump back down into the water. To do this, John invited his friend named Kneel Footweak, who used to be an astronaut that landed on the sun. Landing on the sun gave Kneel Footweak superpowers. Kneel Footweak’s superpower was fire hands, so his hands were always on fire, and he could never put out the fire. This meant that when Kneel Footweak went underwater to lift up the island, the fire on his hands began evaporating all the water in the ocean. John realized that if Kneel Footweak evaporated the entire ocean, then the house would be on the ground, and all the crabs would die. So after ten billion years, the ocean was completely drained, and John finally got his house back from the crabs. Then John used the house as a tourist destination and made a restaurant, called “Orange Crab,” and lived happily ever after with his one million dead crabs.

 

Frankenstein, Not Gloria Steinem

Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, was the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft, an early feminist, and William Godwin, a progressive and an anarchist who raised her with values which advocated social justice and reform. One might thus expect Shelley’s writing to be alive with strong female personalities and feminist ideas. In Frankenstein, however, both the presence of women and their depth of character are limited. Throughout the novel, women play a decidedly secondary role, even to the extent that its very premise is about bypassing the most important biological function of the female.

All of the main characters in Frankenstein are male, and all female characters occupy surprisingly passive roles; even Elizabeth Lavenza, one of the people dearest to Victor Frankenstein, is not spared this treatment. Fostered by a poor, Italian family as a toddler, Elizabeth is adopted and introduced as a “pretty present” for Frankenstein, who “interpret[s] [these] words literally and look[s] upon Elizabeth as [his] — [his] to protect, love, and cherish… till death she [is] to be [his] only” (37). It seems that Elizabeth comes close to accepting this relationship herself, growing up to care more about Frankenstein’s well-being and happiness than her own; she writes to him, “But it is your happiness I desire as well as my own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice… if you obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity” (192). She is willing to sacrifice marrying the person she loves if it will make him in any way unhappy. Although selfless, Elizabeth’s prioritization of Frankenstein over herself is extreme, as is Frankenstein’s own self-absorption. Upon returning from England, haunted by the death of Clerval and the monster’s threat, he finds that Elizabeth is “thinner, and [has] lost much of that heavenly vivacity that had before charmed” (194). However, he expresses no concern, maintaining that her “compassion [makes] her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as [he is]” (194). This lack of consideration for his soon-to-be-wife, and indeed his satisfaction that she has also suffered, is telling of their relationship, one between a dominant man and a submissive woman. Before their marriage, Frankenstein decides that he will finally tell Elizabeth about the monster, but only once they are husband and wife:

I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place, for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply. (193-194)

Not only does he demand that she marry him without knowing this monstrous secret, one which may alter her impression of him, but he even orders her not to mention the subject until their union is finalized, with no doubt that she will obey him. That he assumes her blind devotion and that she fulfills this assumption are indicative of her passive role. Frankenstein also tells her exactly how she will react once she learns the truth, namely with compassion for him rather than reflection upon her own danger. (Based on her prior behavior, this reaction seems plausible.) Furthermore, when the creature tells Frankenstein that he “shall be with [him] on [his] wedding-night” (173), Elizabeth is so subordinate in Frankenstein’s mind that he does not consider the possibility of Elizabeth’s being the target of the threat. After they marry, deluded on account of this egotism, he orders her to return to her room, never thinking that she might be important enough to be the object of the threat. She obeys without question, even though this is her wedding night, a time that husband and wife typically spend together. Even as Frankenstein’s wife, Elizabeth fails to stand up to him or for herself, and she thus does not evolve over the course of the novel.

Like Elizabeth, Justine Moritz is a poor little girl, “saved” by the Frankensteins. Mistreated by her mother, Justine is brought into the household by Caroline Frankenstein, where she finds a better quality of life than the average servant, as Elizabeth proudly states. In this way, her fate has been determined by others, similarly to Elizabeth’s. This is also reminiscent of Caroline’s introduction to the Frankensteins; after her father’s death, Alphonse Frankenstein “[comes] like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who commit[s] herself to his care” (34). This manifestation of passivity equates to a lack of control in one’s own life. Later, when Justine is accused of murdering William, she once again leaves it up to others to decide her fate: “I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt, I must be condemned” (85). She places her life in the hands of the friends who testify on her behalf and the judges who will vote, offering only a weak defense of her innocence. Once she is found guilty, the pastor “threaten[s] and menace[s] [her], until [she] almost [begins] to think that [she is] the monster that he [says she is]” (88). She is swayed by the pastor to do the unthinkable, to confess to a sin of which she is not guilty. On account of her passivity, Justine is influenced to commit the shameful sin of lying.

Beyond the individual characters, Frankenstein is at its core a story about neglecting women and not allowing them to fulfill their role in creating life. By producing the creature without the use of the female body, Frankenstein defies the natural order of the world and consequently becomes “insensible to the charms of nature… Winter, spring, and summer [pass] away during [his] labours; but [he does] not watch the blossom or the expanding leaves… so deeply [is he] engrossed in [his] occupation” (56-57). He disregards women, thus disregarding the natural way of creating life, and essentially disregarding nature, an act as sinful as it gets for Romantics. If not already clear, this is made abundantly so when the creature is first born: “His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but [Frankenstein] did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain [him], but [he] escaped and rushed downstairs” (59). This behavior — smiling and reaching out (non-maliciously) — mirrors the way a baby acts towards his or her mother, the first person to receive and care for him or her. Frankenstein is unable to fill this role himself, and his mistake is fatal. The creature begins life without a family and must navigate adolescence on his own. He describes his first days of life to Frankenstein: “A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the same time; and it was indeed a long time before I learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses” (105). Again, this behavior illustrates the early days of a newborn’s life. The creature continues to grow from this state of infancy but at a rapidly accelerated pace. He soon learns about sleep, hunger, and thirst, as well as the danger of fire, after he places his hand inside the flame for warmth. He must learn all of this through trial and error, while human babies have parents, specifically mothers, to help them through the process. He even learns about love not from a mother but from the De Laceys, by observing Agatha’s father smiling at her “with such kindness and affection that [he] [feels] sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature… a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as [he] [has] never before experienced” (111). These are feelings that one typically first experiences with a mother, but the creature is never exposed to them prior to this moment. With no family of his own, the creature calls the De Laceys his “protectors” and considers them to be “superior beings, who would be the arbiters of [his] future destiny” (117), much in the same way that children idolize their parents and expect them to shape their future. His desperate search for a family proves how beneficial it is for life to begin in the presence of parents. The creature hears “how all the life and cares of the mother [are] wrapped up in the precious charge” and realizes that “no mother [has] blessed [him] with smiles and caresses,” leaving him to wonder “what [is he]?” (123-124). Without a mother or other relation, he has no idea who, or what, he is; mothers are thus integral to one’s identity. In time, the creature discovers Frankenstein’s identity and cries to him, “you were my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness than to him who had given me life?” (141). He feels utterly rejected and alone, and blames his creator. But this is only the explicit abandonment; the more significant abandonment is the creature’s lack of a mother, or Frankenstein’s decision to give the monster life but withhold a mother from him. It is ultimately this sense of abandonment and the consequent rage that lead the monster to evil and cause him to seek revenge on humanity through murder. Frankenstein is thus a novel about the dangers of men bypassing women.

Even the creature is a male character and is thus susceptible to this chauvinism. In demanding that Frankenstein create a female monster like him, he proves himself willing to subject another to his fate. He says, “I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself… we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless, and free from the misery I now feel… neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us again” (148). He has predetermined her fate: they will move to South America, live off of nuts and fruit, sleep on dried leaves, and both will be content but never happy. Much like Frankenstein with regard to Elizabeth, the creature does not stop to think that a female monster might not agree to live out his fantasy, let alone tolerate being around him. Frankenstein, however, does consider this possibility, and worries that she may be “ten thousand times more malignant than her mate and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness” (170). What finally drives him to refuse the creature’s request is the fear that they would want children and that “a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror” (170-171). Frankenstein destroys the female creature with his own hands, “trembling with passion” (171). This image of him ripping a woman apart speaks volumes. He is terrified to create a female monster capable of birthing children, and it is thus the reproductive power of women that scares him and that serves as the basis of the novel.

At first glance, the lack of women, specifically strong, complex women, in Frankenstein is obvious. However, upon further examination of the book’s plot and message, it is revealed that the main storyline of the novel can be distilled into men bypassing women and attempting to take the female reproductive responsibility into their own hands. The ultimate results of this betrayal of nature — the deaths of William, Justine, Alphonse, Clerval, Elizabeth, Frankenstein, and the monster — are catastrophic. Perhaps it is in this subtle way that Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin’s influences are present in Shelley’s masterpiece.

 

Works Cited

Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Penguin Classics, 2005.

 

Dinah’s Voice Must Always Be Heard; A Speech Examining Vayishlach (Genesis 34) Through A Feminist Lens

Hi! Thank you all for coming today, it means a lot to me and my family. So, a bunch of things happen in this portion, but today, I will be focusing mainly on Dinah’s story, which by the way, is a total misnomer because she has no voice in this story. So, a quick recap for all of you who have zoned out for the last thirty minutes, Dinah’s story goes like this. Once upon a time, Dinah, the only named daughter of Ya’akov and Leah, went walking in search of other girls in the land of Chamor. Shechem, Chamor’s son, “vayikach Dina” — or “takes” her. What happens after she has been taken, is debated. Some say it is rape, but others say it is a “humbling” of Dinah. Shechem then begs his father to make it so Dinah will be his wife. Chamor approaches Ya’akov with a proposition: if you let us take your daughter as a wife to Shechem, we will give you anything you want. They also propose that their families or “tribes” should intermarry. To do this, Chamor will give Ya’akov all the Chamorite daughters in return for all of Israelite women. Sounds fair, right? Ya’akov willingly passes off the decision making to his sons Shimon and Levi. The now very angry sons agree to Chamor’s request under one term, all the men in Chamor’s tribe must get circumcised. Chamor agrees to this unusual request. Now, the Torah is careful to note that the brothers make their deal with guile. This comes up again when the brothers decide to avenge Dinah, or rather to avenge their family’s name. They launch a surprise attack on Chamor’s tribe, killing all the Chamorite men while they are in pain from being circumcised in adulthood. Shimon and Levi also steal all their belongings and women. Ya’akov gets terrified that the brothers’ actions will cause other people to retaliate against him and his family, and therefore decides to move far away. The story ends with Dinah’s brothers answering “Should they have treated our sister like a prostitute?” I guess they have no regrets.

Okay! One thing that stood out to me was the verb vayikach or “and he took.” This is the same verb that is used when someone takes an object or a man arranges for a woman to become his wife. In biblical society, to take a woman as one would take an object is just normal. That being said, to take a woman without her father’s consent, as in Dinah’s case, would be a culturally unacceptable occurrence. Shechem didn’t initially ask Ya’akov’s permission to “take” Dinah. So Shimon and Levi felt the need to go after Chamor’s family not out of love for their sister, but rather because Shechem committed a property crime against Ya’akov and his family. During the negotiation with Chamor, Dinah has absolutely no say in what happens to her. Instead, her brothers decide to avenge the infringement of their ownership of their sister by stealing some more women from Chamor and killing all of the men in Chamor’s tribe. This stealing does not necessarily imply rape, but it does imply that women can be traded and given and treated as objects rather than thinking people. All of this is reported with limited criticism of Shimon and Levi’s actions. That’s a problem. While most of us would agree that some kind of consequence is needed for Shechem’s actions, Dinah’s brothers’ actions are not morally superior and demonstrate no greater respect for women and their sister. Before I talk about how this reflects on our society today, I would like to make it clear that I’m am not saying that direct sexual violence and the broader objectification of women are of the same magnitude. They’re not. But, a society that normalizes the objectification of woman is one that is less likely to condemn sexual violence or not even recognize it as such.

This set of hypocritical attitudes about the justification of misogynistic behaviors is prevalent in today’s world. Just as the taking of Dinah and the stealing of the Schehemite women are both instances of the objectification of women, we see that many men think it’s fine for them to exploit women in small or large ways, but when their peers do the same, it’s not acceptable. Over a year ago, footage was released of Donald Trump talking to Billy Bush about being able to sexually aggress against women without consequence because he’s a wealthy media star. This gave many people another reason to despise Mr. Trump. While some of his fellow politicians condemned the disgraceful way Trump acts and talks, they did not frame it as societal backwardness; instead, they proudly stated, I would be offended if these comments, behaviors, or attitudes were aimed at MY daughter, MY wife, MY mother, MY women. These statements, while appearing to be honorable and a step in the right direction, still perpetuate the idea that women can only be considered in relation to men and objects of men and are important because of their connection to a man.

Vay’aneha — the verb after the first use of vayikach has several meanings, and that is where the debate over what happened to Dinah spurs from. A common translation of this word is that Dinah was violated. But what does violate mean? One understanding is that Dinah was sexually violated, or raped. The second more conservative approach is that Dinah was violated because Shechem did not ask the permission of Ya’akov before taking Dinah. Both interpretations reflect poorly on how their society treats women. The fact is that we have no clue what happened because Dinah has no voice in the story! She has no voice in being taken, in the negotiation with Chamor, or in the decision made by her brothers to attack Shechem. She is merely the object that is under dispute. No matter how you approach the story, one part or another is unsettling or disturbing. If you think Dinah got raped, that’s disturbing, if you think the brothers’ actions were uncalled for, that’s disturbing, if you think that there are lots of patriarchal attitudes engraved in, the fact that this is a religion and community that many people rely on for answers and we look up to these patriarchal ideas, is disturbing. And the feeling that I am left with is something is really, really wrong and that needs to change!

For millennia, the voices of women and others who have been sexually assaulted have been suppressed. As I’m saying these words, many women are speaking up about their experiences with sexual violence and the effects a patriarchal society has had on them. But right now, we’re standing in midst of a cultural and socio-sexual hurricane. It’s taken thousands of years for Dinah’s voice to finally be heard. From this discussion, I don’t want you to only take away the fact that our culture is woven in with stale and ancient thoughts relating to women. As a society, we are working on changing. Even though certain laws and leaders seem to be trying to roll things back, the amount of attention and conversations that come out of today’s movements are the preliminary step to a change in societal thinking. It’s our responsibility to learn from the wrongdoings that are described in the Torah and the wrongs that are perpetuated by the way that the story is told, and make sure that Dinah’s voice will always be heard.

 

798

798 could still feel the scalding breath of Krohn, his landlord, on the hairs of his neck, but he was a Sentien, so he could be hundreds of feet behind him without 798 ever knowing. In the cramped apartment, he ran, though the possibility of such a distance was barely even possible. Sentiens were one of the many beasts from the surrounding landscapes that were forced into an urban environment due to pressure from governmental resource agencies. They were one of the better-off species, but you couldn’t say they were doing as well as most.

798 didn’t have the will to look back either, and it wasn’t just because there wasn’t going to be any aesthetically pleasing sights there. After his escape, Krohn would be glad his building at least had insurance, if nothing else. Row upon row of microchips barely poking out of hulking rectangular boxes, known to the world as Digimail receivers, blurred past 798 in a neon frenzy. They funneled him towards the once-ornate Portal to the outside world, and his ScanChip couldn’t have been more tightly gripped.

But there was a scrape. And then a claw. A thick ooze began to cover his leg, unmistakably coming from Krohn’s coagulant-producing pores — an intoxicating, dripping, suffocating ooze. 798 cursed himself for not remembering that evolved Sentiens never forgot their primitive ways. He trudged through the alien slime, but the more that he tried, only greater amounts seemed to appear. His face poured perspiration, and his throat became a dry, heaving pipe. The Portal was so close — and then he felt Krohn’s three ugly fingers descend upon his leg. 798 stopped. There was no use in fighting, but he didn’t want to look behind him at a face that said, Guess how high next month’s rent is going to be. He didn’t need to. The face came to him, or what Sentiens regarded as a face. It was as ugly as his failure of an escape.

Krohn heavily inhaled, and his grasp turned into a grip that demanded attention. “Seven.” A raspy exhale, followed by a rather desperate intake of air. “Nine.” The scales felt as if they were sliding into his skin, constricting his calf and making 798 wonder how such a feat could even be possible. He groaned in pain as Krohn released the full power of a Sentien’s morning breath upon him. “EIGHHHTTT.” It sounded like some sort of curse, the way he put it. “Your rent will always catch up to you, and so will your good buddy, Krohn, you Kirdral-”

798 was just as astonished as his landlord was, yet he was still too paralyzed to even say a word. A stop in the middle of such a sentence was something no one did just because they felt like it, especially not an angered Sentien. The malicious grin disappeared from his face, and his tight hold on 798 went completely slack. He began an obnoxious stroll down the dark halls of his high rise. Krohn looked back on his shareholder with a distaste that was anything but pitiful, and merely said, “Have a nice time getting yourself out of that.” And then he disappeared.

He did get himself “out of that” (with some improvised scraping), and now he was in a slightly better position (lying on his mattress, staring up at the Feels 2.3). The square machine had created a mixture of mostly conflicting deep scarlets and throbbing blues, and a rich violet where they met. 798 sighed with annoyance. Why did he ever spend his money on such a poorly-manufactured piece of marketing? He flipped to the sweaty crater his body had made in the cot, where the only color was darkness.

Just like the visual display engulfing his illegally-zoned Cube, though, 798’s thoughts persisted in a dance of deception. His income rudely side-stepped in front of his location, which was having a passionate argument with his horrible job, and his lack of knowledge marched in front of them all, trying to prove its superiority. But Krohn’s surprising behavior from earlier that day stole the show, doing cartwheels and leaps at the very tip of the stage, crying out to be seen. It was a disaster.

798’s mind decided to file through all of the possibilities of what the morning’s rather odd conundrum could have meant. Krohn could have just choked on a piece of something that had contributed to his usual mouth stench, or maybe he didn’t want to offend his delicate relationship he had with his tenants. Almost immediately, 798 pushed away those thoughts, though — Sentiens were widely known for their ability to digest mostly anything (something that particularly disturbed 798 from time to time), and Krohn cared about his tenants about as much as his diet. As long as Bits were being handed to him at regular intervals, he could be almost as happy as he was back in the wilderness. 798 forced the nagging thought into the back of his mind. He secretly hoped that one day, Krohn would be as irrelevant as the Feels 2.3 itself.

798 slogged his way through the morning routine. He shouldn’t have been, of course, for he was already going to be late to the factory. There was still a few sick hours on his side, though, and 798 was willing to sacrifice them even if it meant being demoted. The closer to being kicked out of the system altogether, the better. It meant a lower employment ranking in his Status, but not as detrimental as quitting.

798 had already gone through the high-rise’s facilities rooms earlier that morning, leaving him with nothing to do but stuff his DigiCard into his pocket, grab his Serellian knapsack, and head onto the balcony. There lay his Board, concealed from the public by an InvisiDome. He had had an InvisiFilm installed in his retina, making it so that only he could view inside of the Domes he placed. His sneakers, one by one, gripped the polished metal. 798 braced himself. The Board’s straps automatically connected, securing him to it and revving up the mechanical components. And then he was off, floating into the cavernous depths of the great web of a city. 798 didn’t even take note of his balcony entrance, wide open to the world.

The civilization of Krenst couldn’t be described in one word. It was the home to not thousands, but millions of intergalactic species, sprawling with their own unique types of homes, businesses, and entertainment (the last one usually required an extra amount of searching.) Bridges spanned from sector to sector, providing various modes of transportation for wherever you were going — but it wasn’t as if there were no questions asked. Not only Krenst, but the entire galaxy as well had one go-to policy: no ScanChip, no cigar. Virtually anywhere or anything required the small, easily forgotten piece of technology to be had.

798’s city made anywhere or anything look small, though. With its limitations, Krenst made almost anything that a five-year old could imagine possible. Among the many topics that the metropolis advertised were skyscraper-high travels above it via glass tubes, buffets of alien cuisine that you could swim in, and even a chance to challenge another city goer with the latest MechSuit. You would often find this out through the gargantuan holograms spanning the height of a high-rise, or the occasional shady character down on what Krenst inhabitants liked to call the “forest floor.”

All of the sudden, 798 had arrived. Speaking of advertising, he had to get back to his job: essentially a delivery boy/salesperson for the exotic snack company widely known as Kekutama, nothing even subtly impressive. Their company bore the mascot of an all too-happy human, put into a caricature that blushingly held out a pile of their popular kekutens. 798 despised it. He easily folded his Board into a pod no larger than his head, having arrived at the docking place for employees no less than a few krenektiks ago — Krenst’s way of tracking the time. He easily dropped the Board into his bag, which suctioned itself around it. 798 approached the welcome desk. It shone with a dull office light, but a startlingly bright pink face appeared via swivel chair in front of him. The face’s name was Yannik, and 798 had always dreaded the day when he would be greeted by her.

“Hi! And who are you then, young man?”

The condescending tone was dripping with cheeriness and an overdose of high-and-mightiness.

“Rayn Herron, Yannik.” 798 made sure to stress the last two syllables.

“Ohhh. Why it’s the delivery boy, isn’t it? Well, you can just head on over to the SpecScan as usual, honneyyy…”

798 visibly cringed at the end of the remark and barely nodded his head as he relieved himself at the nearest SpecScan. He held his ScanChip at the ready, glad that he at least didn’t have to exchange conversation with the grim face of one of Kekutama’s minimally-paid guards. The assembly line made its way into 798’s vision as he dodged the other workers around the bends and in the hallways, eager to receive the best deal he could get for the afternoon’s handouts.

A sharp left revealed the dull, low-ceilinged expanse of the Kekutama factory. For all of its public glory, there wasn’t much else to say about the company rather than the eccentrically toxic taste of its most popular snack. Two red signs hung by chains as low as they could go without hitting any of the employees: Shipments and Deliveries/Promotions. Several identical kiosks stood beneath the second one- each with its own cheery, bubbly vendor that gave you about as much attention as any passerby on the forest floor did. Just like Yannik, 798 thought. But that was what he always thought.

After he had received the kekutens and all of the sales promotion they could stuff in his face, it was a quick trip for 798 out of the factory. He had a suggested order for deliveries, but when he saw that the first one was nearly out of his sector, it immediately delivered itself to the nearest incinerator 798 could find without getting off of his board. He hugged the barely wrapped box next to his ribcage. It was lighter than his payroll.

His first destination, he decided, would be Trenkle — only a quaint, tucked away district like itself could cheer him up and out of the mood he was already in. It was an easy ride on the Board, one that made him wonder why the others didn’t get one themselves. It was a queer thing in itself, but today he particularly wondered about it. As he made his way through the entanglement of manufactured metal that was Krenst, 798 thought more deeply than he ever had about it — why did the other workers seem to just drone about, delivering their packages along the same route every day that he worked with them?

He was reluctant to push something else to the corner of his brain, but he couldn’t avoid the pressing reality of his job. He felt as if the thoughts were ready to burst out at any moment of their hiding places, if he didn’t get around to actually considering them sooner or later. 798 rarely spaced out on his delivery trips. They required a lot of attention, and a single wrong turn could mean anything from a head first crash into a building window to one into another Boarder. Neither was pretty. Yet here he was, the recent haze of his thoughts beginning to dissipate and give way to the immediacy of his location. 798 recognized the travel-by-air sign to Trenkle, but not his surroundings. The buildings were still towering, the bridges continued to be long, and the people around him ceased to be polite in the given way that Trenklites are. None of this should even be remotely true, 798 thought. Then again, he had never taken the time to explore the district as much as he could. More InfoScreens appeared, in many manners of size and importance, and they all unmistakably told the same story. 798 could be no closer to where he needed to be. With a sigh, he swooped down below to the avenues of the supposed Trenkle, but this was one more thought that begged not to be pushed away. He paced towards the nearest gold-printed set of letters he could find. More often than not they meant a Unit building, and 798 prayed that his mentality would be saved. He brushed through the grim crowd, and peering into the shining doorway the hopeful words Trenkle 879 illuminated his eyesight. He nearly whooped in excitement. The Portal guard looked strangely at 798, and inquired with a stony face, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to show me your ScanChip.”

“Oh! Um, I mean, here it is… sir.” 798 awkwardly reached into his knapsack, struggling to produce the square card in a fashionable manner. “Here it is, sir, I mean, here’s my shtipcan… ” he blurted nervously, then mentally scorned his stupidity.

The guard raised an eyebrow that managed to peek above his opaque glasses. For a second, 798 wondered why the guard would even need them — only one of the planet’s three suns was visible on an overcast day like today. Then again, maybe it was just another one of those strange “security measures” Krenst buried the authority in.

“Mmmm… a satisfactory. Well, it’s viable. Reason for entry?” the guard pushed.

“Well, sir, I’m a delivery boy for, um, Kekuten, you see.”

798 held out the grubby packages and tried to glorify them as much as possible, but he would have to find a better title than delivery boy sooner or later. The age label suggested by Kekuten’s workers annoyed the Krong out of him.

“Okay then.”

798 wondered what those mysterious eyes were doing behind the film of the glasses.

“Proceed to entrance.”

He confidently inserted his ScanChip into the scanner and waited for the light of the translucent box to flash green. But the ScanChip just stayed there. It was almost as if it was frozen in time, transfixed in the machine, never to be processed. 798 waited for the comfort that the access of his ScanChip gave him, but none came.

He scratched his neck nervously. “Huh.”

He looked at the guard for consolation, but only received a harsh and suspecting glare, if sunglasses could be harsh and suspecting. 798 gulped, and the saliva almost refused to go down. And when the scanner made the buzzing denial of a defect, it didn’t help his look when the saliva went the other way up, sending him sputtering and red-eyed in front of the guard.

“I-I’m so s-sorry-”

The guard cut him off. “Get out. Now.”

“Sir, p-plea-”

“I said get out!”

But before the guard could practically push 798 back onto the sparkling, well-kept streets of a so-called Trenkle without his delivery boxes, a magnificent lady appeared in the Portal.

“No need, sirs. I’ll be taking the boxes.”

She had on a flowing sapphire-and-ivory dress and was wearing heels that 798 could’ve sworn were cut from pure jade. She had a deep black complexion, darker than the pure of midnight, and milky white eyes with perfectly piercing, green eyes set in the middle. Her hair was a bush of perfectly manicured, springy curls just as black as her skin. 798 was lost for words. He blinked a few times to see if maybe he was in some sort of haze, but every time he did so, he was only more taken aback by her beauty. She looked at both of them with pursed lips that twisted into little upward corners at their ends. The guard saluted her.

“Miss Moise.”

She was royalty, except she didn’t even need the crown. The lady returned the greeting with a nod.

“Robert,” she said curtly, then stooped down to pick up the boxes.

For a second, 798 thought maybe he was staring at her for a little too long, because she stole a glance directly at him, and her pupils seemed to slice into his soul. But then she went back to the boxes, and almost stepped through the portal, but halted in front of it.

“Oh,” she said. “And thank you, Rayn.”

It was like 798 had fallen off of his Board in the midst of a Channel, tumbling down to the city’s common streets with a sudden lurch. She’d said it as plain as day, too — his very own first name. 798 would’ve run after her, babbling like a madman. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the words to do so. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he did notice one more thing about the mysterious woman. On her ebony heel, just as it was lifted from the jade of the sandal, he saw three ivory numbers inked in stern contrast: 346.

798 ran from the establishment with a ripping ferocity, tearing through the throng of supposed Trenklites and onto the Channel release dock. He practically threw the Board on the metal and immediately commanded it to hover. He stepped on the machine before it could even analyze the order. Without thinking, he headed to the nearest restaurant entrance, pushed himself onto the landing pad, and laid down. He breathed, once. Twice. And then three times. 798 was about to indulge in what all this could possibly mean for the meager four years of his life he remembered, but the monotone voice of a Zitza employee greeted him from the Channel-Serv speaker behind him.

“Hello, how can I help you today? Don’t forget our newest special, Zitza Twirls. They come in flavored packaging!”

Startled, 798  spoke the first thing off the top of his head. “I’ll… um… I’ll have a Zitza Pie Special.”

798 was so frazzled that he forgot to even say please. He could almost imagine the anonymous employee raising her eyebrow behind the customer speaker.

“Mmkay, head to the Zitza-Serv counter and pay 15.5 Bits. Thank you. Next customer?”

798 sighed. Did he even have the money to pay for such an item? He scrounged his pockets, producing 10.2 Bits in a heap of multicolored squares, circles, and triangles. He could use his ScanChip account, but that would cut into his meager savings from his Kekuten income once per krenek. His job. He did have to get back to that, didn’t he? 798 was startled by the blaring voice of a customer behind him. The voice seemed to barrel towards him in boastful rage.

“Hey, c’mon, man! There’s more in this city than you!”

Taken aback by the throatiness that accompanied the statement, 798 didn’t have to force himself to move forward to the Zitza-Serv counter. A hologram of what was probably the woman behind the speaker appeared in a grimy Serv’s uniform. “Produce method of payment into receiver, and wait for order to appear.”

The lady’s hands seemed to be working at something unseen beyond the holoscreen, and 798 guessed that his pie hadn’t exactly been receiving the most thought before he had come to the counter. Oh well. The holoscreens gave Servs an eternity to work on the actual meal and talk while they didn’t have to appear in the flesh, probably causing for some “You’re fired!” worthy material.

He glanced at the rectangular edges of the Scan Chip and thought about what he would have to make up for using it for the pie. He shouldn’t even be buying food during work hours, especially not when lunch had already passed. He reluctantly inserted it into the receiver, wincing as the numbers were displayed boldly in red lettering on the display. He hadn’t even known that he’d already had a negative amount due in his account, and this sort of deficit wasn’t exactly helping.

Before the machine could lock onto his ScanChip for further examination at the counter, 798 ripped it out of the receiver with blood rushing to his ears. They couldn’t find out, not now, not now, not now. Suddenly, a steaming sack of extremely low-grade Zitza appeared at the counter.

“Thank you for your business. Sir, could you insert your ScanChip?” The Serv pushed in an assertive voice that 798 was nearly taken aback by.

But 798 had already snatched the bag, hopped on his Board, and zoomed out of the filthy building, not stopping to be reprimanded by the Zitza-Servs. He didn’t stop until he was out of what he thought was Trenkle, the business of the city behind him, and only the barrier between him and the Outlands. His heart rate began to slow, and he stopped near an unoccupied fence of a Registrator. He finally tapped the Board with his foot once, lowering it to the ground. 798 stared mindlessly at the bright, glowing screen of the Registrator.

“Registrate yourself today and enjoy a spectacular wilderness safari filled with wonderful animals and experiences in the Outlands!” the speaker below the Registrator’s screen blared out, amplified by the silence of this part of the city limits.

On a day like today, only a few schooling groups would come out here on some city-sponsored trip, but other than that, there was barely anyone that could find the time to come into the Outlands during the Krekten. During the Krektend, however, the Registrators were practically glitching out because of everyone that was pushing in front of one another to get to the next Outlands transport. What the Registrators didn’t tell them was the surprising percentage of animals that were illegally imported and didn’t actually live in the Outlands, nor the nearly abusive tactics that were used to keep them from wandering off into the wilderness.

798 suddenly remembered his Zitza Pie and, without thinking, scarfed it down. He hadn’t noticed how cold it had already become, or how hungry he had grown during his incredible escapade away from his work. Remembering what he had really set out to do in the first place — actually deliver Kekutens — he checked the CNow on his wrist. 3:46. He nearly choked on his Zitza. He immediately stuffed down the rest of it the best he could while rushing his Board’s reboot system, and was zipping past Trenkle’s limits in record time. Not that he’d ever tried to before. He’d never been this late for the daily collection of unsold Kekutama boxes, which also heralded him being passed through the SpecScan again, which didn’t spell out satisfied for Yannik and the rest of the employees at the Kekutama facility. When one of them was the unlucky one to have to stay behind just for a single worker that wasn’t on time, there was no doubt that they would report it to the head managers immediately. 798 was already 46 Krentiks behind.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, mister?”

That was just one of the many retorts that whizzed past 798 as he broke every speed limit ever to exist on Krenst’s many Channels. There were only twelve more of them to pass before he reached the main drag that the Kekuten facility was located at, and he didn’t want to see himself waiting for a stoplight anytime soon. Almost like karma, a flashing red strobe appeared immediately above 798’s head, but he took no notice of it, not wanting to think of the consequences. But as soon as he heard the wailing siren behind him, and the authoritarian voice of a Channel Surveyor, he knew his wrong.

798 quickly surveyed his surroundings. From here, there were a few alleys he could duck into, but they would only stretch out his escape from the Surveyor, not prevent it. And then he remembered. Left on Krenst Main, three Channels forward, a right on Fourth Street, and then another six channels forward. There’s a cove for the Outlandish, an old bar that the locals go nuts for. Go in there, where the cops won’t. 798’s mind was still hazy and unfocused with the memory of the employee he had met so long ago, and struggled to remember his name. A red nametag flashed across his mind. A light turned green. The Surveyor’s voice got louder, and louder, and louder, until it seemed that they were shouting directly into 798’s ear. Hi, my name — 798 started in the direction of the Outlandish, blankly. Is Ris — a turn on Quick Street. A honking vehicle in front of 798’s face. — Car.

Riscar.

Hi, my name is Riscar.

There was a blinking Outlandish sign in front of 798’s in jagged, unruly letters. The Surveyor was practically mectometers away from 798. He dashed inside without thinking, blending in with the outside crowd, and then disappeared into the dark, dark, alleyway.  

The Outlandish wasn’t actually in the alleyway itself — it was to the side, with the identical logo sprawling above a decrepit door frame. 798 entered and wondered immediately if the Outlandish was even an actual place. There was nothing where he was standing. Just nothing. It was nearly pitch-black inside, save for an actual candle standing on the simplest nightstand 798 had ever seen. The candle burned with authenticity and not the harsh glow produced by the blaring displays of the outside world. It held down a curled, burnt piece of what looked like parchment, which was halfway covered in a puddle of wax. There were some names on the parchment, none of which 798 knew. A voice came from the midst of the darkness, startling him and raising the hair on his spine.

“So you want to get into the Outlandish, punk?”

 

Chateaux

 

As a corpse might recall

fingers of moonlight tangling gossamer

heavy with silence

 

the rapture of her hair,

its sleepless flow

 

How the dusk so idly threw its shadow on the terrace of water-rose!

 

making a cathedral of her mouth

 

fine spatters of sapphire draw hosts of young and orphic roses

like a god with vast indigo eyes

 

I would speak of idyllic flesh

how my masochism is bliss!

 

Insolence forever bordeaux

Familiar against silk throats

 

The Masked Player

          

Without discernible misery

The masked player strides in

 

Confidence exuding in wavering streams

The curtain lifts to uncover

So many gleaming faces

Apprehensive

Staring, focused, and joyful

The masked player does not move

 

Bewilderment tightens the air

The excitement bottled and compressed

The masked player waits

 

Knows the power he holds

Over the still crowd

The grand flourish!

And the excitement frees!
Laughing, they are relieved, the mirth is released

To the masked player’s silent satisfaction

 

The hot lights shine with an intangible force

Following and revealing

The masked player subtly flees their gaze

 

And the play begins

The crowd marvels and coos

Then gasps and sighs

They are pushed and pulled

The audience draws in a ragged breath

Gasps once more and falls to tears

A tale of heartbreak unrivaled

The masked player grins

 

The audience weeps — such sorrow and pain!

What a godforsaken man!

The masked player basks in the emotion

 

Then the curtain falls

The tears are dried and left in the theater

The play is now a play

And nothing more

A point for a study

And nothing more

An abstract fabrication

And nothing more

And nothing more

The masked player bows his head

 

The spell has been broken on the crowd

As they now critique the fiction

The masked player pushes away backstage

 

Relieved of the visceral sadness

Gone from the immediate pain

The crowd’s melancholy is allayed

A smile turns the corners of their mouths

And they wish not the play’s tragedy

Upon their worst enemy

Glad the clever actor had simply worn a mask

The masked player leaves the theater

 

He does not remove his mask

In the darkened night

 

He does not remove his mask

Arriving at his dismal house

 

He does not remove his mask

Shuffling up the crumbling stairs

 

He does not remove his mask

Passing pictures of dead friends

 

He does not remove his mask

Staring disgustedly in the grimy mirror

 

He does not remove his mask

For there is no mask to remove

 

Without any discernible misery

The masked player shuffles off

 

Moral Transformation

 

He was no longer lost in space

His childhood gone at life’s behest

As he grew, a change in pace

To grow, to make money, to beat out the rest

 

And so the chuckling cherubim

Fluffed their wings and smirked

Persevered, or so it seemed

And refused to slack, refused to shirk

 

And soon he reached the shining heights

And the suited angels stopped and stared

He had achieved his goals and reached the lights

And taken all that he once shared

 

For a fight was raging, hard and long

And a moral split between

Who is to say which one was wrong?

Simple white against alluring sheen?

 

But the fiery one emerged aloft

Blood-red trident reached overhead

Plunging into snow white wings, soft

But draining, now, and dead

 

And as the man revealed himself

Tentatively, unsure, uncertain

Locked the loser in a shelf

Hid behind sanguine curtains

 

But the cherubim all simply smiled

Luscious wings began to shrink, gnarly horns began to rise

Anger rubbed off caution, corrupted and wild

All had made the transformation, and each one dropped their guise

 

Stigma

                           

You know that feeling when some days, we wake up and we just don’t want to get out of bed? So bedridden that sometimes, it even hurts to breathe.

What’s the point of all this?

Why do I have to get out of bed and put myself out there into a world that doesn’t feel?

But the feelings are strong. We can all feel it.

Or can we?

Maybe the person to my right can feel it, but not everyone is so lucky. Only some of us know what pain feels like. When somebody sticks a knife through you, or better yet, fifteen. But you don’t see what’s on the inside, because you are not me. It’s a constant battle inside. Like your mom, brother, sister, cat, dog died, but it doesn’t go away. It can’t go away.

When the stigma says “get over it.” It’s like a joke or even worse, a tease. Don’t you think if I could, I would?

I’m sorry I don’t want to do anything. Just leave me alone. I’m tired of it making me get the image of jumping off a bridge.

It’s always like you have to be happy, you know?

Do I need to if I can’t? Is that how it works? Can I just decide to be happy?

Like it’s my choice to feel this constant pit of emptiness inside of me?

The fact is, I don’t even know why I’m angry. I just am. I’m sad not because I want to. It’s because I just am. It’s like when somebody turns on and off a light switch.

Because, the word ‘’stigma’’ defines us as some little kid’s entertainment. You know: on, off, on, off.

We need help, but you just don’t see it. You’re so caught up in this fog, that you are blinded by this stigma that makes me feel worthless. I need help.

Or do I?

I hadn’t noticed these cuts and scratches on my body. Have you ever looked at them as anything  besides disappointment? Have you ever just thought for a second how much pain one can be going through? Really, look at them. To you, I may just seem as one who is “attention seeking.” No.

They may just look like random lines and scars, but they tell a story. They tell my story.  A story that I could not put in words. I just couldn’t, and why can’t you understand that?

Remember that day when I didn’t come to school and I told you I was sick?

You didn’t ask why.

Maybe it was better that way, to ask absolutely nothing, to stay completely silent.  Because depression is not always obvious. Nobody walks around with a tag around their neck that reads, “Hello, I’m OCD.”  I don’t walk around saying that my name is Anxiety. And you most certainly do not walk around with a name tag that says, ‘’The World’s Prettiest Girl.”

Remember the day you asked if I was okay?

Well, when I went home that day, you texted me a heart. I think we both knew what happened or what had happened, already happened. What gave it away?

Was it the letter, signed with my name? Or was it the knife on the kitchen counter?

I bet you thought it was just a “phase.” I bet you thought it was just a “mood.” No.

It’s a freaking disease that requires help. When someone has lung cancer, are they crazy? So why should we be labeled in that category?

I didn’t choose to be depressed or angry.

Did you see my footprints in the snow as I ran home as fast as I could? I was alone through every bit of it.

“Why me?” I ask myself everyday as I stare into that filthy mirror.

I tried to kill myself.

But, something, someone inside of me whispered, “don’t.”

I don’t want this “thing” to define me. Will I ever get better? Fifteen years too long. Fifteen years too young. More than a precious life ahead of me.

I am too young. I can’t go back to where I was before. It’s not pretty or happy or in any way, shape, or form easy. It’s not easy.

But I’m doing better. And everyday that’s ahead of me, I continue to do better than the day before. But I’m going to need some help. And now, I’m not afraid to reach out, because I know that I am just like every other person in this world. Normal and unique.

I hate the word “schizo.” It’s not nice. Are schizophrenic people crazy to you? Is that what you think?

Whatever happened to being a “leader” rather than a follower?

I hate that depressed people are labeled as losers, emo, or crazy. I hate that when you ask someone what’s the first word that comes to your mind when you hear the word “mental hospital.” Why is it “crazy people” or “the addicts”? “Drug dealers” or “the insane”? Like in the movies, “insane asylum.”

I hate that we are called names that are so hurtful in ways that you can’t even understand. You just say them like gunshots heading straight for the target.

Why?

Do we look different? Because last time I checked, depression is not always obvious. Maybe it’s how society labels us as: disgusting freaks.

Why?

God damn, why?

Why us?

Guess the main question is: how did we end up as outcasts or “not important?”

And most certainly, taking medication does not mean you are weak.

And how come this stigma targets eating disorders as well?

If a girl is thin, is she anorexic?

Why put labels on our backs of the LGBTQ community too? So, to you it’s different? It’s different, right? Different, right? Different, right? Right?

Oh wait, sorry. It’s my OCD again.

They are not labels or adjectives, so stop!

I’m pretty sure it’s because we’re different? Is it?

If you can’t explain it, then keep your mouth shut.

We are tired of running and dreaming of getting hit by cars. We just want to wake up happy, but sometimes we don’t even want to wake up. Poor mental illness is a killer, but you make it worse due to your actions. Yes, you. Don’t look away, and don’t stop and stare. Don’t take a picture and post it on the media, labeling me as “mental.” Don’t freak out when you see scars on my arms. Don’t leave me when you have seen me at my worst of times.

Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not real. I don’t want to be another statistic for suicide. I don’t want to be labelled. I want to wake up and be myself. Go out into the world and not be ashamed of having depression or bipolar disorder or any other mental illness.

So, if this has to be said, it has to be said…

I am not the stigma, and I no longer want to be.

So break the silence and stop the stigma towards mental health.

 

The Savior

I realized that this world isn’t lasting forever. In 48 hours, this world would go crazy and end.

***

Suddenly, I realized who had saved me from the falling bridge. Yesterday, I was jamming to my favorite song, and suddenly, everything fell. I flew out of my car. Holding onto the cracking piece of the bridge, questions flew across my mind. A warm hand grabbed me. He pulled me up, and I was deeply breathing on the side of the bridge. I turned around. I was going to thank him and give him everything I had. But when I turned, I just saw a suspicious figure, tall with long, straight, brown hair, running away faster than the speed of light.

The wind was blowing in my face. I got back up and just replayed everything of what happened in my mind. So unexpected and fast.

I was slowly walking back. I heard the loud, scary ambulance sound and police officers calling and reporting damages. There was CNN at the corner of the bridge, talking into a big speaker. I walked past them, looking around, searching for my savior. I saw many black figures, and I didn’t know which one it could be.

That day, I ran back home, and I started to think about how I could find him.

The next day, I went to Central Park to cool off. I never realized until hours later that there was a girl next to me. She was the exact height and width that I saw that day. The hair matched perfectly.

I started to talk and start off easy, until I mentioned what happened. She was shocked and took her bag and ran away. That was the last time I saw her. I guess she wasn’t the savior the day I died. Neither was anyone else.  

 

The Rebirth Cycle

It started again. The rebirth cycle started again. Once a month, I change into another person. Different age, different height, different me. And now I am a girl, Maria, sixteen years old and living in Ohio. High school called something like New Ohio High School. I’m scared. Whatever happens, love or friendships, after a month, it’ll all go away. What did I do to deserve this? Anyway, I’m tired of this cycle. It has ruined my life in every way. I have to go, go and start this new life of mine.

***

On the way to school, I tried to avoid everyone I could. And everyone did. I looked down and never looked up to anyone. I pulled my hoodie over my head, and I sat down, silent and invisible. Feeling invisible felt good, no friendships and no love ruining my life.

“Hey, are you new?” asked someone over my shoulder.

The voice sounded sarcastic and scratchy. I turned around, and all I saw was a body full of glitter. The earrings, clothes, and lip gloss. I laid my head back into the fold my arms were in. I sat there, not moving for long enough, until she asked me again in an angry voice. I lifted my head, trying my best to keep my anger down and not let my anger make my magic out of control. The lights went out, and the teacher locked the door, assuming this was some lock down. But I knew it was my powers that turned off the lights. After my anger fled away, the lights started to flicker back on. I looked up, acting surprised so that no one assumed it was me. We all went back to our seats.

Ms. Johnson pointed to the board and started to gabble about science and chemistry. I looked back because I felt something hit my head. I heard snorts and giggles from Ms. Glitter Girl. I looked behind me, and I saw a lined paper crumpled up into a perfect, round ball. I opened it up, and there it was, written in pretty, pink cursive.

 

Don’t think I don’t know it was you who made the lights go pitch black. Have a bad day. Sincerely, The Best.

 

I ripped it up and threw it into the trash can. This boy walked over to her. I noticed his beautiful, short, curly, black hair. His blue eyes matched his precious smile. I looked down, and my hands fidgeted on my desk as I overheard his sweet, angelic voice.

“Why would you do that? I know what you wrote. You don’t even know her!”

I quickly turned my head, trying to hide my smile as the girl gave me this ugly face and rolled her eyes at me. The boy whispered something too quiet. I couldn’t hear. When he was finished, he looked at me. I wanted that moment to last forever. Our eyes met. He smiled. I smiled back. It felt special and unique. There were so many words I could put into this moment.

Ring! Ring! I stood up, as everyone else did, and I grabbed my stuff. I quickly ran to my locker. I shoved all of my chemistry books into it before they could fall out. I had to get home before anyone saw me. I went outside, and I hid behind the thin pole at the far corner of the school. I opened my backpack, and I whispered into it, “Bring me home.”

As I started to fade, I overheard his voice again saying, “You dropped your–”

He stopped and stared at me as I started to fade more. I closed my eyes as I hoped he would forget about this tomorrow.

As the next day began, I wanted to forget him. I hoped he would definitely forget too. I looked down and pulled my hoodie over my head. I went to my classes and glanced at the normies on the way. Folding my arms tight, side by side, I couldn’t stop but stare at him one more time. I tried to avoid any questions from anyone who came my way. I went into class and put my bag down. I looked around. Everyone was staring at me and the boy’s empty seat. I was scared and shocked, but I didn’t let it show. Halfway into class, he came rushing in and stared at me, not talking to me but just staring at me. I stared back at his dreamy eyes.

 

Imperfect

Prologue

A large, clean, white box sits in the middle of a deserted, gray street. It lets out a wail, and my hinges squeak towards it. I open it, and inside is a wailing child, but where a second tiny arm should be, a clean stump is there instead. I turn away. The government will hunt and kill her for her imperfection. It is a crime to be less than perfect. You could pollute others. I run the calculations through my computing system. Her chances without me lie at 0.06%. It isn’t worth it. I could be stripped for spare parts if I’m found! I take one last look at the box, and my sensors pick up a tablet. I pick it up and read.

 

This child is Lilli Morris. If you take her, you will receive a payment of 1,000 sars a month. At age 14, deliver her to lab 3.51. At that time, she will be perfect as a test subject for our weapons. Make sure she is fed and raised the way a rebel child is. This will be immensely helpful to your beloved government. Failure to do so will result in death. A tracking device has already been planted deep into your system C-13. Remember the reward will be extensive.

Signed,

Jessica and Harry Morris, Chemical Weapons Department

 

I do a scan of my anatomy and locate a tracker right next to my motherboard. Any attempt to remove it would cause me to shut down. I do a second scan and find that the tracker has explosive content, a kind that could be remotely controlled. Well it seems I have no choice. I scoop up the child, and the box and creak away to my workshop.

 

Chapter One

She peered out of the open window, looking down at the uniform, bleak buildings. No one would notice a girl leaning out the window of an abandoned church. Maybe before they would, but not now.

It was rare to see anyone looking from their screen, treacherous even. With each country’s government controlling all media and personal devices, there were hardly any independent thinkers left. And those few were forced out of society, usually they formed some sort of underground society, but those never lasted for long. She sighed and slipped on a pair of worn leather gloves and slung a bag with many pockets over her shoulders. She climbed out of the window and jumped down onto the neighboring roof, landing on practiced feet. She sprinted as if afraid of something towards the horizon. She stopped on one roof and ran to the side of the building. She grabbed the handle of the fire escape like she had done a thousand times. She swung down and climbed wearily down the metal ladder. She slipped off one of her gloves, revealing a robotic prosthetic. A metal device clicked out of her arm, and she inserted it into the lock. The window slid open. Catlike, she crawled into the drab, gray apartment. There isn’t much risk of getting caught here, she thought. At this time, all the inhabitants would be enthralled in social media, sucked into a world of machines and pixels so distant from reality that there was hardly need for sneaking. They were all so enveloped in worlds of celebrities and surveys, game shows and contests that they were hardly human anymore. However, the government cameras could be anywhere, so one could never be too careful. She snuck into the kitchen area and opened the fridge. She had to take small pieces of different things, lest the inhabitant should notice. She checked to make sure everything was in its proper place. Then she slipped out of the window, unnoticed, using the silver instruments to lock the window again. She ran along the roofs and went down yet another fire escape, this time to ground level. Checking over her shoulder, she loosened a pothole cover on the street and went down a rickety ladder and called out “Independent.” Suddenly lights turned on throughout the dark hallway, and a door slid open. The creak of hinges echoed through the hallway.

“C-13,the girl called.

“Hello, Lilli Morris, how is your prosthetic arm doing?” a robotic voice responded.

A robot stepped into the light. The robot had a metallic body dotted with rust, and as it walked towards the girl, it was clear its joints were the cause of the creaking.

“Fine, fine. How many times do I have to tell you, just call me Lilli!” the girl protested in fake annoyance, “and grease your hinges, they’re all creaky!” Suddenly, Lilli’s voice turned serious. “Have you received any information about them?”

A hint of desperation was in her voice.

“Lilli Morris, are you 100 percent sure that you want to hear the information I have received?” The robot paused. “All indicators show that they did abandon you,” C-13 said, a hint of compassion crept into his robotic monotone.

“No, I want to hear!” Lilli declared stubbornly.

“If that is what you absolutely want, then come on,” came C-13’s reply.

A sliding door opened onto a makeshift garage of sorts. An entire wall was crammed with monitors and keyboards and complex hacking equipment. C-13 flicked a switch, and with a buzz, the monitors came alive.

“Here is the information I have on the whereabouts of your parents.”

Lilli held her breath.

“They are working for the government in their secret base located in sector 15, Lab 3.51. They are both working as scientists, developing chemical weapons and poisons for the conflict between the United confederation of 50, and the Rebels.”

“Wait, they’re working for the government?” Lilli exclaimed, shock embedded in her words. She knew of the horrors the government had inflicted upon anyone who was different. “No, that can’t be! They’re probably being held against their will,” she said defiantly. “I must find them!”

“My calculations indicate that due to your stubbornness and desire for human contact, I cannot do anything to stop you,” C-13 pronounced sadly. He handed her a nano display. “The coordinates are here… Goodbye, Lilli Morris,” C-13 said sadly.

She ran out, and C-13 looked at her, a flicker of regret crossing his robotic gaze if that was possible. She ran to the fire escape and swiftly climbed up. She ran along the roofs and slid down into the open window of the abandoned church. She shoved a few belongings and some food into a bag then picked up a small hologram. She fingered it gently, running her fingers along the display disk, staring down at her parents. Lilli slung her bag over her shoulders, ran up onto the roof, and broke into a steady run. No one cared enough to see the girl running across the horizon.

She stopped for a moment, taking a break from the steady jog she had maintained for the past hour. She leaped down into a alley and a voice greeted her.

“Another useless human lifeform. What a waste of space.”

Into the light emerged a faded, gray humanoid robot with aperture eyes and a disapproving frown. One of the robot’s legs was longer than the other, and the resulting limp echoed around the alley. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. To Lilli’s surprise, the robot flickered. Noticing the look of shock on Lilli’s face, the robot explained.

“I used to be able to turn invisible. However, I am in low power mode, so it comes on and off. The human who made me didn’t put the right protection on my motherboard, so I caught a virus and have a personality glitch. Apparently, I’m an ‘Insufferable Pessimist,’ and I have a ‘misplaced sense of superiority.’ So this genius decided ‘let’s chuck him into the not yet finished garbage chute,’ which is basically a free fall,” he gestured to his creaking leg. “Anyway, my name is P4-94. What’s your name? It’s not like it really matters. It’s not going to delay the inevitability of the pathetically imminent death that is the fate of all humans.”

“Lilli,” Lilli responded cautiously, annoyance seeping into her voice. “Hey, do you have hovering capabilities?” she asked, a hint of an idea wandering into her mind. “Oooh, and do you have GPS?”

“Why would you care?” the robot responded.

“Oh, well, that leg looks like quite a drag.”

“So?”

“Well I think I just might be able to fix it.”

The robot scoffed, but the apertures of its eyes widened with hope.

“You see I’m fairly confident I can fix it but only if you promise to take me to a location I have interest in going to.”

The robot scoffed again. “Fairly confident?? I doubt your imprecise human fingertips could handle a task half as difficult as my leg.”

“Have you got any better options?”

“Well, I suppose not. How far away is this ‘location’ of yours?”

She pulled out the nano display.

“That’s quite a destination. I have a deal for you. If you fix my leg, then I will take you to your destination. However, if you leave me in worse shape than I’m in, I get to strip your nano display for parts. Does your tiny human brain comprehend?”

“Yes and deal. What model are you?”

“I am a T-498jh_ladfnvK humanoid model. Roughly 367.492% better than the average human.”

“Alright, P4-93, let’s fix you up.”

She rolled up the sleeve and adjusted her prosthetic. She wiggled her metal fingers and opened her bag. She laid out an array of tools. She grabbed P4-93’s leg and sprayed it with black liquid. She adjusted and readjusted, drilled, and turned. When she finally stood up, the robot’s leg was gleaming.

P4-93 sighed. “Well you managed not to implode the entire block, so I suppose that’s an accomplishment.” The robot took skeptical steps. “Well it does seem to hold up,” P4-93 admitted.

“So,” Lilli pushed. “We had a deal.”

“Ah, well, we are only blips in history, less than milliseconds in the time of the universe so I suppose if this implodes and becomes a disaster of epic proportions, it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Insert your nano display here.”

Lilli’s heart leapt, but she remained calm. She carefully inserted the nano display, taking care to memorize the coordinates to her future.

It had been three days since they had first met.

“How long till we’re there?” Lilli asked.

“I told you five minutes ago! Is your tiny human brain so miniscule it can’t retain a simple thought?”

“Oh be quiet,” Lilli responded halfheartedly, but she was used to P4-93’s constant criticism of her human functions.

It was hopeless arguing with him. She might as well rest while she still could. They were flying through deserted streets, and there was hardly any chance troopers would find them.

***

I laughed.

“This device is not meant to produce laughter,” C-13 said as a small, feathery machine tickled me.

“It’s tickly,” I laughed, practically rolling around on the floor in mirth.

“Come on now. It is time for sleep. You know it is scientifically proven that having 10 hours of sleep will help you function at your best.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I said, my eight-year-old face scrunching in annoyance.

I jumped into a small bed pod and landed on an old mattress.

“Night C-13.”

“Have a good night, Lilli Morris.”

 

“Lilli, Lilli, wake up.”

“What?” she said groggily

“Troopers!! Lot’s of them!” P4-93 screeched.

“How did they find us?! We haven’t had troopers on our trail this entire time, and you scanned this neighborhood!!!”

“The only possible explanation is a tracking device. Oh well, your miserable existence will finally be ended, and your soul will float aimlessly through the cosmos for all eternity.”

“Shut up! Nobody’s dying! Quick, turn invisible!”
“It will do us no good. Woe. WOE!”

Lilli watched as a net fell over her and P4-93.

“Any attempts to resist will lead to immediate incineration,” a trooper shouted through a megaphone.

Lilli stared at the net encircling them and rolled up her sleeve, revealing her prosthetic, gleaming wickedly in the gray light that mingled with the flashing lights of the troopers vehicles. Shink. Blades zipped out of Lilli’s arm, and she grimaced. A certain determination filled her, and she slashed through the net in a singular motion. She advanced towards the guards.

“STOP RIGHT THERE.”

She kept going. She leapt forward, memories pushed themselves up from the darkest parts of her mind, kindling the already roaring fire that consumed her.

 

“GO AWAY! STOP! DON’T TOUCH ME! You’ll spread your imperfection. Don’t you see you’re ruined.” the little boy yelled.

I crumpled. I just wanted to be friends. I looked down at the stump that had always been a part of my life. The little boy said I was ruined. Am I ruined? Am I diseased?”

“Lilli! I told you stop trying to play with other children! They’ll only hurt you,” C-13 chastised.

“Okay,” I sniffed, and I let myself be led back to the only place remotely like home.

 

Lilli stared down at the red stains on her arm and then shifted her gaze to the trooper on the ground before her, a halo of blood framing what used to be a face. She froze, shock running through her. She felt a net enclosing around her once more, this time feeling the cold, metal links that made up the nets for those who were dangerous, rebel imperfects. The bulletproof links showed who she really was. A murderer.

She stared at the bars encircling them. She sighed. She had only made their situation worse, and P4-94 knew it too. But underneath her anger, she couldn’t stop thinking about the trooper’s wide, surprised eyes, disbelieving, not comprehending her blade slicing through him.

“What is it with you humans? Always killing each other!!” P4-94 said half-heartedly.

“Not now, P4-94,” she murmured, both menace and defeat in her voice, and even the robot knew to back off.

“Alright, on your feet,” a trooper yelled, smacking the bars of their cage. “You are being transported to a laboratory to be tested upon. Any attempts to resist will lead to sedation.”

She sighed. She couldn’t do anything. They had bound her arm, so she couldn’t use any of its features. Lilli and P4-94 were shackled and led in a line of other shambling convicts. They were led onto a transport plane and were placed in cold, metal seats with built in shackles. The plane lifted off, and the prisoners sat in stifling silence, the only break being the shift of bodies when the turbulence got bad.

It went on like this for hours when finally, a voice called, “Alright, get up!” and the seats lurch forward, causing yelps from all of the human passengers. Lilli could tell P4-94 was scoffing at their “weakness.” Troopers quickly filed in, each one taking a prisoner and leading them in strict lines.

As they walked outside, Lilli finally realized it. She might never meet her parents. She stared sullenly at the brick building she was being marched towards, and she glanced up. There she saw it. Large pristine letters reading Laboratory 3.51. That was her parents’ laboratory. She really was going to see her parents! But why was she going there from jail? It didn’t matter, she concluded, and she gestured discretely to P4-94. He looked up, and she could tell he recognized it. She marched forwards happily. She couldn’t wait to see what was inside those doors. Her parents! Someone who understood her. People who loved her. The doors opened smoothly, and she craned her neck, trying to get a good view. She was marched towards a long line of people in front of a large glass tank. Their grimy faces and angry eyes gave them away. They were rebels. They looked terrified, but she hardly noticed. She stood in line, her eyes seeking out anyone who looked remotely like her, and then she saw them. A man and a woman, with the same charcoal black hair as her, in immaculate lab with ID cards. Dr. Jessica Morris and Dr. Harry Morris. They walked up to the tank and opened it. They gestured for the person in the front of the line. A young boy, no more than ten.

“No need to be afraid,” Lilli’s mother cooed as the boy took a few shaky steps towards the tank. “There we go,” Lilli’s mother said, and slammed the door shut.

Lilli heard a lock clicking into place.

“Clear. Release the gas.”

Lilli’s father pressed a button, and green gas filled the tank. The boy screamed in agony, and through the cloud of gas, she saw his skin melting off of his bones, his blood bubbling, and pooling at his feet, his voice fading into gurgling. What used to be a human body was flailing around in a desperate attempt to escape this horror. Lilli couldn’t watch. Why weren’t her parents doing anything? This was clearly some horrible mistake. She turned to them.

“Great results, the increase in acid is definitely working!”

“Yeah, this is a sure success.”

Lily gawked. She had been frozen, but now she jerked into motion. She sprinted towards her parents.

“MOM! DAD! It’s me, Lilli! what is going on?!” she exclaimed.

“Troopers, get her back in line,” her mother ordered, recognition flashing through her cold eyes.

“I’M YOUR DAUGHTER!!” Lilli screamed.

“You’re no child of ours,” her parents spat.

As troopers dragged Lilli back to her spot in line, Lilli’s eyes filled with hatred. Her mind was racing. White hot rage consumed her.  

“P4-94 get ready to run,” Lilli hissed, and with one quick motion, she ripped off her prosthetic, revealing a small button. P4-94’s eyes widened. Lilli pressed it and threw it towards her parents. She grabbed P4-94 and ran, glancing behind her to watch her past go up in flames.

 

Province of Darkness

The Gathering

In the early morning, the large waves were crashing against the thick sand. The beach was shadowed by a small, grass covered cliff, which was shadowed by a large mountain. The top of the mountain was an open crater, and inside the crater was a large fortress. The fortress was made of light brown stone. The walls were made of large, square stones with battlements on the top. Tall, circular towers soared over the wall. In the middle of the fortress was a large, square building with four towers.

This was not an ordinary fortress. It was the Hall of Concord, the official meeting place of the Universal Congress. The hall was located on an island south of Maltopia. Although it was within the boundaries of Maltopia, the island was owned by all the nations of the world.

Today, the Universal Congress would meet in the Hall of Concord. It had been two years since they’ve met. There were many reasons for this meeting, many proposals. But one proposal was heard to be appalling.

In an open space shadowed by the main building, a Venorian maid, wearing her long, brown dress, was sweeping the leaves off the stone floor. The space was a circle, with four entrances and seating on the edge. In the middle of two entrances was a statue. The maid brushed her scaly forehead and looked up at the statue. It was a large, marble sculpture of a Dark Elf woman holding a sword in one hand and an olive branch in the other. The maid looked down at the engraved label that lay on the base of the monument. It read:

This monument is dedicated to Queen Alexandra of Mirewood.

Founder of the Universal Congress and Co-signer of the Great Law of Peace.

The maid let out a great sigh, and shook her head in grief.

From one of the entrances came a human boy. He had white skin. His straight, brown hair grew from the top of his head while the rest was shaved off. The boy stood straight beside the maid.

“Boy!” said the maid, towering over the boy. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the garderobes?”

“I did,” said the boy in disgust. “The housekeeper told me to help you.”

“Well, it’s about time,” said the maid. “I can’t sweep these leaves all by myself.”

The boy got himself a broom and began to sweep the leaves.

“So, what’s the commotion this time?” asked the boy.

“What?”

“I mean, why is the Congress meeting after all this time?”

The maid put her broom down and let out a breath. “Well, there are many things being presented, from what I’ve heard. Queen Andrea of Mirewood’s proposal is apparently the most shocking.”

“What is it?” asked the boy with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” sighed the maid in exhaustion. “But a nobleman fainted when he heard it.”

“My lord,” gasped the boy in excitement. “I want to hear it now!”

“Whatever it is,” stated the maid, “it probably won’t be as good as her mother’s proposals.”

The maid stopped her work and gazed at the statue.

“I remember when I started working here. I remember seeing Queen Alexandra’s face for the first time. It was ten years ago, and she made a proposal to build better roads connecting all the cities of Lavonia and Kanaida. A proposal so basic and genius, even I, a maid with the knowledge of a peasant, could understand its benefits. Like many proposals, it had a great opposition. The rivals were overly wealthy humans who would spend a coin on nothing but themselves. Every word they spoke made me angrier and angrier. No one called them out for their rudeness that day, except Alexandra. She did not give those men respect. After a long while of arguing, the proposition to build better roads was passed.”

The maid turned her head to the boy who stood still, leaning his broom on his shoulder.

“You see, boy, those were the days. Back then, the Universal Congress met every month! But alas,” sobbed the maid, “Queen Alexandra is dead. And now her daughter, Andrea, is Queen.”

“Well, who knows?” said the boy in a high-pitched voice. “Maybe proposition-making runs in the family.”

“Let’s hope so. I haven’t seen a good proposal since Alexandra’s last meeting.”

The next day, the maid, the boy, and the housekeeper, who were the only people living in the Hall of Concord, stood waiting for the members of the Universal Congress. The housekeeper, who was only an inch taller than the small boy, stood nervously, sweeping his balding head and twitching his pointy ears. Usually, the housekeeper was much calmer, but this was different. It was Queen Andrea’s first meeting, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He didn’t know Andrea, and due to her being Alexandra’s daughter, he did not want her to leave the Universal Congress.

Every once in awhile, the housekeeper would turn towards the boy and maid and ask if all the chores were done. Every time, they would answer yes.

As the sun was almost in the middle of the sky, the housekeeper saw the first ship enter the harbor below. He quickly went to the entrance of the fortress, the maid and boy following. When all three were there, they waited anxiously to see the first arrival.

Without surprise, it was King Eremurus of Maltopia. With two guards beside him, the lizard king walked forward. His golden rings reflected the light of the sun, as his dragonskin gauntlets blended with his turquoise scales. The housekeeper looked up at the tall Venorian and saw his bare chest, his abdomen which was guarded by an iron corset, and his pelvis area which was clothed by a thick, blue, linen-wrapped skirt.  

“Derik!” said Eremurus. “It has been so long. How are you?”

“Patricia and Jonathan have kept me company,” said the housekeeper, waving his hand to the maid and the boy, still looking up at the lizard king. “Have you heard of Andrea’s proposition?”

Derik always spoke to royalty in a formal manner, but always talked to Eremurus normally. Eremurus was much friendlier to the housekeeper, unlike the other leaders, which allowed Derik to speak in an informal tone.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard,” said the lizard king in excitement. “I only hope it’s better than one of Dido’s proposals. Ever since Alexandra’s death, she’s manipulated the whole continent of Lavonia to do her bidding.”

“Yes, but not Mirewood,” smiled Derik.

“Oh please,” sighed Eremurus angrily. “Andrea is only sixteen. She’ll probably be kissing Dido’s feet in no time.”

When the sun hit the middle of the sky, another ship entered the harbor. The longboat was more narrow and had wooden swan heads on both points.

Through the entrance came a six-foot tall Orc wearing a seal hide over his ice-blue skin. His thick upper body was clothed by a necklace with two walrus tusks on both sides.

“Greetings, King Ukmar of Ek’da,” said Derik. “Shall I take your coat?”

“No need,” said Ukmar. “The heat is soothing.”

Another ship entered the harbor. This longboat had steel platings on the bottom, used for tearing through ice. Through the entrance came Chief Karnok of Pangona, a black-haired Orc wearing brown bear fur.

Over time, more ships arrived in the harbor. Through the entrance came Chief Toure of the Apocalypse, a dark skinned human wearing a black, hooded shawl and gray clothing. After him came King Lumos IV of Morrisland, a moon-skinned Elf with dark blue eyes and golden hair. He was followed by Lord Demeter of Silver Coast. Her long copper hair was braided on the top of her head as her sparkling green dress glittered the light of the sun. Soon after her was Chief Pocatowa of Indie, a muscular human dressed in a wolf pelt and leather pants.

The leaders were scattered across the entrance area, talking and waiting for the other members. Karnok and Ukmar, who were the only Orcs there, were plotting for tomorrow’s meeting.

“So, when Grognar states his case,” said Karnok quietly, “we’ll come in and demand retribution.”

“Do you think we can convince the whole Congress?” asked Ukmar.

“Trust me, at their state, the Venorians would not want another conflict.”

As the two went on, another ship had entered the harbor. Through the entrance came King Grognar of Red Rock. Grognar was thinner than the other two Orcs, and much taller, rising seven feet. His jet black hair grew all the way to his chest. His rose red skin glimmered in the setting sunlight. He wore a sleeveless leather shirt with a silver neck guard, and a bronze armband on his upper left arm. Unlike other Orcs, his fangs were small, and his nose, the most attractive part of his face, was thin and curved. Its nostrils were almost unnoticeable, and its bridge was dented like an arch.

After being greeted by the housekeeper, Grognar walked up to Karnok and Ukmar, who stood silently.

“Fellow Orcs,” greeted Grognar. “Tomorrow is the day. The day justice is finally served. After many painful years, the scars will be healed.”

“Yes, Grognar,” stated Ukmar sadly, “but unfortunately, nothing can heal the damage the Venorians brought upon our people.”    

“I disagree,” said Grognar in a hopeful voice.

But Grognar’s optimism soon died when another leader came through the entrance. He recognized his brown skin, his hooked nose, his black short hair and shaven face, his pointy shoes, his golden sparkling cape, and his white turban with a diamond in the middle. It was Sultan Ahmad of Gold Coast. Grognar looked at the young Sultan, walking proudly with his small Goblin servant, as rage swarmed the young Orc’s insides.

For twelve years, Red Rock and Gold Coast were at war with each other. During the war, Alexandra (who was not queen at the time) took Red Rock’s ancestral Fire Stone and gave it to Gold Coast. Soon after, the Orcs declared peace and gave a heavy payment to Gold Coast. Grognar and Ahmad were not ruling during the war or the peace treaty, but because of Ahmad’s refusal to give back the Fire Stone, the two were enemies.

“Keep close to me, just in case,” said Ahmad to his Goblin servant as he walked up to Grognar.

When Ahmad stood straight in front of him, Grognar looked down at his purple pointy shoes. He then turned his head and noticed the small Goblin beside him.

“First, you disrespect and persecute our culture, and now you’re enslaving Goblins?!”

“I can assure you,” stated Ahmad, “that this Goblin is paid more than the amount of money stored in your vault.”

Grognar was boiling with rage. He growled, clamping his white teeth, until he heard someone yell.

“Everyone, quiet!” yelled Derik. “She’s here!”

Through the entrance came four servants carrying a gold draped sedan chair. When the servants lay down the chair, two guards on each side stood in front, facing each other. From the chair came a tall Elf woman in a long, white dress with a small crown on the top of her head. Her braided, black hair and gray eyes blended with her white skin. She walked slowly out of the sedan chair as the others stared at her. Derik walked up to the woman and greeted her.

“Empress Dido of the Fifth Vergimin Empire and Chairman of the Vergomon Council. Welcome back to the Hall of Concord.”

Dido looked down at the housekeeper. “Is my room clean?” she asked.

“They are very clean,” said the housekeeper loudly so all the leaders could hear.

Through the entrance, a human dressed in a violet fur cape and a golden crown stomped on the stone floor.

Before Derik could greet him, he yelled, “Hello everyone!”

As the rest of the leaders greeted him back, he gave a big grin, covered by his short orange beard. Finally, Derik was able to greet the fat man.

“King Charles of Galdoria. Welcome back.”

Standing beside Charles was another human dressed in a white and gold robe. His brown hair was balding at the top, forming a halo on his head. The monk walked up to the short housekeeper.

“Hello, Derik.”

“Brother Martin!” said the housekeeper, looking up at the monk. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well. Are we waiting for anyone else?”

“Well,” said Derik nervously, “Andrea is the only one left.”

“May the divines carry her safely to this island,” prayed Martin. “Come, let us pray for our safety tomorrow.”

Brother Martin was the head of the Universal Congress. His job was to keep the peace amongst the members and break ties during a voting session. Although he was supposed to be in a neutral position, he was secretly sided with King Charles, who was sided with Dido and Lumos.

As the sun finally set, the leaders stood with excitement, waiting for the new member. They were all silent. Jonathan, looking over the wall, saw a caravel, with a black sail with a diamond and an eye in the middle, docking in the harbor. He ran towards the housekeeper, who stood near the entrance.

“She’s here! She’s here!” cried the boy. “The Queen of Mirewood is here!”

The housekeeper and leaders all stood frozen with their eyes fixed on the entrance. Their hearts raced at the same time, creating a quire of heart beats. After a long suspense, the quire of heartbeats turned into applause. Through the door came the new member of the Universal Congress. She walked casually, almost like a commoner. But she received the applause of a divine hero.  

She was a thin, tall girl, rising five feet and ten inches. She had bedraggled, blackish-indigo hair that went to her jaw. Unlike other Dark Elves, her skin was a lighter shade of blue. Besides that, she had pointy ears and yellow hawk eyes. She wore a black, satin shirt, which draped over her black, knee-high leggings. Her sleeveless shirt was choked at the waist by a brown, leather belt. Covering that was a thin, black cloak going to her ankles. Unlike the other leaders, shel did not wear any gold or silver.

Derik walked up to greet her, but everyone else beat him to it. A quire of cheers and hellos filled the entrance area. The girl, in reaction to this madness, gave a surprised but frightened smile. Finally, Brother Martin shushed the leaders and walked up to the girl.

“Queen Andrea of Mirewood. Welcome to the Hall of Concord. We are proud to have you in the Universal Congress. Your mother would’ve been proud.”

Andrea gave a silent “Thank you” as the members of the Universal Congress, except Grognar, clapped their hands.

 

Moving From the Sea to the Mountains

  

I buy clean white sheets;

I do not want to feel sand on my ankles

when I sleep under Appalachian stars.

I get rid of the purple sea-wind torn furniture.

I buy sleek wood, brushed oak, instead. Ikea.

I research down duvets, stuffed with the same feathers

as the birds that will circle

my future house

on a hill.

For some reason, that is comforting.

 

I want nothing

to do with the sea. I

want mountains that change shape

with every Spring rain pour

and cars that swerve around

curves of red clay dirt. I want heavy mountain breathing

and green eager ticks and sap bleeding

from the trees.

 

No.

I want nothing

to do with

the mountains. I

want waves that inch like

breaths and

collapse like lungs.

I want sand that sticks to skin

and lifeguard towers that stand

like egrets. I want beach weddings

ruined by the tide and feet tans that depend

on what shoes you were willing

to ruin.

 

The real truth,

yes,

the real

truth,

is that I spend

not much time

at either. Instead,

I lie

in my manufactured

cocoon of plaster

protection, with its

waterlogged porch and square lots

of yellow grass,

sorting nature’s phenomenons

into like and dislike piles.

 

Truth and Lies

ALEJANDRO

JULY 5, 1999. 10:00PM

I stood in the corner of a dark bar, smoking a cigarette. I called for the bartender to pour me another drink even though I knew I shouldn’t have. I looked around to find my cousin, Sebastian, playing poker at a nearby table. I caught his gaze and waved.

“Alejandro, come play cards with us,” he called, and I lazily strolled over. “You have any money?” he asked.

I reached into my pocket, my hands touching a warm twenty dollar bill I had picked up at the bank earlier that day. That wasn’t for spending, I remembered, and I pulled my hand back out, shaking my head.

“I must have forgotten it,” I told him, who, judging by the dazed look on his face, had already had one too many drinks that night.

Getting into trouble with him would be serious business, and if I wanted to come home with my limbs still attached, I’d better remove myself from this risky activity. Sebastian often came to the bar, and he had been known to get into fights. But Sebastian was smart, and he had caught onto what I was doing.

“Are you lying just to get away from me?” he said in his low voice, slowly pulling back his chair and standing up.

Backing away, I shook my head. When I realised that he was following me, I broke into a run. I had to get away, back home to my family. It was a warm night, even for Colombia, and I was panting and sweating. I hid myself behind a large dumpster, realizing that even now, there was little chance of me getting away safely. When he leaves, you’ll get into your car and make a run for it, I told myself. But tonight the moon was full, and it was easy to see, even in the dark. A single movement and he would be able to find me, even in his drunken state.

Suddenly, I heard a loud bang, like the sound of a car backfiring. Wincing, I fell to the floor, but not before capturing a glimpse of Sebastian, dangling like an ape from the tree above.

“Adiós amigo,” I heard him call in a raspy voice.

Seconds later, the whole world turned pitch black.

 

LUCIA

JULY 6, 1999. 2:30AM

It was just past two-thirty in the morning when I got the call.

“Is this Lucia Rodriguez?” a solemn voice asked me.

“Yes. Who is this? Why do you call me at this hour?” I mumbled.

“Do you know Alejandro Garcia?”

“Yes, yes. What is the matter?”

“We have grave news. Mr. Garcia died this evening. Your daughter, Josephina, requests your presence.”

I hung up the phone, bewildered. This had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. Wiping away tears from my eyes, I took a deep breath, quickly slipped out of bed, threw on a robe over my nightgown, and wearily drove to Josephina’s small apartment in the city. The police had already arrived and had begun to bombard her with questions. Pushing and shoving, I fought my way through an endless web of them to reach Josephina.

Cálmate, calm down, my daughter,” I told Josephina in a soft voice.

Then I turned to the policemen, who were all waiting and disapprovingly watching this spectacle.

¡Largate! Get out!” I shouted, pointing at the door.

Obediently and with little objection, they quickly proceeded to leave. How careless of them, interrogating a poor woman, I thought, before shouting “NO VUELVAS! Don’t come back!” before slamming the front door. This was a personal matter. Before I could ask any more questions, Josephina began to speak.

“It was Sebastian,” she said in a mix of anger and tears. “Tio Sebastian killed Alejandro!”


All I could do was shake my head in despair. I bent down, trying to hide the tears that were pouring down my face. My first thought was why would mi hermano, my brother, ever do such a thing to his own nephew? But on the other hand, I knew what Sebastian was capable of when he was drinking, and I had been expecting it, although I never quite knew just how devastated I would actually feel.

“Does Sofia know?” I whispered, trying not to wake the sleeping toddler in the other room.

I already knew the answer just by the look on Josephina’s face. Upstairs, I heard a loud wail, and I watched as Josephina wearily walked into the baby’s room. She picked up the baby, and began to rock the baby to back to sleep, humming quietly.

 

SOFIA

APRIL 1, 2011. 12:30PM

I stepped out of the airport, taking my first gasp of fresh air since I had left smoggy Los Angeles six hours earlier. I could smell the palm trees, see the bright blue sky, and feel the warm rays cast off of the sun. I loved it. Instantly, I saw my aunt calling for me. My uncle followed a few steps behind, lugging a large cart full of gifts that my aunt had likely selected from the marketplace a few hours earlier.

“Hola! Sofia! You are so tall!” Tia Lucia called out in her loud voice as she plopped a large, straw hat onto my head.

She was a short, large woman who always was full of happiness and excitement. Her English was rusty, but I could tell the pure sense of joy she was feeling.

Seconds later, my cousin, Santiago, appeared, carrying what seemed to be a baby carriage. I peered inside and was greeted by the smiling face of my youngest cousin, already covered in the odor of my aunt’s strong floral perfume. I wanted to reach for the baby, to carefully rock it back and forth, singing the same lullabies that my mother had sung to me. But now wasn’t the time for singing. I followed them through the crowd, rushed by my cousins past groups of other reunited families. Loud music was playing, and I could smell fresh fruit being sold at nearby street carts. I saw an old woman selling paella, my favorite dish, but before I could stop, I tripped and fell. By the time I got myself up, my family had already gone. I was lost.

Seconds later, my uncle, Tío Diego, appeared, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me back.

“We must stick together here,” he said in his deep, plangent voice, before continuing on to catch up with my aunt.

It was then that I noticed just how tall he was. While he didn’t ever bear any expression, I began to realise the difficulty of his job. It was his obligation to take care of me, to keep me safe while I was in Colombia. At that moment, the image of my dead father flashed in my head. I had only known him from pictures, but in that moment, I could feel his comforting presence. But it was that softness that ultimately got him killed.

“We must be strong,” she had told me.

Before we left for America, I had felt that God was there for me. But first, after my father’s death, and then after my mother, Josephina, started to stay out late and drink too much, I began to question his actuality. Here, back in Colombia, with my cousins and aunts and uncles, I felt truly at home.

I stepped into my uncle’s rusty pickup truck. Tia Lucia had insisted that I sit in the passenger seat, and I had obliged. Santiago mumbled something under his breath, and I could tell he disapproved. In Colombia, life was different, and he was not given the same opportunities that I had been given back in America. School was my only hope for a better future, and Santiago didn’t have that hope anymore. As we drove by rows and rows of empty fields on dirt roads, I thought of my abuela. I used to think she was the smartest person in the world. I remember us sitting on the rocking chair on her porch, telling me stories about Paris and London and New York. Back then they had seemed so fantastical, utopian, like faraway dreams. But years later, I now knew that those stories weren’t always true. Moving to America and learning about the world had taught me just how multi-sided the world is. These faraway lands had once seemed like they were fit for fairy tales. It made me bitter and frustrated just thinking about it, about the real truth and our world, full of lies.

Back in the realm of reality, I glanced out of the window to find all of my excited cousins and family members. The car stopped, and I got out, welcomed with hugs and kisses. There was Tio Mateo and Tio Diego and Tia Luciana and Tia Valentina with my eight cousins. Lurking in the corner was someone who I didn’t recognize.

“Meet your Tio Sebastian, my brother,” Tia Lucia told me, and he held out his hand.

I didn’t know why, but both of them exchanged glances. Anyway, I was too tired to find out.

 

SEBASTIAN

APRIL 1, 2011. 10:15PM.

I grabbed Lucia and pulled her into the kitchen. We had just finished dinner and everyone had finally gone upstairs. I bolted the door.

“What were you thinking, bringing the girl here?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Sebastian, she is family. We must put the past behind us. I am already doing you a great favor by keeping you here. If Josephina were to find out…” She said, her voice trailing off.

“Silencio, Lucia!” I said, practically growling.

Nobody could know our little secret or it would be the end of me.

“Okay, okay, Sebastian, what more do you want me to do? I secretly kept you in this house all these years. You’d be in jail if it wasn’t for me,” Lucia told me.

She looked tired and was beginning to sound quite frustrated with me.

“Nothing! Just keep quiet, please! The girl can’t know I killed her father!” I didn’t realise how loud I was being.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much with dinner. Suddenly, I heard a noise from outside the door.

“What the…”  

 

SOFIA

APRIL 1, 2011. 10:20PM

I had gone down to get a drink of water, only to find the kitchen door bolted. Hushed whispers were coming from inside. I quickly realised that it was Tia Lucia with Sebastian. I knew something was up with them! Peering through a crack in the door, I watched Sebastian pace around the room indecisively. Their conversation kept on growing louder and louder. Then Sebastian’s voice.

“Nothing! Just keep quiet, please! The girl can’t know I killed her father!”


A sinking feeling took over me. How could he do such a thing? How could Lucia, my precious aunt, have hidden this from me? I was shocked! All these years, it was Sebastian, su hermano, her brother, who had killed my father. I had known something was wrong, but I never suspected it to be this horrible. Suddenly, the door opened, and Tia Lucia peered out. For a couple of moments, she caught my gaze, horrified.

“Aye, Sofia, come back!” she called from the doorway.

But I was already gone.

 

On Conspiracy Theories

According to Merriam-Webster, a conspiracy theory is a theory that explains an event or set of circumstances as the result of a secret plot by usually powerful conspirators. People formulate conspiracy theories in order to cope with the fear of the unknown and to explain unprecedented phenomena that are frightening. Because the population is afraid of the unknown, it creates conspiracy theories in order to deal with its anxiety. The public uses theories as “logical” answers; however, conspiracies are illogical because they deny scientific fact and official records. Conspiracy theories exacerbate society’s fear and anxiety. I am going to show how the Bermuda Triangle, Area 51, and the moon landing have contributed to conspiracy theories being harmful to the public.

Area 51 is a United States Air Force facility in the southern part of Nevada. Though the purpose of the base is unknown, historical evidence suggests that it supports the development and testing of experimental aircrafts and weapon systems (Popular Mechanics). Conspiracy theorists believe that the remains of crashed UFOs (Unidentified Flying Objects) are stored in Area 51, where government scientists reverse-engineer the aliens’ leading technology. Allegedly, the government has made advanced weapons and aircrafts including stealth bombers and reconnaissance planes. This conspiracy came after many supposed sightings of UFOs and a testimony from an army colonel who says he was granted access to extraterrestrial material from an alien spacecraft that crashed in the nearby desert (Time Magazine). This conspiracy has hurt society because it has caused people to distrust the government. It makes it seem as if the government isn’t telling us about potential dangers. Losing trust in the government is treacherous since it might influence us to be reluctant to vote in elections and follow the law. This becomes a vicious cycle because the government might respond by trusting the public less and so on and so forth.

Apollo 11 landed on the Moon on July 20th 1969 at 4:18pm EST. At 10:56pm EST, Neil Armstrong was ready to put his foot into another world. He climbed down the ladder and said: “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind” (NASA). Four decades after the presumed “giant leap for mankind,” there are doubters who say America was so desperate to defeat Russia in the Space Race that they hired Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, the other astronaut in the Apollo 11, to stage their mission on a secret film set in Hollywood. Theorists speculate that because the American flag planted on the moon swayed, Aldrin must not have been in space. The flag’s movement suggests that there was wind, but there is no wind on the moon. However, NASA states that the flag’s ripples derives from Aldrin’s twisting motions to firmly install the flag into the moon. In addition, filmmaker Stanley Kubrick may have helped NASA fake the lunar landing because his 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey proves that the technology existed back then to create a spacelike set. As far-fetched as it may seem, a 1999 poll conducted by Gallup shows that 6% of Americans believe the lunar landing was fake and 5% were undecided (Time Magazine). This conspiracy theory is harmful to the public because it contributes to people denying scientific evidence that the Apollo 11 indeed landed on the moon. Humanity will suffer if people continue rejecting modern science. For example, global climate change is a reality that impacts people everywhere. If the general public chooses to stay ignorant, we will inevitably destroy our environment and ruin the planet for future generations.

The Bermuda Triangle is a region between Florida, Puerto Rico, and Bermuda. In this triangle in the Atlantic Ocean, there have been many puzzling disappearances of planes and ships (Department of Defense). These mysteries have caused people to develop many conspiracy theories to answer the question of how these ships and planes disappeared with no bodies or wreckage ever found. One of them is a space-time warp. Supposedly, a rift in space-time opens in the Bermuda Triangle every once in awhile, so all of the planes and ships traveling in this specific place at this time are lost inside the rift. That is why there is never any wreckage. Another theory is that one of the assumed locations of the lost island of Atlantis is in the Bermuda Triangle. Some believe that Atlantis was a civilization that had made amazing technology, and the technology may be active on the ocean floor. This equipment may interfere with the instrumentation of modern planes and ships; this has caused them to crash and sink. Finally, the last conspiracy theory is that methane gas hydrates bubble up from the sea sediments, causing ships to disappear. Landslides on the ocean floor release large amounts of gas, which would reduce the density of the water, making any ship sink like a rock. The gas could also ignite aircraft engines causing them to explode (Thought Co.). This conspiracy has impaired society because it makes people hesitant to travel in this area. Without these conspiracies people would think that all of these incidents were merely coincidences. Conspiracy theories capitalize on fear and make people irrational, even though the Bermuda Triangle is no more dangerous than any other part of the ocean. Irrationality forces people to doubt themselves when there is simply no need to.  

Ultimately, there is one positive thing about conspiracy theories. It causes people to open their minds, think independently, and analyze situations critically. Despite this upside, all of the aforementioned examples show how conspiracy theories have negatively impacted society. There would be less fear in the world if these conspiracies didn’t exist because people would think of them as coincidences, or even if they did see a flaw in an explanation, they wouldn’t spread it or exaggerate it through an absurd conspiracy theory. Conspiracies are reactions to anxiety that spread mass paranoia across the globe. They make us excessively skeptical of the government, Ignorant of pressing issues, and irrational to the point of extreme doubt. Without conspiracies, our society would not live in fear of the unknown, and instead, we would rely on dependable sources to draw conclusions.

Works Cited

Blitz, Matt. “The Real Story Behind the Myth of Area 51.” Popular Mechanics. Cameron Connors, 18 Apr. 2017. Web. 23 June 2017. <http://www.popularmechanics.com/military/research/a24152/area-51-history/>.

“Conspiracy Theories.” Time Magazine. Time, 2008. Web. 23 June 2017. http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,1860871_1860876_1861006,00.html

“Conspiracy Theory.” Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 23 June 2017. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/conspiracy%20theory

NASA Administrator. “July 20, 1969: One Giant Leap For Mankind.” NASA. NASA, 20 July 2014. Web. 23 June 2017. https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/apollo/apollo11.html

United States. Department of Defense. US Coast Guard Headquarters and the Naval Historical Center. Bermuda Triangle Fact Sheet. 11 December 1998. Web. 23 June 2017. http://www.dod.mil/pubs/foi/Reading_Room/UFO/195.pdf

Wagner, Stephen. “The Top Bermuda Triangle Theories.” Thought Co. 30 January 2017. Web. 23 June 2017. https://www.thoughtco.com/theories-of-the-bermuda-triangle-2593654

Observatory

OBSERVATORY

Sydney sat back in her chair. It was another slow day in the Extremely Large Telescope, and nothing was really happening, as usual. Sydney already knew that she wasn’t going to find anything. No matter how many signals humanity sent out from earth, they never got a response. Nothing ever came in. This was the tragedy of working at an observatory.

In the 11 years since it was put into service in 2024, the ELT had gotten some major upgrades to its imaging capability. It could now show the surface of faraway planets; oceans, forests, and every other type of land was recognizable by the ELT. It was also upgraded so that if, say, a giant alien ship, like the ones that were sent to colonize Mars only four years ago, were to fly in front of the planet, the observatory would know. They would then contact the EU, who would have every other telescope instantly pointed at that spot to gain more information.

But Sydney knew that wasn’t going to happen. The Fermi paradox’s solutions were so scary, and meant so much, that most governments refused to consider them. Sydney knew better. The probability of humanity finding life was high, but the probability of it being within the time that Sydney was serving was low. In addition to that, the probability of it being at the ELT was also low, and even if it did end up at the ELT, the chance that Sydney herself would be the one to find it was also low.

As she sat thinking about this for the umpteenth time, she decided to look through the scope again. Sydney was a bit selfish. If humanity was going to find alien life, it was damn well going to be her that found it. She would try as hard as she could to search the cosmos from her little room in a giant telescope off the coast of Chile.

She stared into the dark abyss, and decided she would focus on a new planet today. “Leo, focus the ‘scope on Kapteyn B please.”

“Acknowledged,” replied Leo in his robotic voice. Sydney felt the facility clanking into position and heard a small motor as the telescope adjusted its height.

She looked through the glass again. There was Kapteyn B, its milky white ice surface shining out from the rest of the solar system. She sighed. Even though the planet was unable to support surface liquid water at the moment, Sydney knew that the planet had been around two and a half times longer than Earth had. With all that extra time, the planet had probably at one point been suitable for life. Maybe it was even suitable under the surface, with a liquid ocean. No one knew for sure.

Sydney stared at the planet a bit more and noticed a small, black speck gliding over the planet. Sydney’s eyes widened. “Leo, zoom in on that black thing.”

“Acknowledged,” Leo said, and the view in Sydney’s scope focused on the speck.

As Sydney got a better look, her mouth dropped open. This was it. It had to be. The object was long, and she thought she saw a little blue light on the end of it. She knew what she was watching took place 12 years ago, but she didn’t care. Sydney took a deep breath, and slammed on the alert button. She felt a rush as she heard the commlink with European Southern Observatory Headquarters come through.

“ELT, found something?”

Sydney smiled. “Point every telescope at Kapteyn B, ASAP. I believe I have.”

 

SANDSTORM

The sandstorm ripped through the abandoned and mangled wasteland that used to be known as Phoenix, Arizona. The heat was unbearable at a temperature of 122 degrees Fahrenheit. Jett Hanes, a lieutenant in the US Exploration and Reclamation Squad, didn’t notice. His bulky, white and blue Personal Environment suit kept him cool. The suit was completely airlocked, with air entering through a vent and passing through several filters before being cooled and stored, ready for Hanes to take his next breath. It also kept him safe from flying debris, and had two shields on each of his arms. As he trudged through the desert toward the abandoned city, dead withering trees stared down at him. He would have been dropped into the city, but the storm was too strong, and even the Dropjet, with its powerful engines, would have been swept away. So instead he was dropped on the outskirts of the city.

His mission was to reach the center of Phoenix. An earlier squad had gone out to investigate a strange signal emanating from somewhere in the ruins, but the sandstorm had left them quite literally in the dust. They were now hiding in an abandoned mall. Jett was to find the squad, put up an emergency shelter, and wait for extraction once the storm died down. Hopefully there was enough time.

Phoenix, having been evacuated thirty years earlier because of sandstorms, drought, and temperatures that humans could barely tolerate, was now a rusted brown mess. Mangled buildings and aircars littered the city, and the idea of going back was not feasible to the government. They had completely abandoned the city, building a new, cleaner, renewable city for the refugees. They planned to forget about it entirely, but this new signal was not something they could resist checking out. They knew it might be important, but they didn’t know exactly what it was. So ERS was sent in to find out.

As Hanes reached the city, his vision clouded with all the sand whipping around him. He turned on his floodlight, powered up thermal, and kept walking. As he passed an intersection, the amount of sand became stronger from a different direction.

Suddenly, a piece of a billboard came careening down the road. It smashed into Hanes, knocking him down, and shattered upon coming into contact with the armored suit. The sand pushed him another few yards. Hanes stopped himself, and activated his maneuvering jets. He slowly started pushing back, and eventually reached the other side. He kept walking. The earlier squad needed him. He extended his arm shields and trudged on.

As he reached the mall, he turned on thermal again. He could make out the squad’s thermal signatures. He prepared the porta-shelter and made the final stretch. The storm seemed to be dying down. Aside from the occasional strong gust of wind, the sand pushing Hanes’ suit was getting slightly softer. Hanes carefully but quickly stepped into the mall, shutting the door behind him. In the few moments that the door was open, about a truck full of sand managed to spill into the mall. Hanes put down his visor. The squad was about 500 meters away from him.

They saw him before he reached them. “My god, what is that?”

“Denman, you idiot, that’s a clanker. We’re saved!”

Hanes turned on his mic. “Don’t worry, the storm is dying down,” he told them, while setting up the porta-shelter. As he placed it on the ground, the sheets of metal unfolded, forming a dome about the size of a regular kitchen. “I need you to get in this shelter and wait with me for extraction.”

“Yeah, uh, about that…” Hanes guessed this was the one named Denman speaking again. “We have a slight problem.”

“Is this in any way related to the signal we picked up?”

“Yes. We figured out where it was coming from,” said a new voice. This one was female and a little aggravated. “But we can’t get to it.”

“Who are you, what is it, and where is it?”

“I’m Sara Edison. You know the Cold War? All those tensions with Russia in the late 1900s? Well, apparently, the government installed a missile silo in the parking lot. They also installed a monitor so that, in the case that there would be no one left, if a missile hit Phoenix, a sensor would detect it. The problem was, this missile was installed during the presidency of Ronald Reagan, who is, as you know, infamous for denying that climate change was going to happen. He didn’t tell anyone else about the sensor, and because he didn’t believe in climate change, he didn’t stop to think about the fact that one day the temperature in Phoenix was going to get so high that the minimum requirement for the missile’s launch was going to be naturally met. This is the hottest that Phoenix has ever been in all of recorded history. Thankfully, the missile has a countdown timer for an hour to stop it from being launched, because I guess it doesn’t matter if everyone is dead yet.”

“How much time do we have left on the timer?” Hanes asked.

“Fifteen minutes, give or take a few.”

“Damn it! Can’t the missile defense batteries just shoot it down?”

“Those haven’t been activated in decades. They would have to power up the railguns.”

“And I assume that when the missile hits Russia, all the missiles from Russia would awaken and fire too?”

“Worse. Every US missile would launch at Russia. Essentially, the world would end. The Moon and M vgfars colonies would be okay, but without supplies from Earth, they would starve to death.”
Hanes thought for a second. “I assume one of you know how to deactivate this missile?”

“That would be me,” said a new voice, and a slightly smaller figure stepped out from the shop. “My name is Alec Harvey, I’m the tech guy on this squad.”

“Okay, I need you all to get behind me. I think I have enough shielding to get us through the parking lot, but I need you to work fast. Come on.”

They all grouped together at the mall’s parking lot entrance. Hanes was in front, with Denman behind him, then Alec, and finally Sara.

“Ready?” Hanes asked. Everyone nodded. “Let’s go, now!”

Hanes opened the door, and tossed the porta-shelter towards the sensor. The shelter set up automatically around it. He bolted out the door, followed by Denman. Hanes blocked the sand with the PR suit while everyone else bolted for the shelter. Alec went in first, followed by Sara. Denman was standing at the door. After Sara hunkered into the shelter, Denman looked in.

An abandoned car was suddenly lifted off the ground. It slammed into Denman who didn’t even manage to scream. He was quickly swept away by the storm. “Denman!” Sara yelled, but she knew it was too late. Hanes waded over to the shelter through the storm.

“Denman is gone. We have to make sure no one else dies today. There will be time to grieve later. Now is the time to be heroes. Stop the missile!”

Alec nodded, and closed the shelter door. Hanes watched as he cut into the sensor’s pole and found the wire. He closed his eyes, and after a few seconds, made the cut. The wire sizzled out, and Alec exhaled. Everyone cheered.

Hanes walked outside. The storm was settling. He unclipped the beacon from his belt and threw it on the ground. It set itself up, and Hanes watched as the light shined up through the clouds.

A few minutes later, the hulking Dropjet screamed out of the sky, and right before it reached the ground, the blue engines roared to life, kicking up a huge cloud of dust. Hanes, Alec, and Sara stepped on, ready to explain to commander Brannon. As the Jet lifted off, Hanes stared down at the city. Why did we do this to ourselves? he wondered.

 

Unexpected Visitor

It’s raining so hard that the new roof begins to leak, and the pouring rain forces people to ditch the umbrellas for something stronger. Jennifer continues to stare out of her window, sitting on a chair in front it; she has been gazing at the mud sliding down the edge of the garden that once looked beautiful just a week ago. Jennifer realizes that it has been raining for three days now, and she has yet to step out of her abode. All she has been doing is staring out the window, waiting for the sun to emerge from the darkness of the clouds beyond the glass. It’s been about five hours now, and she still hasn’t moved, not even to stretch her legs, or to fill her empty stomach.

Was this her form of entertainment, locking her eyes with the grass on her front lawn? Excluding herself from everyone she has ever known, she declines her family’s calls without hesitation. She alienates herself from her family, because she feels like a disappointment to them after dropping out of college. Jennifer’s heart continues to fill with sadness and anger as she fails to open up to her family. Jennifer hasn’t eaten in three days. You can tell she is fighting the hunger as she clenches her abdomen with her legs, which are now crossed in the chair that she has not removed herself from in hours.

A gray-haired man, with a bright yellow slick raincoat and matching boots and a hat, starts walking towards Jennifer’s house from afar. She becomes aware of his presence immediately, because she sees him step on the grass. Jennifer notices his gray beard hanging below his chin like a mop hangs from its wooden stick. Her heart beats faster, yet in a rhythm, to a song that she heard on the radio recently. Her eyes begin to dilate as she sees him get closer and closer to the window, but she remains still. Jennifer, frozen in the chair, is temporarily paralyzed by her existence there for so long, she’s unable to move any part of her body except her eyes. Looking into her brown eyes, the panic and the stress is visible as she directs her attention to this stranger. The bearded man reaches the window. All that stands in between them is the glass. Jennifer is only able to see the buttons on the raincoat, and not his face, because she is frozen and unable to move her head from the direction of the grass.  

The man walks back and forth in front of the window, with his head down, thinking about what do. Suddenly, the only light in Jennifer’s house shuts off, and the time on the radio near her cuts off. The power is out, yet Jennifer’s eyes still remain glued to the glass. The yellow man gets an inexplicable look on his face and directs it towards the glass that stands between him and Jennifer. The yellow man begins walking towards the front door. Jennifer remembers that she didn’t lock the door, and prays that he doesn’t try to let himself in.

Jennifer rises slowly as the doorknob begins to turn. She walks slowly to hide, because her body is weak from sitting still for so long. The yellow man gets inside the gray walls of Jennifer’s home and walks around the living room. The yellow man searches the house for her.

A silent moment passes by, and she finally comes out of her closet and exclaims weakly, with a lot of breath, “Who are you and why are you here?”

Her heart beats faster, simultaneously with the more breaths she takes. He continues to walk back and forth, leaving Jennifer trembling outside of the closet door. Her plan to confront the man backfires, for she stands weaponless and vulnerable. She is standing outside of the one place he can’t find her, giving up her spot of safety. The bearded man looks up at her, standing still, with his eyes locked onto her neck. Jennifer is frightened from this situation that she is left with.

There they stand, trapped inside the gray, gloomy walls of Jennifer’s home. Jennifer wonders why he still hasn’t said a word. All he does is walk back and forth within the gray walls. She takes this opportunity to run to the kitchen, in hopes of finding a more piercing weapon to scare him off, because she is contemplating if she is capable of fighting for her life at this point. She reaches the kitchen and quickly locates the knives. Running her hand down the butt of her knives, she grabs the largest and sharpest one and holds onto it for dear life as she hears his footsteps coming towards her.

He shouts with slyness, “You can hide, but I’ll find you. You can run, but I’ll catch up.”

He reaches the kitchen. As he stands in the doorway, he whispers just loud enough that Jennifer, who is standing at the very end of the kitchen, can hear, “You can try anything you want, but you’ll still die.”

The bearded man traps her in her own kitchen by blocking the doorway. She lunges at him with the knife, but he backs up and dodges the plunge intended to end his life. Jennifer gets up from the floor and runs as fast as she can towards her bedroom. Hiding under the bed, she plans to stab the bearded man’s ankle to buy her time for her escape.

The bearded man enters the room with a knife in the left hand and a gun in the right. He whispers, “You can hide, but I’ll find you sooner or later.”

Looking through the closet, he fails to find her. He steps before the bed, and Jennifer knows that it’s now or never; she charges her right arm at his ankle, thrusting her knife through his boots into his skin. He yells in pain and falls to the floor. Jennifer inches out from under the bed to find a weapon to finish him off with. When she comes back with a gun from the safe in the garage, he is gone. With adrenaline still pumping through her blood, she searches her mind for a solution.

Before she can look for the bearded man again, he comes out from behind the bedroom door and cuts into her shoulder. While in excruciating pain, she dodges his next thrust and takes cover inside the closet. She knows what to do now.

He limps to the closet and says, “Come out now.”

She knows it’s either him or her at this point and comes out behind the pile of clothes, shooting. BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM. She keeps shooting, never stopping. Jennifer hears police sirens in the distance and doesn’t hesitate to stop shooting. She doesn’t feel the pain in her arm anymore due to the adrenaline and anger surging through her body. She has been shooting for about four minutes now, four minutes of never-ending gunshots. He is dead, and has been since the first shot to the chest, but she continues to shoot his head, torso, neck, and everywhere else. He made her vulnerable. The police come inside, and she stops shooting. The ambulance comes to get the dead body and takes her to the hospital to stitch up the wound left by a stranger.

When back home, days later from the hospital, she looks over at her chair, stationed before the glass window. She walks over to the chair and rests her eyes upon it for a moment, looking back on all the time she wasted there. She moves the chair to its initial location and walks toward the house phone. She picks it up gently, like she is afraid of the phone, and dials her mother.

When she gets an answer, she says into the phone, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

Her mother replies, “Why haven’t you answered any of our calls? We just want to speak to you.”

They speak for hours, continuing conversations left on hold.

They catch up on their lives and, weeks later, Jennifer moves back in with her parents.

 

Black Girl

 

My uncle told me yesterday that if I am ever afraid to do something, to just do it.

But then again he was drunk, so you can’t blame me for being confused.

I was always one to follow my arrow despite what others said.

But to be completely honest, I tend to let those things get to me, and it takes a pep talk sometimes to lead me on the right path.

As a young African-American woman, I have a lot of trouble with how the media portrays me.

Black girl, black hair, black, brown eyes, black, dark life.

I am expected to drop out of school at sixteen due to pregnancy, and raise a baby without a father.

I am expected to live off of minimum wage with a fast food job and welfare for financial support.

Expected to live in the projects for the rest of my life until I make it out of it, but really never make out of it.

As a black girl with black hair and dark eyes, I’m seen as a disappointment to society, because people automatically assume that I will go nowhere in life.

But then again, my mom always tells me life is like a box of chocolates, I’ll never know what I’m going to get.

Therefore I know that the world is in for a surprise.

I know that I will be great in the world because I always follow my own arrow, even though I need a pep talk here and there.

Despite my surroundings, I know that I will do well because of the work that I put in.

Black girl, black hair, black, brown eyes, black, dark life.

Black skin, therefore, black, bleak future.

I was always told that education is the most powerful tool, a tool used to remove, chop off, break off, tear, shred, slash, stab, yank off all the unuseful hate in the world.

Remove, chop off, break off, tear, shred, slash, stab, yank off all the prejudice, all the criticism, all things negatively enforced by my society that I am included in when things are bad and excluded from when things are well.

My mother always told me to make my bed every morning before I leave so I feel better about getting into it at night.

And while that quotation isn’t extremely helpful,

I learned to, really, live my life the best I can so when my life ends, I am satisfied.

But then again she screamed at me when she said it so I didn’t analyze it right then and there.

Even though I am a black girl, with black hair, and black, brown eyes, I will not have a black, dark life.

Despite the way you see my brown skin and brown eyes, I will not have a brown, bleak life.

 

Whitechapel

The air was chilly, and the sky was cloudy while whispers and footsteps filled the streets of the Whitechapel District. A dark, heavy cloud had hung over the residents since the early morning. The bars were already filled with men and women alike, drowning their fears in bourbon. They all paid no mind to a lone figure, cloaked in black, shambling down Hanbury Street.

A crowd had gathered around a dwelling, nothing more than a single-fronted complex, and a commotion could be heard from behind the building. The figure pushed his way through the onlookers, earning himself some dirty looks. He was eventually greeted by a young bobby and a few barriers, but was seen before he could slink past both.

“Sir, you can’t go in there,” the young bobby stated.

He seemed quite familiar with that phrase. However, the dark figure continued to press on and calmly walked into the dwelling.

“Sir!”

The frantic voices from behind faded as the figure made his way around the furniture. There were the sounds of distant chatter, groaning wood floors, and the shuffling of the figure’s coat. Ahead of him was a passage that radiated cool air and pale, gray light. The figure did not pass through, but merely stood there until someone called out to him.

“What are you doing here, Blackford?” a coarse and vulgar tone fired at him.

“My job,” Blackford deflected.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hopped off the stoop. His beady eyes scanned the scene before him: police dogs, a distraught Abberline, a corpse. Blackford’s eyes narrowed.

“How was she found?” he asked.

“Look down,” his companion replied.

Blackford did so and was greeted by the sight of dried blood.

“Hmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Hmm’.”

“Before you go to spare, how was your morning, Cunningham?”

“My morning? I’d oughta’ conk you, but you look shabby enough,” Cunningham sighed. “If you must know, my morning’s been nothing but chaos since the body was found.”

“They found it just before six, didn’t they?”

“Yeah… She’s been cut open too. Makes me think that we’ve got a killer,” Cunningham glanced from side to side.

“How bad was it?” Blackford pressed, his voice hushed.

“Ugh, just thinking about it makes me sick. It’s disgusting, it is.”

“Can I have a look?”

“Are you daft? I can’t just let you waltz around a crime scene, Blackford. Especially when you reek of a tavern floor.”

“That’s Inspector Blackford to you, chap.” Blackford reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an open envelope.

An orange wax seal marked with a falcon was prominent.

“And, I’m appalled that you would even imply that I look anything less than spectacular.”

Cunningham looked Blackford up and down. Black trench coat, black cahill, black gloves, and a ghostly white complexion. He had pale blonde hair and stubble, brown, sunken eyes, and a demeanor so impish, he could test a priest’s patience.

“So, he put you up to this? I should’ve expected this. He’s always sticking his blue-blooded nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“That’s why I’m here. Now, step aside, Cunningham, I’ve got a job to do.” Blackford lightly pushed Cunningham back, much to Cunningham’s chagrin. Blackford whisked his way past inspectors and bobbies alike, becoming uncomfortably close to the mangled body of what was once a woman. He kneeled down and saw how her tongue protruded, he saw the bruises across her skin, and the bloody wounds that had killed her. She’d been an older woman, short and stout, dressed well enough.

“Her name was Annie Chapman, born Annie Eliza Smith. She was a prostitute who lived in that very building,” Cunningham’s voice explained from behind him. “Found by her neighbor. Can’t imagine what he must be feeling.”

“Well, I know that I’m feeling ill-informed.” Blackford stood up and sauntered back over to his companion. “This should help,” he said as he snatched the papers out of Cunningham’s grasp.

“Hey! Give it here!” Cunningham objected.

“Now, now, Cunningham, don’t cause a scene in front of a lady,” Blackford teased as he glanced down at the papers.

His expression turned serious as he skimmed through the pages. To have such anatomical knowledge… perhaps someone’s gone and decided to play doctor?

“This will do. That Abberline should be of help. So, don’t let this queer your pitch.”

Blackford stuffed the papers back into Cunningham’s hands. He pulled down his hat, straightened his gloves, and was about to leave, before turning around and saying, “The ‘Leather Apron’ will definitely strike again. This wasn’t his first, and it won’t be his last.”

***

The door to the townhouse screeched open and was slammed shut almost instantly. The interior was dark and cramped, lit only by a few oil lamps. The painted wood carvings had faded, and the entire entranceway smelled of mildew. But, it was quiet, and that was all that mattered.

Heavy black boots shuffled and clunked along the stairs. Leather gloves creaked along the railing. Blackford stopped once he reached the top, taking a quick peek over his shoulder before continuing to his abode.

He pulled out his keys and slowly unlocked the door, but paused for a second before opening it. He grabbed the handle and opened the door with a flourish.

“Darling, I’m home!” Blackford called.

The comment just hung in the air as Blackford was greeted by silence. He laughed quietly to himself before hanging up his hat and coat and locking the door behind him. The gin bottle thunked as Blackford placed it on the table. He loosened his tie and made his way over to the kitchen to grab a glass. He passed by his windows along the way and stopped. At the end of the block, just before the turn, he saw what looked like a carriage. Not uncommon, but this one was different.

It was too ornate, too well maintained. Gold painted details, full white horses, a finely dressed coachman and footman. The passing pedestrians’ attention was caught by it for a moment, before they quickly turned a blind eye to it. Blackford decided best to ignore it for now, no one seemed to have exited it yet.

The kitchen was drained of energy. The cabinets were crooked, the tile floor was cracked, the windows were unwashed, and everything was caked in a thin layer of dust. The vermillion wallpaper still remained intact, however. Blackford thought he’d have to look into that.

He felt watched. It was that carriage again, always stalking him. Blackford wiped a bit of the window with a rag and looked out at the carriage again. Nothing.

Blackford let out a quiet sigh of relief. He stopped.

Or, perhaps he had not seen anybody exit, if they already had. A woman’s voice came from behind Blackford.

“Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re practically married to your job.”

He froze in his tracks. That sharp tongue and those silent footsteps could only belong to one person. Blackford spun on his heel.

“Hello, Mathilda,” Blackford greeted.

Mathilda stood on the other side of the doorway, still inside the parlor.

“Good day, Henry,” Mathilda replied dryly. “Here,” She held out a letter, the envelope sealed with that all too familiar brand. “It’s from my lord, Morristan.”

“I know who it’s from, I can see it perfectly clear.” Blackford gingerly took the letter from Mathilda’s grasp.

“I was just being thorough. The way you drink, you wouldn’t even be able to tell me apart from a clydesdale.”

“It seems you’re too late, then. I can hardly make the distinction already.”

Despite what he’d said, he had to admit that Mathilda was an above average looking woman. A willowy figure wrapped in a jade bustle gown, her black hair tied into a neat, tight bun. Her cognac and shawl were laid on the back of an armchair behind her. She had dark, almond shaped eyes, thin lips, and a heart shaped face.  

“What does he want this time? I’ve already told him that I’d take the case,” Blackford groaned.

“Consider it a gift from the Viscount,” Mathilda smirked.

“That doesn’t sound too friendly.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Blackford simply sighed before beginning his search for his letter opener. He searched under stacks of crinkled and curling papers, behind novels and empty bottles, even inside his rusted stove and barren fireplace. All to no avail.

“Mathilda, do you-?” Blackford questioned as he turned towards her.

Before he could finish his sentence, Mathilda, with a flick of her wrist, presented him with a gaudy knife. It was silver with falcons carved into the blade and a lotus into the guard. To top it all off, a large red jewel had been embedded into the pommel.

“Thank you.”

With a swift slash of the blade, Blackford sliced open the envelope. He twirled the knife in his hands, holding the blade between two of his fingers. Mathilda grabbed the hilt and, with a flick of her wrist, it disappeared.

“You could make a living out of being a pickpocket,” Blackford teased.

“I have my standards, Henry,” Mathilda answered, her expression unchanging.

Blackford scoffed. “Yeah, by being some nob’s lackey.”

“You’re one to talk. Just look where you are now.”

Instead of responding, Blackford immediately turned his attention to the letter, carefully unfolding it. Scrolling black calligraphy graced the crisp page, and a floral scent wafted from it. He scrunched his nose at the unpleasant smell.

“Let’s see what his lordship has to say today.”

He held the letter taught and up to the soft light streaming in through the window.

 

Dear Inspector Blackford,

It has come to my attention that Whitechapel has begun to reek of blood. I urgently press you to locate and exterminate this local pest problem. Discard all that you think, here is what you must know: This “Leather Apron” has a signature. Search the inquest. Find the patterns. Bring me the killer. You have five days to complete this task. I thank you for your cooperation.

Yours Truly,

The House of Morristan

 

“Well, that sounds a bit threatening,” Blackford commented.

“It’s supposed to,” Mathilda replied plainly.

She turned and grabbed her belongings from the armchair. The lacy shawl was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and her plumed cognac was tipped ever so slightly.

“My work here is done. I’d best be on my way. Good day to you Henry,” Mathilda said quietly.

Her heels clacked against the worn wood floor, echoing throughout the entire apartment.

“Are those new?” Blackford called to her.

Mathilda didn’t even look back before opening the door and sealing it shut behind her.

Looks like I’ll be paying a visit to the morgue in a few days.

***

Over a fortnight had passed since the murder of Annie Chapman, but there had been no trace of the killer. Blackford had looked over the inquest and morgue reports, most of which seemed consistent with any unsolved murder. Most of it. The strangest and most disturbing part of it was that Chapman’s uterus had been removed. Removed with almost surgical precision.

Blackford rounded the corner of the alleyway, shortly followed by Cunningham.

“That Chandler, that numpty thinks he can waste my time?” Blackford mumbled.

“Calm down, will you? You got what you came for,” Cunningham groaned.

Their shoes shuffled against the cobble. Blackford was a few feet ahead of his companion, walking at a brisk and agitated pace.

“He just didn’t want anyone to touch the body until the examination.”

“Touch it? He wouldn’t even let me see it!” Blackford said angrily. “People already think that I wag off during work! I don’t need him to help spread the rumor.”

They stepped out onto the sidewalk of the main road and struggled against the current of people.

“Well, now you know as much as we do. Happy?” Cunningham asked.

“As a clam!” Blackford shouted.

They stopped in front of shop, and Blackford lugged open the large, wooden door. He didn’t even bother holding it for Cunningham. The inside was warm, welcoming, and mostly empty. The interior was mostly wood with a dirty tile floor. Oil lamps gave the room a golden glow, and the air was tinged with the sharp aroma of alcohol. The bartender switched his gaze to the new arrivals.

“Ah, you lads again,” he greeted.

Blackford couldn’t tell whether or not his smile was tired or forced.

“Your normal seats are free.”

“I can see that,” Blackford sighed.

He and Cunningham took their usual seats at the bar, a place close enough to every exit, but still hidden enough once the pub got crowded.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

“The usual,” Blackford said dryly.

“Really? That can’t be good for you. You should eat something first,” Cunningham warned.

He went ahead and ordered for both of them. A Fish-Friday meal.

“I personally prefer a nice Sunday joint,” Blackford grumbled.

“That’s your own fault for not ordering.”

The other customers filtered out, and the bartender had business to do in the back, leaving the bar deserted. The inspectors sat and ate in silence for a few moments before turning to each other.

“So, what they’re telling us is that she would’ve died anyways?” Blackford whispered.

“Yeah. Probably would’ve died of consumption by now,” Cunningham assured.

“Still, that killer is one bloody maggot. She died from asphyxiation rather than those ghastly wounds,” Blackford hushed his voice even more.

He looked over his shoulders, and Cunningham checked for any employees. Nothing.

“Ghastly wounds indeed. What kind of maniac could tear someone apart like that?” Cunningham continued.

“A maniac killing in cold blood,” Blackford murmured. “Can I trust you with my thoughts?”

Cunningham looked a bit surprised for a second before nodding his head. Blackford wanted to remark on his questionable reaction, but decided against it. For now.

“I think it’s most definitely a doctor, or at least someone within the medical field. Someone with a sick obsession with the female anatomy,” Blackford explained.

Cunningham nodded.

“Whitechapel is dodgy at best. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found someone truly sick hiding out there.”

Blackford saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the bartender making his way back over to them. Blackford turned to Cunningham and placed his finger on his own lips. Cunningham got the message and remained silent.

“I think that just about does it for today! What do you think, old friend?” Blackford asked gallantly.

“Just about,” Cunningham answered.

In a flash ,they stood up, paid their bill, and disappeared into the dark alleyways of London.

***

Scotland Yard was a hectic mess the next day. A letter had been forwarded to them, a letter claiming to be from Whitechapel’s newest killer. Blackford, with a bit of the viscount’s influence, had been able to weasel his way into headquarters to get a look at it.

His eyes flicked over every red letter, every smudge and fold. What he deemed most relevant he read as such:

“Dear Boss,” he said aloud. He mumbled through what he thought was nothing more than psychopathic nonsense. “I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I laugh when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track.”

He almost chuckled at the next line. “That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. Blah blah blah…” he continued.

“How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games.” Blackford scowled. “Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp. I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.”

His gazed lowered to the signature at the bottom. “Yours truly, Jack the Ripper…”

There was yet more.

“Don’t mind me giving the trade name.”

An extra message was written as well. Blackford turned the page sideways to view it. Once he did, his heart almost stopped.

“P.S. Wasn’t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it, no luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now. Ha ha.”

 

Child Soldiers

There are barriers that just altogether shun certain people from getting into school. Sexism (mainly women), disabilities, poverty, and “lowly families,” “with not much family importance.” Education is vital, but recruiting children can completely mess up a child’s education. Also, a country that does not have many schools and a place on the middle of the battlefield does not help.

A massive barrier and issue during the Sudanese war for education was the unique and brutal recruitment of child soldiers. Many children who were still in school, during this civil war, were separated from their tribes and families. Some young children were forced to be child soldiers to aid the war efforts in many ways like cooking, fighting, prostitution, and shields for the adult soldiers. The future of Sudan is unstable due to this cruel and brutal recruitment.

This is a massive issue that is unique to Africa, and specifically Sudan, in the civil war against South Sudan. Almost nowhere else in the world currently has the recruitment of child soldiers. During the Sudanese civil war, there were approximately 15,000-16,000 children that were recruited, forced or not forced in the experiment of using children to aid the war effort. Children were treated brutally and many died. During the war, children never left the tribe, in fear of being attacked or forcefully recruited into the forces. The fear many families had were about what might happen to their children while they were at school. A majority of children were kidnapped and forced to be soldiers when they were coming home from school. Families live in fear, which is an invisible but powerful boundary that makes people keep their children at home.

In the case of a child soldier story in Sudan, there was tragedy for a young kid named John Yaak. In 1987, John’s home was raided by soldiers. They kidnapped John and forced him to fight in the civil war at just the age of nine. Given a gun and orders, he trekked all around Sudan, fighting in a war full of bloodshed. When he was in his fourth year of combat, uninjured, he was shot in the shoulder with a bullet, relieving him from service as he was rushed to the hospital. John is still very traumatized by his past and horrified by the idea of child soldiers. He currently lives in Australia, working as an Uber driver. He works this job so he can send money back to Sudan to help abolish the recruitment of children once and for all. Due to these horrible experiences, almost all of these kids have had some sort of form of PTSD. John’s experience in the army affected his life completely.

Issues from being a soldier in the army, when you are not of age, can lead to many psychological and physical impacts that can affect education in many ways. After a child has gone through a war, they may have gained many injuries due to weapon conflicts. Also, they suffer from illnesses or diseases. War can result in loss of hearing and sight. These physical impacts make it hard to get educated. Studies have shown that children who have been rescued compared to those who were in army recruitment had many psychological impacts, which include social withdrawal, suicidal behavior, loss of trust, and excessive guilt. All of these effects from war trauma are mostly related to posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) that can affect one’s personality and mindset. Another part of these symptoms is that the kids have trouble finding confidence in catching up with all their peers in education. This is an issue for the next generation because children will get in the mindset that they are never going to catch up with their peers, making them give up too easily. Most of the kids that experience this mindset end up dropping out of school. These effects leave a major impact on people.

Effects from being a soldier previously is a massive issue. The impacts are so huge, it can completely alter someone for the rest of their life, due to such a young and susceptible age. These young children are the next generation’s leaders but, with such trauma at a young age, it stunts their education and social skills. The entire generation is affected because of this. The generation should grow up being curious to motivate themselves and push the boundaries of knowledge and innovation. Instead, they live and grow up in fear. This leads to a country full of people who do not trust each other and do not work together. With each person on his or her own, it leads to a massive issue. If an entire country cannot work together, they cannot overcome any massive issues.

Child soldiers are currently a major issue that occurs in Sudan, where recruitment is common for war. Recruitment is unique to countries like Sudan. The massive recruitment of children during the Sudanese war had not only impacted the children, but the entire future of Sudan. Being a soldier as a child affects your mental, physical, and social skills. It also affects your likeliness of receiving an education due to the fear of getting drafted and getting attacked while you are at school. This issue is very problematic. These effects (like PTSD) are impacting the country’s next generation and their leaders. Many children in Sudan are still experiencing this type of brain trauma from recruitment. The future generations of Sudan are at risk, both mentally and physically, due to child soldiers.

 

Works Cited

“A Generation Made to Fight: Saving South Sudan’s Child Soldiers.” UNICEF USA. N.p., 28 Oct. 2016. Web. 30 June 2017.

Josh Hanrahan For Daily Mail Australia. “Australia’s Most Inspirational Uber Driver: Child Soldier Who Fled Poverty in Sudan for Australia Uses the Money He Earns Ride Sharing to Stop Kids in His Homeland from Being Killed in War.” Daily Mail Online. Associated Newspapers, 28 June 2017. Web. 30 June 2017.

“Psychological Impacts.” Child Soldiers. N.p., 03 Dec. 2012. Web. 30 June 2017.

“10 Barriers to Education around the World.” Global Citizen. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 June 2017.

 

Misogyny and Bullying in North and South America

People inflict pain because it makes them feel good. It lets them inflict all the pain they have ever been inflicted. This has been happening for centuries now.  There are many types of inflicted pain, like slavery, racism, mockery, bullying, violence, etc. but we are just going to focus on two of them: misogyny and bullying. Many of us have probably seen these two before, and most of us haven’t done anything to stop them, or walked away from the situation and tried to even forget it. This doesn’t stop the cycle. This happens with not only children and teenagers, but with adults as well, and in other cases, we may not have been the bystanders but the victim or even the perpetrator.

Although, both of these social phenomena frequently occur and intersect all over the world, misogyny is more prevalent in South America, while bullying is more predominant in North America. This can be attributed to the machismo culture of South American society, whilst in North America bullying reflects the individualism inherent in rampant capitalism.

Misogyny is a problem that fits under the umbrella of bullying. For those who don’t know what misogyny is, here is the full meaning: dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women. Misogyny is a problem that has been happening for centuries and is still happening to date. Although,  it’s not as bad as it used to be in the US, thanks to the help of the 1970’s second-wave feminist movement.

However, it isn’t much better in South and Central America because according to the UN and many other sources, a woman is assaulted every 15 seconds in Brazil’s biggest city, Sao Paulo. Further, in Mexico, it is estimated more than 120,000 women are raped a year — that is one every four minutes (Watson).  Similarly, sexist things happen not only on the streets but also in universities to women with PhDs and esteemed degrees get 25 to 60% less wages than in the US and Europe, and in most of the poorer Latin and Central American countries, women aren’t even allowed to be sent to school, Some 53% of Bolivian women aged 15-49 have reported physical or sexual violence in their lives, according to the Pan American Health Organization ( Watson). Misogyny is ingrained in the structure and culture of these societies, where it affects every strata of the female population. Misogyny has been a part of South and Central American cultures for centuries now. Let’s take an example from modern women in Ecuador. Lots of them are forced to stay with their abusive husbands because they provide most of the income, and the women are afraid of ending up on the streets. Lots of women experience sexism in school both in South and North America, and in this form of sexism, women aren’t allowed or recommended to participate in activities that mostly men play in because of the reason that it’s not considered ladylike. This has caused many women to not pursue careers in lady-like sports and sometimes some coaches won’t even let women do certain types of sports, which is absurd because everyone deserves a chance to pursue and play in any sport they want. Although women aren’t seen as strong as men, men aren’t necessarily better athletes, and this is considered a type of bullying. But bullying doesn’t necessarily only happen to women. It also happens to men and women alike, and a lot of victims of bullying in the United States ask themselves whether it’s better in other schools.

We’ve all seen, heard, or been apart of some sort of bullying before, but what we don’t know is that over 3.2 million students are victims of bullying each year, and approximately 160,000 teens skip school every day because of bullying. Only 1 in 4 teachers see nothing wrong with bullying and will only intervene 4% of the time. Many people have asked themselves if it’s better in other schools. Unless you’re not in a private school, it isn’t much better in other public schools, thanks to various studies that show that homosexual and bisexual teens along with students with disabilities are more likely to be accepted by students in private schools. But don’t get me wrong, not all private schools are amazing, In some private and boarding schools, you can be bullied because of your wealth or because they consider you different from them, and this can give the victim various problems growing up.

What happens with bullies is that they usually have been the victim of violence or childhood traumas caused by family, etc. and they use bullying as a way of coping with the pain that they have been inflicted before. But what the bullies don’t realize is that by doing that, they’re not getting rid of the pain but temporarily easing and passing it onto their victims, and that either gives the person the same problems or causes serious problems when they grow older and can also cause depression and even sometimes suicide. As far back as 2010, of every student enrolled in a U.S. school from kindergarten to twelfth grade, one in seven of them have been bullied by a classmate. In a 2010 study, 61% of the participants reported that school bullying was driving kids to shoot other kids. The study also found that for every 20 kids enrolled in school, one kid has seen a classmate carrying a gun in school. It also found that 23% of high school freshmen in the US take a gun to school with them.

Although bullying and misogyny aren’t the same thing, and the misogyny in south America might not be as prominent as bullying in North America, bullying and misogyny are both problems that I have seen first-hand both in South and North America. I, together with millions of others, not only think it’s a disgrace, but an embarrassment for humankind and those who have done it knowingly being fully aware of their actions should be ashamed of actions they have committed. We might not all be the same, but we should all be respected and treated in the same way, and this is why bullying and misogyny in both North and South America has to be stopped. We can all make a difference just by asking a teacher or calling the police for help.

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Works Cited

“11 Facts About Bullying.” DoSomething.org | Volunteer for Social Change. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 June 2017.

“Bullying In The USA.” NoBullying – Bullying & CyberBullying Resources. N.p., 22 Dec. 2015. Web. 30 June 2017.

Watson, Katy. “Struggling with Sexism in Latin America.” BBC News. BBC, 18 Aug. 2015. Web. 30 June 2017.

 

Social Skills and Social Media

Social media is one of the largest growing phenomenons across the world, and it is still spreading. This marvel condenses conversations and relationships to the form of an app. The problem with these apps is that social skills, such as conversation skills, body language, and many others, are lost when using social media as a main form of communication. Social media deteriorates in person relationships based on how much people are communicating over apps and not in person.

Face-to-face conversations build relationships and social skills as opposed to communicating mostly over text and messages. Body language, conversation skills (verbally and nonverbally), facial expressions, empathy and sympathy, appearance, and gestures are all social skills that I know I have learned through conversations and many personal relationships I have had over time. I remember, when I was only five, my brother and I went to a supermarket just for fun because our mom gave us ten dollars. My brother was afraid to ask the cashier where our favorite candy was, so he made me ask. That was one of the first times that I’ve had a conversation using the social skills I had learned by talking to friends and family. After that experience, I realized that it wasn’t hard to ask a question to someone you didn’t know, and even make small talk with someone you didn’t know. For example, you can’t learn verbal and nonverbal conversation skills by communicating mostly over text.

Most face-to-face conversations actually consist more of body language and expressions than words. “Human communication consists of 93% body language and paralinguistic cues, while only 7% consist of words.” By learning social skills, and using them in everyday conversations, you can build and start new relationships that you would have never had. By building new relationships, you can also overcome the awkwardness of speaking to people that you don’t know. Yes, it is easier to talk with someone over text or using messages, but it is not the natural thing to do. Technology is a superficial, man-made object that is not like speaking face-to-face at all. People may argue that texting/facetime/messaging is social, but is it? You are hiding behind a screen even with facetime. All of these examples of social media is just mostly you hiding behind a screen and creating an artificial appearance for yourself. It’s just not natural.

This also helps you share your opinions more easily. If you feel comfortable having a conversation with somebody, than you are more likely to share your opinions on some topics. Practicing your social skills also makes you more comfortable starting conversations with parents, peers, adults, executives, and friends. Most executives of businesses are looking for face-to-face conversations instead of over social media. In a survey by Forbes, that spoke to 760 business executives, 84% preferred face-to-face communication. Out of those, 85% said their reason were that it builds stronger, more meaningful business relationships. Respondents of the survey also said face-to-face meetings are best for persuasion (91%), leadership (87%), and engagement (86%).” Face-to-face conversations are always better than communicating through social media because social skills are built and relationships are more easily made.

Cyberbullying is a large problem that arose off of social media and affects people more when social media is a big part of their lives. Cyberbullying erupted from social media and is a form of mostly anonymous bullying that targets people based on appearance, opinions, and decisions. Cyberbullying came to be because people felt more comfortable expressing themselves, both in good and bad ways, behind a screen rather than in person or face-to-face. We have found that this is a very large problem in our country. Research done shows 52% of teens report being cyberbullied. More people bully online than in real life. Teens agree with this statement. Research done shows 81% of teens agree that bullying is easier to get away with online.

Another problem is that people being cyberbullied do not tell their parents. Studies done have shown that only one in ten kids tell their parents if they are being cyber bullied. People being cyberbullied should have somebody to talk to, and if they can’t talk to their parents, they probably won’t want to talk to their close friends or trusted adults. Also, awareness of cyberbullying is a problem. Only 68% of teens agree that cyberbullying is a serious problem, and 95% of teens on social media have witnessed cyberbullying and done nothing. This shows, that online, there aren’t really any allies. In real life, there are allies and people who help, but people online don’t help. Many teens in this day and age have social media as a big part of their daily life, making it much more problematic for them when they are being cyberbullied. Bullying in general is always going to be more problematic if there is nobody to talk to and there is no ally. Most people being cyberbullied don’t feel like they can talk to anybody, and the overall majority do not have an allies. I feel that if everyone did not use social media as such a big part of their lives, then less people would be cyberbullying. Confidence is something that most cyberbullies attack. What cyber bullies want is to terrorize you, and to beat the cyber bullies, you just can’t think about them and not be terrorized.

Social media is a large part of our society today, and people have become too attached to their online profiles. What is important is the realization that social media should be used to compliment face-to-face relationships, but not to be used as a main source of a communication. Our online profiles are not us in real life. If used as a main form of communication, social media will break down face-to-face relationships and social skills as well.

 

Bibliography

Jobs in Pharma, Sales, Devices, Clinical & Healthcare Comms.” Star Medical. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 June 2017.

Forbes. Forbes Magazine, n.d. Web. 30 June 2017.

“Cyber Bullying Statistics.” Bullying Statistics. N.p., 07 July 2015. Web. 30 June 2017.

“Cyber Bullying Statistics.” NoBullying – Bullying & CyberBullying Resources. N.p., 12 June 2017. Web. 30 June 2017.

“11 Facts About Cyber Bullying.” DoSomething.org | Volunteer for Social Change. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 June 2017.

 

Jazz in Education

Jazz has always been a big part of my life. I believe that jazz is important because it teaches creativity in a way that’s different from anything else. Jazz is a musical genre you can improvise on. Classical music, which is the genre schools teach, is only played one way: by playing the specific notes written on the page. I believe that this is why some students quit their instruments. They do not like the way classical music is played. Studies say the brain can’t learn as well when it is not happy or interested.  I am not saying classical music shouldn’t be taught. Classical music is very important because of its fundamentals, but just learning only classical music will not be sufficient. It won’t teach people to improvise. Improvising is where people think of what to play while playing. This is a skill I find important. This skill can also be applied in everyday activities, such as expressing ideas. People think of what to say next while talking. Learning jazz can help this skill. Therefore, schools should teach jazz in addition to classical music.

It is important for kids to learn to improvise. In some schools, teachers teach kids to compose music by writing note by note. This is good for creativity, but it still doesn’t teach kids to come up with ideas on the fly. Also, writing the music out is more time consuming than improvisation. When people write note by note, they often forget their ideas while writing the notes. Also, composing jazz is different from composing classical music. First, composing jazz takes less time than composing classical music. This is because jazz forces you to concentrate more on the chords. Chords take less time to write out. Chords are like the skeleton in a human’s body. It doesn’t directly influence the appearance of the person, but it lays out the shape of the person. With jazz, the chords influence your choice of notes and the shape of the piece, but the notes aren’t specified. So, when you compose jazz pieces, it makes you think of multiple possibilities of what the piece will sound like.  Different types of memorization is also important. While classical music forces you to memorize notes, jazz forces you to memorize chords. So, with jazz, you have to memorize the structure while improvising. This should be good practice for students.

Learning jazz benefits humans unlike any other type of music. Learning jazz teaches teamwork skills. People in jazz bands constantly give each other looks, or “cues” so that everyone knows when they start and end solos, as well as playing with everyone. Being able to use cues requires the whole band to be on the same page. There is not as much teamwork skills involved with classical music, since all the notes are fixed. All you have to do is to play along with everyone. This is why jazz develops students’ brains differently. Also, jazz expands mental abilities. According to William R. Klemm,  a player has to engage the brain in multiple ways that classical musicians do not. According to Psychology Today, when improvising, “players have to have a huge musical vocabulary and realize in milliseconds what new notes will fit” and that this is one of the most “mentally demanding things.” The author also says that this helps brain development in many ways. An overwhelming amount of studies say challenging the brain develops new neural networks in the brain. The author also says that learning to play jazz teaches “invaluable learning capacities for hand-eye coordination, the ability to memorize, discipline, patience, critical and creative thinking, high-speed intellectual engagement with the ideas of others, and self-actualization and confidence.” People playing and listening to jazz experience enormous amounts of mental stimulation, making the experience fun for them. Studies also suggest that learning jazz helps memory, intelligence, creativity, and that it relieves stress. After all, jazz started out as an emotional relief system for slaves. It is also the best type of music to listen to while studying or writing. According to liveforlivemusic, the brain releases chemicals to react accordingly. According to Kendall Deflin, the brain follows the influence of jazz and goes with the rhythmically improvisational patterns which pop and jerk at times, so the activity in the music increases hyperactive neural stimulation. This is saying that the unusual rhythms affects the brain in positive ways.

Additionally, jazz should also be taught in a history context. Jazz is a big part of African American history. It started as emotional relief for slaves. The styles of jazz change as the culture changes and new people come along. Also, the jazz gets influenced by many different cultures and genres to get to what it is today. It is also important to know how people reacted differently to jazz throughout time. Jazz is one of the few art forms that are uniquely American. Jazz plays a very big part in history. Jazz has always been a way of expressing emotion. Happier musicians would play more up beat fast music, while slaves would play the blues. As times change, the style and the music would change too. This is important for the students to learn about because it is related to the history of the people. The interdisciplinary approach has been proven to work. If kids learn to play jazz, and learn about the history of jazz, they would learn history while being able to relate to the music they are playing.

Schools should teach a wide variety of genres. I believe why people stop practicing their instruments is due to their lack of interest in the genre, not because they don’t understand music. If schools teach many genres, and give a chance to every student to try out different types of genres, students would have better chances to keep going with their instrument. Also, because experience in one genre can help students play other genres, learning multiple genres is beneficial for students, just like it is good for teachers to teach different types of writing. Therefore, jazz, in addition to classical music, should be taught in schools.

 

Bibliography:

Klemm, William. “What Jazz Music Can Do for the Brain.” Psychology Today. Sussex Publishers, 27 Apr. 2014. Web. 30 June 2017.

Deflin, Kendall. “Why Jazz Is The Most Stimulating Genre of Music, According To Science.”L4LM. N.p., 23 Dec. 2016. Web. 30 June 2017.

 

Teaching About Islam in Schools

Muslims, throughout the world and especially in the United States, are being oppressed and discriminated against by many people. This prejudice and xenophobia has always existed, but it has been exacerbated by extremism. This problem grew in 2001, when an extremist Muslim group attacked the Twin Towers in New York City. Because of this event, and others that were caused by extremist groups, Muslims are being attacked by fearful and ignorant people. In schools, Muslim children are excluded and bullied by their classmates, and many times, teachers offer no support. Police officers randomly stop and question Muslims on the streets, and in airports, TSA officers interrogate Muslims and search through their luggage and clothes. In the media, whether it’s films, social media, or magazines, Muslims are portrayed as violent and threatening. Our president, Donald Trump, recently issued an executive order to ban people from seven, mostly Muslim, countries the allowance into the United States. This executive order, formally known as “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry,” is more commonly known as the “Muslim Ban.”  Muslims are being treated this way because these people are frightened and ignorant. However, this fear and ignorance can be mitigated by education. Schools throughout the United States should teach students about Islam as a subject in the context of world history and religions, because it can create more empathy and understanding.

Many parents are against this statement. They are worried that Islam will be taught in schools as a religious practice and methodology, and that it may have an indoctrinating effect on their children. More than 70% of the United States identify as Christians, so they may not want the schools to teach their children to practice a different religion. Michelle Edmisten, a mother from Tennessee, complained that her 7th grade daughter was being penalised for not completing assignments about the five pillars of Islam. The daughter didn’t complete the assignments, because according to Edmisten, “she felt some of the assignments went against her beliefs as a Christian” and that her daughter’s “personal religious beliefs were violated.” Yet the assignments only asked for her to list Islam’s five pillars, which were in no way forcing her into becoming Muslim, or going against Christian beliefs. In fact, something both Christianity and Islam have in common is the message of love, peace, and forgiveness. Michelle Edmisten then continued to ask for a history textbook to be removed from her daughter’s social studies curriculum, saying that “it promotes Islamic propaganda.”  However, there is a distinction between propaganda and education. Propaganda promotes a specific bias or viewpoint. Education, on the other hand, is for the gain of knowledge. Michelle Edmisten might be worried that her daughter can be affected by this “Islamic propaganda,” which can, in turn, indoctrinate her into Islam. Edmisten is not the only one. Parents throughout the country are pulling their children out of schools because they are misinterpreting Islam being taught as methodology. This provokes the fear of their children practicing Islam. This fear is provoked by prejudice, which makes these irrationally fearful parents not want their children even learning about Islam in any context. A March 2015 Huffpost poll showed that nearly 55% of Americans viewed Muslims negatively.

However, the schools and teachers are by no means trying to indoctrinate the children into Islam. Worksheets, assignments, and textbooks about Islam are not forcing students to practice the religion, nor are they promoting it. The schools are merely educating the students about the history of humanity. The students are taught about how Islam began, what it means to the world, and its celebrations and customs. Islam began around the time of the Silk Road, and, therefore, influenced many other cultures and civilisations. This religion is also the world’s second most popular, with around 1.8 billion followers. If schools were to not teach about Islam, they would be erasing certain parts of history and humanity. “Parents are banning together to erase history and leave the next generations of children ignorant and unprepared for the real world,” stated Nakia Moore, a student from the University of Alabama. If children don’t learn about Islam, they might spend the rest of their lives believing anything about this religion, whether it’s true or not. For example, the media and Islam’s false public image might be believable to someone uneducated or ignorant about the religion. This uneducated or ignorant person might then grow to view Islam negatively, and this is how prejudice ensues. Schools are teaching students about other religions like Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, and Hinduism. Yet, some are failing to teach Islam.

Many parents don’t want their children learning about Islam because of their irrational and ignorant prejudice towards the religion. This leads to many schools pulling Islam out of their curriculum, in an effort to appeal to these parents. “There’s no indoctrination,” said Patricia Raynor, a South Carolina spokeswoman, about Islam being taught in schools. “It’s a course of study, just like an algebra class.” This is true, because learning about Islam and other religions is just as important as learning about Shakespeare or World War II. Knowing about the religions of the world is fundamental because if this knowledge is absent, it is nearly impossible to fully understand art, history, and politics. In 1963, Justice Thomas Clark from Texas wrote that “It might well be said that one’s education is not complete without a study of comparative religion or the history of religion and its advancement of civilisation.” Religion is so deeply rooted in the history of humanity, that not learning or teaching about the different types would be erasing a major part of our story as a whole. Educating children about Islam will also reduce the attacks on Muslims. The more people can learn about Islam, the more they will be able to understand Muslims and their religion, therefore diminishing fear and prejudice. The more we know about the world, the less afraid we will be of it. For example, a Pew study found that if a person was familiar with Muslims or knew one, there was a stronger likelihood that they would have a more positive attitude towards Islam, compared to someone who had never met or learned about Muslims.

It is important for children to learn about Islam because it has made such a big impact on our world throughout the centuries, influencing hundreds of cultures and civilizations. Religion has contributed to almost all aspects of human life: politics, literature, art, economics, and science. Refusing to learn about the world’s different religions would be like refusing to learn the history of humanity. In addition, the president of the United States has made Islamophobia wildly popular in the country, emphasizing that Muslims are violent and that they are terrorists. Many people support the president and believe what he says is true. This has lead to many more attacks on Muslims throughout the nation. But the main reason as to why this is happening is because there are many ignorant people in the country. Susan O’Brien, a New Jersey resident, said, “I believe that ignorance breeds fear and fear breeds hatred; the more we understand about other cultures and religions, the better we are equipped to deal with the issues we face in today’s world.” If more students are taught about Islam, they will not only be gaining crucial knowledge about humanity’s history, but they will also show more empathy towards Muslims. This will be able to greatly reduce attacks on Muslims and Islamophobia in general. The students can grow to be more open-minded, tolerant, and compassionate. A generation of smarter and kinder people can be formed, and they will not only learn to tolerate differences, but embrace them as well.

 

Luongo, Michael T. “Traveling While Muslim Complicates Air Travel.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 07 Nov. 2016. Web. 06 July 2017.

“EXECUTIVE ORDER: PROTECTING THE NATION FROM FOREIGN TERRORIST ENTRY INTO THE UNITED STATES.” The White House. The United States Government, 23 Feb. 2017. Web. 06 July 2017.

Panel, Guardian. “‘A Rollercoaster Ride’: How Trump’s Muslim Travel Ban Has Affected Lives.” The Guardian. Guardian News and Media, 24 May 2017. Web. 06 July 2017.

Wormald, Benjamin. “Religious Landscape Study.” Pew Research Center’s Religion & Public Life Project. N.p., 11 May 2015. Web. 06 July 2017.

Bult, Laura. “Tenn. Mom Fights to Remove School Book That Teaches about Islam.” NY Daily News. N.p., 06 Oct. 2016. Web. 06 July 2017.

Mazza, Ed. “Mom Throws A Fit When Her Daughter Learns About Islam In School.” The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 06 Oct. 2016. Web. 30 June 2017.

Kaleem, Jaweed. “More Than Half Of Americans Have Unfavorable View Of Islam, Poll Finds.” The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 10 Apr. 2015. Web. 06 July 2017.

Lipka, Michael. “Muslims and Islam: Key Findings in the U.S. and around the World.” Pew Research Center. N.p., 26 May 2017. Web. 06 July 2017.

Moore, Nakia. “Islam Should Be Taught in Schools.” The Crimson White. N.p., 06 Oct. 2017. Web. 06 July 2017.

Shugerman, Emily. “Some Parents Are Pissed That Their Kids Are Learning about Islam in School.” Revelist.com. N.p., 2 Feb. 2017. Web. 06 July 2017.

Yoffie, Eric H. “Let’s Teach About Islam in Our Schools.” Time. Time, 23 Dec. 2014. Web. 06 July 2017.

Liu, Joseph. “Views of Islam and Violence.” Pew Research Center’s Religion & Public Life Project. N.p., 08 Sept. 2009. Web. 06 July 2017.

Bandler, Aaron. “New Jersey School District Teaches Islam But Censors Christianity.” Daily Wire. N.p., 21 Feb. 2017. Web. 06 July 2017

 

The Magical World (Chapter Two from Mystic)

Everyone knows those long, tiring days. You’ve experienced one. You can just admit it. After busting a shoplifter, sneaking into a prison, hearing a noise louder than a Green Day show, and practically being death threatened by a huge guild of Scavengers that shouldn’t exist anymore; you’d be tired too, just admit it.

Surely, you have your own special place where you go on those tiring days; some would call that special place home. Mystic has his own world. Of course, he doesn’t own that world, but he calls it a home.

***

Mystic walked around the city for a little bit. To any normal person who watched him for long enough, it would seem like he was just wandering around endlessly, with no place in mind. But don’t be fooled like any normal person; he knew exactly where he was going. Mystic walked down a shady side street with a small pub on the corner. When he reached the entrance, he paused and stared at a lock on the main door that appeared to the human eye to be completely broken. Mystic pulled out a set of very abnormal looking keys, looking at all of them to make sure he chose the right one. Once he found the right one and put it in the lock, he began to slowly fade out of existence; into another one.

The Magical World. That broken-down keyhole is one of the many portals to allow beings to switch between the two planes of the Human World and the Magical World. The rest are scattered across the city, and Mystic owned a copy of every key. Humans never see it as more than a broken lock, and humans never try to replace or remove the lock because they never see a reason why they have to. Mystic’s body began to appear in the Magical World; slowly, with a flash of light, he fully appeared and looked around. The layout of the Human World and Magical World was eerily similar. The pub that Mystic had used as a portal was still a pub, and, in fact, his favorite magical pub.

As for the inside of this “magical” place, it’s incredibly loud. I’m sure you can imagine a normal human pub or bustling restaurant; now, imagine that but almost ten times as loud and with weird demonic noises, and occasionally a large fight. The pub has been like that since the first day it opened and flooded with Demons. That’s right, Demons, all sorts of them as well. While “Demon” is a very general term, since there are hundreds of different kinds and most magical creatures would take “Demon” as an offense, Mystic generally called them all Demons as well, as he himself had grown fond of the term. Most humans would still call them “Demons” or “Monsters” because humans had invented those terms, and it was a way for them to feel like they knew something they truly know nothing about.

Anyway, the pub was normally abnormally loud; but today, however, those qualities of the pub were stronger than ever. Half the Demons that you could see were in a fight; the rest were screaming bloody murder, possibly just trying to talk over all the chaos or simply trying to add to the chaos, who knows? Despite all the insanity, Mystic felt calmer here than he did in the Human World. Perhaps because he had become familiar with this world or perhaps because he was so connected with magic. Mystic looked around and managed to see two much calmer figures in the back of the pub, one slurping down an inhumanly large chug of beer, and the other, who didn’t have a drink in front of him. He recognized the two instantly.

“Pazak! Tabi!” Mystic called out. For some reason, when he called those two names, some of the ruckus calmed down. Pazak, the one with the inhumanly large glass, headed over to Mystic. He had stocky arms and legs, and was partially covered in dirty yellow fur.

“Mystic? Buddy, it’s been years,” Pazak exclaimed.

“Demon years, maybe, but for me, it’s only been a few weeks,” Mystic replied.

“Right, I forgot how weird the Human system works,” Pazak said with a sense of annoyance.

Mystic and Pazak saw another figure walking towards them; he was shorter in comparison to Mystic. His name was Tabi.

“Tabi! You’ve changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you,” Mystic told him as he approached.

Tabi opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but Pazak interrupted him.

“Yeah, ever since he traveled to the Human World, he got soft,” Pazak told him.

“Hey, I’ve lived most of my entire life in the Human World, and look at me,” Mystic said

with a bragging tone.

“Right, a poor old man who ain’t in a relationship!” Pazak jokingly yelled; he laughed at his own joke as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

 “With the life I have, that’ll be difficult; and tonight, well let’s just say things like that won’t be easy,” Mystic replied.

“Ah, bad night, I’m guessing?” Pazak asked.

“Worst in a long time, bud,” Mystic said with a frustrated tone.

“Lemme guess, still hunting lawbreakers as a night job?” Tabi asked.

Mystic had forgotten how different Pazak and Tabi’s voices were; Pazak sounded more like Louie Armstrong, and by comparison, Tabi’s voice was high and squeaky.

“Every day of the week, Tabi, and whenever I can,” Mystic replied.

“Don’t you ever sleep? Humans do sleep don’t they?” Pazak asked jokingly.

“Consider me nocturnal,” Mystic told him.

“That’s no life for a normal man, and you know it; what are you doing by stopping crime, anyway? It doesn’t pay you,” Pazak responded.

“Well, you can keep trying, but, if you ask me, you’re not going to save the worlds or end world hunger; you’re just fighting the little battles,” Tabi said.

“I could always try,” Mystic told him.

“No, I mean, you may be a talented magic user, but you aren’t some warrior in a red costume with super strength and flight who can save an entire galaxy,” Tabi exclaimed.

“Then, I can always fight the little battles; there’s nothing bigger I have to fight,” Mystic fought back.

“One day, you might need to fight something bigger,” Tabi told him.

Pazak smirked when the two stopped talking; the three all suddenly went silent. Mystic suddenly remembered the state of his snake ring; he looked at it, with all its visible cracks and indents. Pazak looked down to see why Mystic was staring at his fingers and noticed the cracked snake ring.

“You might wanna get that repaired,” Pazak said. “As a matter of fact, I might know just the person who can fix it.”

“Tell me who,” Mystic asked quietly.

“It’s not exactly easy to get in touch with him; he stays quiet these days and wanders around. I’m a mutual friend of his, however, I’m sure I’d be able to contact him again,” Pazak told him. Pazak’s words stunned Mystic; the fact that he said it wasn’t easy to get in touch with this repair man brought back memories of when the Scavenger told him it wasn’t easy to get in contact with his guild.

“I need you to find him as soon as possible; this snake ring…” Mystic began, but was interrupted by Pazak

“…is one of your most valuable magical items; I know who gave it to you after all,” Pazak reminded him.

“Give me this man’s name,” Mystic ordered him.

“His name is Teth. Much like you and Beyonce, he only goes by one name,” Pazak said.

Tabi blinked twice and gave Pazak a questioning look, as he had no idea what a Beyoncé was.

“You know Beyonce?” Mystic asked.

“Music transcends dimensions, too; Mystic, you should know this.” Pazak told him.
Mystic laughed with Pazak as he said this; the two shared a small pause, then, Mystic thought of his ring once again.

“I need to get this ring repaired,” Mystic said.

“Yeah, I know how much it means to you; we’ll go now,” Pazak said.

“I think I’ll stay here; I’ve never been into dodgy magic, anyhow,” Tabi told them.

“Alright, kid, don’t drink too much, and stay safe,” Pazak said jokingly.

“Will do,” Tabi replied.

The next thing Mystic knew, he was on the Demonic streets with Pazak. The two saw a plethora of different kinds of Demons; as in the Demon world, there are more types of Demons than there are animals in the human world. However, unlike humans with other animals, all Demons live in the same cities and environments. The intelligence of Demons vary; most kinds of Demons are about as intelligent than average humans, while others are about as intelligent as monkeys.

“Let’s hope he’s still in this location,” Pazak remarked. “Like I said, this guy moves around a lot.”

Pazak pointed at a strange building; describing it wouldn’t be humanly possible, so simply imagine. However, the building did let off a strange vibe, as if you were passing a creepy looking Fortune Telling shop that was hidden in a back alleyway at night; that’s right, that’s how creepy we’re talking here.

The two entered the building quietly; there was an instant change in sound from the crowded and bustling demon streets to the completely empty candlelit shop. The sound was so minimal, Mystic could hear his heart beating and a slight ringing in his ears. Mystic wandered aimlessly around the room; it looked a lot bigger on the inside then it did the outside. The ceilings were high, and there was a small desk with magical tools stacked high behind it, as well as a large wooden staircase on the left.

“Teth!” Pazak exclaimed.

Pazak’s deep voice seemed to quickly echo across the room. Suddenly, slow footsteps were heard, as a silent old human man walked carefully down the large wooden staircase; this man was Teth. He had somewhat of a hunchback; yet, he walked without a cane or a walker, and his hair was a solid blonde, despite the fact he seemed to desperately cling to the banister of the staircase.

“A human?” Mystic asked himself under his breath.

“That’s sure right. A human with good hearing,” Teth said.

Teth had a thick Brooklyn accent, which you could hear despite his rather low monotone voice.

“It’s been far too long,” Pazak exclaimed.

“Agreed. What do you need? As you know, I have a full job in this world now; I am a very busy man,” Teth told him.

“We have a broken magic item for you to fix,” Mystic told Teth before he let Pazak say anything stupid to him.

“What kind of object?” Teth inquired.

“A possessed snake ring; the spirit of a Scorpiurus embodies it; it’s cracked in multiple places,” Mystic said.

“A cracked spirit ring; that’s incredibly dangerous; if the spirit leaks out, it could create a very…” Teth said, but paused, thinking clearly about what he was about to say.

“…unwelcome entity,” Teth said in a sharp tone.

“Time is of the essence then; it looks like you’re going to have to drop your other work,” Mystic told him.

“Kid, I don’t like your tone,” Teth said jokingly.

Teth moved over to the desk and pulled out a small monocle.

“The ring is cracked in five different places; look closely,” Teth said, giving the monocle to Mystic. Mystic took the monocle and examined it closely. The ring was cracked, but the cracks seemed to emanate a powerful blue light.

“That light, that must be the spirit?” Mystic asked.

“Indeed,” Teth said simply, taking back the monocle. “I need to get to work immediately,”
Teth pulled out a magical tool, and with it, he smoothed down the surface of the cracks. One by one, Mystic watched as each crack disappeared in front of his eyes. Mystic was amazed; never had he seen a tool that could simply fix broken objects with little effort required at all.

“Unfortunately, this tool isn’t going to seal the cracks forever; it’s simply so the spirit doesn’t manage to escape while I work; you’re going to have to give me a day on this snake ring, and I need to focus on this, so I request that you both leave,” Teth told them.

“Are you kidding me, Doc? We just got here!” Pazak exclaimed.

“He’s dealing with dangerous magic here, Pazak; I’d expect that you would know that,” Mystic told him.

“Listen, Teth, we’re gonna catch up sooner or later, okay?” Pazak told Teth.

“Of course; right now, I need to focus on my work,” Teth told him.

Mystic and Pazak both left the shop and walked down the Demonic streets once again, spotting and walking past a group of unusual biker Demons with antlers, causing some mild chaos.

“Teth, he’s not what I was expecting; he’s kind of…” Mystic began but was interrupted by Pazak’s loud voice.

“Old?” Pazak asked.

“I was going to say more human-like than what I was expecting,” Mystic said.

Pazak laughed a long, drawn out laugh.

“You’re getting less blunt over time, Mystic. About a decade ago, you totally would have said ‘he’s old’ and not mention the fact that he’s human, no matter what was going through your mind,” Pazak said.

“How’d you meet him?” Mystic asked.

“I met him way before I met you, but he spent all his time in the Demon world once he discovered it, learned magic from a few dodgy Demon types; unluckily for him, since he stayed in the Demon world, he aged at the rate Demons do, making him grow older faster, if that makes sense,” Pazak told him.

“I think I follow,” Mystic said.

Screaming was suddenly heard behind them; Pazak and Mystic turned around to see a relatively young Demon being thrashed across the street; he hit the ground with a large thump. Mystic looked to see who threw the kid and saw the same unruly antler Demons from before, with their pointy ears, vibrant orange skin and fashionable motorcycles. Pazak didn’t need to watch to know exactly what Mystic was about to do.

“Don’t even think about it; this ain’t our problem,” Pazak said sternly.

Pazak saw a small smirk run across Mystic’s face; he knew what was going to happen next, but he didn’t have enough time to react. Mystic punched Pazak in the stomach, running to the poor Demon kid, who was slowly getting back on his feet.

“Come on, get up, kid! Aren’t you going to fight for yourself?” asked one of the Demons. The Demon cracked his knuckles and made a fist with his seven fingers, getting ready to strike the kid once again.

“Whatever magical items you have on you kid, I want to see them, now,” another Demon said.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Mystic shouted, stepping in front of the kid.

“Get lost, old man, this is none of your business!” The Demon shouted back.

“It bloody sure is now,” Mystic replied.

Suddenly, Pazak ran towards them, and punched the Demons, knocking back the one talking to Mystic.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the Demon said with a smirk.

“What were you thinking? You don’t have your ring on you,” said Pazak, shouting at Mystic.

“I can handle this the old fashioned way,” Mystic said with a much calmer, cooler voice.

The Demon kid looked up in shock at his protectors; yet, he said nothing. He simply watched.
Mystic and Pazak tried their best to punch the antler Demons back, but to not much avail. The antler Demons fought back using magic; the one Mystic was talking to had speed magic, allowing him to not only be a lot faster then Mystic and Pazak, but making it harder for Mystic and Pazak to see him. Another Demon used energy magic, making him able to shoot energy out of his hands. Another with flight magic, which, as you can imagine for Mystic and Pazak, was just really irritating as he flew about and occasionally dropped down for an aerial punch attack. The two quickly learned that they were completely outclassed and that the antler Demons were much stronger. Mystic was struck across by the speed Demon when trying to protect the kid.

“Hey, you,” the speed Demon exclaimed. “You’re the famous crime buster, Mystic!”

“I’m famous?” Mystic asked.

“Oh, buddy, for us, you’re legendary! You captured some of my contacts easily, and I wanna make you pay!” the speed demon howled. The speed demon ran behind Mystic, and in the second where Mystic wondered where the speed demon went, he was struck in the back of the head by him.

“Guess the legendary Mystic lost his touch! Or maybe you just aren’t as tough as everyone says you are,” The speed Demon continued. Mystic was knocked off his feet by the speed Demon and fell on the cold pavement.

“I’ve heard of your little snake ring; a couple Scavenger guilds are after it,” the speed Demon began. “It’s worth thousands now, and since you don’t seem to want to sell it, I guess that means I can sell it to the Scavengers for myself!” The speed Demon exclaimed. The speed Demon quickly checked all of Mystic’s fingers and ungloved his gloved hand.

“Unlucky break, buddy, I don’t have my ring right now,” Mystic said, smirking at him.
The speed Demon tried to punch him again, but Mystic dodged easily. The speed Demon went into a fit of rage.

“Where is it? Tell me now!” The speed Demon said, grabbing Mystic by the collar of his shirt. The speed Demons’ infuriatingly bright orange skin burned Mystic’s eyes; it was bright, exotic, and overwhelming. His eyes were an even brighter shade of orange, but the annoying orange color of his eyes gave Mystic somewhat of an idea. Mystic spat in the speed Demon’s eye. The Demon didn’t even flinch, however, and rambled on.

“If you won’t tell me, you’re useless to me!” The speed Demon yelled, ignoring the spit, which, by now, had covered most of his face. Meanwhile, Pazak wasn’t faring so well against the Demons; the one using energy magic created a massive fist out of energy, punching Pazak with it and knocking two of Pazak’s teeth out. At this point, a few Demons pulled out small weapons from their pockets; it looked like a knife but with no handle and a very large point. The antler Demons managed to knock Pazak and Mystic on the ground.

“You’re not so good at the old-fashioned way!” Pazak exclaimed.

The antler Demons managed to surround Mystic, Pazak, and the Demon kid.

“You have a plan, magic boy?” Pazak asked.

“Hey, you’re a Demon, Pazak; you’re the one who should know magic, not me!” Mystic retorted back at him.

“Remind me to learn; that speed magic is pretty cool,” Pazak added.

“I know, right?” The speed Demon said, slowing down and standing proudly in front of Mystic, Pazak, and the Demon kid. He looked like a predator who just killed his first prey; proud, yet cold and calculating, ready to hunt again.

“So, human, I think in your world they ask: any last words?” The speed Demon asked. Mystic carefully took the pack of gum from the deli out of his pocket.

“What is that?” the speed Demon asked.

“Gum. It’s edible,” Mystic said, taking out the first stick of gum.

“Is it some sort of weapon?” Whispered one of the Demons in the background.
Pazak and the Demon kid looked on questionably as Mystic began chewing his first piece of gum. However, what Mystic failed to notice was a blue light shining through the pack of gum. Without further notice, the gum came alive, attacking the Demons; the gum grew exponentially in size, and a huge wave of gum shot at the antler Demons.

“I knew it was a weapon!” The same Demon shouted before being drowned out by the incredible amount of gum that shot at them.

When the gum attack died down, Mystic and Pazak could see clearly again; the antler Demons were scattered across the floor; most were covered completely in gum, the speed Demon being one of them. A few had managed to escape and were running away.

“Can we take them?” Pazak asked.

“Let them go; they learned their lesson, and if they haven’t, we’ll get them next time,” Mystic told Pazak.
“Damn. Whatever that weird pink weapon is, it’s useful,”

Mystic laughed loudly but quickly stopped.

“It doesn’t normally do that,” Mystic assured him.

Mystic looked down on the ground; gum had gotten everywhere, and the demons were completely still.

“This is going to make for some weird chalk outlines,” Mystic said jokingly.

“Stop your smart mouth for a second, okay?” Pazak told him. “And look!”

The two saw large vehicles quickly driving down the streets; these cars seemed to hover on magic, as they had no wheels, but they were large and bulky.

“Those are the Magical Authorities, and, to them, we just knocked out a dozen antler Demons for no apparent reason,” Pazak told him.

“Can’t we just tell them they were criminals who were beating up that kid?” Mystic asked.

“Do you really think they’re gonna believe that, Mystic? The crime system is a lot tighter in the magic world; there’s barely a trial, and all criminals are put to death,” Pazak told him.

“Tabi is lucky he didn’t come along; he wouldn’t be able to handle getting beating up then getting chased by the law,” Mystic said. Mystic looked back at the demon kid.

“You’ll be safe,” Mystic said to him. “But you need to run, now,”

“Thank you,” the Demon kid said in a meek sounding voice, as he ran off into the night.
Pazak began running in a different direction; Mystic quickly followed. Mystic looked back slightly to see four Authority Officer Demons stepping out of the vehicles and putting the antler Demons in their vehicles while the Officers handcuffed them. One of the Authority Officers clearly saw Mystic and Pazak running away, as he began chasing after the two. Mystic faced forward and began running faster.

“We need to get lost,” Mystic suggested to Pazak.

“There’s a subway down there!” Pazak said, running towards it. Mystic followed quickly, but he just managed to see the vehicle stop, the doors to it slide open. Mystic and Pazak ran through a crowd of Demons, while they saw a subway with the doors that had just closed.

“Dammit,” Pazak said.

Pazak and Mystic tried their best to blend in with the crowd, but it didn’t help that Mystic was human, as there were no other humans in the station. The Magical Authority Officer, accompanied by another one, who also must have noticed Pazak and Mystic running away, suddenly entered the subway station, hands clutched to the weapons they were carrying in their belt buckle. The Officers wandered around, glancing at everyone; they even glanced at Pazak twice, obviously not recognizing him, and luckily they weren’t able to see Mystic, who had crouched down. Around that time, another subway arrived; Mystic and Pazak quickly got on board, hidden in between a group of other demons. Mystic got another quick glimpse of the Authority Officers; they seemed to be looking at two demons covered in yellow fur, who were the same type of demon as Pazak. The subway took off with a magical whir.

“Listen, Pazak, I have to get out of this world,” Mystic said.

“Don’t worry, I know a portal by the Empire Magic Building; we’re going to get you out of this world,” Pazak told him.

“Perfect; right now, all I wanna do is go home and sleep all day,” Mystic mumbled to himself.

“Say, is your pretty face okay, Mystic?” Pazak asked jokingly.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine once I get my beauty rest,” Mystic joked back. “How are your teeth?”

“They’ve been better; I’m sure I’ll find some dodgy magic guy who specializes in repairing teeth,” Pazak told him

“I think they’re called orthodontists, Pazak,” Mystic said sarcastically.

“Right, right, I knew that; that’s what I meant, of course,” Pazak said to pretend he was joking. The two suddenly became silent; they listened to the sound of the magical subway car whirring across the track.

“Are you going to be okay alone? You’re an outlaw now, Pazak,” Mystic asked.

“Don’t worry; I can survive on my own, besides I have Tabi to protect me,” Pazak joked.

“True, very true,” Mystic said in a joking tone.

“Besides, if I ever need to get out of here, I can come to your world and crash at your place,” Pazak said.

“Of course,” Mystic said, figuring Pazak was joking.

The two got off the subway and got to the building with the portal. Mystic once again took his magical keys and put them in the broken looking lock in the door; he said his goodbyes to Pazak as he disappeared.

“See you around; tell Tabi I said hi, oh, and remind me to pick up my ring in a few days,” Mystic said as he slowly disappeared back into the human world. Then, there he was, standing in front of the pub where he was before. Mystic looked around at the human world, comparing it to how it was back in the magic world. Everything was so much quieter now; he walked around again. The sun was rising, and you could see the horizon line clearly, despite the array of buildings in Sweden. He figured the only reason he should ever return to the magical world again was to get his ring back. Sure, the magic world was his own special place, but right now, that special place he wanted to be was home. Now that the sun was up, he would get unwanted attention, as he gave off a magical aura which grabs people’s attention in broad daylight. Mystic looked down at the pack of gum which was once again stored in his pocket, he thought back to the deli and the Scavenger, then how one of the sticks of gum came to life, and how the spirit of his snake ring must be possessing the gum. The gum could be useful in battle; though, one thing is for sure, he isn’t going to eat it. Mystic did wonder what possessed serpentine flavored gum would taste like, however. Another thing that crossed his mind was that the spirit could easily come alive, and, judging by Teth’s reactions to it, could probably destroy a couple dimensions or so. However, Mystic didn’t care; he may try to follow the law, but no law says to defend the earth valiantly as it’s being wiped off of any existence. It’s like Tabi said; he can’t fight the big battles, so why should he try? If Sweden was going to go under because of a huge spirit demon, so what? It wasn’t Mystic’s job. There were Authority Officers for that. Besides, will anyone really care if the world suddenly ends?

 

Janitor

The man walked up to the school building early in the morning. The students wouldn’t be there for another hour, but he had to be there before anyone else. He groggily fumbled with his keyring, his fingers not awake enough to choose the right one. He eventually found the right one and unlocked the heavy double doors to the elementary school where he worked. The time went by quickly in the early morning, and teachers began arriving, along with children and their parents. The children were often afraid of him, with his heavy work boots and tall stature, but he didn’t mind. He had watched many of them grow up and thought very fondly of them.

Later in the day, as he was mopping the floors of the hallway, he saw a little girl running excitedly in his direction. She held something in her hand very tightly. In her excitement, she didn’t see the newly cleaned floors which were still shiny with water.

“Hey!” he screamed forcefully. “Stop running!”

The little girl stopped running. The janitor ran over to her.

“You can’t run like that,” he said. “You could get hurt.” He hadn’t meant to be aggressive, but apparently he had been; the girl started to cry. The man was uncomfortable and didn’t quite know what to do. He awkwardly crouched down to her level.

“I-I… I’m sorry. What’s in your hand?” he asked. The girl opened her fist to reveal a pearly white tooth. It was no bigger than a grain of rice. The janitor smiled and stood up.

“Come,” he said with a beckoning motion. The little girl wiped her eyes and walked with him to the school nurse.

***

It was a painfully cold day outside, but the warmth of the heater made the school feel safe and comfortable. The children were all content and cozy in the sweaters their parents had dressed them in. It had been snowing heavily all week, and the children hadn’t been allowed to go outside to play at recess. Teachers tried to keep them busy with stories and projects and baking cookies, but kids were getting antsy.

Wintertime was extra laborious for the janitor. He had all of his usual responsibilities, but he also had to shovel snow and keep the boilers working. Many others on the janitorial staff were out sick, and this left him with even more work to do. The kids were getting restless and making more messes than usual. Everything had to be disinfected extra carefully, so they wouldn’t get sick. All of this sometimes made the janitor grumpy. He didn’t mind too much, though. The job was thankless, and the children always put a smile on his face.

The next week, the snow had calmed down enough for the students to go outside for recess. This, of course, brought much excitement to the school, and everybody was anxious to play in the snow. The janitor watched contently as the children built snowmen and threw snowballs. He saw all the little ones walking around in their clunky boots and thick coats. The man smiled; they were practically double their size. When playtime had ended, all the children came marching inside with red cheeks and frozen fingers. The teachers helped the younger ones take off their boots, and snowpants, and mittens. They were all soaked through. The kids went with their teachers to their next class with a spring in their steps.

The janitor stood in the doorway of the kindergarten classroom. He saw the pile of wet coats and scarves and socks, and reminisced about his own childhood. He carefully hung all of their soggy layers on the heater to dry.

***

The janitor locked up the heavy doors behind him as he finished a long day’s work. The schoolyard was quiet, and the sky was dark. He zipped up his jacket to block out the chill as he walked to the bus stop. The bus was delayed, so he had to wait for about ten minutes. When it finally arrived, he waited patiently as an old woman slowly stepped onto the vehicle. There were no seats available, but people would probably get off. He lived very far from the school and got off at the last stop. He found a pole near an old lady and a mother feeding her baby a yogurt. The janitor leaned against the pole and began to drift off. He was suddenly jolted awake by a large bump in the road. The unexpected movement disoriented him, and he lost his balance. He stepped backwards, in an effort to regain stability, but the bus bounced yet again. His foot slipped and he fell on the floor of the bus. He tried to get up, but was surprised by a sticky pink substance thrown in his face. The baby sitting next to him had spilled his yogurt all over himself and the janitor and had started bawling. The child’s mother was scrambling to calm down her baby and clean him up. The bus pulled up to the next stop, and the mother quickly realized that she had to get off. The janitor was left on the floor, covered in strawberry yogurt, seemingly forgotten about.

***

Unfortunately, the janitor’s neighborhood was teeming with people, all staring at the large man emanating an artificial-strawberry smell. He heard some children on the playground snicker as he walked by. He zipped up his sweatshirt and pulled the hood over his head. When he reached his building, the janitor pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door. Most people used the buzzer at the front door, but this was only functional if somebody else was in your apartment. He walked up the three flights of stairs to his floor; his heavy boots made thunking noises all the way up.

The man let himself into his home and carefully unlaced his shoes — so as to not track dirt inside. He gingerly removed his soiled clothing and put it in the washing machine. He changed into some clean clothes and washed his face and hands clean of yogurt. For his dinner, the janitor took out a frozen meal. He peeled back the plastic and put it in the microwave to defrost. While his meal was cooking, he scanned the day’s newspaper. The plastic container of food was hot to the touch, and the comforting warmth seeped into the janitor’s fingers. He sat down on the couch with the hot food, a glass of soda, a cigarette, and ate as he watched the TV — as was his daily ritual.

About an hour later, the janitor received a phone call. It was from the principal of the elementary school.

“Hello?” the janitor said, tentatively.

“There has been a break-in at the school. Twenty computers were stolen, as well as cash from the office,” said the principal.

The janitor was a bit taken aback by the principal’s brashness. “Oh. Uh –”

“Please come to my office tomorrow for questioning,” the principal interrupted.

“Questioning?” asked the janitor.

“Yes,” said the principal. “You were the last one at the building. I have to admit that it doesn’t look good for you.”

The janitor was stunned. “Uh, okay, so you think it was me?” he asked.

“Unfortunately the evidence is stacked against you. You have no education past high school, which you didn’t even complete; you took the GED. You have the keys to the building, a salary just above minimum wage, and you work at a well-funded school in a wealthy area. Not to mention that you were the last person in the building today.” The principal continued speaking, but the janitor was too lost in thought to listen. After years of having a steady job, a job he somewhat enjoyed, he was going to be fired. Fired for something he did not do.

“I will see you tomorrow,” said the principal with finality. The janitor was left standing there, the old landline in his hand and the buzz of the ended call in his ear. He was frozen for a moment, as he let all that had happened sink in.

A wave of anger washed over the janitor. He thought of all of the years he had worked, tirelessly, thanklessly, at the school. He thought of everything he had done for those kids and how he never got anything in return; he was ignored, pronounced unimportant, and left on his own. Rage began to pour over him like a hurricane. It was as if a fire had started in his chest, and he felt the burning heat reaching all over his body, igniting something within him that he himself had not known about. It felt like his breath was not moving up and down, but rather moving in circles, creating a whirlpool inside his lungs. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. A tornado of earth, wind, water, and fire raged within him. For years the man had done mundane and tedious work — never complaining, never asking for a change. In tough times, he had often imagined, as many do, great outbursts that he wished he had the courage to conduct. He had always seen himself as the janitor, and nothing else, but no longer would he stay dormant.

The newly accused man’s face lit up as he crafted his plan of action. He laced his boots up tight – preparing for battle. He stormed out of his apartment with only a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, his keys, and bus fare. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. With bitterness in his heart, the man marched down the streets to the bus stop. He didn’t care as he pushed people out of the way to get a seat. He marched to the school with his shoulders back and his chest proudly puffed out. His strong, heavy feet walked with purpose. Every part of his being knew what to do. His fingers nimbly unlocked the heavy doors, and he felt powerful as he opened them with ease. He no longer felt pain; only blinding infuriation. The man seemed to glow with fire as he walked down the hallway to the principal’s office. He did not fear anything. He knew exactly where to turn to avoid the security cameras, he knew which key to use, and he knew what he was going to do.

The empowered man closed the door of the principal’s office behind him. He took one last moment to think of his past. He could feel an explosion of fireworks going off within him. He felt a volcano erupting. With confident hands he took out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He took one out of the box and set off the lighter. He stared into the illuminated lighter for a moment before he put the end of the cigarette into the fire. With exasperation, the man dropped the lit cigarette on the floor of the office and watched as the principal’s carpet (and eventually the rest of the room) caught fire.

The man walked out of the building with satisfaction. He stood outside the building, and watched as it was consumed by flames. Within an hour someone had called the police, but he was not scared of the sirens. He took the bus home in a revenge-filled daze and was aware of nothing and no one. He walked mindlessly back to his apartment with the image of the glorious fire in his eyes. He unlocked the door to his house and unlaced his heavy work boots. He sat down, turned on the TV, and lit a cigarette; he was content.

 

The Cure

It began. I was in and out as they brought me to the operation room. I could see people running around me. The two that were pushing the bed had hazmat suits on, which only meant that there was a patient they weren’t so sure of. I felt something running from my ears — it was blood running like a never ending river. As the blood flowed from my ears, my eyes started to burn, and my vision started blurring. I knew that there was something wrong, something I couldn’t stop. Then the screaming began. It sounded like I had fallen and broken every bone in my body known to man. And I was pleading and begging them to just end my life now. I was so consumed with pain, I went numb, and so did the rest of me, but the blood kept pouring out. As my mind started to fade, I remembered the ocean, the ocean where all my troubles were supposed to go away. The ocean where I would find THE CURE.

But let’s backtrack for a moment. When I was growing up, I lived in a small town near Vermont, where everyone knew everyone and knew who you hung out with, who you were close to, your whole family lineage, and so on. I was the perfect student, the perfect sister, and daughter, until they died. It was very tragic. I was about twelve when this incident, or should I call it, this massacre happened. My mother and older sister were picking me up from swimming class when the shots began.

At that moment, one, two, three, four people fell to the ground. We ran to the nearest building and hid behind the counter. Than it started: my sister started shaking and her mouth started to foam. Her eyes were the first to bleed, and then her ears. My mother was just sitting there unable to move; her eyes started to roll to the back of her head, and she started to shake. At that time, I was only twelve, and I could barely take care of myself. So I just sat there and watched my sister gasp for air. I watched my mom claw her eyes out, trying to see me. I watched helplessly, unable to understand what was happening. When the ambulance arrived and took us to the hospital, the doctors were unable to figure out what happened. So they gave them a sedative to make them go to “sleep.”

From that day on, I vowed to learn what happened to my mother and sister. But now, the same things were happening to me but in a slightly different way. And now, you can surely see why I was so infatuated with finding out what happened. Since now you know the past, let’s continue on with the future.

“Maybe we can put her into a drug induced coma, so we can have more time to figure out what’s happening to her.”

“That will only give us 72 hours.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing.”

So 72 hours… that’s all the time they had to cure me.

***

I wake up. The IV drip is going into my veins. My blood is no longer black but more of a more metallic color. It’s a cool, early morning, too early to tell what time. But I’m awake after three days of “sleep.” No blood, no feeling, just numbness. Just lying in the hospital bed, ready to eat some actual food. I’m so thirsty. There’s a cup of water sitting right besides the bed, but as I try to reach it, I realize that my arms are strapped down to the bed. Staring at the metal buckles, I wonder what happened when I was asleep for those three days.

 

America

     

Land of the free

Not for you

Or for me

Not for the homeless man, who

Can’t get a job because to get a job, you

Need an address

But I guess that’s not something we

should address

Not for the impoverished youth, both

Black and white

We could help them but instead

We fight

Over what’s

Right

Over what’s

Wrong

This whole, equality thing

Yeah, it’s taking too long

By the time there’s equality

Whether it’s for your

Gender

Race

Class

Sexuality

We’ll all be long gone

Land of the free

Not for the black men who are

killed without hesitation

Not for the millions of people part of

Incarceration

But sure let’s

Light some fireworks

Drink the finest wine while the

Underpaid

Immigrant maid

Works the whole entire time

 

The Snake

As I walk to the street corner where I work, I feel free. No one is giving me funny looks. No one knows what I’m keeping in my bag. Then I get to the street corner and set down my hat. Already, people are looking at me. I reach down into my bag and pull out my snake, Jimmy. I drape him around my neck and start the day.

Now people are really staring, as looks of disgust are shot in my direction. I have grown accustomed to the look of shock when people notice Jimmy on my shoulder. Their eyes open wide. Some tap their friends and point towards me, and some take out their phone to take a photo. Some people walk by as briskly as possible, and some walk slowly and gape. No matter the reaction, people never stay. The sight of Jimmy is nothing but a minor distraction or a small break from the ordinary. Although it is odd and surprising, it is no marvel for this city.

Simply holding Jimmy barely makes me any money. If I want to eat dinner tonight, I need to make more of a spectacle. I take out the gummy bears and place one in my hand so that only Jimmy can see it. I place my hand about two feet above him and he reaches up. I slide my hand to the side and then to the side again. I do this until I create a steady sway to make it seem as if he is dancing. Now people are really taking notice of me. I see coins and some bills being dropped into my hat. I continue to sway him from side to side. My mind almost shuts down doing the same task all day. Then, I notice a man walking towards me.

He comes to me and says, “Do you want to join my circus?”

“Does it pay well?”

“Better than this.”

“What will I do for the circus?’

“Train snakes and maybe other animals.”

“Will I get a bonus per other animal?”

“Listen, you’re performing on the street, just take the job.”

“Alright. I’ll join your circus.”

It turns out that I can train other animals, not just snakes. Now, Jimmy is one of our top-selling points for the circus, and I train any animals that are new to the circus. I am training our bears. I need to chain them to a wall, so the only way they can walk is by standing up. Once they learn to stand up, we tie ropes to their necks and tug them so they do what we want. I have never had animals that are scared of me, but these bears are. When I come near them in their cages, they run to the opposite side.

I walk out of the circus tent, and there is a mob of PETA protesters. The protesters seem to mainly be kids from the neighboring college, but there are also a few older people. They hold signs, but all the signs say roughly the same thing. The signs say that all our animals are treated inhumanely. They say that we torture animals. I try to ignore them, but I can’t get the thought out of my head. Am I cruel? Is what I’m doing wrong? Yes.

In the morning, I go to the ringleader’s office. I am about to go in, but then I think about what life would be like if I quit. Where will I be? Stuck going to the same street corner and doing the same thing every day. Maybe I can find a job somewhere else, but here, I have stability. The possibility of needing to go back to street performing sounds too bad for me. I turn back and go to teach the bears more tricks.

 

The Teddy Bear

A headless teddy bear lay in the grass. Its body reached for its head only a few feet away. It stretched its neck in vain. The teddy bear was hopeless, hapless, and distraught. A few feet away, a man took out a pencil and began to sketch the trees, bushes, and grass that surrounded the teddy bear. The man breathed in the park smells: pine, wet grass, and crushed cigarettes. He didn’t notice the teddy bear’s head by his boot.

The teddy bear frantically called out to the man, “Please, sir, if you could just pass me my head! Right by your foot!”

But the man didn’t hear him. He kept sketching the park, finished his drawing, and left.

A businesswoman passed by next. She walked along the grass on the pavement, talking to someone angrily on the phone. She yelled about her finances and her stupid, no-good secretary. She huffed and rolled her eyes, then said, “Fine, I’ll tell you the number, but this is the last time, I swear…”

The woman dug around inside her purse until she found a piece of paper with some numbers on it. As she took it out, her red, leather wallet fell out onto the grass.

“Miss, your wallet has fallen from your bag!” the teddy bear called.

The woman ignored the the bear and kept reading the numbers, with her hand on her hip and her eyes rolling constantly.

Then she said, “Yes, of course,” sighed, “Yes, you’re welcome,” rolled her eyes, and left.

The teddy bear began to cry, only to realize that its head was still two feet away and was now covered in salty tears. More tears pooled around the the head, and it began to float away.

“My head!” cried the teddy bear.

“Where is your head?” A little girl cocked her head to the side. She sat criss-crossed in the grass beside the bear. She wore sandals with little pink flowers and dancing Hello Kitties.

“There! There!” The teddy bear pointed halfway down the little river of tears that had formed.

Its head bobbed up and down. The girl chased after the teddy’s head, splashing in the tears as she ran. Finally she caught the head and gleefully brought it back to the teddy bear.

“Oh, thank you! I have been trying to get my head back all day!”

Relieved, the teddy bear pushed its head back into place, stood up, and started off.

“Wait! Wait!” called the little girl. “I thought maybe we could play? I have a doll house and another teddy bear. They can play too!”

“Sorry, little miss, but I have a job to get back to. Why don’t you sit in the grass and play alone?” The teddy bear continued to walk off. “Oh — and thanks for my head!” it called over its shoulder.

The little girl sat down in the damp, tear-stained grass. She didn’t like to play alone; she always played alone. She smelled the pine, wet grass, and crushed cigarettes, pushed aside a red wallet on the pavement beside her, stared at her sandals, and watched the little flowers sway and the pink Hello Kitties dance.

 

Space Baby

Eliza’s eyes grew wide at the world. The space around her was light and airy. She floated up and around the little room in the aircraft. Her face was soft, cheeks glowing and red. Her lips were thin and moist, but no breath escaped them.

For a moment, everything was silent in the little, white room with no windows. The baby floated higher. Everyone stood about the little child in a dome below her, waiting. Eliza’s mother sat up, staring almost angrily at her baby. Her eyes wanted to command the child to breathe.

And then a cry rang out. Bubbling from Eliza’s mouth, a shrill, joyous cry echoed throughout the tiny room and into the ears of her family, the astronauts, the doctors. Everyone had been waiting for this moment, and it had come. In only a moment, the scary, silent room became abuzz with laughter, crying, shouts, and whoops. Eliza’s mother silently sobbed in a corner, watching in wonder as her beautiful, baby girl bounced around the room, crying gleefully.

Then it was time to take Eliza out of the room she was born in, to show her a world much bigger than the one she already knew. A universe.

Carried in the arms of her mother, Eliza was led to an enormous window at the front of the aircraft.

“Look, Eliza,” her mother said. “This is my world. And now, it is yours.”

Eliza cried again. But through her glassy tears, Eliza could see the world. She saw the dark sky with smudged stripes of purple and pink. She saw the sun’s bright rays and the moon’s pale, mysterious reflections. She saw the planets which she would one day explore. And the infinite stars were reflected in her wide, elliptical eyes.

Eliza slept in her cradle. A large paperweight held her blanket down, and she snuggled into it. Eliza’s mother watched her newborn with sunken, hollowed out eyes.

“You should get rest. Your girl isn’t going anywhere.” The doctor gave an encouraging smile.

“She won’t go anywhere, but I’m already gone. We’re years away from Earth. You know I won’t make it.”

“We don’t know that. I’m not making any predictions yet. Hold on for your baby, for the future of space science. You’re making history!” the doctor insisted.

Eliza’s mother smiled sadly and lay down on the floor next to her baby’s cradle. Her skeleton curved around the walls of the little cage. She cried. Her tears all gathered in the deep circles under her eyes. Bubbles of the salty liquid floated off of her face and made it look like the walls were crying, too. Her face was a waterfall that didn’t flow. She was a broken woman.

And they had made history. Even if both Eliza and her mother died, the first baby had been born in space.

 

Angels

What’s happening? Where am I?

These are the first things that come to my mind. I’m unaware of the darkness that surrounds me. So I begin to walk. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know that I have somewhere to be. So I walk and walk and walk. There is no landscape to look at, nobody to talk to. Sometimes I’ll see a long, white shape in the distance, and I’ll run towards it, hoping for answers. It always disappears. I rack my brain, but I can’t remember anything. I have no concept of time, so whenever I’m tired, I rest. Sometimes I feel restless, and even though I am walking, I can’t shake this feeling of unease.

At one point, I feel thirsty. I wish I had something to drink. As soon as the thought comes to my head, a glass full of grayish liquid appears in my hand. Although it doesn’t taste like anything, it quenches my thirst. After a while, I realize that I can wish for anything, so when I am tired, I wish for a bed. Until today, I didn’t realize that I could wish for a friend. I wish I had a friend, I think. Soon a milky, white ball comes into view. This is my friend. I don’t know how I know that this is a safe person, but something in my mind says it is, and when you have nothing, you tend to listen to that little voice.

Once again, I ask, “Where am I?

I cannot hear my voice. The white ball never answers my question, but it’s still there. It grows bigger and stronger, and soon, I can see a face. It gets bigger, until it’s around the size of a baby doll. Then it disappears. Then after a couple minutes, a new friend appears. This continues. After a while, I get used to all these new friends.

I wake up to a strange light. I find myself in a long, dark room. Eventually, a humanlike figure drifts towards me. It’s much bigger than my other friends. I can slightly see a cold, white face with two black slits for eyes. The figure looks like it is wearing a white robe.

“Where am I?” I ask.

I am surprised to hear my voice, slightly slurred, but still there. I am even more surprised to hear the figure reply lightly and calmly, “Welcome.”

“Who are you?” I say.

“My name is Mortem.”

“If you can answer my questions, why couldn’t my other friends?”

“They are not fully developed and are nothing but the, yet, unborn children of time.”

“What am I here for?”

“You are still not fully developed, yet time has left you.”

Mortem shows me to a hole. In the hole is a bed. It looks so comfy, so inviting. There is a plaque with a strange carving on it. It looks like a name.

“Would you like to take a rest?” Mortem asks.

There is something so wonderful about that bed, yet I don’t feel ready.

“Not now,” I say.

Soon, another figure arrives. It moves slower and, somehow, seems older than me. Mortem shows it around and shows it another bed. This time it agrees. The stranger acts like it can’t see me. The figure crosses its arms on its chest and closes its eyes. A lid lifts up and covers the hole.

I see Mortem showing more ghost-like figures around. Most of them agree to the bed, but every once in awhile, somebody says no. When that happens, they disappear from my view.  I watch everyone get into bed peacefully, and soon, I feel peaceful with my own fate. Now I’m gazing longingly at my own bed, and eventually, I decide to sleep. I say goodbye to Mortem and get into bed. Before I get in, I look at the plaque one last time, and I see a faded name, Cecily Brooks. Those two words sound so familiar, yet I can’t remember why. I close my eyes, cross my arms like all the others, and let the darkness surround me. For one moment, memories flash in my brain.

***

I remember when my parents got me my first phone. I treasured that phone, and I hugged and kissed them for days. My parents and I had an amazing relationship until that fight.

I remember that fight. I remember the shouting, and I remember smashing my precious phone on the wall. I remember ignoring my parents for the rest of the night. I remember sneaking out of the house when everyone was asleep and climbing into my family car. I had gotten my driver’s license the week before.
I remember driving on the road. It was my light. Yet, that other car that came didn’t stop. I remember that split second of fear, and that moment of helplessness. I remember wishing that I could apologize to my parents. Perhaps that’s why I felt so hesitant to get into bed before. I was missing something: my parents’ love.

Then I remembered something else that I will never forget. I remember seeing my body in the hospital, my mother leaning over me, crying, and my father trying to pretend his eyes weren’t filling up with tears. I remember blowing them a kiss and drifting up into the sky.

 

Uncharted Territory

Her screams seemed muted as they sometimes do in movies. I couldn’t make out her words because she was so distraught. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her face was red and hot. As I inched towards her to help her calm down, she swatted my hand away like a bug, a nothing to her. And in that moment, I saw words that would stick with me for as long as I lived, sketched into my brain forever, always there to remind me of the pain of losing a friend.

“I hate you.”

***

When I was growing up, I lived in a small town in Alabama. And, as you sometimes hear about towns in the south, there were racists. Sexists. Homophobes. You name it. We had all the hate in our little town. It seemed as though there were only three people in the town with some sense about right and wrong: Sally Anne Thompson, James Parker and me, Jessica Smith.

I met Sally Anne and James on the first day of freshman year. See, it being a small town and all and them having lived in the same town, I should have met them in elementary. But my parents, being the close-minded people they were, pulled me out of school in the second grade when I corrected my pa from saying “Indian” to “Native American.” They gave the excuse, for pulling me out, that the school system was trying to “change” the good ol’ southern ways, and they didn’t want me submitting to that disgrace of America. But by high school, they figured they had brainwashed me enough that no matter what school said or did, I wouldn’t believe. The ironic thing was that school wasn’t progressive at all; it was just better than they were.

My dad “prepared” me for the first day. He told me that I might get a bit of a hard time because I was home-schooled, but they knew I could do it.

My mom told me explicitly that, “Whatever happens to you doesn’t matter. Those poor children have been poisoned with the words of their teachers telling them that everyone is equal. We raised you right, so you know that this is not true, right, sweetie?”

“Yes, Ma,” I had whispered.

These words hurt me to say. Such simple words. Words you could say to having to do the dishes, “Yes, Ma” or words you say to finishing your homework, “Yes, Ma” or even words to not hit your brother, “Yes, Ma.” But it was these simple words that time and time again reestablished my agreement to injustice, to inequality, to hate. Just a simple “Yes, Ma” always sufficed.

I remember the night before the first day of school. I felt like a balloon filled not with air, but anxiety. I questioned if anyone would like me, if anyone would make an effort to be my friend. I was the home-schooled girl, and everyone knew the rumors about me: that I was full of myself and didn’t want to be around other kids so I convinced my parents to pull me out; that I was unaware of “normal” things to do and say because I had never really associated with other kids. And the worst part was, I was afraid that the latter was true. I mainly talked to my parents who seemed to live in the Stone Age because of how unaware they were of the happenings in the world. I didn’t really know anyone my age, so I didn’t know the trends. I was afraid that I would be shunned for my beliefs on equality. I let fear drive me that night. I cried myself to sleep.

I remember standing outside the steps of the big brick building, as hundreds of kids swarmed around me, trying to catch up to their friends. I remember feeling the smooth, metal railing next to the stairs as I took slow steps up to the next chapter in my life. I remember being pushed to the ground by a kid in a football varsity jacket and not even turning around to apologize. Then, I remember the first words spoken to me on this uncharted territory.

“Get up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said get up.”

“Well, I’m trying to. Wanna give me a hand?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Yeah, no problem,” I responded, sarcasm dripped in my voice.

I pushed myself to my knees and stared right in the face of the head cheerleader. Well, it seemed as if it couldn’t get more stereotypical than this.

She seemed as if she was about to say something, so I wanted to beat her to it. I didn’t want to let her get the joy of making any more fun of me.

“Can you move, please?” I said, imitating her face pleasantness. “I need to get up. Isn’t that what you told me?”

She moved to the side resentfully, her hands on her hips with flushed red cheeks against her pale white skin.

“Thank you.”

I walked confidently up the rest of the steps, but as soon as I entered the building, where I was sure she couldn’t see me, I ran to the bathroom and used some tissues to wash off the streams of tears unintentionally flowing down my face. Tears like these reminded me of the day that I had discovered the shocking truths that people believed about me.

It was a Sunday in the middle of June. Church had just ended, and I was going to the grocery store to pick up some vegetables for dinner. I was walking down the aisle, headed towards the broccoli, when I noticed two girls staring at me and whispering to each other. I turned back around towards my destination but I could feel their glare on my back. I knew that they also went to church that morning, just like nearly everyone in this town, and I knew they were around my age. I still remembered everyone in my class, so I figured that they must have been a year younger than me, entering eighth grade in the fall. I grabbed my broccoli, well aware that they were still watching me, pretending to shop for carrots. As I walked back up the aisle, they stopped me.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked politely.

“Yes, hi, I’m Susan, and this is my sister, Lila.”

I stared at them, quizzically, wondering if that should mean anything. Susan was wearing a red blouse and a short, white skirt. Her blue eyes popped out against her pale skin. She wore high heels that didn’t seem very manageable in a supermarket. She had long, golden hair, the last feature she needed to enter a beauty contest. Her sister was quite the opposite. She wore brand-new sneakers and skinny jeans. Her shirt was black. She also had blonde hair but had dyed streaks of it blue, just like the color of her eyes. She slouched a little, but Susan held herself up straight as she spoke to me.

“You know, Susan and Lila Peterson? I was in your grade before you left.”

Oh, I guess I didn’t remember everyone. But, sometimes it’s better to pretend that you do.

“Yes, right! My apologies, of course I remember you.” I lied. A white lie though.

“Yeah, and it’s Jessica. Jessica Smith, right?”

“Yep. That’s me.” I smiled, happy that people still remembered me although slightly confused why they were talking to me.

“Right, and you’re coming back to school this fall?” Susan asked.

It didn’t seem as though Lila talked much.

“Mmmhmm.”

“So, we just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh.” I was pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

“Well, I am part of the welcoming committee.”

“Although you guys don’t actually do much,” Lila said.

What a “nice” thing of her to say, even though she was right.

“True, but we’ll take whatever chances we’ve got.” Susan smiled happily, trying to cover up her sister’s abrupt honesty. “So, we were wondering, do you have any time to talk, just for five minutes?”

I checked my watch. I had to be home in a half hour, but if we shopped and talked, well, it might just work out.

“Sure, just walk with me, okay? I have to be home soon.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Susan and Lila look at each other as if they were in question of why I needed to be home so early. That should have been my first sign that everything was about to go wrong.

“So, why are you coming back to school now?” Lila asked, like the snotty, little brat she was.

“Ummm. Well…” I didn’t really know how to answer without throwing my parents under the bus. So another white lie. “My mom wants to get back to working so she does something more productive.”

“But, doesn’t she teach you?” Susan inquired.

This was not how I planned our conversation going.

“Yeah, but when I’m working independently or something, she has nothing to do because it doesn’t take very long to grade two students’ work.”

“Who’s the other student?”

“My brother.”

“Right… Is he coming back to school now too?”

“Yeah, in the sixth grade.”

“So right in time for you to start high school and him middle school.”

“Yep, that’s how my parents planned it.”

Then everything took a turn for the worse.

“So why did you leave school in the first place?”

Again, I didn’t want to say the real reason, because my parents were more racist than anyone in the town, and I also didn’t want to insult where the sisters had been educated all their lives. So I was kind of stuck.

“Uhhhh…”

“We heard it was because you didn’t like public school, but your parents couldn’t afford private school,” Lila said, like reciting from memory.

“That’s not very nice, Lila,” Susan scolded although she seemed very interested to know if it was true.

“Umm, no. That’s not true. That’s absurd in fact. I barely knew what the difference between private and public school was when I was in second grade.”

“Oh.”

But Susan wasn’t done yet. It seemed as though my lie had paid off and, for the moment, I was safe.

“How many kids your age have you talked to?”

I remember thinking to myself that her question was such an odd thing to ask and wondered if it really mattered. To her, it did, but I could care less.

“A couple,” I said dismissively.

I checked my watch and pretended that it was urgent that I leave right then.

“Oh, well, sorry. I have to go but I’ll see you around.”

I went home right after that and cried. I didn’t know why but it seemed as if school was not going to be what I imagined. After that, I noticed every eye that followed me around town, every word that was spoken about me. It seemed as though Susan and Lila spread the rumors around some more telling people that I was “as socially unaware as a seven year old” and that “I wasn’t prepared to transition into high school.” I tried to ignore it as much as I could, but I was immediately reminded of them as I was pushed onto the stairs.

A jolt of reality struck me as a hand was placed on my shoulder. I turned around to see the guidance counselor, whom I met over the summer.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I responded.

I also didn’t want to be known as the girl who ran to the teacher before class started. The tattletale.

“Just a little something in my eye.”

By that time, I had wiped most of my tears away, and it wasn’t unbelievable that maybe a little dust or sand got in my eye.

“Okay, then.” She walked away before remembering to give me a little, “Good luck!”

“Thanks!” I called back, secretly wishing that I wouldn’t need it.

 

Annie and I

I stared out at the desolate gloomy hills. They were mostly a greenish, brown color, like what you would see in pea soup. To make matters worse, my mom had told me that it would probably be raining everyday here in good old Hartford, Connecticut.

“But you can always stay indoors and do arts and crafts!” my mother said brightly.

I nodded and hugged her. This sleepaway camp, Fairview Lake, was where I’d be staying for four whole weeks.

“All girls,” it boasted, “we raise strong girls! Get ready to learn how to take a stand in society!”

I felt this was unfair; I already was a strong member of society. I went to marches — the Women’s March, the Climate March, you name it. I glared at my reflection while getting out of the car; I never set much store by it. Why would you waste time looking at yourself when you could be saving baby seals? But now, as I prepared to meet a cabin full of strange girls, girls I didn’t know, I shook off those thoughts.

“So what if they don’t like you?” I asked myself. “You will only be here for four weeks, Emma, get a move on.”

Stealing one last hug from my mom, I ran up the walkway to the main house. I had a date with destiny.

***

“Hello, Hello!” a thin, bird-like voice greeted me from the dark interior of the main house.

It had ivy growing all over, and some of the window frames were broken, giving the appearance of gaping holes. I froze.

“Come in, come in! You must be our new camper.”

I stepped inside, looking curiously at the woman. She had thin, gray hair and looked like she was in her fifties. Nevertheless, her arms were muscular, and I was pretty sure she could bench-press me.

Um… yes., I stuttered. “I’m Emma.”           

“Well, it is nice to meet you, dear,” she said. “I’m Annabelle.”

As if in a trance, she leaned toward me. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. It felt as if my mouth was nailed shut. I was terrified. She picked up a lock of my blonde hair.

“Such pretty hair,” she said softly, as if talking to herself. “When I was a young girl, I had hair like this…”

***

Five minutes later, I was hurrying along the main path, seriously spooked. Annabelle had apologized for scaring me and said, with a laugh, that old people like herself tended to stare at things… Which made me wonder… How old was Annabelle exactly? I had guessed fifty, but I was pretty sure I was wrong. At least I knew which cabin I was staying in; cabin two. My bunkmates were Lucky and Chase. But something stayed stuck in my head, and no matter just how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase what Annabelle had said from my mind.

“Oh, Emma,” Annabelle had called.

I had turned around, feeling a lump of dread settle in my throat.

¨Yes?” I asked.

¨It´s about your bunkmates, Lucky and Chase. They are good girls, but they have vivid imaginations. They like to make up scary stories,¨ she said firmly. ¨Whatever you do, don’t listen to them. Okay?”

¨Okay¨ I said, then turned and ran.

I was sure now that something wasn’t right, and I was going to listen to whatever Lucky and Chase had to tell me. I pushed open the door of my cabin, looking around. The bunk beds were made out of wood, and the cabin was dark, although it was mid-day.

¨Hello?¨ I called nervously.

A girl jumped off the bunk bed and walked toward me. She was taller than me, with extremely pale skin and heavy black eye makeup. She was wearing all black, and her hair was gelled into little, dark points.

¨Are you the new girl?¨ she asked in a deep, gravelly voice.

¨Yes,¨ I said. ¨I… My name is Emma.¨

¨Hmm,” she snorted. ¨Chase thought you were going to say your name was Annie.¨

She stuck out her hand. I shook it.

¨I’m Lucky,” she said, turning her neck so I could see a tattoo of a green four-leaved clover.

I nodded mutely.

¨Chase will be back from  her class in a few minutes,¨ she said, circling me.

I fought the urge to tell her to get away from me. She stopped circling and stared at me.

¨I think that Chase will want to know — even more than I do — why the new girl looks just like Annie.”

“I honestly don’t know who Annie even is,” I said, annoyed. “Why is she such a big deal to you?”

Lucky flinched as if I’d slapped her. I walked over to the nearest bed and put my duffel down on it. I stared at her. She blankly stared back.

”Fine,” she humphed.”I’ll tell you who Annie is; but you cannot tell anybody else.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

Another blank stare.

“Because Annabelle doesn’t like it,” she whispered.

Without warning, she turned and headed for the door.

“Hey!” I said, jumping up. “You said you would tell me!” I cried, frustrated.

She smirked.

“I said i would tell you; I didn’t say when. If you want to ever learn anything, kid, you should set the terms. See you at dinner.”

She calmly sashayed away, ignoring my furious glare. After a minute, I followed her.  

Lucky was out of my line of vision by the time I got to a sign that said Mess Hall. Sighing, I followed the arrow that pointed to the mess all. Wait… What was that? A path, smaller than the large path to the dining area branched off, leading deeper into the woods. I deliberated between the two, rocking back and forth on my heels.

“It will only take five minutes, Emma,” I scolded. “You will be back just in time for dinner.”

I plunged into the woods, feeling thorns rake my arms.

***

Looking down the path, I saw what I thought was a house. I walked towards it, and then, discovered that it was a shed. It had gray clapboards, which seemed all that was holding it together. Somebody had painted KEEP OUT, in black, on it. There was a large, gaping hole in it, and there was something brown inside. A rock? A head? Snap! I jumped. It was just a twig… Right? Another snap, and I was running.

***

The mess hall was warm and bright, and I had finally met Chase. She had been angry with Lucky for letting me go off on my own. What if I had met a bear? While she was chastising Lucky, I took this opportunity to ogle my cabin mate. She sported cocoa-colored skin, a nose piercing, and what I was pretty sure was a wig. The auburn-colored curls were tilting alarmingly on her head. I picked at my salad, worrying. What if that had been a head? I glanced over at Annabelle. She was chatting animatedly with the other cabin, the Harriet Tubman Cabin. Each of the cabins had a name of a female leader; we were the Rosa Parks Cabin.

Emma!” Chase sounded irritated, and I guessed this wasn’t the first time she had said my name.

I blinked at her. “Yes?”

“Where were you?” she hissed. “We all know you weren’t in the latrines; I saw you running through the the forest. What were you doing in there?? We aren’t supposed to go there; if Annabelle had found you, you could be in SO much trouble!” She stared at me, breathing heavily.

Lucky was reading a book, and her eyes flickered from page to page, but I was sure she was listening in.

I smiled at her slowly, then pointed at Annabelle.

“Oh, it’s time to go!” I said.

Annabelle was calling all the cabins to order.

As we slowly ambled through the dark woods, I turned around to grin at Lucky and Chase. They were wearing identical expressions of frustration; I still hadn’t told them where I had been and what I had been doing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said.

“I will not make any deals with you,” Lucky answered immediately.

Chase looked disappointed.

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering.” I smiled, confident that they would want to know.

“Okay,” Chase said. “What are your conditions?”

“You tell me the Crazy Annie story when we get back to the cabin. You will have to tell me the story first, or I won’t tell you mine,” I said happily.

Chase glared. I stared at Lucky for a long moment. She stared back.

“Okay,” Lucky said finally. “But I get to tell the story,” she added.

***

Five minutes later, we were sitting in a semi-circle, on the roughly hewn floor. It was more than a little eerie.

“Fifty years ago, at this camp,’’ Lucky began, “there was a lovely young girl called Annie. She had multiple personality disorder, so those who were jealous of her called her ‘Crazy Annie.’”

I shivered, and Chase wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“She had been coming to Fairview Lake her whole life and so had her steady boyfriend. They decided to have their wedding at the camp, although she was only eighteen, and he was only twenty. The theme of the wedding was daisies, because they were Annie’s favorite flower.”

Lucky paused as lightning flashed, and tree branches shook. It sounded as if somebody were outside. Tap. Tap. tap. Lucky resumed her story.

“On Annie’s wedding night, there was a storm like this one. She could not find her groom-to-be, or her best friend, the maid of honor. She decided to go looking for them in the cabins. And she found them.”

Lucky raised her eyebrows, and after a moment, it sank in.

“Angry that they had been cheating on her, Annie ran away, leaving a suicide note, that she had signed ‘Love, Annie’. One year later, the former best friend and the former husband had the same wedding. Late into the party, the guests realized that they couldn’t find the bride or bridegroom, so they went looking for them up by the cabins. They looked at the trees, and there were bloody daisies hanging off the trees. In the meadow, the bride and bridegroom were lying stone dead with freaking DAISY CROWNS around their heads. Their throats were slit and painted in their own blood, was a huge heart. And, under that heart…” she stopped and swallowed, “were letters painted in blood which said ‘Love, Annie’.”

I gasped. I had been expecting Annie to have been victimized. I had even been feeling some kinship towards her. It couldn’t have been easy to have been constantly be called crazy, and then to be cheated on (not that I would know). There was a knock, and we all gasped. I jumped up, ran to the door and pulled it open… Then I screamed like I never had before… Because lying on the doormat was one perfect daisy. A  figure stood on the doormat with the daisy. Annabelle.

“What do you want?” I yelled.

She turned and ran. I chased her through the winding path behind the shed. Hiding with the help of a tree, I watched her sprint into the meadow and begin frantically digging for something. Whatever it was, she didn’t seem to be able to find it. I picked up the daisy and headed back to the cabin. I’d look tomorrow.

“What is it?” Chase asked.

She saw the daisy, and her eyes grew rounder.

“Emma… Where did you get that?

I held the daisy at arm’s length, trying not to hyperventilate.

“It’s nothing,” I gasped. “Just, just some stupid kids playing a stupid prank.”

With that, I threw the daisy into the rain darkened woods as hard as I could. I didn’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, I ran to the pay phone and inserted two quarters. I only had enough for one call. Oh well, it would have to do. With the memory of the fresh, white, perfect daisy in mind, I dialed.

“Hello?” that familiar voice asked, in confusion.

“Mom,” I gasped. “Mom, you have to come pick me up. I hate it here.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, clear concern in her voice.

I had her where I wanted her.

“My bunkmates are… strange,” I said, thinking of Lucky and Chase.

“All girls are strange, Emma, love. In fact, you could be described as a little strange yourself, what with the greenpeace thing,” she laughed.

My mom isn’t what you would call outdoorsy.

“They told me a really scary story. Please, Please let me come home,” I begged, losing hope.

“Isn’t that what camp is all about?” she said interestedly. “It looks like everything is fine, Ems. I don’t know why you called me.”

“SOMEBODY LEFT A DAISY IN MY CABIN!” I yelled, starting to lose it.  

“Wow, Emma, it sounds like you have a secret admirer. No need to yell… is everything okay?” she asked. No, everything was not okay.

“You have ten seconds left on this call,” said the recorded cell phone voice. “To call back, please insert two more quarters.”

“Hello?” I said. “Mom? Mom?”

But she was gone.

Without thinking, I ran to the meadow, where Lucky had told me that the two lovers had been killed. I began to dig, digging where Annabelle had been and throwing up lumps of dirt. I didn’t quite understand what I was looking for, only that I would need it. Now that I knew that Annie was Annabelle… was I just going to wave whatever I found in her face and hope that she would confess? I had known who she was from the moment she had laid the daisy on the doormat; I had seen her slender figure holding an umbrella. We had locked eyes for a minute, but then she had disappeared into the rain.

Something brushed my fingers, and I pulled at it. It was a heavy silver ring with something that looked like rust. Blood.

“Maybe this was Annie’s fiance’s ring?” I murmured to myself.

“It is,” a voice said behind me.

I jumped, still clutching the ring. Annabelle — no, Annie — was looking down at me. I screamed; I felt like I’ve been screaming a lot since I came here.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you don’t need to worry,” she said softly. “Your friends, Lucky and Chase have already called the police, and I’m sure they will here shortly. Resourceful girls, aren’t they, Emma?” I nodded, feeling like a fish out of water.

She reached down and plucked the ring from my fingers, examining it.

“You know, Emma, not a day goes by when I don’t regret what I did. I killed the two people I loved most, and now my story will be recovered.”

She paused and looked down at me. “Which is why I want you to write it… the story of Crazy Annie.”

I nodded again, then looked up. Two figures were racing across the meadow, towards us: Lucky and Chase. Police cars were pulling up behind them. Annabelle stood up and dropped something heavy and silver into my palm.

“Goodbye, Emma,” she said.

I stood up too.

“Goodbye, Annie,” I said, waving as she walked towards the officers.

That was the last time I ever saw Annie alive. She died several days after, in prison. Fairview Lake is now run by Marcy, a cheerful, happy, older camper. I would like to say that I am a better person. I have two good friends, Lucky and Chase, and I can finally understand Annie better. I’m back in New York now, thinking of Annie. I have her ring — the heavy, silver thing she gave me — on my dressing table.

 

Love, Emma

 

Harmonica

Harmonica. Harmonica, Harmonica.

That was all Calum asked for consecutively for four years. He just wanted one. All his friends had one. Lucy had a pink one with jewels along the top, Hannah had a purple one with polka dots, and Mika had a green one with little dinosaurs across the top.

Calum literally begged for one for Christmas, his birthday, and any holiday where he was given presents. Now he was sitting at the party table for his tenth birthday. Calum was surrounded by his family. Then, his Aunt Sarah handed him a neatly wrapped box in colorful paper.

Calum examined the size and weight of the box. Oh my god! he thought, his deep blue eyes widening in anticipation. This feels like a harmonica!

With that thought in his head, he tore apart the multi-colored, zigzag wrapping paper. Excited to finally receive his long awaited treasure, he looked at what laid beneath the paper, and his head fell in disappointment mixed with shock.

Really! Seriously! is this actually happening right now?! he screamed in his mind. What aunt would think her now ten-year-old nephew wanted a mini first aid kit as a birthday present?! Yeah, sure, his father was a doctor, but why would a ten-year-old want a mini first aid kit?

“Auntie, thank you so much. I’m totally gonna use this.

After the party ended, Calum got up to put his presents away. First, he separated them into the categories: actual presents and first aid kits. After he made his piles, he took all the actual presents to his room, and he angrily shoved the first aid kit into his backpack.

The next day at school, the children were finally allowed to go out to the playground. It had rained for the last two days. Finally, they were blessed with the warm yellow glow of sunshine. Lucy went to the swings with her friends, Emily and Hannah. Mika and Calum went over to a spot under the shaded trees and talked for a little. Mika had brought his comic books again so they also read those together. While the two boys were deep into the newest issue of danger zone, they heard Hannah let out a cry of pain. Pulled out of the comic book world, they ran over to their friend to see what had happened. They saw Lucy hovering over a crying Hannah, asking if she was okay. Hannah was holding her hand over her knee. Calum could see that there was some blood on Hannah’s hand.

Since Calum’s dad was a doctor, he went over to Hannah and asked her to move her hand. Hannah did as she was told, and Calum examined the cut. He could tell it was just one of those cuts that wasn’t deep but just bled a lot.

“One second, Hannah, I’ll be right back.”

After he said that to the crying, red-headed girl, he ran over to his backpack and dug through it, looking for the first aid kit. He found it and grabbed the little white box. With the box in his hand, he ran back over to Hannah, noting that more children had gathered around the scene. Calum kneeled beside Hannah and cleaned the cut.

“Hannah, this might sting a little, but just bear with me, okay?” After Calum had cleaned the cut, remembering the steps his father showed him, he grabbed the Neosporin and put a little on the cut. Then, he unwrapped a waterproof band-aid and laid it gently over her cut.

“There. All done,” Calum said.

Mika was the first to say something after that.

Mika said, “Calum, that was so awesome. How did you know what to do, and how did you have the supplies for it with you?”  

Calum replied, “I just keep a first aid kit with me. No big deal!”

Everyone looked towards him in awe, like he was some First Aid King. Calum decided he could get used to that look. The last thing Calum thought before he and Mika retreated back over to their spot under the tree was, Maybe this gift wasn’t that bad after all. Although, he still wanted his harmonica.

 

Colorado

         

The creak of broken brakes and

the soft whoosh of bicycle wheels

lift up lazy dogs’ heads

as we slip through the night.

 

Blinking red lights announce the arrival

of the thunderstorm of a train pounding past,

the rhythmic thudding echoing with

our pulsing hearts,

pumped full of exhilaration,

a drug that makes us pedal faster,

round and round empty lots,

our hands lifted recklessly in the air,

our eyes reflected, full of light.

 

As the train pulls away,

the empty night, stars masked by the scintillating city,

receives our worries and confessions,

covered up by the train’s screaming whistles.

 

Iceland

        

We woke up early that day,

a cold morning with icy winds that burnt our faces.

We gripped our hot chocolates with stiff fingers,

every sip of warm rich liquid somehow warmer than a summer day,

because despite the cold wasteland surrounding us,

we felt warm inside, and happy.

 

We woke up early that day,

at the hour when even streetlights and road signs were drowsy.

I slept in the back seat of a borrowed car while my parents drank coffee,

and struggled to stop their eyes from sinking

as they stayed awake through the deep white blue snow that led down the road

to where the earliest touches of sun, orange and glowing,

lit up through the clouds and shone upon the glaciers that surrounded us,

and filled up the sky more than the sky itself.

 

We woke up early that day,

to set steady feet on a swaying deck

that would carry us across vast blue waves with foamy white crests

to a distant island with only duck prints, and icy hills

that could be skated down with any old shoes.

So we ran and slid across the slick surface

before falling down the rest of the way,

our laughter guarding us from the jagged ice at the bottom.

 

Darkheart’s Curse

Guide To The World of The Prides

  1. Ceremonies A very common ceremony is a Dragoning ceremony, in which a fledgling becomes a dragon. It gives this new dragon a new name (if they wish) and they receive bursts. Another ceremony is a Fledgling ceremony, in which a hatchling gets a teacher and officially becomes a fledgling.
  2. Chores and Status: Fledglings are in training to become dragons, so they get a good share of all the dirty work, like cleaning out bedding and washing underneath the elder’s wings. They also are in charge of the runaway hatchlings. Dragons are in charge of teaching the fledglings. They also must hunt and fetch water soaked in leaves, lichen, moss, or rotting wood. Elders are, well, elders. They are very old dragons that deserve respect. They spend all day napping in the sun or telling stories from their adventures as a young dragon.
  3. Leaders get their names based on their Pride. Ex: Coraltail of LeafPride- CoralLeaf, LeafPride’s leader.

 

Prologue

Rain quivered with excitement as she crouched atop the Leaf Rock, watching as CoralLeaf, their leader, sauntered with her head held high towards her sister (Rosy), Weaver, Blazing, and herself. Blazing was letting out little peeps of anticipation, awarding a venomous hiss from Weaver.

Don’t mess us up!” Rosy whispered angrily. “We’ve got to look good in front of our Pride leader!”

“Shush!” Rain whispered as she looked out over the entire of LeafPride, feeling twice as jittery as before.

“Shush yourself!”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP! SHE’S COMING!” Weaver whisper-screamed.

All of the fledglings on the rock tried to look as innocent as they could possibly muster, hastily smiling at their leader.

CoralLeaf smiled knowingly at them, and they all relaxed. Maybe CoralLeaf wasn’t the scary, ruthless leader everyone portrayed the pride leaders as.

“It is time to announce the Dragoning ceremony for these fledglings. They have learned the ways of the pride and deserve to be accepted as full dragons.” CoralLeaf announced in her deep, booming voice that made you want to turn and listen.

In a Dragoning ceremony, fledglings received their new name and bursts. Bursts were circles surrounded by little circles, spreading out like bursts. They can be red (firebursts), brown (earthbursts), pink (rosybursts), black (nightbursts), etc.

I hope that I get rose-goldbursts, Rain thought excitedly as the others received their bursts and new name.

“Now, Rain, step forward…”

Rain nearly threw up. This was the scariest, and best, moment of her life.

“Do you wish to alter your name?”

Rain thought hard about this. It took her about ten seconds, but then she responded, her voice wavering, “Yes, CoralLeaf.”

Rain’s claws scratched at the rock in anticipation.

“Rainfeather, welcome to the Pride.” CoralLeaf touched her muzzle to Rainfeather’s, and rose-goldbursts appeared all over her light blue body.

Rainfeather caught her mother, Quiet Rain’s, eye, and it glistened with tears as she screamed with all her might, “RAINFEATHER! RAINFEATHER!”

Rainfeather felt as if she might cry a bit, too. She was a dragon now. She could eat, sleep, hunt, and guard as she wished, take a mate (although she surely wasn’t ready for that), and be respected by all of the hatchlings and fledglings. Of course, Rainfeather was going to use this power to the full extent of helping her Pride. LeafPride would be proud of her one day.

 

Chapter 1

“DARKSCALES!” CoralLeaf called from the Leaf Rock. “Where is he?” she asked Rainfeather, who was seated at the base of the rock.

“I have no idea,” she answered truthfully. “But I think he’s up to no good. Why haven’t you thrown him out of LeafPride yet?”

“Because he’s a useful asset,” she snapped. “He has been into the depths of the forest. We need him, Rainfeather! He can help us claim the land there. Great SunPride, for once, think with your brain and not your heart!”

This was a harsh blow to Rainfeather, who was a trusted and experienced dragon to CoralLeaf.

“I’m sorry, CoralLeaf. I’ll try harder.”

“No, no, it is I who should be sorry. It’s just so harsh these days. I feel like I don’t even know who my Pride are anymore… the traitors, the loyal ones… oh, Rainfeather!” CoralLeaf ran down the rock and cried into Rainfeather’s shoulder. T

he leader’s normally bright blue and red scales turned into depressing shades of purple and gray. The cold tears running down Rainfeather’s scales were a shock, so she jerked suddenly. This just made CoralLeaf cry harder, so Rainfeather tried to comfort her. As you will soon see, this is not her strong suit.

“I know, CoralLeaf, I know… everything you’re saying is true…” More tears. “But we’ll get over it… CoralLeaf, snap out of it!” She tried a harsher tone. “Do you think StrongStorm of StormPride and WindSnow of SnowPride are acting like this? Shape up! Become a leader, CoralLeaf!”

CoralLeaf gave one last sniff, then sighed.

“Thank you. Now, I will take your advice and talk to Darkscales. If your allegations are true, if he is raising an army using forbidden magic, then I will remove him from the Pride. If not, he’s still on cleaning duty. He misbehaves enough as it is.”

She suddenly saw Darkscales walking across a strip of grass, caught his eye, and beckoned him to her den with a flick of her tail. Rainfeather, however, decided to go on an evening flight. Just herself and the jagged peaks cutting into the horizon. She needed time to think.

On the flight, Rainfeather gave herself time to think about what had happened within the first moon of being a full dragon. She had been given a fledgling to train. Her name was Willow, and she had been a very good pupil until she had gotten the sickness, Cloverfever, which had made her very tired and unable to train. When she was cured by the Sorcerer Rock, she was inspired to start training for being a Sorceress.

Rainfeather’s father, River, had just been promoted to second-in-line, while Splash, River’s brother, had just been demoted to a regular dragon from second-in-line, so a lot of fights were breaking out between her kin.

In addition to both of these problems was Darkheart.

Many of the female dragons in the Pride fell for him. He was sleek, with a fit, wiry black body with night bursts. Suuuuuuuuuper handsome.

Also suuuuuuuuuuuper evil!

There is a special kind of magic called dark magic. It was forbidden by Leaf, Storm, and Snow, the ancient founders of the Prides. Rainfeather once caught Darkheart using it, and Rainfeather suspected that he was using it to raise an army (You would be sure, too, if you slept next to him in the dragon den! He talks in his sleep!)

Rainfeather sighed and tears welled in her eyes. Nothing was right with the world. Suddenly, she heard a noise and jumped.

“Rainfeather?”

“Blazingwings!”

The fiery dragon appeared beside her, and she swooped down to a nearby rocky cliff so that they could talk.

“What do you want, Blazingwings?” Rainfeather asked cautiously.

Blazingwings looked nervous, his claws scraping on the rock.

“Rainfeather…” Blazingwings took a deep breath, then let it out. “This is going to sound awkward, because we’ve been friends for years, but…” he cleared his throat.

Rainfeather began to sweat. I’ve liked Blazingwings for a long time now… is he going to ask what I think he’s going to ask?

“Rainfeather, will you be my — ” Blazingwings was interrupted by a violent screaming.

“HELP!!! DARKSCALES IS ATTACKING! DARKSCALES IS ATTA — ” The shrill scream was cut off by a sickening crack as the screamer’s neck was snapped horrifyingly. By a dragon.

“Blazingwings! We have to help them!”

Rainfeather and Blazingwings took off toward the clearing in which they lived.

“Rainfeather, if we get through this, will you be my mate?”

“What’s more important now are our Pridemates! Remove all that lovey-dovey stuff from your head and replace it with rage! Our friends are being slaughtered!” Rainfeather cried as she dove into battle.

Rainfeather came face-to-face with Nightmoon, a respected dragon that was a moon older than her. He leaped on Rainfeather and started to attack. She twisted around, and although it exposed her belly, she managed to get in a few good scrapes at his soft underside, watching as purple dragon blood welled up at his wounds.

“Why are you attacking me?” Rainfeather demanded as she slipped away from his grasp.

“I am Darkheart’s dragon now, not puny little CoralLeaf’s!” Nightmoon snarled, swiping at Rainfeather with his newly sharpened claws.

“Who is Darkheart?” Rainfeather dodged his swipe, then rolled over and tripped him.

“You might know him as Darkscales? But of course, that’s his dragon name, a name to be scorned. I am Nightheart now!”

He attempted to swipe at her face, but she caught his claw midair in her teeth and yanked it to the ground, pulling him down with it. Then, quick as a snake, Rainfeather placed a paw on his neck to cut off his air supply.

“Tell me where your loyalty lies,” she snarled. “Featherstripe raised you. We fed you, trained you, kept you safe just so you could grow up to abandon your Pride and become wicked?”

“I- I’m sorry,” he faltered. “Take… paw… off… neck… so… I… can… explain…”

Rainfeather released her paw off his neck but sat on him so he couldn’t make an escape. In the heat of the battle, she didn’t notice that Blazingwings was fighting off Splash, and that CoralLeaf was finishing up with a deadly bite to Storm’s neck, who had nearly killed her.

“Darkheart promised us fame and power, so we went into his den to talk. But then he hypnotized us, so we were his army, and we had to do whatever he said. Now I know the antidote!” he exclaimed. “The antidote is to be reminded of your family. I feel as if a cloud has lifted from my brain.”

Rainfeather leaped off of him.

“Come on, then! Let’s fight!”

They began a session of back-to-back, fending off Darkheart’s soldiers.

“Take that — and that — Lilystream?”

“I FIGHT FOR DARKHEART NOW!”

The usually kind pale-pink dragon cried. Now, you could see the enraged fire burning in her eyes.

Rainfeather broke the back to back formation and leaped on Lilystream, screaming, “REMEMBER YOUR MOTHER, FEATHERSTRIPE! REMEMBER YOUR BROTHER, NIGHTMOON!”

Uncertainty flickered for a moment in Lilystream’s eyes. “Don’t you mean Nightheart?”

“NO! Your brother made the right decision and joined us. He’s Nightmoon.” Rainfeather growled angrily.

They writhed on the ground for a little while, Lilystream tried to resist the antidote, which made her have the urge to shake the spell off. Suddenly, she gave in to the spell.

“Fine. FINE! I’m on your side now.” She looked a bit embarrassed to have given up, as if she had proven that she wasn’t strong enough a million times over to defeat her greatest foe, but Rainfeather leaped off of her and surveyed the area.

There were bodies of dragons littered across the hollow, some injured, some even dead. Darkheart stood in the midst of them all, smiling triumphantly.

“Be careful, LeafPride.” He snorted, then let out a bout of cackles that made you want to run for the hills. “I’ve raised my army. Now, if you’re with me, follow.” He strutted out of the hollow, followed by Weaver (Which broke Rainfeather’s heart), Reedtail, Tall, Bounce, Fin, Winter, Streak, and many of Rainfeather’s family.

Russetflame, Rainfeather’s favorite sister, was leaving, and so was Rainfeather’s oldest brother, Sunscales, and Splash, her uncle. And what hurt most of all…

Her mother was leaving.

Quiet Rain had gone to join them.

Rainfeather ran up to her and looked into her eyes.

“Are you really leaving?” She murmured so quietly, so softly, that she nearly mouthed it.

Quiet Rain nodded and did the tiniest nuzzle to Rainfeather’s neck.

“I will always love you. It’s not my fault that you haven’t seen the sense in leaving, but you are still my daughter and my favorite,” she added softly, so Russetflame couldn’t hear. “Goodbye.”

“No, Mother! Please! You have to stay!” Rainfeather had never felt so helpless and… alone. Mother was the only dragon I could turn to with a problem, and now she’s joining my greatest enemy! She thought helplessly.

“I’ve got to go.”

“MOTHERRRRRRRRR!!! Hurry up! Stop wasting your time on that lowdown piece of plankton. Is she harassing you? I have no idea who she is.”

Rainfeather gasped in shock when she saw who that voice belonged to. It was Russetflame, her favorite sister!

“I am not a piece of plankton! I am your sister!” Rainfeather was surprised at the rage that burned inside of her. “Your pirate sidekick! Your best friend! And now you’re betraying all of us! What you’re doing is absolutely despicable!” Rainfeather gave her a quick slice with her claws on the back of her ear, then stalked away.

Rainfeather peered behind her and saw Russetflame fuming from the public humiliation, but she flew after Darkheart.

Soon, all of Darkheart’s army had left, and LeafPride was left with a puny pack of sniveling Dragons.

Darkheart had wreaked havoc on LeafPride.

 

Chapter 2

“Okay, is everyone ready? Head count, head count! Two, four, six, eight, ten. Great, we’re all here!”

River was counting heads for the journey that the dragons would take to defeat Darkheart. Rainfeather, River, Rosytail, Nightmoon, Featherstripe, Dawn, Dusk, Lusa, Luna, and Blazingwings were coming on the journey to defeat Darkheart.

Over the past moon, Blazingwings and Rainfeather had, yes, become mates. Rainfeather was excited to go on their first mission together.

“Are you guys ready? Everyone packed?” River was the leader for the mission, so he was taking his role very seriously.

“Stop being such a bossypants!” Rosytail exclaimed impatiently. “Yes! We’re ready! We are not helpless hatchlings!”

Rainfeather butted her side.

“You will respect our father! He’s earned the right to be bossy. He’s our second-in-line!”

Rosytail muttered something under her breath, but she set off after the others without another word.

Along the way, they picked up some healing plants in case someone got hurt. That was a good move. Dusk got thirteen scrapes! He also hit his head on a rock and was knocked unconscious — a rough start to a heroic journey.

When he came to, everyone crowded around him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he insisted. He stood up. “Lusa! Luna! Stop pestering me!”

“We are your sorceresses, and we will not stop. If you are seriously hurt, then it’s important that we help.” Luna attempted to explain, but Dusk kept on fighting her.

Finally, Luna gave in. “Let’s keep on going,” she muttered wearily.

They were going on this journey to find Darkheart’s whereabouts. Find him, and then defeat him. LeafPride was suffering greatly due to the lost Pride members, so the elders had held a council and decided that if Darkheart was dead, the curse would be lifted, and everyone who was hypnotized would come home.

Suddenly, Rainfeather felt a jolt of pain in her belly and cried out.

“Lusa! Luna! What is wrong with my mate?” Blazingwings demanded.

“It’s just a bellyache,” Rainfeather moaned. “No need to check me.”

The sorceresses in training rushed over to feel her belly to see if anything was wrong.

“Yep, just a regular old bellyache,” Luna conceded. “Here, eat a bit of this.” She handed Rainfeather a bundle of bitter-smelling herbs. “They’ll help!”

After she managed to keep that bitter stuff down, she leaped to her paws. “Let’s go!”

They trekked on for the entire day, and they did not stop until the sun disappeared from the horizon.

“We’d better go to sleep now,” said River. “There’s no point in continuing on in the darkness.”

***

Suddenly, Rainfeather awoke to what felt like a poke from a hatchling’s claw. It poked, and poked, and poked again.

“Mmmpphhhhhhhhhh!” Rainfeather moaned exasperatedly and rolled over.

Right onto a hatchling.

It was the most bloodcurdling screech Rainfeather ever heard. She jumped up.

“Are you okay?”

In the early morning light, she could make out an orange and purple hatchling crossing her stubby arms and glaring at her.

“MOMMY! That was not nice!” the little dragon yelped.

Mommy?” Rainfeather asked. “I am not your mother!”

“Yes, you are! I hatched last night, while you were asleep! And my sister is here, too!”

A little green, purple, and blue dragon appeared beside her sister. Rainfeather was awestruck. Children? Surely she wasn’t ready!

“What are our names, Mama?”

Rainfeather was very surprised that no one else had woken up from all of the racket.

“Uh…” She thought fast.

The second dragon had watery colors, so she could be named Misty. The other was harder. Maybe she could be named Aurora. It was her grandmother’s name.

“You are Aurora,” she said, pointing to Aurora, “And you are Misty.”

“And you are Rainfeather,” said Misty.

Wait. Rainfeather had never told Misty that.

“How do you know?”

“You dreamt so last night.”

“You can hear my dreams?”

The little dragon thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes. I think so.”

 

 

The Wilkołak

I never left the town much. It’s safe there, warm, especially in the winter. But we were in trouble now. The well had frozen up, and the rest of the animals were hibernating. The Król appointed me to hunt in the forest, so I had to accept.

I tightened my bowstring as I entered the forest. When I was a child, I would hear stories and fairy tales about this place. One that particularly came to mind was the Wilkołak, a creature that dwelled in the forest because the foliage would block out the sun. It was said to be half-man, half-wolf, and when you were bitten, you would instantly start to become one. My good friend from when I was in school, Marcel, told me that. Today when I left, he said, “Vladek! Be careful of the Wilkołak!”

I knew he was joking, but as I walked in, it felt real. As far as the eye could see, there were trees. I walked a few meters and heard a rustling noise. I jumped and scraped my hand on the sharp and coarse bark. I looked and saw a small rabbit bounding along. The leaves from the trees must have been so thickly woven together that the snow barely got through.

The further I walked, the darker it got. The separations from the trees became more varied, making the light harder to get through. I dug around in my pocket and pulled out a box of matches. I lit one and carried through.

As it got darker, the wildlife and animals seemed to get more sparse, with more fallen leaves than before. I sniffed the air and picked up the scent of blood. Looking around with my match in my hand, I saw it. It was a boar, dead, with its stomach torn out by a beast far stronger than anything else I’ve ever seen. I tried to get some meat and carried on.

One thing about this part of the forest was that sticks and fallen leaves piled up, making traversing it extremely difficult. I was crawling over a fallen log when I heard a large growling. I immediately dropped my match and drew an arrow. Frantically looking around, I waited for another sound. Rustling came from the pile of fallen leaves.

I slowly walked forward, until I stepped on a broken branch. I heard another growl and the sounds of an animal running. I quickly pulled back the drawstring and let go the arrow. Fwing! It quickly left my hand and went forward into the darkness. I lit another match and went forward to see what I had hit. With a snail’s pace, I stepped over. I smelt blood and heard the slow heavy breathing of the animal. Looking over, I was horrified at what I saw. It was the Wilkołak.

It looked up, with its bright yellow eyes and stained claws. Its breath smelled of blood, not because of the wound, but because of its prey. Marcel told me more about the Wilkołak, namely its metal-like fur that was stronger than iron, but as soft as a dog’s. It was impenetrable, but only by a single material. Srebro. Argentum. Silver.

When my father was still alive, and I was nine, he gave me a small knife after he came back from his journey around Europe. He said to me: “Vladek. Remember this. Keep this with you at all times. It might save your life one day.” It was an Italian switchblade, made by a great cutler from Istanbul. I knew it cost him much, so I always carried it with me. But the one part that always stuck out to me was the material: Ottoman Silver.

Slowly, not to provoke it, I slid the dagger out from my pocket. My palms were sweaty while trying to flip open the blade. Knees weak, it finally flipped open. With all my might, I stabbed that foul beast! And it howled, oh it howled! The depths of the Piekło opened up and swallowed it. It was gone.

I picked up my blade and walked back. Light seemed to fly through the leaves, and wildlife sprang to life. It was like a demon was expelled from this place. My arms were heavy, but I manage to get  some game. I was tired. It was late. But I had to get back home. This forest was a maze, but I had killed its monster.

I finally reached the exit. My face was gaunt and sleepy. Marcel greeted me at the gate.

“Bóg! What happened to you?”

I managed to softly say, “Wilkołak,” but he didn’t hear me. No one would believe me. No one else questioned. They were all just happy I brought meat back. The Król crowned me a hero. I was not a hero. I just did what I had to do to survive.

***

I was on my porch, watching the town bustle around. I was also reading a book about history and the Roman Empire. After that hunt, I tried to make my leisure activities more intellectual. Even though it had only been a day or so from then, my hair seemed to gray. My face was paler, more gaunt. My jacket looked more worn. My boots looked ages old. The town crowned me as a hero now, but they did not know of what actually happened. Even though we were still in deep winter, they held a feast in my honor. Bah! What a waste. I saw the hunters on their way. Bows, knives, torches, everything the town had to offer on their backs. Of course they’ll come back fine, for as far as I knew, there wasn’t another Wilkołak out there, but who knows? Maybe someone else will know what I’ve seen.

***

It’s been quite a while since I killed the Wilkołak, maybe three or four months, but it still haunts me. There hasn’t been another sighting yet. Every hunt I am invited to,  I always decline. I cannot go back there. I will never go back there. I will never leave the town again.

 

The Worst Roommate

 

**CONTENT ADVISORY: The following story contains sensitive content regarding suicide that some readers may find disturbing and/or may not be suitable for younger readers.**

I had the worst roommate on the planet. You may think I’m exaggerating, but someone has to be the worst, and I genuinely believe it was this guy. The university I’m at has an absurd policy regarding changing your roommate, and if yours isn’t actively plotting to murder you, you’re out of luck.

Anyways, on the first day at school, I walked into the dorm and I found him sitting in the fetal position on one of the kitchen stools. He had an unfortunate combination of greasy long hair and a messy beard that did not compliment anything about him. He was wearing a long sleeve, flannel shirt with some ominous stains and nothing else besides some boxers. I paused for a moment but decided that I was nobody to judge and nodded to him. He gave no signs of having noticed my presence, his eyes fixed on the entirely unremarkable wall opposite of him. I went and unpacked my stuff in the room he hadn’t taken and returned to the common area to find him sitting in the exact same position, looking like he hadn’t moved a muscle. I cleared my throat. No response. I cautiously offered a simple verbal greeting. Nothing. At this point, decently creeped out, I slowly made my way over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. His head violently spun around, and he focused his beady eyes on mine. I had no idea how to react, and apparently neither did he, because we sat there staring at each other for a moment. Finally, he broke the silence with a line that I’m now sure he has tried dozens of times.

“Let me tell you about the Jews and their lies,” he said sharply.

What followed was a very uncomfortable and very one-sided conversation about lizard people, the moonmen, the world government, Hillary Clinton and of course, the Jews. I was finally able to make my escape by claiming a need to use the restroom.

“Make sure not to drink the water from the sink!” he shouted after me.

Although it had originally upset me, I was suddenly very glad that my pet lizard was safe at home, being taken care of my Jewish, liberal family, far, far away from this madman. I spent a few moments mentally preparing myself for the year I would have to spend with this man. I stepped back outside into the common room, calming myself with the knowledge that this was probably the worst it would get. Boy, was I wrong. When I had exited the bathroom, my roommate was once again intently staring at the exact same point on the wall as before.

“What are you looking at anyway?” I asked, curiosity having finally got the better of me

“Ghosts,” he muttered.

I decided to end the conversation right there and walked into my room and pulled out my laptop, hoping to find some distraction from what had just transpired. I mainly played video games on a console back home, but I had finally caved into the pressure from my friends and bought a gaming laptop and a few games I hadn’t gotten around to yet. I fished around for the paper with the wi-fi information and password I had been given, and once I connected I started downloading a few games that my friends had recommended. I opened up my web browser and mindlessly browsed the internet while I waited for the games to finish downloading. An hour or so later I alt-tab-ed over to see how the download progress was going and was shocked to see that it had barely downloaded anything. The download speed was abysmal, significantly lower than what was promised by the university. I was annoyed at myself for actually believing the promise of high speed internet when something occurred to me.

I walked out into the common area and was briefly surprised to see the stool that my roommate had been occupying was now empty, but I figured he must be in his room. I walked up to the closed door and knocked on it.

“Who is it?” shouted his muffled voice.

“It’s just me,” I responded.

Labored footsteps could be heard approaching the door, followed by the sound of many locks being undone. When the door was finally open, he had a toothy grin.

“Well, you should have just said so!” he stated excitedly as he welcomed me in. “But for future reference, could you knock three times? That way I know it’s not the police,” he requested as he closed the door behind him and locked it’s many locks.

My feeling of discomfort only strengthened as I entered the room. In only a short few hours, he had managed to make the dorm room that had been meticulously cleaned only days ago look like it had not seen any love in a very long time. The window was covered by a black painted piece of plywood and the lights were off, so the only source of light was coming from a nice-looking computer monitor sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. It was attached to an impressive looking PC with a fan that sounded like a jet engine, and a blanket and some pillows were sitting around the setup with the keyboard and mouse, all strategically placed on the floor in what was most likely the only possible comfortable position. There were a few cardboard boxes lying around, all unlabeled. The only decoration was a bright and happy poster for some K-pop act, which only managed to make the room altogether even sadder.

“You wouldn’t happen to be doing anything bandwidth-intensive, would you?” I inquired, after having taken it all in.

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah! I have a special program that encrypts everything I do online so that it can’t be monitored by an ISP or the government and right now I’m downloading some stuff so it kinda eats through the bandwidth, sorry about that. I set it up for you if you’d like though!” he said, emphatically motioning over to the monitor, where an unfamiliar user interface sat, doing … something. As I looked closer I realized that he was torrenting some file with a name that appeared to be Japanese written in the English alphabet. An idea hit me.

“Hey, I gotta go out to do something, but I just realized that I don’t even know your name,” I said cautiously.

“Oh, you can call me Wiley,” he responded.

“Thanks. I’m Logan,” I said as I started towards the door. I reached for the handle when I realized that I had no idea how to undo the hastily installed extra locks.

“Sorry, I’ll get that for you,” Wiley said.

When I was in the common area, I took out my phone and Googled the name of the Japanese file he was downloading. It was anime porn.

***

“What!?” I spat.

“Can you prove that you have been threatened or are in danger?” repeated the annoyed-looking lady in the campus dormitory offices.

“Well, no, I just got here. He just creeps me out, okay?” I responded.

“If you can’t prove anything, we can’t do anything, got that?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He said that the Jews are controlling everything! I’m Jewish!” I said, bewildered.

“Well, that’s just his opinion, okay? Now, if you’re done complaining, I have work to do,” she said, turning her body away from me and making it very clear that the conversation was over.

Feeling defeated and offended, I returned to the dorm room to find Wiley in the common area setting up a TV that had probably been impressive a few years ago. It was connected to a very long cable that snaked over to and under his door.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s you! I was thinking that maybe we could play some video games!” he said excitedly, motioning over to the couch where a wireless controller was sitting there waiting for me. I was going to just head back to my room without saying a word, but when I thought about how much time he had put into setting up the TV, I decided to indulge him for a bit and sat down on the couch. He started up Portal 2, one of the games I had attempted to download earlier and had always wanted to play. He selected the co-op mode and we started playing the game. It was fun. A lot of fun, actually. At first neither of us said much, but as the puzzles ramped up in difficulty, we were forced to communicate and actually ended up with some decent banter and jokes and ate some pizza. Although many of the jokes were somewhat offensive (most notably when he referred to the game’s villain as “what happens when you have more chromosomes than IQ points”), he mostly seemed to be in good fun. Thankfully, he never brought up any of his conspiracy theories, although he did examine the pizza for an unnecessarily long time before allowing either of us to bite into it. When I finally got to bed, my face had taken on a smile.

***

“So there’s this girl in one of my classes, and I think I might be interested in her,” I said during a lull in the gameplay. It had been several months now, and us playing games and talking about unrelated things had become a fairly regular occurrence.

“What’s her name?” Wiley asked in the same monotone voice he always spoke in.

“I haven’t talked to her yet, but I believe her name is Rochelle,” I responded.

“What’s she like?” he asked.

“Well, as I said, we haven’t talked yet, but she has this adorable smile and laugh, and she seems super nice and likes a lot of the same music as me,” I said, barely concealing my excitement.

“I see,” Wiley responded in the same cadence as before.

***

“Listen, he’s just creepy, okay?” my girlfriend Rochelle said.

“Look, he’s not that bad once you get to know him, and besides he doesn’t have the long-term planning skills to murder someone anyways,” I said.

“That man is a school shooting waiting to happen, and you know it,” she retorted.

“That sounds like something that he would say,” I teased.

“Shut up!” Rochelle said, with an embarrassed smile on her face. She continued, “Going back to the topic at hand, do you want to come over tonight or not?”

“Yeah sure, but I already told you that I’m going back at 10. Wiley and I have plans to finally finish up Castle Crashers,” I responded.

That night I had found myself cuddling with Rochelle when I suddenly became aware of the time. It was 10:45.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “I gotta shoot Wiley a message to let him know that I’m busy.” I hammered out a basic text message saying that I was with Rochelle and that I was busy. I then put my phone back down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I woke up and reached for my phone to check the time. It was dead. I had forgotten to plug it back in after I sent the message to Wiley. Shit. I checked the physical clock on the wall and saw that I was late for my engineering classes. Shit. With no time to charge my phone, I quickly threw on last night’s clothes and ran to my class.

Wiley wasn’t in class that day. Not that him skipping class was an unusual occurrence – in fact he he did it more often than not, but I was eager to see him in person to apologize. When class ended, I dashed back to our dorm room to find him. I found a small, handwritten note on the common room table.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough for you. It was nice to know what it felt like to have a friend. Goodbye Logan.” the note read.

Terrified, I looked around for him. His door was closed. I reached for the handle. It was unlocked. As long as I had known him, Wiley had never had his door unlocked, whether he was there or not. With a massive sense of dread, I slowly turned the knob, pushed, and stepped into the dark room.

A great roommate leaves you with a friend for life. A good roommate leaves you with a friend for college. An average roommate leaves you with nothing. A bad roommate leaves you with a pain in your ass. The worst roommate leaves you feeling guilty for the rest of your life.

After his suicide, I was invited to Wiley’s funeral by his parents where I learned a lot about him. Wiley wasn’t his real name. His family was Jewish. He had a very similar upbringing to me. He suffered some kind of head trauma when he was seven, seemed to have developed schizophrenia and began to suffer from intense paranoia and anxiety. After that point, he rarely ever left his house and didn’t have any friends. I was the only person outside of family at the funeral.

Personality seems so constant, so baked in, but is it really? I wonder if the only true difference between the two of us was that he hit his head as a kid and I didn’t. Was the only deciding factor between a decently happy college kid and a paranoid suicide victim random chance? I’ve come to the realization and accepted that any moment anyone could die, but I’ve always looked at it from the point of view of the person dying, not the others. What does it feel like to watch your child reject everything about himself and isolate himself from everyone?

Wiley was certainly crazy, had an abrasive personality and was sometimes an asshole, but I cared about him. He was probably the worst roommate on the goddamn planet, but he was my friend.

 

Umami Tears

     

I talked in hushed tones with my brother

while we were walking

to get his hair cut

about times we had cried

not salty tears

but umami tears –

substantial and

rich.

These savory tears fell

for fictional families

reunited in two-minute ads tear jerking

to sell electronics.

Our umami tears fell to songs

about dying in tin cans in space

and the fake grass in Jersey.

Rich, fatty tears fell for a male model we did not know

who cried at his pictures because

he looked real for

the first time.

Or rice-puffed eyes were caused by news

on red CNN banners

flashing breaking

In white block letters. The voices of alligator sympathy

boomed from the smile-lined mouths of adults.

 

We cursed the umami tears because

you could smile with teeth while

salty crocodile tears flowed

from irises.

Sweet fruit-loop tears

looked so nice

on a silver movie screen.

But umami –

Those

were the tears

that stayed in your eyes

long after you thought you’d cried them out.

 

The Pactus Story

Once upon a time, there lived Pactus. He was a cross between a passport and a cactus. He looked like a cactus, except he had a face and arms and blue rectangular wings with passport stamps on them and spikes all over his body. Everyone thought he looked ugly, so he stayed inside his house all the time. People called him the Pactus Insider. He was very sad because he had no friends. He wanted to not be ugly so he could have some friends, but every time he went to the fashion store, the cashier would not sell him anything because he was ugly.

One day, he decided to go to the airport. Since he was partly a passport, they let him onto the plane. When he got on the plane, everyone laughed at him, and one person threw up. The people demanded that he get off the plane and go far away from everybody. They thought he was so ugly that there was no point in him going anywhere because everybody hated him.

On the plane, Pactus found a potion that changed his name to Josiah. Josiah was a smart, sleek name. Josiah felt that his name change should also spur a change on his outlook on life. He realized that when he smiled and stood a little taller, his body would somehow find a way to trick his brain into feeling better about himself. Josiah, the passport/cactus, was on his way to becoming a dark memer. He bought a 144hz monitor and COD Modern Warfare 300. He played all day, and no one could see his face. He just looked like a normal teenager in-game. He became the best and went to MLG 2100. He won first, and the trophy looked like a passport-cactus. He worked to become even better by drinking Red Bull and playing all night. But the Red Bull gave him wings, so he flew away from Earth and went to Pluto.

The Plutonians were very nice, and they became his friends because they were all ugly, too, and didn’t care about looks. However, then NASA sent a mission to colonize Pluto. All Josiah’s Plutonian friends were very scared and moved to Jupiter, but they accidentally left Josiah behind. Josiah got very sad and started calling himself Pactus again.

When the NASA people arrived on Pluto, they realized that Josiah was actually Pactus, and they got so angry that they killed him. But the Plutonians found out, and they went to Pluto and held a funeral for him. Then, they went to Earth and found a passport and a cactus and put them in a blender and turned it on. The passport and cactus mixed together and became Pactus Jr. But the Plutonians created a potion that changed his name to Kanye, so he never knew that he was actually Pactus Jr. He always went around thinking that he was Kanye, and other people thought it too. Thinking he was Kanye, he rapped so much that nobody would ever think about him actually being Pactus Jr. But there was also the real Kanye. Real Kanye and fake Kanye got suspicious of each other. The Plutonians got worried that Kanye or the other Kanye or anybody else would realize that Kanye was actually Pactus Jr. One day, the two Kanyes met. They got into a fight. All the Kanye fans came to watch.

“Yo, I’m Kanye!”said Pactus Jr.

“No, I’m Kanye, yo!” said the real Kanye. “Yo!”

“Yo, I’m the real Kanye, yo-yo!” said Pactus Jr. However, he did not know that he was Pactus Jr. so he thought he was the real Kanye. They started fighting. Pactus Jr. beat up Kanye. When they were both about to realize that one of the Kanyes was actually Pactus Jr., the Plutonians threw in a potion that made them think that the other Kanye was Pactus Jr. and the fake Kanye was really Kanye.

Now, the real Pactus Jr. thought that Kanye was Pactus Jr. and he was Kanye, so he said, “Yo, you’re not Kanye, you’re Pactus Jr., yo! Yo-yo, you will pay for this, yo!”

Then, he called the police, and they arrested Kanye and gave an award to Pactus Jr. When Pactus Jr. got home, the Plutonians were so happy that they forgot to call him Kanye, and they accidentally told him that he was Pactus Jr., so then he realized who he was and that the other Pactus Jr. was really Kanye. He felt guilty of lying, so he went and broke Kanye out of jail. They became friends, and Pactus Jr. took Kanye to live with him and the Plutonians, and they lived happily ever after.

 

😉 (Not the end)

 

One day, Kanye realized that if Pactus Jr. was called Pactus Jr. and not just Pactus, then there was another Pactus. So they tried to find Pactus. They traveled all over the world until they finally got back to their house.

“Hello,” said a Plutonian. “Where have you been?”

“We were looking for Pactus,” said Pactus Jr.

“He is dead,” said the Plutonian. “But there is a potion that will make him a ghost.”

So Pactus Jr. and Kanye and all the Plutonians went to the place where Pactus was buried. They poured the ghost potion into the ground, and it went over Pactus and he became a ghost.

“Hellooo!!!” said ghost Pactus.

But then, the ghost potion was absorbed into the soil, and it went to all the buried dead people in the graveyard, and they all became ghosts and attacked them. But the only one they could actually attack was Pactus, because he was also a ghost, but he was unable to get injured or die because he was a ghost, so their attack failed, and they all left. Then Pactus, Pactus Jr., Kanye, and all the Plutonians went back to their house. But the ghosts were angry, and they made the apocalypse happen. All the humans were very scared. But then, Pactus came in to save them, and he killed all the ghosts because he was partly a cactus. The humans were so happy that they made him their king, along with Pactus Jr. and Kanye. They lived in a castle in New York, and the Plutonians were their servants. They lived happily ever after.

 

The Three Dogs

Chapter One: The Old Woman

I walked past a door and smelled dogs. I could hear them barking. There were three of them, and they wanted to be walked. My job was dog walking, so I rang the doorbell, and an old lady opened the door who looked about eighty years old. She had gray hair and green eyes. The dogs were different breeds and sizes. One was a miniature poodle. The next was a pitbull, and the third and last dog was a Great Dane. I asked the woman if she wanted me to walk her dogs, and she said yes.

At first, the only reason I offered was to make money, but then I saw how hard it must be for her to walk the dogs, so I wanted to help. She had a cane and looked tired, but the dogs were very energetic. Some of them were bigger than her, so it could even be dangerous if she walked them. This is because if they ran, she would practically fly behind the dog. I made $60 that day from the old woman. Soon, me and the old lady became friends.

Then after nine short years, she died of old age and left me with her three dogs. It was the saddest moment of my life, and the dogs even felt bad. There was a small funeral because the lady did not know many people. There was only me and the three dogs because her family as all dead by now. There was a small, brown coffin where she slept, and there was a priest that spoke. I thought it was sad how no one was there except me and the priest. She trusted me with every possession she had, and that is why she wanted me to have the dogs. We used to do many things in her home, like drink tea and play with the dogs at least twice a week. She was one of my best friends, in fact, maybe my only best friend. On a different note, I would at least remember her by her three dogs.    

 

Chapter Two: The Dogs

I took them all home and was thinking about what to do with them. They could not all fit into my small apartment in New Jersey. The tables had many things on them and were cluttered together. Things were stuffed in drawers until they were ready to burst open. The dogs would jump, run, knock things over, and track hair all over the place. The place was a wreck. It was just too busy!

Then it hit me: keep one of the dogs and give the other two away. I felt the closest with the pitbull, because whenever I went over to the old lady’s home, the pitbull would follow me wherever I went, and it was the perfect size. I gave the other dogs to friends of mine. This was a very hard thing for me to do because that is how I remembered the old lady, and it was hard on the dogs. All of the dogs got along as well as anybody did. They did not fight or cause any trouble with each other. The next day I woke up and saw my dog on the couch sleeping. I woke him up, got dressed, and went outside with the dog. The dog seemed sad without his friends and so did his friends. I did not want them to be so sad, but I did not have enough space for all of them. I needed to get a new home where they could all live.

I started to look for houses that were on sale. I looked all over New Jersey and did not find any I liked. It needed to be enough space so they could run around and jump and most of all be happy. But where was I going to get enough money to buy such a big home? Now I needed a new job.

I walked on street after street after street looking for a well paying job, and then I found one. I would be a waiter at a restaurant. It was an Italian restaurant. If I was employee of the month, I would get $10,000. Otherwise, I would get $700 a week without work on the weekends. I worked as hard as I could for 2 months, which was $5,600. And I was employee of the month, which got me $15,600. I just needed to move somewhere cheaper and work there for a year or so. It was finally starting to work out for me.

 

Chapter Three: A New Life

I finally had enough money for a nice big home. Now I was going to go to a different country and live there so I could have a new life. I decided on Mexico, because I thought it would be a cool, different experience. I made sure that the people would let me put each of the dogs in their own cages in the cargo space.

When I got to Mexico, I got off the plane, and in the airport I realized something: I could not speak Spanish! This would be a problem in the near future. How was I going to get a job to keep my home in my hands and not somebody else’s? I finally got to my new home and unpacked my stuff. It seemed amazing how I forgot that people in Mexico spoke Spanish.

Now I decided I was going to move back to America. The next morning, I repacked my stuff, took the dogs for a walk, and then went straight to the airport. I tried to get on the plane, but a man named Peter stopped me. I wondered why he had done this to me, and then I suddenly remembered! My passport expired! I couldn’t believe that it had happened overnight! I had no idea what to do and if I would need to speak Spanish to get this problem solved. I went to the Mexican post office, and there I was happy to know that they could also speak English.

There, I renewed my passport and was on my way back to New Jersey. Once I got back, I bought a nice home and finally had a good life set up. Now, I needed to get my job back. But once I got to the restaurant, there was a problem. They replaced me! My heart started to beat really fast, and I started to sweat a lot. I had no idea what to do. I went into the restaurant and begged for my job back. After I was done begging, they kicked me out, and I had find a new job.

I looked everywhere: online and in the streets, but there seemed to be no job openings. I had to do something way different than what I had done in the past to get a new job. There were no jobs anywhere, so I only had one choice. I joined the NYPD training camp so I could become a police officer. As a child, I always dreamt of being a police officer. I thought it would be fun, and I would be a hero to everyone. It was the hardest training I had ever thought of. Well, except for the Navy SEALS and the military. The only fun part was going to the shooting range and learning how to shoot a police-issued gun. But most of the training was pushups and learning what to do in certain situations.

 

Chapter Four: The Police Break

You are not everyone’s hero. I realized this because there have been some racial issues in the news, and it has a lot to do with cops. I even knew this when I lived in New Jersey. If you do something wrong, then it is a big issue, and sometimes it even gets in the news. At least I would be doing good for the city, and I would be helping people. It was a bit of a commute going from New Jersey to the Big Apple every day, and I had to hire a dog walker because I was almost never there. The next day was my first day on the real force. I would start as a meter maid, but I was going to work my way up to a big-league cop stopping criminals. Now, I started to go around making sure there were no tickets to give out, and once it was 12:00, I had given 78 tickets out to people. This job seemed boring, but I needed to do it, and my boss said if I did well without complaining for the first six months, then I could take a week of break, and if I did it for the whole year I would get a raise. So I hung in there and eventually got a week of break. I was going to Alberta for a camping trip with my family and put the dogs in a kennel. This was because I didn’t want to go to Mexico anymore. Once I got the dogs situated, I was ready to leave for camping. I was going to meet them there.

Once I got there, I saw my family for the first time in years. It was great seeing my family again, and all of the wildlife was really cool. We saw all different forms of it, like bears, muskrats, and deers. It was the best time I had had in years. My family was not rich, so we could not afford to do this kind of thing. I was an only child, so I did get them all to myself, but sometimes I got lonely. My family was happy to see me as well! It felt good that they missed me too. Now we had to a get a campsite, and I would tell them about what I had done over all these years. We found the perfect one. You could see the mountains and a shimmering lake. Everything was so green, which was the opposite of where I lived. It was nice to be out of the city for once, and I could not wait for the next day. The next day we went out for a hike, and when we got to the top it was amazing. You could see everything from that mountaintop.

 

Chapter Five: The Saddest Day of My Life

When we were coming down that beautiful mountaintop, we saw a deer. It looked like Bambi with its little white freckles. Then, the scariest moment of my life happened. A bear jumped out of the woods and on the deer. It tore its flesh and we were so stiff we could not move. And then it happened. The bear saw us as a threat to him and his food, and the big brown bear went after us. We ran as fast as we could, but it was no use. The bear ran faster, and then it pounced on my mom and ripped her head off. My dad and I turned off of the trail and straight into the woods. The bear did not come, but I was sobbing more than ever. After that, we went back to the campsite, and then to make my day even worse I got a call that the dogs had been stolen from the kennel.

I was a cop, so at least I could take this case and try to solve it, but I needed a day off after what happened. This would be one of the harder cases, and I was lucky that my boss gave me a raise six months early because I was doing a really good job. I said goodbye to my dad and went home as fast as I could. My heart felt empty. I had nothing left but myself and my dad. It felt like torture. The next day I would try to forget all of this and get on the case so I could have something nice in my mind again.

 

Chapter Six: The First Case

In the morning I got up, went downstairs, and had cookies and coffee for breakfast. They were good, and at least my heart was fixed a little bit. Then I got right on the case. I went to the police station, and they gave me all the stuff they knew about him: 24 years old, last seen walking dogs, always wanted a dog but could not afford one.

I needed to find him so I could bring him in and get my three dogs back. They put me on this case because since they were my dogs, I would want to solve the case more than everybody else. It was a good feeling being able to solve my own case instead of having to tell cops to do it for me. It was better because it would give me the feeling of revenge, and that was something I needed now. There was not much important left in my life, and I could even work later because going home to an empty house made me feel sad. I used to come home to a bunch of happy dogs running and pouncing on me, just the same way that stupid bear pounced on my mom. I would never be the same after that, and it was a burden to carry on my back. I just wished the old lady was here to help me and cheer me up, just like the way she used to do. I did miss her, but this thing with my mom made me forget about her. After reviewing the case folder, I when out and started looking. I went over to the scene of the crime and asked all they knew about him. All they knew was that he did not have a car, and he instead ran away. This was not a very helpful hint, but I was not mad. I instead asked another question so I could try to pull more answers out of them. I asked which way he went, and they said left. They also said they saw him go inside a building and not come out. They believed that was where he lived. I went over to the old, broken-down house, and then I heard barking! I knocked on the door with my hand on my gun. I was ready to point it right at that man. But no one opened, so I had no choice but to kick it down, and that is what I did.

Then I ran upstairs to where I heard the barking. I saw my dogs and went straight to them so I could untie them. But that was not the only part of the mission. I have to catch the man too, I thought to myself. The dogs would only make it harder to do this. I looked all around the building, but he was not anywhere to be found. Then I went back to the dogs, and when I went to untie them, I was caught in a net and trapped. I then called the police to come and untie me. Well, I was waiting just a few minutes. After I called the cops to help me, I heard the door open. I knew that this was not the police, because it was far away from the station. Then I heard loud thumps on the old wooden stairs. A man came in the room. He looked me in the eye and said no words, but after that he left the room. Quickly after, he came back in the room, this time with a gun. He shot. I moved my head just out of the way, the shot cut the wire, and I fell free. Then, I quickly ran towards him as he was reloading. I tackled him and took his gun. Then, I threw it out of the way and started to punch him until he was knocked out. Then, I untied the dogs and waited for the police to come. Then, we loaded them up and made our way to the station.

 

Chapter Seven: The Raise

When we got to the station, we put him in a holding cell before we took him to a prison. Then I went home happily with the dogs and finally felt happy again.  The next day, I went to work and I was ready to do work, but the boss said I should take a day off because of all the sad things that had happened around me, and because I also found the man I needed to find. Then, I went home happily and slept. The next day, when I went to work, my boss gave me a raise. Now I was not just a cop. I was something more. I asked him what I would be doing that day, and he just said to patrol the streets. That is what I did. I thought of the busiest streets and went there to do my job, because that was where most accidents occurred. When I got over there, I bought a lawn chair, brought it close to the main street, and sat down. This was the best job ever! Once my shift was over, I brought the lawn chair home and stacked it over all the other ones.

Then, I started to talk with my dad about the funeral plans for my mother. The dogs were out on their third walk of the day like usual. We decided to hold it in Italy, because she had always wanted to go there, but never did. We decided not to bring the dogs because we thought they would make a mess at the funeral.

 

Chapter Eight: Italy

Once we got there, it was the most incredible place I had ever gone to. You could see mountains everywhere, and the little village was built on the side of one. No wonder she had always wanted to come here. It was just amazing. We had a priest, just like the little old lady had. The difference was that she had friends and a family, and the old lady did not have that. We had a nice hotel and a great view from there. You could see the whole village from that spot. The next day, we went out looking in shops, but tomorrow the funeral was going to take place, and then I would have to go and work again. But for now, I will enjoy the time I have left here in Italy. Tomorrow is about my mother and only her. The next morning, I got ready to go to the funeral. I put on my only suit and combed my hair. When we got there, I read a sign that said: Funeral starting 11:30 AM for Susan Pande.

 

THE END.

 

Sincerely, the Aliens

It was late. Megan was walking home from after-school activities when she saw a white light coming down from the sky. She thought, That must be a shooting star. I wish for one million dollars, shooting star. Then, she started floating in the air.

She screamed, “HELP, BOB!”

But no one was around. Then, after 30 seconds, which seemed like forever, she reached the inside of a weird ship. Then something or someone put a sack over her and gave her a shot of something that put her right to sleep.

***

I woke up. I called out to Megan, “Megan, wake up. It’s time to go to school.”

But no one answered me. I looked on the top bunk, where Megan slept, and saw that she wasn’t there. That’s weird. Maybe she’s downstairs, and for once, I don’t have to wake her up. I got dressed and put on my clothes and started going downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, but Megan wasn’t in the kitchen either.

I screamed, “Mom, did you see Megan this morning yet?”

“No, why are you asking. Did you see her yet?” Mom answered.

“No,” I said, “That’s why I was asking. Maybe she had something at school so she left early.”

I finished eating breakfast and put on my shoes.

“Bye, Mom,” I screamed.

“Bye,” she said, and I walked out the door to school.

I arrived at school and asked the secretary if Megan was at school yet.

She answered, “No, I don’t know where she is. You’re her brother. Shouldn’t you know?”

I said, “Yeah, I probably should know, but I haven’t seen her since yesterday at school.”

“Okay,” said the secretary. “I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks for your help,” I said and headed out to class.

When it was lunch, I met up with my best friend, Jeff, and sat down and started eating.

Jeff asked, “Where is Megan? She wasn’t in my class today. Was she sick?”

Jeff was a surfer. He had big muscles and had blonde hair. His dream was to become a professional surfer.

“I don’t know, Jeff. She wasn’t in her bed this morning, and the secretary said she didn’t come to school yet,” I answered.

Jeff said, “Do you think she was kidnapped?”

“Of course not! Why would anyone want to kidnap her?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you if I find anything out about where Megan is.”

RRRIIIINNGGGG. And we started the next half of the day.

After the final bell, Jeff and I started walking home together, and I saw a note on the sidewalk.

“Look, Jeff, a note. I wonder what it says.”

I picked up the note and read the note out loud.

 

Dear Bob,

We are the ones who kidnapped Megan. She is with us, and you will never see her again. We are always watching. She is now our specimen for testing. Don’t try saving her. It will just be a waste of time, and you will also become a specimen. We took Megan to study the human race. We are still on your planet. Don’t try telling the police, or anyone like that, or they will all just die. Have fun with your last few days on Earth.   

Sincerely,

The Aliens.

 

“ALIENS?! THEY’RE GOING TO DESTROY US!!!” Jeff screamed.

“Yes, aliens, Jeff. But remember, we can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Plus, this note is probably just written by someone who overheard us talking at lunch, so let’s not worry about it. Bye, Jeff, see ya tommorow at school.”

And we walked our ways to home.

***

Meanwhile…

I woke up. My vision was dizzy, and I had a really bad headache. Where am I? I thought. I saw that I was in a white room with no windows or people. Maybe I can sneak out of here. I tried to move my hands, but they were chained to the bed I was on. Crap! What am I going to do?  I lay there for another five minutes until I heard some voices.

“What are we going to do with the human female?”

I heard another voice say, “Shut up! We are just going to do tests on her, and when we are done, we will throw her into the black hole.”

Oh no, I must escape! Who are those people, and how will they get to a black hole? I thought. Then something came into the room. When I saw them, I almost passed out. It was an alien! It had three eyes, its body was green, and it was all slimy, and it had tentacles as legs.

***

At Home…

I finally got home.

I asked my mom, “Is Megan at home? She wasn’t at school today.”

“No, I didn’t see her. Should I call the police and start a search party for Megan? I’m getting very worried.”

Oh no! What should I say? The aliens said the police couldn’t get involved. I guess I’ll have to lie my way out of this. I feel so bad for lying.

I said, “Actually, Mom, she was at school today, but she went to a sleepover at her friend’s house.”

“Whose house did she go to?” Mom said. “She wasn’t allowed to go. I need to call them and tell them Megan has to come home right now!”

“Uh… umm, I don’t know. She didn’t tell me,” I answered. “I need to go upstairs to do my homework. See you at dinner.”

Phew, I almost was going to be a specimen too. I must find out where they are and free Megan!

After finishing my homework and having dinner, I went to bed and tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t! The fact that Megan was abducted by aliens didn’t make me want to fall asleep.

I need to think of an idea of how to find her and free her.

After almost an hour of thinking about ideas, I thought of the best idea ever! But I needed help from my friend, Jerry.

The next day passed by quickly, and I didn’t get anymore notes from the aliens. After school, I went to Jerry’s, my other best friend’s house. Jerry was great at hacking and always got good grades. One time he failed a test, so he hacked the school’s system and changed his score. Jerry had brown hair, and he always wore his round glasses wherever he went. He also always wore a buttoned up shirt everyday, even if it was 90 degrees. Jerry and I went up to his bedroom, and he turned on his computer and started hacking.

After an hour of hacking, Jerry screamed, “I GOT IT!”

“Where is her phone, Jerry?”

“It’s at, it’s at… the dump?! They must have built a garbage fort.”

“No, Jerry, I doubt it. But tomorrow you, Jeff, and I can go there.”

***

The following morning…

Woo hoo! Today is the day we save Megan!

“Wake up, Bob. You have to go to school. Tell me if you see Megan at school today. All of Megan’s friends said that she wasn’t sleeping at their houses.” Mom said.

“Okay, Mom.”

I started walking to school, and I met up with Jeff like I always did. But this time, he was flexing his muscles in front of a bunch of girls. So I decided to back away until he was done. When he was done, I walked over to him.

“Hey, Jeff.”

“Hey. Did you find your sister yet?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, we did! Jerry tracked down her phone. She’s with the aliens in the dumpster. Jerry and I are going there today after school. Do you wanna come?”

“Of course I do!” answered Jeff. “I’ll meet you at lunch with Jerry to figure out a plan, and then after school, we’ll meet up right outside. Does that sound good?”

“Yep, that works. Let’s do it.”

RRRIIIINNGGGG went the lunch bell and lunch started. Jeff, Jerry and I all met up at our usual table.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“I say we all go home and wear our best spy things, bring a few snacks and drinks. Then at 12:00 A.M., we meet up at school, and we go to the dump,” said Jeff.

“Thats a great idea!” Jerry and I both called out.

“So let’s do it” I said.

And we all go back to class. After school, we all went home and got prepared. I decided I would wear black jeans and my black shirt. I would bring my water bottle and some snacks with a flashlight. I ate dinner and went to my bedroom.

“G’night, Bob,” said Mom.

“G’night, Mom.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to go to sleep. After around ten minutes, I reopened my eyes and made sure no one was looking. I got out of bed, but I still had to kill some time. It was only 10:34. I started reading books. After around an hour of reading, it was 11:43, so I started to make my way downstairs. Luckily, no one was awake, so it was easy to sneak out. I put on my shoes and started walking to school. I got to school at 12:00 sharp. It was a clear night with no clouds. The moon was full, so it was easy to see where I was going.

***

“Who are you?” I asked. “Why did you kidnap me you stupid alien.”

“DON’T CALL ME STUPID, LITTLE HUMAN GIRL!” said the alien. “Soon we will take over your pathetic world.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why did you kidnap me?”

“We kidnapped you so we can do tests and learn about the human race. When we came to earth, we saw you, and we knew you would be perfect because you were young,” answered the alien. “Now it’s time for your first test. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”

“It better not.”

The alien put a blindfold over my eyes. Then, all of a sudden, pain bursted throughout my body. I felt like someone shocked me and punched me a million times. I tried screaming, but I couldn’t. It was like my mouth was taped shut.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” I screamed. “YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT! YOU LIED.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, little girl. I forgot to tell you that it wouldn’t hurt has bad as what’s coming next,” the alien said. “Mwahahahaha.”

I really, really hope Bob saves me. I really don’t want to do what’s next. And I went back to sleep.

***

Meanwhile, at school…

When I got to school, I saw Jeff waiting for me. I asked him, “Did Jerry come yet?”

“No, I didn’t see him. Maybe his parents caught him. Let’s wait another 10 minutes for him,” said Jeff.

“Good thinking.”

After around five minutes, Jerry came.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my parents almost caught me, so I waited another five minutes and then went out.” said Jerry.

“It’s fine, Jerry.” I assured him, and we started walking to the dump.

It was a long walk. It was all the way across town.

It took about 45 minutes to get there. When we got there, we walked inside and started looking around for something unusual.

“Does anyone see anything?” I asked after around a half an hour of searching.

“No.” Jeff and Jerry said.

“Neither do I,” I said. “Let’s go look on the other side of the dump.”

“Great idea.” Jeff said.

I started running, and then I tripped on a garbage bag, and I saw under it was light.

“Guys!” I whispered. “Look! Theres light under that garbage bag. Let’s go check it out!” We all tiptoed to the garbage bag, when we got there, I said, “I’m going to lift it up. After I lift it up, I’ll look inside for any aliens. If it’s clear to go in, I’ll put up two fingers.”

“Good thinking, Bob.” said Jeff.

I took a peek under the garbage bag. I knew it! There was a big white room with lights. I saw a few doors leading to other places. There were desks with testing tubes and weird alien things on them. I gave Jeff and Jerry the all clear sign. We all went down the ladder and came into the room.

“Woah,” Jeff said. “Look at all the cool stuff they have!”

Then, all of a sudden, we heard movements.

“Everyone hide!” I whispered, and everyone hid.

Jeff and Jerry hid under a table while I hid inside a closet. After around ten minutes, we came out of our hiding spots.

“Phew, that was a close one. Did you see what the alien looked like?”

“I did!” said Jerry. “It was green and slimy. I saw three eyes, but there might be more. He had squid legs. I’m not sure how many.”

“Good job, Jerry. Let’s go into the next room.”

“WAIT!” said Jeff. “Look what I found! It looks like a gun. We can use it to kill aliens.”

“Nice find, Jeff!” Jerry said. “Keep it. It’ll probably come in handy.”

“Yes,” I said.

The gun looked like a gun, but it was dark blue and had some weird green liquid inside, and it didn’t have any bullets. We walked into the next room, which was all white again, but it had a bunch of cages with animals like deer, dogs, and cats. There was another doorway, which had weird letters on top that looked like, “ܐܒܫܣܝܬܫܣܝܐ ܧܡܤܐܤܞܫܧܖܐ ܝܒܣܧܣܝܒ”.

“What does that mean?” asked Jeff.

“I don’t know. It’s probably alien language.”

“Let’s just go inside it, guys. We know this room doesn’t have Megan in it,” said Jerry.

So we walked inside the room, and inside, we saw five aliens!

“Quick, Jeff! Shoot them!!”

Jeff shot them all, and they turned into ashes.

“That must be a vaporizer gun! That’s so cool, Jeff!” Jerry said.

“I know!” said Jeff. “I want to keep it forever.”

“C’mon, guys, we have to find her fast. We can’t miss school, otherwise our parents will freak. It’s already 4:00 A.M.”

We started into the next room. It was a big room with big tubes coming down from the ceiling. In one of the big tubes, Megan was sleeping.

“Look!” I said. “There she is!”

The problem was that there were around five aliens walking around the room. Some aliens were sitting at table, looking at something that looked like a virtual computer. Some other aliens were holding shots that you would get at the hospital. They looked very busy.

“Okay, guys. I have a plan. We need to find another two of those guns. When we find more, we surprise them all and shoot them down.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” said Jerry, and we started looking around for more guns.

After 20 minutes of looking, we still didn’t find anything. It was already 4:56 in the morning. We needed to leave soon. So I leaned on a wall for a second, and all of a sudden, a big panel inside the wall opened up with guns, grenades, and a bunch of other alien weapons. Jackpot!

“Guys!” I said. “Come look at what I found!”

Jerry and Jeff came over, and they saw it.

“Woah,” said Jeff. “We can take some grenades to blow up this place after we save Megan.”

“Smart idea, Jeff. Jerry take a gun.”

Jerry and I took a gun. We all had the same ones. I took a few grenades for after. We went back to the room next the aliens.  

“Okay, guys, when I give a thumbs up, we are going to run into the room and destroy the aliens. Sounds good, guys?”

“Okay,” they both said.

I peeked in the room. They were still doing the same things as before, and Megan was still asleep. I was ready to give them a thumbs up. I showed three fingers, then two, then one, and then a thumbs up. We all ran into the room. Jeff took out two aliens right away. Jerry and I also killed one. There were six left. Then one of the aliens took out a gun and tried to shoot us, but we shot him faster. But there were still five left. I shot two more, and Jeff and Jerry each shot one. The last alien quickly ran to a big, red button and pressed it right before we killed it. Then the lights turned red. Alarms went off. The door closed shut, and metal surrounded the door, making it impossible to break. Then a voice said, “Self destruction in 20 minutes.

“Oh no, guys!” I screamed over the alarms. “Let’s free Megan and try to escape!”

Luckily, Megan woke up with all the commotion. She said, “Bob, is that you? Are you here to save me?”

“Yes, Megan. C’mon, we have to get out of here before this place explodes! Do you know how to get out of that tube?”

“Yes, I saw the alien do it when we did tests. I think he clicked that button,” said Megan.

“Jerry, go click that button over there. It should free Megan.”

“Okay, Bob,” said Jerry.

Jerry went over and clicked the button. A door in the tube opened up, and Megan was free.

“Thank you so much!!” said Megan.

“C’mon. We don’t have anytime to be happy. This place is going to blow up in like 15 min-”

Self destruct in 14 minutes,” said the automated voice.

“Hey, I wonder if our gun can destroy the door?”

“Try it,” said Jeff.

I tried blowing up the door, but it didn’t work. It didn’t even leave a scratch.

“Well, that was a fail,” I said.

“We need to find an off switch or something to blow open the door,” said Jerry.

We started looking for an off switch, but we gave up because there was only ten minutes left.

“Guys, I’ll use the grenade I took, and hopefully it’s not too powerful.”

“DON’T,” said Jeff. “You might blow us all up, and we’ll all die.”

“It doesn’t matter. No matter what, we’ll all die anyway. We have to try it,” I told him.

“Yeah, I agree with Bob. We have to try it. It’s our only hope,” Jerry said.

“Okay, fine,” said Jerry.

Self destruct in nine minutes,” said the machine.

“I’m throwing the grenades in three… two… one…”

BOOM went the grenade.

***

Meanwhile… Martin was next to the dump.

It’s been a long day, I thought. All I want to do is go home and crash on my bed. I’ve been having such a bad day. When I was walking next to the dump, I heard a grumble, and the ground started shaking. I thought, Oh no! Earthquake! This day is getting worse by the minute. Then in the sky, I saw something hovering off the ground. ALIENS!! They must be hiding in the dump. I HAVE TO take a picture. I took a picture of the aliens and called the 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“I’m next to the dump, walking home, and the ground just started rumbling. Then I saw a flying saucer hovering in the sky.”

“Are you sure this is true?” asked the operator.

“Yes! Of course. I’m watching it happen right now.”

“Okay. I’ll send over some police to go investigate.”

“Thanks,” I told them, but they already hung up.

I waited around for the police to come. Luckily, the alien ship wasn’t moving. It was just hovering in the air. The police came two minutes after I called them. The alien ship was still there. The policeman came up to me.

He asked me, “Hello, I’m Anthony. I’m go- Holy shit is that what I think it is? Just a secl. I’m calling backup.”

Five minutes later, 15 police cars and helicopters where surrounding and going inside the dump.

***

Inside the alien hideout…

“LOOK” I said. “There’s a hole that we can crawl through.”

Five minutes till self destruction.” said the machine.

We crawled into the next room. I took out my last grenade.

“This is my last one, guys. I don’t have another one for the next room. What are we going to do?!”

“Let’s just escape this room. Then we can worry about the other one,” said Megan.   

“Okay, sheesh,” said Jerry.

“Guys, I’m blowing up the next one in three… two… one…”

BOOM. And the next door exploded.

Three minutes till self destruction.”

“OW!” screamed Jeff. “I can’t walk. I got hit in the leg by some of the debris, and I twisted it. I might have broke it.”

“Don’t worry, Jeff. Put your arms on me and Jerry. We’ll help you walk.”

Jeff put one arm on each of our shoulders. Then I noticed that I didn’t have another grenade.

“GUYS! I don’t have another grenade! What are we going to do!”

“Let’s try to find a hammer or another grenade,” said Jerry.

Two minutes till self destruction,” said the robot voice.
We spent one minute looking for things to break the door with.

One minute till self destruction.”

“Guys, “Jeff started crying and said, “If this is our last time together, I just wanted to say, I eat my boogers.”

Then Jerry said, “I also do,” and he started crying.

Thirty seconds till self destruction.

“Bye, guys,” I said. “It was nice knowing you all. At least we got to see Megan one last time.”

Then Megan spoke up.

“I also wanted to say that my whole life, I always loved you. You’re the best brother ever.”

***

Look!” I screamed. “The police.

We ran to the police. We only had 15 seconds to get out. We all sprinted out of the aliens’ secret hideout with five seconds left. We continued to run until we heard the place exploding. When we walked out of the dump, we saw news reporters, police, and worst of all, our mother. I walk over to my mother with Bob, and she told Bob, “Great job! You saved Megan. But you’re grounded until you’re 18.”

“By the way,” I told Bob, “everything I said before is not true.”

“Oh, Megan,” said Bob, rolling his eyes.

When we get home, I crashed into bed, and I saw a note.

 

We’ll be back one day.

The Aliens

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

Downward Spiral

THURSDAY

George woke up sweat-drenched and anxious from his slumber. Before he could think, George’s thirst couldn’t be contained, and water was what he desired. Unfortunately for him, this was not possible. His surroundings began explaining themselves: the absence of windows, the tiny lantern serving as the room’s only light source, and worst of all, the rope that tied him to a wooden chair. Suspicion only increased when he noticed a massive trash can next to a writing desk. Recalling the past events was a struggle for him, but the reason for this difficulty was unknown. He was certain that he was being held captive, and George thought, Food will be brought any second now. And seconds passed, then hours, then days. His stomach screamed in agony, and his throat cried in pain. Tied to this chair for the past three days, George began to ask, “Will you comfort me when I die, Mr. Wallace?”

But Mr. Wallace didn’t respond. Instead, he slowly vanished as George reached his long-awaited death.

 

TUESDAY

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t hire someone with a crime of this magnitude on their record,” said the employer. “Jobs don’t come easy for a guy like you, Mr. Wallace.”

Walking away from the building as fast as he could, George’s hopelessness became more agonizing than ever. His fridge was empty. He wouldn’t be able to live in his apartment for much longer. He couldn’t wash his clothes, and his depression was corrupting his brain. As a last ditch effort to save his life, he bought a stack of loose-leaf paper and a pen, and walked back to his two-room apartment. When he entered his old, dark, and sweaty home, he hastily sat down and got into his writing position. George was never a great writer, so ideas were quickly scrapped, and papers were crumpled. After four hours of torturous disappointment, George fainted from heat exhaustion.

 

WEDNESDAY

George woke up.

Dehydrated and hungry, George managed to lift himself from his chair and wondered, How long have I been asleep? As he rose from his wooden chair, a wave of inadequacy washed over him once he saw his trash can filled to the brim with failed ideas. Walking out of the room, George began to notice something strange. An old friend that he had met in prison, Mr. Wallace, was waiting for him, with only a rope in his hand.

“I always knew you were a disappointment.”

Mr. Wallace jumped onto the skinny and frail George, overpowering him with his unfathomable strength. Blood was spilled as each one of Mr. Wallace’s sharp knuckles rushed into George’s skull. Succumbing to the pain, George became unconscious.

 

A Rainbow Appears

A Rainbow appears. When I started 6th grade, I thought I was gay because I liked to cross one leg over the other when I sat, and I liked talking about my feelings. Then I started finding girls pretty again and learned how to sit leaning back with my backpack on and my legs splayed out. Gay was something that described my grandma’s and some of my mom’s strange, effeminate friends. Strange because all of Grandma’s friends were strange. In the latter part of 6th grade, once I had a round table in the front-back end of the lunchroom and a regular group that took the B61 together past 4th ave, gay meant lame or stupid. Gay was the tiny cookie in the cafeteria that day or the friendly comment made when a vicious comeback was expected. Gay was something they called each other on South Park and Family Guy.

In 7th grade, gay was the wierd, emo kid with dyed pink and blue hair. In 8th grade, gay was cool in girls but scary in guys. In 8th grade, boys played football with their shirts off while girls sat in the grass. Trans was the strange porn you accused your friends of watching while you called them gay. In 9th grade, gay was what you thought would be a good wingman and the strange kid you talked to sometimes and maybe hung out with in a group once or twice. In 10th grade, gender-queer was my music teacher of five years, a camp counselor who was all-around badass, and one of my favorites, David Bowie, and the Australian person from Orange is the New Black.

Gay was a 5th Avenue pride parade and Cherry Grove in the summer. In 11th grade, queer was me and three, four, two, three of my close friends, and kind of a little bit of everyone. Eleventh grade was the year “the group got gayer.” Queer was feeling guilty, and paranoid, and the urgent need to end every sentence with bro instead of habibi. Gay was why, as my dad said, we had no leftist unity. Gay was rich, white men taking advantage of the efforts of women of color like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. Gay was the two dads of my one friend who lived in a certified mansion. Two dollars beat $1.70, and both certainly beat my $0.70+ odd child support payment I got. There is no gold pot at the end of the rainbow.

 

Cooking: Bridging Past and Present

It’s eight in the morning. My muscles are aching from swim practice, barely allowing me to stand, and yet, it is time for me to pick up the pan and move my omelette effortlessly. This is practically a Sunday routine for me: wake up at 5 in the morning, go to swim practice at 5:30 for two hours, and cook breakfast for my family. Cooking is a joy. It’s an experiment, a piece of art, and a way to show my love.

It all started one day when I came back from swim practice. I was starving, and breakfast wasn’t ready. I tried to make scrambled eggs. It was a disaster. That incident marked the start of my cooking quest. I have always loved cooking since. The amount of mistakes I’ve made, though, is incredible. Thinking back on it, I’m surprised I stuck with it. It took me lot of tries to master the simplest omelette, but since then, I have been improving rapidly. Learning my mother’s classic Chinese dishes and her new improvised ones, I was pushing the limits of cooking and was experimenting with eggs, salted duck eggs (that failed), tea eggs, my daily microwave eggs, and baked eggs.

It’s no surprise that I decided to cook. I love eating, and my parents have always been cooking extravagant meals. My grandma cooks almost ten dishes for five people to eat, and when it’s the lunar new year, our kitchen is like the New York City streets. All the relatives come over, and I am always amazed by the quantity and quality of the food presented that day. My earliest memory of cooking is helping my mom make her spring rolls.

I volunteer at a non-profit organization called CAAMNY, the Chinese American Association of Metropolitan New York. Part of CAAMNY’s function is to help Chinese children in New York who are seeking treatment for RetinoBlastoma (RB), a form of eye cancer. I have always helped those children, even before CAAMNY was founded, bringing them traditional Chinese snacks and desserts. After my passion for cooking struck in, I was cooking for them. For festivals, we made them homemade mooncakes, traditional rice casseroles, sticky rice, and red bean buns. Food is a great way to bond and bring the families a reminder of China. We talk about the ingredients, different methods of cooking, and our favorite dishes. It improves my Chinese, and I look forward to meeting with them again, learning another recipes or just getting to know how their day was.

Cooking combines my chinese ancestry with my life in America. I put Asian and Western cuisine together. Fried fish in a chinese tomato broth or lamb skewers with five spice powder, pepper salt powder, worchester sauce, and shanghai spicy soy sauce.

I have used cooking to give back to everybody. I cook for my family, friends, members of CAAMNY, and some people in the hospital. It has taught me to appreciate, to respect the mothers of children, who gave up everything to give treatment to their children. It has taught me to give and to become a better person.

 

Watermelon Tree

Turtle And Strawberry

I am Turd the turtle. I like my strawberry. My daddy turtle says that one day, my strawberry will rot and die. I don’t believe him. I try to hold my strawberry in my mouth, but my mouth is too small. I have to push my strawberry everywhere. Everyday, I try to hold the strawberry in my mouth. Sometimes, I accidentally bite the strawberry. Oops!

I live in a fish tank with my dad. The tank is ¾ water, some dirt, and the rest is a rock that I sleep on with my strawberry. Once I pushed my strawberry into the water. Good thing strawberries float! It took a whole hour to push the strawberry out of the water. I was so exhausted that I ate a seed of my strawberry.

A few days passed, and my strawberry grew a small green spot on him. I asked my dad what it was. He said it was mold. I still don’t believe him. I think my strawberry got strawberry-pox. The only thing I could think of to cure it was to eat the green spot. So I did. It didn’t taste so good, but at least my strawberry did not die.

The next day, strawberry was green all over. Maybe my dad is right. Strawberries rot. I dug a grave in the dirt for my strawberry and rolled the strawberry in. I covered it in dirt and went for a swim. I will never forget my strawberry friend (snack).

 

My New Marshmallow

For my first birthday, I got a marshmallow as a pet. My dad gave me this because he said it did not rot. I believed him then. The marshmallow was very squishy. I slept on it. I could actually hold the marshmallow in my mouth because it was so squishy.

My marshmallow didn’t roll very well, so it was kind of boring. It just sat there all day. My dad said that I should eat it because marshmallows are meant to be eaten. That I didn’t believe. Why would anything be meant to be eaten? I ate the marshmallow any way.

 

I Got A Watermelon

Watermelons are big and round. They are light green with dark green lines. They are also very heavy, so heavy that even I couldn’t push it. The watermelon was floating around in the water because it took up the whole rock. I could push it in the water. The watermelon was going to rot because it was a fruit. I learned that from my dad. I just knew it would take a while for my watermelon to rot. It was too big to rot fast. I ate the watermelon in one bite.

 

Mr. Goldfish

I will admit that I am kind of mean and fat. I am mean because I eat my fruit friends. I am fat because a normal two-inch turtle can’t eat a full grown adult watermelon in one mega-bite. There is one thing in my tank that I can’t seem to catch. His name is Mr. Goldfish. He can’t talk, but that is what I call him. He kind of looks like my strawberry on his side with flippers. Mr. Goldfish is a goldfish. He is very fast for a full grown, one-inch goldfish. I bit his dorsal fin, but he could still out swim me. When I am bored, I always jump into the water and chase him. Even though I probably won’t taste goldfish in my life, I still enjoy chasing him around my little fish tank. I don’t think that my dad cares about me chasing Mr. Goldfish because I need to get my exercise.

 

I Found A Human

Today I will climb out of my fish tank and see what is giving me all my fruit and candy. The fish tank is really slippery, but maybe I can climb up my palm tree. Today is the day to find what is outside my fish tank because I can’t find Mr. Goldfish. Maybe goldfish get moldy too.

My palm tree is made of plastic, and it has branches and leaves. I can put my feet on the branches and climb up. My dad is still sleeping, so he does not know. If I get out, I will build something so he can get out. Climbing the tree is easy, but now I have to jump from the tree to whatever my tank is resting on. I jump and land on the floor. It does not hurt because of my nice, protective shell. Then a hand scoops me up and starts yelling. I think that this is what my dad calls a human. He says that they are the ones who feed us and captured him from his pond. Humans are really big.

I am as big as one of the human’s fingers. I run around his hand, not knowing what to do. The human put a marshmallow his hand. I eat it right away. The human put me on the ground next to something with wheels. I get on top of the thing and lie there. My little legs can not reach the ground. The human pushes me around on the thing. It probably would have been very fun if I was not so scared. The human put me back in my fish tank. My isolated home.

 

Dad is Scared

When I crawl back onto my feet, I see my dad looking at me. I think he is mad. He isn’t. He just wants to know what I saw out there. I tell him what I saw and heard. I tell him what I saw and asked him what was the pond like. He says that it is a place much bigger than our little tank. So I ask him how did we get here. He says that he injured his flipper, and the humans took him and fixed him. They decided his flipper would never be good enough, so they put him in a pet shop.

 

I Escape Again

My dad says that I can escape and try to find the pond. I ask why he is not coming. He says that his flipper hurts to much, so he can’t climb trees. So I say bye to my daddy turtle and climb the tree. This time, I get lucky and fall on my legs, so I don’t have to flip over. I walk to the door and go through the dog door. Wait, they have a dog?! I hear paws scraping on the polished floor. I run like a little turtle trying to make it to the ocean. I make it to the bushes, and he can’t chase me any more. Turtle beats dog. I look for a pond, but I find a football. Eh, I’ll find the pond. And hopefully watermelon trees.

 

The Pond Is Big

I think I found the pond. The pond has many people walking around it. It also has a lot of ducks. Good think ducks only eat the little things swimming around. I find a rock that has a good spot for me to rest on. The pond is not so good because it does not have watermelon trees. Maybe one day I will go back and find my dad. Then my owners will give me a watermelon.

 

Untitled

      

They say the opposite of love is not hate

It’s just indifference

 

And because

those who seem to love me

those who really know me enough to love me

seem so few and far between

They say the opposite of love is not hate

It’s just indifference

 

And because

those who seem to love me

those who really know me enough to love me

seem so few and far between

That I wish to be hated

wish for angry looks

eye rolls

scowls

not just

 

indifference

 

I don’t think

I have ever been hated

not really, truly hated

yes, I’ve been disliked

distrusted

Have had people turn away

 

But it was more like disinterest

standing in the rain

Waiting

For someone to look my way

 

And I know this sounds like I’m just

Waiting to be discovered

But maybe it’s more like

I’m waiting to discover

Waiting to find a way to be hated

 

Waiting to find a way

To stop crying alone in my room

With my cat

And pocket fulls of those

Awful Fig Newtons

My friend’s mother

Keeps giving to me

But I’m too polite to refuse

 

And someday

I know

I will be hated

I look forward

To having someone look me in the eye

And say

Claire

You are such a bitch

 

And I’m not delusional enough to think

That someone hasn’t said that

about me

already

But I want them to say it

to my face

 

Because every once in awhile

It’s nice to know that you matter

It’s nice to know that

someone cares enough about me

To hate me

 

Because the one thing I cannot stand

Is apathy

Indifference

To be ignored

To be forgotten

 

And I look forward to that day

Because right now I feel all that I am doing

Is looking backwards

At all the incredibly awkward

Things I have said

or done

 

And although in those

Twelve whole years I’ve been alive

It doesn’t seem like there would be enough time

For so many unspoken words

 

But somehow there is

And maybe it’s just the hormones

coursing through my veins

Or the fact that I spend

So much of my time

In my room

Reading about long dead urban planners

 

But sometimes I feel like I should just stop

Thinking

so

much

Because sometimes

All those words

Seem to just pile up

 

Like that shrine of stuffed animals

I have under my bed

 

And eventually get forgotten

Or I get lost in the thoughts

I climb under my bed

And hide in those stuffed animals

all

day

Long

Because sometimes it’s good to be six years old again

But sometimes it’s also good

To crawl out from

Under my bed

Bring those thoughts

Out

Into the light

 

Because maybe if I bring one of those

old stuffed animals

Out into the light

And give it to my cat

She may hate it

But also

What if she loves it?

 

And even if you are hated

It’s better than collecting dust

Underneath my bed

 

And if you’ve survived this incredible

Dose of angst

 

Maybe some of it makes sense?

 

because

Being hated sucks

I’ve watched mean girls enough times

To attest that that’s probably true

 

But sometimes if you hate something

Oh so much

It’s easier to start to love it

Then not to care?

 

And maybe because

I’m a chronic idealist

 

I believe that if everyone just started to care

 

If everyone dropped that shield of apathy

And indifference

 

Maybe some things would get better

 

My father once told me

That the best people

Are those who think about something

Besides people

Besides caring what someone else does

Or thinks

 

And I agree

I have met some really shitty people

Who I can’t help but admire

Because they know what they love

And they love what they know

Because it’s nice to see someone

Who loves

 

But I also disagree

With what my father

Told me

Because sometimes it’s good

to think

About people

Sometimes it’s good to know

People are thinking about you

 

But I think

What he really meant

was that I shouldn’t let

The people

Become me

 

It’s good to care

It’s great

Actually

But I don’t want that feeling

To become me

 

And since my claustrophobia

And my introversion

Clearly mandate

That sometimes

I need space

 

if only everyone just took a second

To notice

Maybe they could

hate

 

And I’m not saying

That everyone

Has to love

everything

 

I mean

Somethings about me

Are pretty

Worthy to hate

 

Like all those times

I ignore the recycling bin

Or the fact that I

Take an hour to decide

What kind of candy

I want in my junk drawer

 

But there are some things

To love about everyone

 

Like the time I cried

For hours after accidentally

Killing a spider

Or when I organized

My cabin to recite

Howl by Allen Ginsberg

 

But when everyone is

So complicated

The one thing

We shouldn’t do

Is not to notice

 

Don’t let the possibility

Of hate

Overwhelm you

 

Because you know

At the end of Mean Girls

Kady is loved

Once again

 

LOL, the potato

One day there was an average potato. That potato liked to play ahhhhhh! It was sort of like catch, but you were the one being thrown. Sometimes, you would get a major concussion or two, but typically, only minor ones. Otherwise, it was pretty scun (scary fun). He liked to hang on vines, but when he did, he didn’t have a very nice time because no one picked him from the vines. He liked being picked from… well, anything. It felt fresh… but one faithful day, the potato found out that he was a special potato, a potato with the cursed power of LOL! He first didn’t know it, until during a normal game of ahhhhhh.

One of the “human mans’” (people) tripped on a “rock fact rock,” which is a rock with a painted face on it. He also tripped on a mythical doge, which is a specific type of doge that you take pictures that you write phrases on. The doge picked him up and ran off with him. The potato felt very confused. A bit later, while riding the doge, the potato grew arms, legs, and a face. His face had no nose, and he had no hair. He started becoming a screaming ladtatato (screaming ladka + potato). He started running and screaming. He bumped into a princess. She was wearing jeans and a blouse and had blonde hair.

She said, “Yo. Dat be me… ”

The potato said, “Okay?” and backed away slowly.

He went back home, but on his way… he found a crosswalk!

He found a random cannon dude that just happened to be there. The potato went into the cannon because he thought it would help him cross the road. Three… two…one… blast off! And he flew up in the sky and hit the floor.

“Ouch!”

He saw a tv that had a sign next to it saying, “TV of LOL for $5.99.”

The TV said, “Mr. um… potato. You have the power of LOL. The power of LOL makes crazy things happen to you! Like with the potadoge-”

“How do you know about tha-”

“Shush! Nobody needs to know… but anyways, to get rid of it, you have to play peanut butter jelly time for ten hours. Can you do- LOL OFF TIME. BREAK!!!” said the TV.

And then the TV suddenly shut down.

“Oh. Okay,” said the potato.“Well home is only a block away.”

He looked northwest and saw his house and a flagpole? By the way, he was horrible at Mario games.

“Gosh darn power of LOL!!” he said.

He ran over to the house as fast as he could, but it was covered by blocks. He needed a power up to break the blocks and a mega one at that. Even he knew they were, like, super rare! He ran around and found one, and a… Mario? Mario used it… turned gigantic… saw him… and… and…

The potato was running, screaming, and well, hiding… but he was too slow. He saw a foot above him. The bricks on the house opened. To the door! He sprinted to the house, got on YouTube, and “PBJ Time” wasn’t there. He thought, What’s the weirdest video posible… ah! dfsubrjfwbhkjrfuywbgyuf on YouTube!

He searched it… and it was there!  The words, LOLs, and memes were taking over, all out to get him, oh no! What to do… watch! He clicked the link… A one day ad?! This is insane! Oh, a skip ad button. Now that makes more sense! One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… skip ad. WARNING: no internet.

“Dang… ”

He knew he had to make it himself! After the potato finished, he thought it didn’t stop. And he was right! Even more memes than before. He saw a ping pong ball next to him. And do you know what it does? Bet’cha you don’t! Or… maybe everybody does. who knows?! Well… the potato said, “Hello sir!”

The ping pong ball didn’t say a thing.

“Um, hello?”

Silence.

“Umm…”

Silence.

“Do you speak?”

Rattle rattle.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm!”

“H-e-l-l-o.”

“Ummmm, hi? (works every time!)”

“I- a-m- v-e-r-y- h-u-n-g-r-y-!”

“Well, I ain’t got no food!”

“Well, you’re food.”

“No I’m not…”

“Yum,” and the ping pong ball quickly ate the potato!

And inside… he found another dimension… filled with beauty and potatoes above imagination… wow…

“Ahhh!!!!”

The potato, for some weird reason, just happened to be above a five foot pit. Pow! He fell right onto a sign that said: This place is weird. This is the pit of duplication. Say re-copy if you need another. You will now be duplicated. Whip, whap, wop, lip, laup, lop! went the sign. In a few seconds, the potato saw something… like a mirror. Himself…

The second potato said, “Elp meh plez! Muh fut iz stuk.” (Help me please! My foot is stuck.)

“I guess duplication messes up your grammar. So nope!”

He climbed and climbed…

“Re-copy!”

Whip, whap, wop, lip, laup, lop! went the sign again.

“Hey yo! I’m a duplicated potato!” said the third potato.

“Doge!” (dodge) said the second potato.

And than the third potato started chanting doge memes.  

“Much unhappiness. Need help. Wow. Dislike. Very trapped. Wow. So abusive. Many sufferings. Such discomfort. Yearn for freedom…“ and at that, the third was mashed by a pastry cutter

Back to the original potato who was still looking for that “PBJ Time” video. And, I’m guessing you know that this dimension has terrible wifi! But if he was lucky, he could go to the center, get a feather, and make the ping pong ball barf him out than he could escape. He ran towards the town square where he found a local hedgehog that could move faster than the speed of sound.

The potato tried to hop on the hedgehog, but it was running away. And as you know, potatoes just gotta go fast. Every time the hedgehog got faster, so did the potato until the potato finally reached the hedgehog. He rode it , and all the way over to the core he went! Vroom. Oops. It was only one centimeter away. He plucked a feather from a bird that was nicely flying by. He tickled the core, and he went, “Kitchy kitchy koo!”

Ah, ah, ah. Barf. Ewwww! The ping pong ball barfed out the potato. And the potato rushed over to his beloved laptop, clicked on his “PBJ Time” link, and watched it for ten hours. And a soul of memes appeared, nodded, and left. It kinda looked like a purple fireball, but with trillions of memes flying around. He did it, and the power of LOL was gone. The world was still in peril… he thought, Wait, I should’ve killed that duplicated me! He was stuck, so he couldn’t watch the video. He must STILL have the power of LOL!!!”

The end… or is it?  BUM BUM BUUUUUUUM!!! Because it’s not. The potato actually just got eaten at the end. Wap, wap, waaaaaaaaap.

Okay, now the end!                

 Fin.

 

Gray Existence

I am sure there used to be colors. Back before the end of the world, before nothing mattered. Maybe in pictures, but pictures are blurry and gray and evil and old.

Subways are decidedly the worst. Everyone is miserable. It’s a rule. You must be miserable, and nobody will look you in the eye. If you look them in the eye, they’re allowed to kill you. And in the misery of unblinking, unbreathing bodies, I am always certain that someone, somewhere, is crying, sobbing for something they’ve lost a million lifetimes ago. The sky is dark, so dark I am considering it might be night again. I don’t know. Lately it’s just the same above ground as it is below.

They say “it’s darkest before the dawn,” but dawn hasn’t come in quite a while. The sky has stayed dark and emotionless ever since the sun exploded and poured dark paint into all of the places that used to have eyes.

I used to have eyes.

I suppose I still do, although I don’t seem to need them anymore.

 

Once upon a time there was a girl. Maybe… maybe that’s where we begin.

I was sixteen and largely unimpressed with the world when I met the witch. She was dark, and she was pretty, and she could tell a million lies without once opening her mouth. She called me beautiful, and I almost believed her. When you were with the witch, everything would seem so beautiful, and everything would seem so horrifying, that you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. She had blue eyes… maybe that’s all that matters because as all the colors disappeared, I still remember blue eyes.

I was nearly eighteen when we ran away from home. I was sure the car was red. I was sure her eyes were blue. Back before the ocean rose and swallowed the streets we drove away from, back before the stars fell down and melted the wax figures we called family. Back before the colors disappeared, and I learned to regret everything. We ran away from home.

We called the city ‘hellscape.’ The city meant freedom, and freedom meant war.

There was music. I was sure there used to be music, and the battle cries of deluded soldiers still ring fondly in my ears.

I was eighteen and two months when the witch disappeared the first time. We lived in a small, old room that I couldn’t bring myself to find beautiful. We lived far and off in hellscape and fought our little wars. She stole away in the night and was never to be found. I thought, she must have run to some other city to fight with some other poor soul, to find some other version of freedom. I was sure there were still colors, but they became dimmer.

I was nineteen when the witch came back. Maybe the original, or possibly a new one, nonetheless all the same. She wore flowers in her hair and red paint on her lips. I was sure she had blue eyes, and that’s all that matters.

We met outside a store that sold candy to children and beer to minors and misery to all who opened its doors. She was beautiful. She called me depressed.

She came with potions to take the fear away and spells to bring the colors back, raging and in full force. She had a bag of tricks that would make everything seem so beautiful and send me into an emotionless blur, free from the burdens of existence.

I was twenty when I realized I would never feel again. And it was when she realized that not even her many potions could fix my emotionless state. The witch disappeared for the second and final time.

I stood motionless and emotionless as the flowers and the fighting and the witches disappeared from my life.  

I was twenty-one when the world ended. I suppose that the oceans had been rising and the stars had been descending long before I opened my blank and senseless eyes. The world ended in a series of bright, flashing lights that ate away at any fragment of hope and any shred of sanity that I desperately clung to.

I was twenty-one when the colors disappeared and the world quickly changed into streaks of gray and black and white, like the fading hair of an old man.

I was twenty-one when I staggered onto a subway with useless eyes staring blankly ahead, feeling nothing, and listening to the insufferable sobbing of those who had lost everything, and thought of the uselessness in pulling my mind through this cold and broken world.

I was twenty-one when… once upon a time there was a girl… I was twenty-one when… maybe that’s where we begin… I was twenty one when…

Today I am twenty-two. And although birthdates stopped being recorded when the world ended, and the children disappeared, I suppose I still remember.

Like blue eyes.

I find solace in the fact that people still believe I may return to a place with colors…

 

Love of Tomorrow

Prologue

New York City. A place of dreams, filled with the rich, and… the others.

My name is David Y. Johnson. I own Cogsworth Industries, the largest company in the world, beating Amazon. I know, pretty crazy, right? I have about fifty-six main factories. As the second-richest person in the world, I have to work harder than any other person, but sometimes I can take days off. And there are relationships here and there, but never like this.

Oh, and I forgot. I’m an agent.

 

Chapter One: The Start

April 21st was the day when the Cogsworth Building opened. It is the largest building in New York, around four hundred stories higher than the Freedom Tower. I could smell the eggs, lightly cooked, but not too light that it was raw, just how I liked them. Georgia licked my face with her wet and rough tongue. My cheek was covered in dog saliva. The door was slightly opened, all the way across from my bed. I slipped on my slippers, feeling the fuzz, but only my right slipper was there. It seemed like my left one was somewhere. My eyes were half open, everything blurry.  My foot left the brown carpet. It felt like I was walking on a soft panda before, but my left foot touched the cold marble floor. The room was all white with a little black here and there. My curtains automatically opened, the sun shining on the white painted walls. It shined even brighter on the walls. I got to the doors, my eyes opening wider. I looked out my balcony, seeing Meredith, the cook wearing a white apron with dark black hair like the night, making food already.

“Why, hello, sir,” she said.

“Hi,” I said, walking down the stairs. “I see you’re earlier than usual.”

“Well, your opening is today at 10:00.”

She put the finished eggs and toast on the plate, passing it to me.

“Oh yes, of course…” I said, totally forgetting that I had it. “It’s an important day.”

“Of course, sir, and your friend is here to bring you there. Or… friends.”

“Oh shoot!”

I stuffed my mouth with the toast and added some eggs. I ran up, taking off my clothes, and grabbing my hanger. I put on my suit, looked outside, and saw the limo out on the road. I opened the door to leave.

“So long, sir,” Meredith said. “Shall I hire the services to help with the party?”

“Yes, do whatever you need.”

“So long, sir!”

The door slammed. I pressed the button, and the elevator came quickly.  I ran out, the doorman holding the door.

“What’s the rush?” Meleney asked, opening the car door.

“I don’t have all day to discuss this, Mel.”

I called her that to annoy her. She’s smart, and she knew what Mel meant.

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“Why would I? It’s fun.”  

“Seriously?! You’re making me act like an actor.”

“Oh sorry,” I said.

She made a disgusted face.

“Besides, I thought you liked acting.”

We pulled into the building. Getting out of the car, people surrounded me. Bodyguards came to push them away. I put on my sunglasses. They put in my ear piece.

“Sir, your call is in two minutes,” the voice from the ear said.

“I’m coming. Keep them distracted.”

“On it.”

I walked on the podium, standing right in front of the huge building.

“Hello, ladies and gentleman. Today is the special day of the opening! The second tallest building in the world!”

Everyone clapped.

“Now, let us begin!”

***

It was early night. People flooded in, wearing skinny dresses, and some, large skirts. The men had their hair combed to the top, the light shining upon their hair. I felt my stomach gaging, afraid of what people thought about my speech.

“Why, hello, Mr. Johnson.”

“Hello, Mr. Mayor. Thank you for coming.”

“Well, if you’re going to build a large tower in my city, then I have to come, don’t I?”

“Oh!” I laughed, “of course.”

I walked over to Meleney. Her golden, tight dress shined on my eyes. It felt like millions of stars, as if she was the center of attention. People were talking to her. After all, she was one of the head chiefs of New York. Her straight, black hair draped down her back, and some was on her right shoulder. As the classical music got louder, and the lights seemed to dim, I stared at her enticingly. She slowly looked over to me, and it seemed that her face was shining! Her perfect, blue eyes seemed to have moved like an ocean. Dolphins of love were swimming out of her eyes.

People started to fade out, dark all around us. I grabbed her hand. We danced on the marble floor, one mover after the other. She controlled me, and I controlled her in perfect sync until the moment was lost when a server came between us. All of it was a day dream…

“Ah, David. You’ve finally come over.”

“Yes, I couldn’t leave y-” I stopped, noticing of what I was about to say. “I mean, I couldn’t leave my other guests.”

“Oh please, David. You’re far too busy with your other actual guests. We’re family. Greet your guests first, and then we can talk,” my mother said, holding my father’s hand.

Her light white dress was more flurry than the other guests.

“Thank you mother,” I replied, silky and soft too, like I was having a great time, but this was a mistake.

Parties are not my thing. I knew that from the start, but somehow I convinced myself to have the party. The Cogsworth building shined brightly. The blue flickered, the roads and paths were lighted by bright, white lights.

“How beautiful,” my mother would have said.

“Look everyone! The fireworks are about to begin!” A man from the crowd exhaled.

He ran towards the large glass window to see the rest of New York and, more importantly, the building. More people followed, watching. I was already there, drinking my drink. I stood, looking at nothing but the building.

Suddenly, a single firework shot up, sparks following the trail behind the flash. It happened again! Everything became black again. My vision zoomed into the firework. It was like a rocket, flying far away until it exploded into millions and millions of shining flames, flickering. With that, the large bang hit me. I was back. I had to stop whatever was causing this. Unless it was just love. But, no it couldn’t. I didn’t want it to.

“Wow! So amazing! Who’s in charge of the fireworks?” Someone asked.
“Val, or Valentine…”

I didn’t know that Meleney knew his name. I got a call.

“Do not fret, sir. I’ll get it,” Meredith walked over to get it.

She talked, while fireworks were launching.

“Oh!” she said, sounding surprised.

I got worried.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s for you,” she said.

I took the phone from her hand, “Hello?”

“We have an emergency, David. The fireworks aren’t in control…”

“Oh god.”

I grabbed Meleney. We work together.

“Where are you going?!” the mayor stopped us.

I started trying to figure out what I should say, or what Meleney should say.  

“We’re going to the building. Someone is…” I started.

“Is trying to move a heavy box! We need to help him.”

“Okay…” the mayor walked past us.

We ran to the 28th floor. I owned three floors. The 29th floor, or the Penthouse, is where I have my living room, kitchen, and a study. It’s also where I have my parties.  The 28th is the agent room. We had suits: some of them had upgrades, and others fit our needs. We snuck out and got into a dark, fast, and small limo. It headed to the tower: the top was creaking, and starting to fall.

 

Chapter Two: V for Valentine

We ran out. I could feel that something was worse than I thought.

“Well?! What are we waiting for?” Meleney caught my attention.

I was staring at the tower. I grabbed my wrist. Suddenly, a shockwave of time shocked the universe. Only Meleney could move with me.

We ran inside, opened the door, and ran up the stairs. We ran to the fifteenth floor, sweat starting to drip.

“How many flights have we gone up?” I asked, stopping, leaning upon the railing.

“Only fifteen,” Meleney said, annoyed that I was too tired to walk. “There are about… 2970 floors more.”

“Oh wait!” I screamed.

I looked at my wrist, pressing a button. Suddenly, I appeared on the 2970th floor. I opened the door, the freezing, blowing wind brushing on my face. Meleney appeared right next to me.

“Glad you could come,” I said, walking towards the explosion.

Time moved so slowly that a car going two hundred MPH went around thirty MPH. The explosion was just starting to get bigger. The needle was starting to fall along with Val. His hands and arms were spread out as if he was wanting to go with the tower.

“Oh no…” Meleney looked at him. “But why…?”

Then she looked at me.

“We don’t have time for this, Meleney!”

I ran, taking out my watch. A little robotic finger appeared out of it. I stretched it out and put it on my finger. A white and blue sticky substance came out, sticking the wires to my fingers. Meanwhile, Mel grabbed the man and the fireworks. She let them go into the air instead of staying underneath the needle. When I turn time back to normal, people from all over would see the huge fireworks. The wires started to come together, and the needle slightly started to come back up. To make sure it wouldn’t fall again, Mel added a ‘glue’ to make it stay.

I touched the pad, and time went back to normal. We used the elevator to get down. Finally, once we got home, people stared outside.

“What was that?!” the mayor screamed.

“Are you okay?! The mayor told us you were right at the building at the time!” my mother ran and hugged me.

“I’m okay, Mom…”

“You could have died!” Ms. Gensa said. She was the one who paid the workers to build the building. “All my money! Could have been for nothing,” she screamed as if it were the end of the world.

Meleney walked up to me and whispered in my ear, “Where are we going to put Val?”

“Don’t worry, I have a health center on the 28th floor.”

“I’ll sleep over tonight, just to make sure. Is that okay?”

“Sure… ”

***

The party ended. I made another speech before thanking everyone for coming. Meleney stayed in the health lab, staring at Val. I walked down to the health lab to see Meleney looking frozen.

“Whats wrong?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

“Something’s wrong. I know it.”

“I never told you? Val is my uncle!”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine, really… I should get some shut eye.”

“Good night,” I walked out, going to my room.

Meredith was already gone. I opened the creaking black, wooden door. Georgia was sleeping on the bed. I took off my clothes and went to bed.

 

Chapter Three: Blood Piles

It was 8:30 am. The curtains didn’t automatically turn on. My eyes were ready for the sun, but the curtains never opened. I got up, wondering what was wrong. The lights didn’t turn on either.

What is happening? Why was all the electricity out? I wondered.

As I walked down to the kitchen island, Meredith wasn’t there. When I opened the door, she was there, trying to press the doorbell. She had a card that scanned to open the door.

“I’ve been out here for over an hour, sir!”

“Sorry… ” I opened the door for her.

“I ran downstairs and asked for a key, but you don’t have a keyhole!”

“I’m sorry… ”  I said again.

She put on her cook apron.

“It’s okay, sir.”

She started to cook. I sat at the table, looking at the newspaper. The headlines were: “Half Destruction of the Tower! Saved by a Mystery…” I read the rest that said people saw me, Val, and Meleney, but they couldn’t see our faces. It only said: “People saw other people rescuing a man.”

“The tower needle was about to fall, until all of sudden, bang! With the explosion, the needle was back to the top!” a witness said.

The newspaper bolded the witness’s name, Otis Robertson.

I’ve heard that name before, somewhere. He had to do something with the agents, but I don’t remember much.

It was already 10:45 am, and Meleney wasn’t up yet! I had cancelled work because of the attack. I decided enough was enough. Meleney and I were supposed to work together and see what Val’s criminal record was, or anything at all about what happened.

I walked downstairs. I saw wires on the ground. Water spilled, and I avoided the electric waters. I got to the stairs and saw a small blood trail led to the stairs.

“Oh god… ”

I touched the stairs. My slippers were on the first floor. The blood was cold. Something happened last night. I got to where Val was sleeping, the rehabilitation bed. It was empty. He was gone.

I looked in the other room. There was more blood there. I looked at the couch, and blood piles dripped from the couch where Meleney was sleeping. Her hand was the only thing I could see from the door. Her hand was dripped with blood, still falling. Her white nail polish was now with red strips of blood.

I ran over. Her corpse lay there, her mouth slightly opened. Her chest bled blood still. Her mouth also had blood in it, spilling. I grabbed her, my hands covered in her blood.

Meleney!” I screamed, echoing through the whole apartment.

I held my cheek next her bloody one. My hot tears, boiling, fell on her blood.

***

Police came to the sight. Valentine’s fingerprints were found on her chest and the knife. This knife said something on it: “2X9.” The writing was made of blood. It was written everywhere on the walls and on her.

I felt horrible. It was my fault that I left her alone down there with a maybe-killer. I needed to fix this somehow. I looked through my things, trying to find something with time.

“God dang it!” I yelled, crashing all the things hanging from the wall.

They fell and broke. I put on my suit, took out the watch, and tapped it. Time froze with the shockwave. I walked out, closing the door, and looked out the window. I saw police about to drive away with the body. I knew it would be all over the news in just a few minutes. I wondered if I would stay frozen in time forever, trying to make it look like I didn’t just disappear, but I did. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door.

But time was frozen. No one could move!

I opened the door, and suddenly I was kicked to the ground. A knife missed me by an inch. It was the same one, but this one had thin, very light blues line all over it as if it was vains of blue blood, glowing. I looked up.

It was Val!

“Why?! Why did you kill her?!”

“It’s all part of the plan. You’ll find out, unless you wanna join her.”

I flipped up, grabbing the knife. I threw the knife, but it moved with normal time, very, very slowly. As I looked at the knife, he kicked me down. He kicked me again, against the window. The window started to crack, and the real time started to come back. He threw four large, glowing spheres. Two of them stuck my hands to the window, and the other two stuck my feet to the glass.

“I’m sorry Dave… if you can’t help me, I can’t help you.”

One last kick shattered the glass. I fell in the normal time, but everything surrounding me was still frozen. I was about to hit the ground, until the sticky substance that was supposed to glue things together came out and stuck to the wall. It was like Spiderman! I swung and shattered the windows. Val was about to stab Meredith in the neck.

“Look who’s back!”

He turned around. I grabbed his wrist, throwing him across the table. The table started to flip in frozen time. I turned on normal time. He fell and the table crashed on him. Meredith screamed, hiding behind the island in the kitchen. I grabbed his neck.

I would have said, “No one kills my Mel!” But instead, I threw him out the window. His body crashed on the ground. My face was red with anger, until Meredith grabbed a gun and shot. The bullet hit my back.

 

Chapter Four: Too Many Davids

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground of the roof. The needle was still starting to fall. Suddenly I got up and saw me and Meleney! The same actions of what happened last night.

“Holy…!” I screamed. Meleney and I looked at me. “Uhh…”

Suddenly the fireworks exploded.
“Umm… David? Why is there another one of you…?”

“I have no idea…”

They took a long look, and a small moment of silence fell over time.

“I’m you! From the future… ” I started. “And I have come–”

The shockwave shocked me. My watch exploded in my face, burning me in normal time somehow.

I woke up on the street of where the building was. It was when the explosion happened, again! I saw the limo, seeing the door to the building open. I went inside the limo, trying to turn it on. After a while, I took out a gun from the limo.

“I don’t remember having this…” I said, looking at it.

It had a glowing electric ball inside. I tapped the button. It shattered the limo windows and sent out a giant blue portal. I got out of the car and looked at the portal. I ran through it, hitting myself.

“David –” Meleney was about to finish her sentence.

“Another me?!” My past-past self said.

“Oh god.” My past self said.

Everything wasn’t making any sense.

“Drop Val! Quick!” I said, “He’s going to kill you, Mel!”

“Seriously? Even your future self calls me Mel?!”

I noticed that I was duplicating. I grabbed the fireworks from underneath the needle. Suddenly, bang! It exploded, again.

I woke, again. I got into the car. My other self, who I now called David two, took the gun. I turned on the car.

“Watch out, me!” I yelled.

David two jumped into the portal before me. The car went through it too.

“David why –” Meleney was about to finish her sentence.

David two was about to yell, “Drop Val, Mel!” But all he could get to was “Drop–” before I crushed him with the car by ‘accident’. I ran out.

“Drop him, Meleney!” I yelled. She looked at me. All of a sudden, David two grabbed the fireworks. I ran to him to push him away, but the fireworks hit Meleney and exploded.

“God dang it!” I yelled.
“Great job, Me three…”

“Mel!” the original me yelled.

With Val in her arms, they both hit the ground in normal time. I took out a gun from the car. It was finally a normal gun. I shot David one and two, along with me.

I woke up on the 2700th floor, running up to the floor where everything was happening. Once I got up there, David one, two, and three were dead. The original me was crying, turning on normal time. The needle started to fall in normal time. The gun lay on the ground. I picked it up and shot myself again.

I finally woke up on top of myself on the roof.

“Ahh! Future-future me?!” David one screamed, standing up.

I landed on my face.

“God dang it, me,” I kicked him to the ground.  

I grabbed the gun from David three’s hand and shot David two. The fireworks were about to explode. Finally, I grabbed them and let them out into the air. I grabbed Meleney’s wrist and tightened it, not caring if she was in pain. I had enough of this. Suddenly, someone shot me!

I landed on the car, going through the portal.

“Meleney! Please! Let go of Val, he’s going to kill you, and maybe even kill me!”

“But, I haven’t told anyone but –”

“He’s your uncle!” David three yelled.

“They are from the future, Meleney…”

“Yeah, trust us…”

She did nothing for a while, but then finally let him go. All of us let a sigh of relief. All of a sudden, everything turned white. A large light hit all of us.

I finally woke up in bed. The curtains opened like normal. Meredith was already cooking. I stared at her, knowing that she would kill me, but not knowing when.

“Good morning Dave…” Meleney walked out of the doorway.

I looked at her, just to make sure. I said nothing but just hugged her.

“Wow! What happened? Why are you hugging me…?”

All of sudden she hugged me back. A tear fell from my eye. Meredith got up from sitting. I looked over, pressing my watch just in time. Her gun was about to shoot. I could see the sparks slowly moving. I grabbed the bullet and aimed it at her. Real time came back, and she was dead.

 

Chapter Five: Life Again

It was twenty years after the attack of Val. I moved to the Berkshires, Massachusetts with Meleney. We had two kids, Harrison and Dakota. The small house is right in the middle of the woods, far away from the tower.

I knew I wouldn’t ever join them again. My company is now owned by a woman named Ava Neumaier. She’s now the richest person in the world. I went all the way down to the fifteenth, but that doesn’t matter to me. Harrison is now sixteen and is working for Ava. Dakota is only twelve but is learning fast from her mother. Meleney stays at home with me. We are not ‘secret agents’ anymore. We’re known as the “Time Watchers”. We help with time, but crime has gone down.

But when I thought that everything would be normal, I was wrong again.

On 2037, April 23rd, someone named Oliver Shakins was messing with time somehow.

“I’ll go get him, It’ll be easy…”

“Dave, you can’t do everything on your own.”

“I just want to get rid of him. Besides, I don’t want the thing with the tower and you with Val to happen again!”

“Fine, but be safe. Dinner’s at seven, and the kids are coming at four.”  

“I will.”

I grabbed the suit and my watch. I ran into the ‘time car’. It opened a portal, not knowing where it would go. The car opens a portal to whenever there is a problem in time. I was still going through when everything started to turn red. I looked around, when suddenly, a large flash of light blinded me.

***

I woke in a small cottage. It was my house when I was little. It was my childhood. I saw me, my sister, and my dad. It was the day when my sister was taken. Her name was Meleney, like my wife. That’s one of the reasons I married her. My sister was taken by the government. I never knew why. But I think I now know. It —

“Why hello, David…”

It was Oliver. He was wearing a black suit.
“Why? Why did you send me here?”

“So you could learn the truth…”

“The truth?”

“Meleney, she was taken because…”

“Because she was ‘out of this world’,” I said, looking down.

“No, because her time powers were not from a watch, or suit. It was in her blood. She was dangerous…”

“How do you know?”

“Because I helped to take her. I was the head chief.”

I knew it! I said in my mind. That’s where I heard his name. He was the head chief for the government and specialized in time.

“Your wife…”

“You do not bring my wife into this conversation.”

“Look…”

A table appeared out of nowhere. He put a slip out of his pocket. It said: “Meleney Johnson, born 1971, Mother: Alexis Delhi. Father: Willie Johnson.”

I looked up at him. I grabbed it, starting to cry. My stomach turned, everything twisted. Memories of Mel, destroyed. A garbage can appeared.

“If you need to, you can –”

I threw up into the trash, gagging every moment, my lunch from yesterday, and the dinner dates all away from my body. I looked around, dizzy, and food came up again, all over the table this time. I grabbed a gun, still dizzy. My hand was shaking, along with the gun.

“Shoot me, Dave. I served my purpose. You killed my mother. I’ll meet her in heaven.”

The gunshot pierced through him. All of sudden, everything started to go away, glitching.

I got in the car, looking at the picture of Meleney. Driving away, I felt sick again. I got home, holding the slip. I put it on the table. I watched as she opened the slip.

“Honey, what’s this?”

“Meleney Johnson…?” I said, grabbing a beer.

“My last name is Forder, you know that!”

“The government erased your mind and made you Meleney Forder…”

“Oh my god!” She said, walking to the kitchen. She threw up in the trash as well, “I never knew!”

“You didn’t?”

“What if I did? What would that have done?”

I looked at her. I walked outside, getting the time car. I drove away, watching the woods leave. I drove up the mountain. I went to the top, grabbing the portal gun. I shot it, the portal opened behind me. I watched the sunset, and the large Cogsworth building. It shone in my eyes.

I froze time. When I grabbed the beer, I also grabbed her watch. It would make her time normal. The government tore out her powers when she was young. When they extracted the time blood, they put it in her watch. I pushed the car into the portal. It slowly fell.

Before I went in, I threw the beer. I never drank it. I never would. I took the pictures of my children. I tore them out with the glass. The portal led to 1979, when all of it began. When Meleney was taken. I couldn’t have let her marry me. I couldn’t have let them take her.

 

Living

Allen walked in unknowingly. He was grinning, feeling particularly happy for no reason at all. But he stopped when he saw Betty, who was lying on a bed, looking pale and her wrists bloody. He ran to her side.

“What is it? What happened? Are you okay? Wait, don’t answer that, you should save your strength. I should get a nurse-”

“Al-Allen,” she gasped, clearly struggling to speak.

She was definitely in pain. How much, Allen didn’t know. He grasped her hand.

“I’m right here. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay — ”

“You — ” she paused as she coughed and struggled to breathe, “You love me, Allen.”

“Of course I do, but I don’t understand what that has to do with what’s wrong with you.”

“It… it hurt. But now –” she paused and coughed, ”I’m not… not hurting anymore.”

“But you’re dying! I don’t understand, Betty!”

“I’m sorry. There’s noth — ” she took a moment and tried to take deep breath, “nothing left. Nothing left in me.”

Allen choked on the oncoming rush of tears.

“Betty… please… hold on for me. Please, just save your energy. Don’t talk, I’ll find a nurse or something. Just please, you can’t let it have you. You know you can stop it. You know you can fight back. Why are you letting it win?”

“I c-can’t fight anymore. I’ve run out of fight.”

In that moment, Allen seemed to forget Betty was dying, and one question simply burned in his mind as he started to sob.

“Don’t-don’t you love me?” he stuttered, his voice shaking.

Betty took his hand and put it on her face, and he felt her tears roll down her face underneath his fingers.

“That’s… that’s exactly it.” She paused to take a few shaking, rattling breaths. “I held on for you. But I can’t hold on anymore. All my fight I put into loving you.”

“It’s not that hard to love.”

Betty smiled a tragic smile and kissed his hand.

“It’s not hard to love, but it is that hard to live.”

She closed her eyes. The world stopped existing. It stopped turning, people stopped breathing, and Allen barely felt like he was there. He didn’t feel himself sobbing and screaming and kicking and begging and running as far, far away as possible from her body.

He didn’t feel himself run into series of nurses and doctors as they realized what had happened and came rushing into the room to see Betty’s body. He ran past them, kicking and screaming and sobbing and struggling to breathe, barely seeing where he was going as his eyes blurred painfully with tears. He left the hospital and found a bar nearby. He didn’t feel himself drink until he had passed out.

He didn’t feel himself begin to slip away from the brink of reality. He didn’t feel after the moment that Betty’s heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped breathing, her eyes stopped blinking, her mouth stopped kissing, her feet stop running, her hands stopped holding his, that she stopped loving.

Not stopped loving — love lasts after death.

The moment he couldn’t love her anymore because when they say love ends after death, they mean that wherever the dead person is, they can still love the person that’s alive.

But how can you love someone who doesn’t exist anymore?

***

Betty had just set a new record too. It had been almost six months since she had cut herself.

She was so close to being better, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

You’re so close to the end, when all of a sudden —

Allen drank himself to oblivion.

The beer bottle and the razor had become his and Betty’s demons. Before they thought they were a refuge that they could always go back to. They always knew they would be there and knew if they did go to them, everything would be okay. Allen knew when he was drunk, nothing else mattered. Betty knew that if she cut, she’d be dead and nothing else would matter.

But after being together, instead of wanting to go to the beer bottle and the razor, they hated them. They were so happy together. They hated the idea of their illness torturing them. They hated that death and mental destruction. They had started seeing the bottle and the razor as demons that taunted them. Now, the beer bottle was glued to Allen’s hand again. He didn’t care. All he did was drink. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t talk to other people, he just sat in a corner and drank.

His world had become the bottom of the bottle, trapped inside its interior. He tried to get out, but he couldn’t climb up the bottle. He was trapped.

Trapped in endless loops of drinking and being reminded of tiny details that made him think of Betty.

Drawings on the bottle label would make him think about when she made him read that book on Impressionists, or when the cool liquid touched his lips, he thought about how it felt when she kissed him.

The rest of the world didn’t touch him. Nothing touched him but these minor, small things about Betty.

***

“Would Betty want you to drink?”

That was the first sentence someone said to him after Betty died that he actually took in.

“What?” he replied softly.

His sister, Kira, who had been the one talking to him at the moment, and the one who had raised this notion that somewhat made Allen re-enter reality, was practically stunned that her brother had responded to her. She cleared her throat and repeated the question.

“Would Betty want you to start drinking again? I mean, if you were the one who –” she struggled to not say the d-word, “passed away, would you want her to start cutting again after?”

For a brief moment, Allen thought about reacting negatively towards his sister for asking such a painful question so soon after Betty had died. But Allen knew she just said that because she was desperate and needed him to stop drinking, so she was trying every tactic she could until she could find one that worked to convince Allen he had to stop drinking. (Even though Allen knew he wasn’t going to, at least not anytime soon.) So he put that thought aside and thought back. He knew the right answer. The right answer was of course not. He wanted Betty to be happy. He wanted her to live a full life and one day move out of the hospital, find someone else, and live the rest of her life happily.

But Allen knew what answer was inside his head, which is that if he was the one who died and Betty was grieving him, he would want her to start cutting again. Because he knew without Betty, he couldn’t win this battle against the bottles. He couldn’t overcome it. And he wished he had been the same thing to her, her support in the battle against the razor. But she had left him, and he knew the truth: she didn’t really love him after all.

So even though it was a truly awful, awful thing to want, he knew the answer was yes, because it would mean that Betty really had loved him after all.

But did that mean he didn’t really love her? Did he only love her because he thought she loved him?

If the answer was yes, then he wouldn’t be drinking.

So he did love her, he loved her so much, he hated himself. He loved her so much, he hated her.

So that’s why he drank.

***

Love was dangerous. Love was even more dangerous than the stupid bottles. Love was even more harmful to himself than drinking.

If he hadn’t fallen in love, then he wouldn’t be falling down this hole.

If he hadn’t fallen in love, then he would have kept drinking and be dead already. And that was what he wanted.

He didn’t care it was selfish, he’d been fighting for long enough. Betty died selfishly, not caring about how Allen would be left after. So why couldn’t Allen do the same?

Maybe he was braver than her. Or maybe being with her had taught him to be braver than her, to be less selfish than her. Maybe her death was a lesson to him to keep fighting, to not let the bottles win. Was that why she gave in?

Did she know that the two of them was only a temporary fix, and that if she was gone, it would motivate him to be better than her?

Did she actually care about him that much? Or was it the very small part of Allen’s mind that did know his sisters loved him and would miss him if he died, so he was trying to convince himself to keep living?

Allen knew that was stupid. His sisters didn’t love him. They didn’t need him. Kira and Tasha were happy. Kira was engaged to her girlfriend, who she simply adored, and Tasha was about to graduate medical school. They didn’t need him. It was egotistical to think they needed him.

Maybe he needed them. Maybe he had been trying to fool himself that they needed him, but in reality, he needed them more than he thought. Had he been leaning on Betty to try to forget about his sisters, knowing it was only a matter of time before they forgot about him, because they didn’t need him? Did he ever really love Betty?

***

What did love mean?

What did death mean?

What did anything mean?

Why did Allen exist?

What was he supposed to do?

What was next? Questioning everything he’d ever known? Trying to find someone to blame? Trying to understand his feelings about the people around him? Trying to figure out a way to die? Trying to pick himself up again and recover? Try to stay sober?

This was the dark hole he’d been falling down, drowning in these thoughts and simultaneously drowning in alcohol. His sisters stopped letting him go out and stopped giving him money. So he couldn’t buy drinks anymore because they were worried about him, but he wasn’t the only sick person in that hospital.

The other patients around him understood what he was going through, and while they subconsciously knew helping him get alcohol wasn’t healthy, they gave him money and caused distractions and diversions, so the nurses wouldn’t see him sneak out of the hospital anyway. He knew it wasn’t fair to exploit their kindness, but he needed those drinks. Without them, he felt like all he could taste was blood in his mouth. Maybe he bit his tongue, or the inside of the cheek.

He barely felt anything anyway when he had enough drinks. He felt as if he was floating away from earth, escaping consciousness. Simply gliding amongst air. He was weightless, breathless, nothing. That was what Allen wished he was. He wished he was nothing. He didn’t wish he was dead. He wished he was nothing. Because he decided he didn’t want to die anymore, because it would mean he’d have to see her again. How can you face someone after you’ve given them everything and you find out they didn’t love you at all?

“Do you really think she didn’t love you?”

Tasha was sitting on the end of Allen’s hospital bed. Allen had drank too much and passed out. He had been very close to death, but they managed to save him. So despite his need for drinks, Allen vowed to drink less, as if he didn’t, he’d die, and he never wanted to see her again. He was actually glad that she died. That she had given in.

At least he’d learned the truth: she never loved him at all. If she had, she wouldn’t have given in, wouldn’t have let them win. He hadn’t given in. He’d lived, for her. He had really loved her, but he hated himself for loving her once. He had wasted love on her. He knew now that he truly did love his sisters, and he should have spent time loving them instead of her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by what his sister was thinking when she said that.

“Of course she didn’t. If she did love me, then she would have fought harder.”

“Allen, I know it sucks, but sometimes some things are stronger than love. That doesn’t make her love for you or your relationship invalid.”

“Says who?”

“Says love. Depression might have been stronger than love in the case of Betty, but it doesn’t have to be in yours. Your illness will only really affect you if you let it. If you fight it, it goes away. You have the power to end it.”

Allen looked down at his hands, which he was used to being sticky or wet from drunkenly spilling beer on them. He noticed they were scarred. On his right hand, there were thin, angry red-pink lines. On his left hand, there were deep, large bumpy gashes. He avoided his sister’s eyes as he asked the next question.

“D-did I-um c-cut-”

Tasha nodded slowly. Allen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tasha, do you and Kira really care about me?”

Tasha smiled a small smile.

“Like I said, in Betty’s case, that time, depression really was stronger, but it doesn’t have to be for every case. Sometimes love does win. And no matter where you are, Kira and my love for you will always be stronger.”

For the first time since Betty died, Allen touched someone. He leaned over and hugged Tasha. He did more than that. He let someone in for the first time since Betty died. He let himself cry into Tasha’s shoulder. She hugged him and rubbed his back, and when he started muttering thousands of apologies, she said she understood.

***

Allen ate. He ate and slept and took showers. He didn’t drink anything but water, and once every two weeks, he actually went jogging. He wasn’t always sure what motivated him.

Whether it was his sisters’ showing his love for him or Betty’s death, Allen desperate constant need for alcohol was replaced with a desire to live healthily. He didn’t laugh or smile or feel happy, but he did live.

Or did he?

That was a question he kept asking himself. Was he really living if he wasn’t happy?

And then that made him think about Betty. Was she really living if she wasn’t happy? Is that why she gave in?

But she was with Allen. And she said she loved him. Didn’t loving him make her happy?

Is it possible to love and not live?

Is it possible to love and not be happy?

Or is what really makes life living loving?

***

“Allen?”

Kira and Allen had been jogging and were now stopping on a park bench to drink water.

“Yeah?”

“You’re four months sober today.”

Allen looked up from the ground.

“It feels like time hasn’t passed since — ” he stopped.

Kira placed her hand on his shoulder.

“I want to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  

Allen nodded.

“What did you love about Betty?”

Allen looked up and closed his eyes.

“She reminded me why I wanted to live. She reminded me why I should get help, why I should try to stop drinking. She made me realize that life was worth living.”

“How?” Kira asked softly.

Allen smiled a small smile, which stunned Kira. He hadn’t smiled in months.

“She was just so beautiful. Most people’s ideas of beauty are landscapes, or stars in the sky. But seeing her smile or laugh or think just made me feel so lucky to have her. I just loved how passionate she was about everything. I loved how when she read a book or watched a TV show or movie, she cared so deeply about the story if she really loved it. I loved how she was just so passionate about stories and art, and how happy they made her. Seeing her happy made me happy. I loved every now and then, a freckle would pop up on her cheek, and I loved kissing them. I loved sitting on a couch and us both reading and being absorbed in a book, yet our legs and hands were completely tangled up with each other. I just loved each and every one of those things so much that it overpowered my need to drink. My love for all these things was just stronger than the pull for the bottle. And without it…”

Kira took Allen’s hand. Allen hadn’t noticed, but he had started to cry. Kira put her head on Allen’s shoulder, and Allen cried silently.

“A-and I g-guess…”

“Yeah?”

“I always felt broken, and she didn’t exactly make me feel like I was fixed, but it was just that we were both broken. And I guess when we were together, we felt less like we were broken, and we were just cracked.”

***

“I want you to come to my graduation.”

Tasha’s words surprised him.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re six months sober now, Allen. You’ve been stable and secure, and I think you’d be able to handle it. And you’re my little brother. I want you to be there.”

Allen smiled softly, the second time he’d smiled in months.

“Of course, Nat. I’ll be there.”

Tasha smiled widely when hearing her brother call her the nickname he hadn’t used in three years, not since he’d started drinking. It almost made her hope that, eventually, things could go back to the way they were before Allen’s twenty-first birthday. Before he’d been institutionalized. Before Betty died. Before their lives had changed.

Allen clapped the loudest as Tasha accepted her diploma. You could tell he was the proudest of her of all the family members there cheering for their graduating loved ones. He hugged her the hardest, took the most pictures, and went to talk about her the most to Tasha’s friends. Tasha and Kira had been slightly nervous he’d start drinking, but he only had water. He was even offered alcoholic drinks, but he always politely refused. The three of them even went to a party with Tasha’s friends, and Kira even saw Allen smile, big smiles that took up his entire face.

***

When the doctor told Allen it had been a year, he was honestly shocked. It hadn’t felt like a year. It hadn’t felt like time passed at all. He had stopped drinking, but he usually felt dizzy and disoriented most of the time. He sometimes lost memories. Everything felt blurry and mushy unless he was with his sisters. Otherwise, he barely took anything in. So the news that he had been sober for a year was honestly huge. He felt he should be proud of himself, but the only thing that seemed to matter to him was that meant it been over a year since Betty died.

And he wasn’t mad at her anymore.

He missed her, actually. It didn’t make him want to drink, but he did miss kissing her cheek every morning when she woke up. He did miss how her hair always smelled like lemons. He missed looking at her when she was reading, and how into a story she got, wrapped up in words. He missed making her laugh. He missed cuddling her and her falling asleep in his arms, her glasses falling down her nose. He missed seeing her. He missed happiness.

What did happiness feel like before Betty?

His immediate thought was drinking, but he had learned since she died, that happiness wasn’t drinking. It was an addiction that he took over him. So he thought harder, tried to remember life before drinking, before the institution, before Betty.

Happiness was Christmas morning with his sisters, his parents, and their puppy, Carl. Happiness was movie night with his friends, betting on which would be the worst Star Wars movie the eighth time re-watching. Happiness was 2 am phone conversations with his cousins. Happiness was vegan pizza, and the light from the lamppost as he came home after a long day of school and hugs and puppy licks. Happiness was being a normal teenage boy.

But he’d lost all of that the day he’d asked for a beer and then didn’t stop.

                                                                        ***

“Tasha?”

His sister looked up from her book. The two of them were sitting opposite from each other in armchairs, reading.

“Yeah?”

“D-do you think if I visited Betty’s grave, it would help me move on?”

Tasha thought for a moment.

“I think you’ll find out if you try.”

Allen nodded.

“If-If I move on from Betty and accept her — “ he pressed his lips together and pushed forward, “what happened and move back home again?”

Tasha smiled sympathetically.

“Never mind. I know Mom and Dad don’t want to see me anymore.”

“I-It’s not that. It’s they’re just not sure if you do.”

Allen picked at his jeans.

“I’ve always wanted to see them. It’s just that the Allen with a bottle in his hand didn’t.”

 

                                                                       ***

HERE LIES ELIZABETH FRANK

1993 – 2016

A BELOVED DAUGHTER, SISTER, AND FRIEND

 

“You forgot girlfriend,” Allen whispered.

He sat down on the grass, facing the gravestone.

“I love you. I don’t know how long that will last. I don’t know if I’ll love like this again. I wish I could say that that’s okay, but the truth is that it hurts. It kills me.” Allen smiled sadly.

“The thing I hate the most is not hearing your laugh when I make stupid jokes, or you teasing me when I nerd out about Harry Potter. I hate the fact that it always feels like a room is empty without you there. I hate that I feel incomplete. I’m not sure if this is just grief, but if it is, then I definitely know I’ll be okay. Because death is permanent, but grief isn’t.” Allen wiped away the tears that had started falling silently. “I hated you for giving in. I hated that you let depression be stronger than love. I hated that I survived. I hated being forced to go on, to keep suffering. I hated that you left me to suffer. I guess the reason that I don’t hate you anymore is that I realized your depression didn’t define you. I realized that giving in didn’t define you either. And the hatred was just pain I tried to rename. I wanted it to be something else, because if I acknowledged what it really was, which was grief from losing you, it would only hurt more.”

Allen was sobbing now. He hadn’t sobbed this hard since the moment Betty died.

“Depression, grief, addiction- they’ve been hurting us for years. But as my sister told me, the illness only hurts you if you let it. It doesn’t if you fight it. And I’m not blaming you for giving in, or letting the illness hurt you. I’ve been so in love with you for so long, I almost forgot how bad our suffering was. And I can’t blame you for the depression being stronger than what we had. That wasn’t your fault. I know that now.”

Allen struggled to breathe; he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t see.

“I’m not apologizing. Because I was allowed to be angry. Maybe not at you, but I was allowed to be mad. I shouldn’t have gone to the bottle, but something I’ve learned is I can’t be mad at myself for drinking. I can’t blame myself for having a mental illness. I can’t blame myself for drinking, because I tried, and I worked hard. I can’t blame myself. I can’t hate myself.” Allen took a deep breath. “I can’t blame you.” He cried some more before continuing. “I can’t let depression touch me and make me question you or us. I have to fight it, like I fought the bottles. I’ll try to fight it, for you. For us. For who we were.” Allen cried until he had nothing left in him. “I love you. And the last thing I learned is that love does last after death, even for the person that lost. Because if I didn’t still love you, then I wouldn’t keep trying. I would have let the bottles win.”

***

“Allen?”

Allen put down the suitcases he’d been holding.

“Mom,” he whispered.

“Kira said you weren’t home.”

“A little lie for your own good,” Kira said as she walked in. “I’m going to put these suitcases in Allen’s room.”

She went upstairs, leaving Allen alone with his mother.

“H-how you’ve been?” his mother asked.

“Sober,” Allen said. “I’ve been sober eighteen months.”

“Th-that’s fantastic, honey.”

“M-Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I really never did mean those awful things I said. I-I was drunk. I love you and Dad, and I missed you.”

Allen’s mother started to tear up.

“We love you too, and we’re so sorry we didn’t see you,” she said as she walked over to her son, who had started crying, and hugged him.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“C-can I have some water?”

 

Accidents Happen

Open. I was bored. I know high school parties are supposed to be fun and upbeat, especially when you’re a senior, but I couldn’t find myself having fun. I had been to one other high school party when I was a freshman, and I had regretted it as soon as I walked in. I had ended up leaving early, but that’s another story. 

“Earth to Samantha!” said my best friend, Daisy. “I can’t believe you came! Come, let’s get a drink!”

She took my hand and pulled me through the crowd, which was literally parting like the red sea for her. She was super popular and the life of the party. I, on the other hand, was not. I was that awkward childhood bestie that just happened to stay friends with her, even when she got popular.

She was so excited that I was here that I couldn’t say no to her. So I took the red Solo cup from her hands and took a tiny sip. Ugh, I hate beer. But I painfully swallowed it, all the while trying to act like I loved it.  

“YOU SHOULD CHUG IT!” she screamed over the loud party music.

Still not able to say no, I chugged it. Close. Open. She then took my arm again and pulled me out to the dance floor. There was a table in the middle, and everyone told her to dance on the table. She gleefully jumped up and invited me up. I was skeptical and a little lightheaded, but I wanted to have fun for once. Close. So I joined her up on the table and danced.

It was fun at first. But then I started to feel queasy. Open. Not good. I puked everywhere.  Literally on three different people’s heads. It was mortifying. I quickly jumped off the table and ran out of the house. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran the rest of the way to my car, but ended up puking again on the short way there. I quickly unlocked the car and jumped in. I locked it and turned it on. I put on the AC and let it blow on my face for a few minutes. After that, I felt better and decided to go home. I had only had one drink. I would be fine. People only crash in the movies. So after I convinced myself that I just couldn’t go back in and ask for a ride home, it was just too embarrassing, I decided to drive myself home.

Close.

***

I look to my left, nothing. I look to my right, nothing. I walk forward and SCREECH. SLAM. SMASH.

***

Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. I am able to keep my eyes open for a few seconds, enough to capture my surroundings. Where am I? Close.  

Open. I slowly wake up, and this time I can stay awake for a few minutes. I try to scream “HELP!” but end up letting out the tiniest whisper. I try and pull my head up, but fail. My neck is heavy, and I don’t have enough strength to raise it. I try and raise my arm, but it too can’t move.  A person in a white lab coat, who I realize is a doctor, comes over to me and smiles. He also seems to say something, but I can’t hear a thing he says. I furrow my eyebrows, and a skeptical look appears across my face. He then realizes something and puts something in what I think is my ear. I can’t feel anything. And then I hear it.  

Beep beep beep.

A steady beeping sound is coming from a machine across the room. I’ve heard that somewhere before. What’s it called? Oh right, a hospital.  

He then says, “Welcome back, Samantha. You are currently at Mount Sinai Hospital in treatment for two broken ribs, temporary hearing loss, a concussion, and a broken arm. You are currently on morphine to deal with your severe injuries. Do you know how you got here?”  

I quietly whisper, “No.”

He says, “You were in a major car accident. You drove on a red light, and there was a girl crossing. You swerved off the road to avoid hitting her and went straight into a lamppost. Your mother is on her way. Is there anyone else you would like me to call?”

I shake my head ever so slightly, but he sees it and finishes telling me about my injuries.  I heard most of it, but after two minutes or so my eyelids start to feel droopy.  
I whisper, “Sorry.”  

Close.

Open. A nurse says I have visitors. My mom and dad enter the room and urgently rush to my bedside. Close. Open.

I smile weakly and say, “Hi.”

They tell me that my siblings are outside waiting for their turn to come in, since they didn’t want to overwhelm me. My mom starts crying, and my dad puts his arm around her to provide her comfort. I raise my left hand, the one without the gigantic cast, and gesture for her to come closer.

She leans in, and I whisper, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Close.

Open.

“She’s awake!” says my sister, Sara.

I smile weakly and greet all of them — granted of course I whisper a greeting to them — but it’s the thought that counts. I can see their mouths smiling, but I can see their eyes have this pitiful look in them, like they feel bad for me. But I ignore that look since it just makes the situation even more depressing than it already is. They sense a bit of a hostile vibe, and so they tell me they brought me something to make me feel comfortable. Jeremy, my youngest brother who still happens to be in diapers, shows me my baby blanket. I smile. It’s the blanket I’ve had since I was three years old.  I’ve never spent a night without it. He gives it to Sara, who gently spreads it across my legs. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer, so I take the last bit of energy I have and whisper “Thank you” with a weak smile to go along with it. Close.

Open. Today is the day! I would finally be let out of the hospital.

My mom asks me, “How are you doing, honey? Do you feel okay? Do you need some food or water? Do you want me to tell any of your friends that you’re getting out today? Do you need anything? Anything at all?”

I smile and shake my head slowly. I walk through the automatic glass doors as if they’re the gates to heaven. Even if I’ll be on bed rest for a while, at least I won’t have to eat the gross hospital food. And even better, it will smell like home and not like a hospital. I’m in desperate need of a change in scene. I breathe in the fresh air, but my rib shifts and “OW!” It hurts with every deep breath. I forgot I was supposed to take shortened breaths. Okay, I officially hate ribs. I start to feel a little woozy. I sway a little bit to the right and then a little bit to the left. Close.

Open. Okay, maybe tomorrow will be the day. I guess pain meds are necessary, especially since I fainted from the pain. Ugh, why does God hate me so much?!

“Ow.  DOCTOR, I’M READY FOR MY DRUGS!” I call out, praying that the pain would just go away any second now, and I could just walk out the door and breathe in some fresh air without the pain and burden of having two broken ribs.

Right there and then, right as the five different pain pills are going down my throat, I decide to never go to a party again. And then I decide to swear off all alcohol. Close.

 

The Foundation behind the Teal Ribbon*

     

Just because you have a mental

illness, does not mean you are different.

People with anxiety are fighters. People

with depression are survivors. People who

self harm are strong.

I am strong. They did not just tell me to

walk again, but they taught me a new way

of walking. Not with my head down, but up.

Because rock bottom is where I rebuilt my

life again leading to the road of recovery. I

am worthy of recovery because I am

human, just like you. I am a warrior to top

that. The semicolon stands strong beside

me. My story was going to end with a

period, but I chose to keep writing it because

it’s not over yet. I am a warrior, with the “I”

being a semicolon. It makes me strong. I am

strong. I am a fighter. I am beautiful.

I am a friend.

I am a daughter and

I am survivor.

 

*(Teal ribbon for anxiety disorders)

 

A Short Autobiography of the Great Max Abrams: Soon to hopefully someday be a major motion picture: “Written” By The Great Max Abrams Himself

Reflecting back on my life experience, I am pleased to say that since my birth, my life has definitely increased in excitement dramatically. While starting out bland as the poor schlub who used to be the infantile Max Abrams, every year, my life has been getting more and more exciting for the most part, an attribute I feel is unique to myself. I can trace all this success to one moment in my childhood, when after a game of little league baseball, even though we barely won more than two games, in the end, I was given something special, something necessary to helping me realize I was not part of the crowd. I was given a trophy for participation! An award for just existing in the presence of my peers! As soon as I got one, I ran over to my parents, beaming with joy. I didn’t stay to see what happened next, but I assume that everyone else just left immediately afterwards as there was nothing more to see.

Throughout the majority of my childhood, I carried that glorious plastic monument to my greatness everywhere I went. Sure, some of the low self-esteem hateful critics would mock me and attempt to make my school life a living nightmare, but I didn’t mind, I knew they envied me on the inside.

Due to a streak of bad luck I experienced after high school, though my talent was remarkably astounding, I could not find a stable job after senior year had ended. One of the things I’ve learned about most businesses is that they don’t enjoy hiring people who they think are too much of an individual. They prefer the type of person with no spine, who goes to college, and has attributes listed on their resume other than being destined for greatness, or having won many awards for participation. This led me to getting a job at our local Neptune Coffee House, one of the top chains in the great center of the universe known as Broken Bow, Nebraska with over three locations!

When I walked into work my first day, a balding, overweight, middle-aged man greeted me at the door. I was unusually nervous that day, so I attempted to do my 20 minute speech, introducing myself and explaining all my accomplishments in life, rather than the full hour speech. Yet only five minutes and 48 seconds in, he had the audacity cut me off!

“Alright, kid, enough with the funny business! It’s your first day on the job, and I already think I should start looking for replacements. Now listen here, my name is Gary. Your coworkers are in the back getting ready. Go join them, and they’ll teach you the works, and if I hear you using that introduction spiel on coworkers or customers, you’re fired! Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh,” I replied.

Somehow I didn’t get the feeling he was a fan of me, but I decided to ignore it and see if that’s just a Gary specific aura I get around him. I walked into the back to meet my coworkers, and saw the exact type of people I expected to see. One person was smoking in the corner, and the other two people looked like walking corpses who couldn’t stand their jobs. Already, I knew with my charisma and destiny for greatness, I could rise to the top of this coffee shop without even trying. As soon as I walked in, one of the corpses walked up to me and greeted me very apathetically.

“Hey, you must be the new guy. Max, right?” he asked.

“Well, actually it’s Max Abrams, and — ” I attempted to give him a good introduction, but he cut me off.

“Okay, Max, it’s very fantastic to meet you,” he said in a very unenthusiastic voice. “I’m Michael, the kid smoking over there is Scott, and the girl is Skyler.”

I realized that the people here didn’t seem to be cultured enough to listen to my introductions, so I just said a short hi directed to both of them. The only reply I got back was a finger gun from Skyler. At this point, I felt a bit irritated that out of all the people I could’ve been stuck with, I had to be stuck with these lowlifes. I deserved better than this! I needed to move up the ladder if I were to survive in this wasteland known as a coffee shop chain.

“Anyway,” Michael continued, “You’ll be working the register and taking down people’s orders, alright? There’s a list of prices and things you should do when working the register on the counter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Michael” I replied, and I walked out to the register.

When I got there, I had an idea. I realized that if I were to really present myself to the consumers, I could get them to tell the manager about how great I am! After all, people talk to the manager about bad workers, so why not for good workers who really talk to you like a friend. I started brainstorming what to say when the first customer walked in, a small balding man who looked as if he was going through a midlife crisis. The perfect person to try out my new schtick. He was about to walk over like you would at some loser coffee shop, but I knew he was special. He was my first customer. I jumped over the gate we used to get into the coffee area and ran up to him. He looked shocked and frightened, most likely because of how amazing and unique of a barista I was being.

“Hey, welcome to the best Neptune Coffee House in all of Broken Bow, Nebraska! My name’s Max Abrams, by the way. I come from humble beginnings, but after winning an award just for being me in a game of little league baseball, I have learned just how amazing I am! If you would like to put in a good word to my manager, that would help a lot. Thank you!” I said joyfully with a smile. “But enough about me, what would you like to order?”

But when I looked down to see him, he was already running out the door. I guess he may have just forgotten his wallet or something.

The next few customers gave me a mix of responses from “Get out of my face” and “You just lost a customer” to even “Yeah, I’ll tell your manager something!” Which was a big success in my book. Halfway through the day, after a few of the people had talked to the manager, Michael came over, looking about as alive as usual and in an almost completely monotone voice said, “Hey, Max, the manager wants to see you.”

I jumped with joy!

“Oh my God! Michael, thank you so much for the news! Also it’s Max Abrams, but who cares! I can’t thank you enough!” I gleefully replied, and I skipped over to Gary’s office!

I wondered how great of a promotion I would be getting. I mean, I was pretty sure I sold more than ten coffees today. I had to be getting some kind of raise of sorts. Needless to say, I was enthusiastic beyond all belief. When I opened the door, Gary was smoking a cigar and waiting for me.

“You, new kid, take a seat!” he muttered in annoyance.

His office was straight out of some weird basement from the 70’s. The walls were made of a dark wood. There was a dart board on the wall to the left of me, and he had a Windows ‘95 computer on his desk. I was mesmerized by this room of so much history. On the wall to the right of me, there were plaques that seemed to date back to at least the early 80’s of employees of the month, with the latest plaque having no picture with the words, “You are all terrible at your jobs. If I could get a new staff I would not hesitate. Do better next month. – Gary”

I knew one day I would be on this wall along with the greats, my name memorialized forever. Decades from now, people would look at my plaque and get inspired to do better at their job than they ever had before. Then, suddenly, I heard Gary yelling at me.

“Hey, kid! Snap out of it! Were you even listening to what I was saying?” he asked in a furious manner.

“Oh, sorry, Gary! I was basking in the glory of the greats!” I hurriedly explained.

Gary didn’t seem pleased by my admiration of my coffee serving forefathers, but I decided to ignore it as he carried on.

“Okay, I’ll get to the point. I’ve realized I can’t afford to lose you. Out of all the lowlives in town who need jobs, somehow you’re unfortunately the best I could find. But I’m not letting you leave without punishment. Three people came up to me complaining about you today. I’m docking your pay to minimum wage, or five cents below what you had before until you learn how to treat a customer! Understand?”

I was in total shock! I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me! Out of all these people who came to compliment me, he decides that he’s going to dock my pay by an insane amount and call me a lowlife anyway! I couldn’t stand this! I knew something had to be done. The second I got to my home, I started plotting my revenge. I got out some construction paper, and I ripped out a pieces of wood from the attic floor as well as some duct tape and made signs for me and my coworkers. We were going on strike.

The next morning, I got up early and waited for my coworkers to get here. One by one, I handed them signs, and one by one, they gave them back and called me a name along the lines of a nitwit. They had been too influenced by the man already to go on strike with me. They were the real nitwits, but I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t their fault they became these spineless husks of humans. It was Gary’s. A little while later, Gary himself came out, red with rage.

“What do you think you’re doing, you idiot!” he yelled at me, furious that I was fighting his authority like a true hero.

“I’m going on strike until you acknowledge my talent and give me that pay back!” I replied.

That made Gary even more blind with rage.

“You know what, fine, I’ll acknowledge your talent! You have one. Almost every single customer hates you. You’ve been here one day, and you’ve already probably caused a downfall in the amount of customers who will come to this location now! Thanks a lot, Abrams. Go ahead, strike. Strike until you realize how much people care about self-entitled knuckleheads like you!”

I knew he was just trying to hide his fears of being powerless, leading to him trying to assert his authority on me, so I just ignored him and kept striking. I got out my favorite “Gary is a big jerk. Please boycott this establishment until I get more money” sign out and started chanting the aforementioned “Gary is a big jerk” slogan. It seemed to be a slow day with only a few people coming in, and even less acknowledging me with joyful yes’s, which I’m pretty sure were directed towards my cause. The day was still going very slow, at least until halfway through, when I noticed something from inside. Scott and Skyler were pointing at me and laughing. I was a bit confused until I noticed them taking out their phones to take a video of my protest, and I realized what they were doing. They weren’t the enemy. They were giving me media coverage! They were double agents! I was jumping for joy on the inside, but I knew I had to act professional. So I kept on protesting like nothing was happening, while once in a while, doing a slight wink or a wave just to show my gratitude.

On the way home, teens were greeting me and saying stuff like “There he is!” and “That’s the guy!” I knew that my message had gotten out to the people. The next day, 20 people came to strike, and they all seemed very into it. The day after, 50 people came. The day after, there were about 100 people. This increased until next week, when pretty much the entire teen population of Broken Bow was protesting. I had really done something! I’d started a movement! Sure most of these people said, “I’m here as a joke” as teenagers do. But I knew that on the inside, they were with me. All were chanting my ‘Gary is a big jerk’ slogan in unison. Eventually, around the end of the day, Gary himself came out, looking very happy. He walked up to me at the front of the crowd and asked me to follow him into his office. I did so as the crowd applauded my victory over the man. I walked into his office and sat down with him.

“Abrams, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about a compromise, and I’ve finally come to one. You see, I hate your guts, but the more important thing is what the public thinks of you, and if you can bring in this many people as customers, I’ll let you have your job and pay back with a little extra even. Who knows, you may even be the next employee of the month! What do you say? Deal?”

“Deal!” I said without hesitation.

I came outside, holding hands with Gary in a victorious pose, and that said it all. The crowd applauded us. I felt like the day when I got my first participation award was happening all over again but even better than before.

After that day, the store saw a sharp increase in customers, all because they wanted to get a cup of coffee served to them by the great Max Abrams! Almost everyone in town knows me, and I even got a raise of two cents from my original pay! I must say that the greatest part of my success was receiving employee of the month from my former enemy, Gary. I brought the certificate they gave me home and hung it next to my first participation award I got so long ago to remind me that even today, I’m still destined for greatness. This year, a barista. Next year, omnipotent ruler of the universe!

 

Again

   

Somebody promises themselves they will change and reform their ways again,

Yet in the end it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, yet people still try again and again.

 

The politicians promise they don’t accept bribes, they’ll be totally innocent,

Yet like their predecessors they’re not the saints they seem like again and again.

 

Genocides are nothing new, people in power say it’s for the greater good over and over.

They say it can’t happen here so we can forget, yet history seems to repeat itself again.

 

Driving down the long road of life, a careless driver hits a small deer,

A path of hershel lie behind him and each time the driver says they’ll be more careful, again.

 

Over and over,

Again and again.

 

Driving down the long road of life, a careless driver hits a small deer,

A path of hershel lie behind him and each time the driver says they’ll be more careful, again.

 

Revenge

I listened to the pitter-patter of my footsteps as I ran and ran around the reservoir in Central Park, wishing for the angry string of emotions to disappear. But they wouldn’t. What people could do to you was shocking, and especially when you thought you knew them so well. When you thought they were your friend.

I could still hear the snickers and the taunting shouts as my best friend, Elise, and I glared at each other, and I thought of how she betrayed me in the worst way possible. But I didn’t feel sadness build up inside of me while I rushed through the wind. I was boiling mad, upset that someone could do this, and cursing the blue sky above me. I wanted to take back what was mine. I wanted to show that I wasn’t afraid to do the same to Elise as she did to me. If she would hurt me, when we were so close to each other, I would have to hurt her too.

The bitter expression on my face morphed into a wicked smile, spreading the scary happiness throughout my body. And as I kept running, running, running, I started to think of a plan. A plan that would be dangerously mean, but get back at the person who took a secret that wasn’t hers, and gave it to another who didn’t need it, nor want it.

As I completed my second lap around the reservoir, I went off the path and started to run home, dodging the passing bikes as dark thoughts curled around my mind. When I reached the comfort of my bedroom, I immediately sank into my desk chair and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen, scribbling my horrifically terrible ideas to hurt my ex-best friend. I stared at my list and chose the ones that seemed to work the best. I was going to try them all, and I wouldn’t stop until I felt that I had done enough.

***

I woke up to a rainy, muggy day. I swiped my brown hair into a ponytail, then stepped out of my apartment, feeling the cool, moist drops on my bare arms. I checked to make sure the list was in my pocket.

Day One: Ignore Elise.

It wasn’t the best idea, but I knew that I could never forgive her, and I wanted to make sure that she understood that.

I reached my school, and walked through the hallways, trying to ignore the stares and whispers that trailed me as I trotted to homeroom. It meant that my secret had spread, and it only made me more anxious to get on with my revenge.

Once I reached room 309, I sank into my second-row desk seat, unfortunately next to Elise. They were the seats we had picked out together in the beginning of the school year, and we hadn’t changed them since.

“Hey,” she said to me.

I opened a book and started to read, slightly turning away from her.

“Um, Hannah? I want to talk to you,” she said.

She sounded desperate. I kept reading.

“Hannah, I need to tell you something. I’m sorry.” She looked away, hurt.

I almost gave in. I wanted to talk to her, wanted to say something as if nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. I kept reading. The bell rang. I closed my book and walked away from Elise and her sad, sad face.

For the rest of the day, Elise stared at me with cold eyes, while I looked away and focused on what I was doing. I didn’t want anything to do with her.

Leaving school felt like I was a bird being let out of a cage. I needed to get away. So far, the first plan had worked, but it was just the beginning. I needed to show her how much it hurt, how terrible it feels when someone you thought you knew betrayed you. But before I could think of how to continue, my mom walked into the room on a phone call. I was startled, and quickly folded the paper, dropping it into my backpack.

“Okay. I’ll make sure to talk to her. I’m so sorry,” my mom said.

She hung up the phone. She looked at me, and I stared back.

“Honey, that was Kacey, Elise’s mom,” she said with a sigh.

This couldn’t be good.

“She said that Elise came home crying today and told her everything that happened in school between you two. Why did you ignore her? She was trying to say sorry.”

I frowned. I was the one who should be crying, not her. She deserves what she’s getting. I stayed silent.

“Hannah, I don’t need to know why you ignored her, but I can guess. I know she hurt you so much, but you guys were so close. Is there any way you can fix things with her?”

I shook my head.

“Well, this is getting out of hand. I think you should at least talk. Call her.”

She held out the phone, waiting for me to grab it and dial the number I’ve dialed a thousand times. I shook my head. She sighed.

“It’s your decision,” she said, leaving the phone on my desk and closing my baby blue bedroom door behind her.

It would be so easy. I could just reach out and grab the phone, dial, and talk to Elise. I would confess my feelings, she would tell me she’s sorry, and we’d be friends again. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had to finish what I started, because revealing a secret about me, especially one so personal, was unforgivable.

***

Day Two: Take Elise’s friends away from her.

This was harsher and more difficult than yesterday’s plan. I thought about it all the way to school. It wasn’t going to be easy.

The second day of ignoring my best friend was even harder than the first, but I reminded myself of the secret she stole, and my plan to get revenge was back on. I sat down in homeroom without even bothering to look at Elise, instead focusing on the girl with the wispy blonde hair, striking green eyes, and perfect lip gloss on my other side. Her name was Stacy Robertsson.

Elise’s new best friend.

My eyes focused on her as if zoning in on prey. I shifted my weight to her side and started talking.

“Hey, Stacy,” I said, a little too cheerfully.

Stacy’s green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Um, hello, Hannah,” she replied, monotone.

She looked away, uninterested. I sighed. This was going to be tougher than I thought. I had to figure out a way to get Stacy to like me.

Before I could say something again, the bell rang. Stacy and Elise got up and linked arms, walking to class together while whispering furiously. Probably about my sudden need to be friendly. I zipped up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, then ran off to class.

During lunch, I sat all alone with no food. I didn’t want anything to eat, especially after my secret let out. It was strange, thinking that what Elise told everyone would’ve, in a perfect world, given me more supporters. But this clearly wasn’t a perfect world. I stood up suddenly to leave, filled with rage, but someone stopped me. Someone with bright blond hair. It was Stacy.

I froze, completely in shock.

“Hey, Hannah. I’m sorry about being rude earlier. I’m just not used to you being so friendly to me ever since I became friends with Elise. Are we okay?” she said kindly, her eyes showing her sincerity.

I slowly unfroze my body, forcing my mouth to move.

“Oh!” I said stupidly. Then, remembering my plan, I spoke again, more confident. “Yeah, Stacy, we’re fine.”

“Great! Do you want to sit down and talk a little?” she said happily.

My eyes narrowed. Why was she so nice all of a sudden? But I didn’t linger on it for too long.

“Sure,” was all I could manage to say.

We both took a seat on the bleach-white cafeteria benches. We sat in silence for a little while, both of us unsure and uncomfortable. Stacy cleared her throat.

“So,” she started, “how are you?”

“I’m fine!” I replied, eager to start a conversation that could launch my plan for day two.

“Um, Hannah, I have to tell you something,” she said uncomfortably.

“Of course,” I said, unsure of where this was going.

She took a deep breath.

“The reason I came over here was because Elise is moving next Monday, and I thought I would try to make some new friends. Since you and Elise were so close, maybe we could try being friends. I know this is really sudden, but I would like to get to know you,” she finished with a sigh of relief to get everything out.

My mind slowly processed what she had just said, and my guard went down. I had no idea Elise was leaving in less than a week.   

“I would like to get to know you too, Stacy,” I said with a smile.

My plan could finally work. After school, Stacy and I plopped down onto my pale pink comforter. I had invited her over so we could get to know each other better, and my mom was practically ecstatic when she saw me bring home a “friend.” She had rushed over to see if we wanted a snack, rambling on about smoothies and cookies that we could eat, until I said, “It’s okay, Mom, we don’t need a snack.”

She stopped talking, then smiled and said, “Well, I’m here if you need me!”

We started to talk about ourselves. Stacy had two siblings, twins, and both of them boys. Her dad was Swedish, and her mom was from Canada. She became friends with Elise two days after my secret was no longer mine. Had it really already been a month? I began to tell her about me, how I was an only child, how I had been friends with Elise for six years before we started drifting apart, until we finally split. I was going to ask her a question, but she interrupted me before I could say anything.

“Hannah, I know,” she said.

“Know what?” I said with a strained smile.

I knew what she was talking about. It was what Elise told everyone. Of course Stacy would know. She fumbled with the soft, ivory fabric of her shirt.

“I know that you’re insecure about your weight.”

And that’s all it took. I froze, and even though I already knew that most of my grade had found out, it was worse when one of them talked directly to me. I wanted to disappear, wanted to escape into a different world. A tear blurred my vision, until everything was gone.

“Hannah. Hannah. Hannah…”

Someone was saying my name. I slowly opened my eyes, and I was lying down on my bed. There was a bit of dull pain in the back of my head, and my whole body felt sore, but somehow refreshed. I sat up, surprised by the sharp pain in my temples. I squealed from the pain and fell back down on my pillow. Someone was standing next to my bed. It was my mom, a crease between her brows forming from worry.

“How are you, honey?” she asked, sound worried. “You passed out for a while.”

“I’m… okay, I guess,” I replied. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours. It’s 7:00 pm now.”

“What happened to Stacy?”

“She’s still here. She decided to stay after you passed out and wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

I wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about. I thought our conversation was over, but at least she was nice enough to stick around. Stacy rushed into my room, immediately crouching down by my bed.

“Hannah, I’m so, so sorry. I guess I caused you to pass out when I took you by surprise by telling you I knew your secret. Then you fainted and hit your head, and it’s all my fault.”

I was surprised that she was apologizing. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that she knew my secret. I interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“Stacy, it’s okay. Really. I don’t blame you at all, and I know that the rest of the grade knows about my insecurity and fear. It just took me by surprise when you told me.”

I didn’t want her to feel bad. She was really sweet, after all, and I thought she was brave to come out and tell me what Elise told everyone.

“Really?” she said, the worry in her face melting away slowly.

“Really,” I replied, smiling.

I couldn’t believe I actually felt okay with what happened. Stacy cared enough to stay. She looked me straight in my hazel eyes, and she said something I never imagined coming out from her.

“I want to help you.”

She was back to looking slightly sad, but behind that, I could see the determination.

“Help me with what?” I said, puzzled for a second.

“I want to help you with your body confidence because no one thinks you’re overweight. Nobody ever did. In fact, we all want to help. Everyone’s just too scared to be the first one to try.”

I was stunned. This whole time, I thought everyone was mocking me, making fun of me, when really, they wanted to help. And that meant so much to me. Who would’ve thought that my revenge plan would actually give me a new friend. A friend who showed me what was really going on in everyone else’s minds when my secret reached their ears.

I was speechless. Stacy had astonished me with her kindness, and I was so grateful that we had become friends.

“Thank you… for telling me,” was all I could manage.

I was frozen from her concern, but I smiled. A real smile.

“No problem,” she said, grinning, tears swelling in her eyes. “I thought you should know because I’m gonna try my hardest to help. I promise.”

And then we were hugging, tearing up next to each other, until she had to leave. I sat on my tearstained bed, smiling when I thought of my new best friend. She seemed to understand my troubles more than Elise ever did. I believed that I could try to get over my insecurity, but it was going to be hard.

The next few days at school, I had forgotten about my revenge plan. I didn’t try and cower when other kids looked at me. I made a small smile and said hi. They returned the favor, and some even grinned. But they weren’t mean or trying to mock me like I thought. They were genuinely nice to me, and that was comforting. Stacy really was telling the truth.

I still ignored Elise. She seemed extremely sad about it, but I couldn’t forgive her. Even though other kids were supportive, I didn’t understand why she would release that secret in the first place.  

After school on Friday, Stacy came to my house again to start what she called “The Hannah Mission.” She plopped onto my navy blue rug decorated with white hearts and motioned for me to follow her. I sat down across from her, underneath the dimly lit lightbulb in my room, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. I had no idea how she was going to try and help me.

She tossed her blond hair, and smiled at me. “Let’s start with a simple conversation. Can you tell me why you’re so sensitive about your weight?”

 It seemed like an easy question, but I took a deep breath. It was scary to admit my true feelings. I began slowly.

“When I was a young girl, about five years old, I ate a lot. I had a huge appetite, and slowly began to expand like a balloon. I was getting dangerously big, until my parents were forced to put me on a diet. I’ve shedded all the excess weight since, but I’ve become extremely insecure about gaining it all back. I’ve become scared, and sometimes I skip multiple meals.” I closed my eyes, forcing myself not to cry from admitting everything to someone I had become friends with the previous day.

Stacy was genuinely kind and was going to help me. Her eyes softened with understanding. She scooted herself closer to me and held my hands. Her green eyes turned glossy with tears and stared into my own teary ones.

She whispered, “Thank you for telling me. I know that was probably hard for you.”

I shook my head. It was easier than I thought, and it felt relieving to finally let go and tell someone. I hadn’t even told Elise when we were friends; I had just told her that I was insecure. Somehow, Stacy was becoming one of my closest friends ever.

I had one more question, though.

“Why did Elise tell my secret to everyone?”

Stacy looked down. She played with the strings hanging from her dark ripped jeans. When she gazed up at me again, I was surprised to see even more tears hanging from her light eyelashes, and a small, sad smile on her face.

“She wanted to help you.”

My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe it. Stacy continued, the smile still lingering on her lips.

“She told all of her other friends, including me, and asked for help to give you confidence. She was horribly depressed when you took it the wrong way, and even more when the secret spread. She never meant for everyone to know. She trusted us, and I’m still not sure who spilled the beans.” She finished, still staring at my now petrified face.

All this time, I thought she had deliberately hurt me. The days leading up to when the secret spread, we hadn’t been talking much, and our friendship was already fading. When I thought that she gave away my private information, I thought we were done. It turns out, she was helping me all along. I felt so terrible about blaming Elise. I had to fix it.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said quietly.

Stacy nodded and said, “See you on Monday.”

She picked up her lavender-colored backpack and smiled sadly, then closed the door behind her. For a few moments, I sat on my rug, unsure of what to do. Then I got up, took out the piece of paper with my plans for revenge, crumpled it, and threw it away.

***

The weekend passed slowly. Stacy had plans to visit her grandparents, and Elise was spending time with her visiting cousins, as Stacy had informed me. I needed to talk to Elise face-to-face anyways. I needed to apologize to her.

When Monday morning came, the walk to school felt like I was running a race. I was worried that I couldn’t get there in time to say goodbye to Elise. Worried that she would leave before we could set the record straight.

Arriving at school, I started to search for the long, black head of hair that belonged to Elise. I ran through the hallways, looking at every face that passed by.

I didn’t see her.

Reaching the end of the hallway, I was panting like a dog. Horribly depressed that Elise was nowhere to be seen, I walked into my classroom, sighing as I sat down at my desk. I reached into my bag to grab my book, when I saw a pair of those basic black-and-white adidas shoes. Elise’s shoes. Of course! She sat right next to me; we had chosen our seats together. I brought my head up quickly, and there was Elise, with her long black hair and olive-toned skin. I laughed and threw my arms around her.

She wanted to help me.

She wanted to help all along.

I could tell she was stunned by my sudden movement, for her body froze up almost instantaneously. But then, her arms wrapped around me just as tight, and I was never so happy to be with her.

The bell rang, pausing the moment. We let go, and she stared at me with her dark brown eyes.

“Thank you for trying to help me,” I whispered ever so softly.

“No problem,” she whispered back, a small giggle escaping from her mouth. “I can’t believe you finally know. I never realized you might be upset that I told your secret to my friends. I was just trying to help, but I should’ve kept the secret to myself.” She sighed.

“Thank you. I mean it. Stacy’s helping me now, and I think I might be able to get over this fear. I just have to be confident with myself.”

I laughed. I couldn’t even believe I said it. Elise smiled, showing all of her pearly white teeth.

“At least something good came out of this.”

For the rest of the day, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Stacy, Elise, and I hung out like we were always friends, walking around school, linking arms.

But Elise was leaving. At 4:00. One hour after school ended.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, the three of us gathered at Elise’s house to send her off. A huge truck was parked outside her bronze-toned house, with the words “Sam’s Movers” written in big, fat, red letters on the side, and a picture of a bunch of big brown boxes.

We walked inside Elise’s house to help her carry the rest of the boxes outside. I walked around her now empty house, the place I spent so much time during my childhood. We’d have sleepovers in her living room and listen to the popcorn kernels come to life. We’d beg her parents to stay up late. I’d come after school and sit down with Elise, eat a chocolate-chip cookie, and we would talk about our day.

It would all be gone in thirty minutes.

I suddenly had a pure feeling of sadness. My childhood friend would be leaving, even if we hadn’t talked for the past couple of weeks.

I burst into tears, surprising myself. Elise rushed over.

“Are you okay?” she said, sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice breaking. “I just can’t believe you’re leaving.”

She hugged me, and after a few moments, Stacy joined our embrace. It was comforting to stay like that for a few moments.

“At least you can visit. I’m only going a few hours away,” Elise said, smiling.

We walked downstairs and out of the house. When we spotted her parents, who were in the middle of saying goodbye to their neighbors, her mom said to me, “Hi, Hannah! It’s been such a long time! I’m so glad you guys made up.”

She looked sad, obviously upset that we had to separate so soon after we became friends again. Elise’s dad said the words that brought on a second wave of sadness over my body.

“Elise, it’s time to leave.”

She hung her head, her long, black hair falling around her face. She hugged me and Stacy, then walked away sadly with her mom and dad to their dusty, blue Toyota.

As we watched them drive away, the truck already far in the distance, Stacy turned to me and said with an unexpected smile, “Ready for Hannah Mission, Day Two?”

I laughed and nodded. I was ready to get over the fear that had taken hold of me for long enough.

 

First a Whimper, Than a Roar

A girl and her family sat on a pale brown couch. They were in a one bedroom apartment with muted green walls. The TV in front of the family clicked on.

“The hunt for the Leomates has gotten stronger. Military forces have been searching homes and office buildings,” said a lady on the television. She had a bright red sweater on.

“Thank God for this, Susie. The Leomates are a danger to the society, and I do not want them anywhere near me and my family,” said a man in a green shirt, standing next to the lady with the red sweater.

The TV went black. Silence overcame the room.

“Well, enough of that, it’s nonsense. We’re safe. They won’t check our house. It’s all talk to scare us out,” the father rambled.

The mother worriedly signaled to the father. They walked over to the backroom, to where they thought the girl couldn’t hear them, then slammed the door shut. The young girl, maybe fifteen years old, tiptoed over to the backroom. She pressed her ear up against the peeling, plastered wall.

“We are in danger, Matt. We will be hunted and killed if we do not flee and hide from the military,” said the mother, stiffly.

“Well, what do you propose we do? Run out of this house while people have been searching up and down this block? I think we should stay here, and when things get really bad, we will run as fast as we can and leave this bloody house!” the father exclaimed.

“Matt, it has already gotten really bad.”  

The mother shot open the door.  

“Come on, Isla, pack your bags. We are leaving,” the mother said calmly.

The girl knew better than to talk back to her mother. She ran to the corner of her apartment, to a wooden dresser. She thrusted open the rusty drawers and grabbed all of her clothes in one fell swoop. She stuffed them into a small, green bag. She looked up at her bed, which was shoved into a corner, where the roof caved above her head. On her bed lay a small, stuffed brown bear. She grabbed him by his neck and kissed him on his check, feeling his scraggly, fake fur on her lips. Then she stuffed him into her bag.

She looked at the clock on the ceiling of the living room. It read 12:13 am. Her father came over to her bed. Her stroked her soft, blonde hair.

“Hey, bean, wake up. We have to go now.”

The girl was already awake. She rose up out of bed and hugged her father. She hugged him so hard, she thought his ribs might break.

They slowly made their way down the rotting staircase, being careful not to make a sound, freezing every time they heard a noise. The girl held her father’s hand as the mother led them through the darkness with her dim flashlight. The mother pushed open the heavy, metal door. The girl and her father stood behind a wall, protecting them from what might be beyond the heavy doors. The mother signaled back at them, meaning it was safe for them to go. The father and the girl hesitantly walked over to the mother. They stood by the door frame, looking out into the distance. The mother took a breath in.

“Go,” the mother exhaled.

The girl, still grasping onto her father’s hand, ran as fast as she could. Her ribs began to ache. Her feet began to slow and slur on the dirt road. Her father, now well ahead of her, looked back at her. He squeezed her hand and looked into her soft brown eyes. She ran. She ran as hard as she could. Hot tears rolled down her face, making her vision blurry. But she just squeezed her father’s hand and ran. Ran for her life.

***

The girl, who was sleeping, woke up to see her mother and father embracing. They were swaying back and forth. Tears streamed down her mother’s face. The tears dropped down onto her cheek, then on her father’s shoulder.

She resented her mother. She didn’t want her mom to cry. While the family had been hiding in the house for months, the mother wouldn’t let the girl cry. Even when the girl missed her friends and family, who were caught and captured by the military, she was to stay stone cold, showing no emotions. The girl sat up from the dirt. The father noticed. He moved his wife from his shoulder and crouched down to be at the girl’s level.

“Hi, bean. Good morning,” the father said quietly.

Isla nodded in response, her knotted, blonde hair swishing back and forth. She then turned on the radio that was positioned next to her.

“The Leomates are destroying the world. I mean, you have seen them. They are disgusting. They infecting the world with cancer, which the rest of us have already become immune to. And you know what? There is a reason for this. They are stupider, they are dumber than us. They can’t adapt to the bloody sickness that we have already been immune to for thousands of years,” grunted a man with deep raspy voice.

The father licked his lips in anxiousness. He rested his hand on the girl’s knee.

“Don’t listen to them. They don’t bloody know anything. We are just as good as them if not better,” the father affirmed.

The girl just sat there, not listening to what her father was saying, just listening to the radio. Just listening to their hateful words that she thought were true.

Bang. The sound of a gunshot. In horror, the family hurled themselves around, looking for a hiding space. The mother’s dark brown skirt swished in front of the girl. She grabbed it, clinging on. The mother looked behind her with her light green eyes. She grabbed the girl’s dirty hand and ran. They hid under a pile of fallen trees. They stayed there in silence, not speaking a word. They both knew what had happened to the father, but both were too scared to admit it. After the darkness had fallen once again, they ran out to the initial hideout. There lay the father, a pool of blood surrounded his head. The mother let out a small whimper and fell onto the father’s dead body. The girl just stood above them, confused. She did not cry or whimper. She just stood, unable to believe her eyes.

***

The sun rose again. As it always did. But this morning was different. Her father did not come to wake her up with his soft, sweet voice. Today, it was her mother. Her mom’s rough, stiff voice whispered in her ear.

“Get up.”

Isla shoved her mother away from her.

“Young lady, you better apologize for that right now.”

Isla didn’t respond. Isla felt the burning sting of her mother’s cold, hard slap on her face. The mother’s nostrils flared, and her eyes widened.

“I did not ask for this. I am doing my best to keep you safe. I loved your father, and I wish that it were me lying on the floor with a puddle of blood surrounding my head. But it is not. Now, you better listen to me and respond to me when I tell you. Do you hear me?” the mother yelled.

“You’re a selfish pig. You didn’t even try to save father. You don’t care about me. You care about saving yourself. Dad was ten times the person you are. You know what? I wish it was you in the puddle of blood too.”

The mother gulped. Her eyes filled with tears as a knot formed in her throat. She calmly got up and walked her way over to a tree, distancing herself from Isla. She slid her back down a tree trunk, dropping down onto the dirt. Letting out a small whimper of pain, then a roar.

Night had fallen once again. Isla sat alone on a large rock. Her stuffed bear was sitting on her lap as she played with its ears. The mother slowly walked towards the girl and her bear. Isla prepared herself for the yelling and pain she would endure from her mother. But instead, the mother sat down on the rock with the girl. She reached out to touch the Isla’s knee. Isla flinched in response.  A single tear rolled down Isla’s pale skin. Her jaw clenched. The mother then hugged her around the neck. Isla pressed her cheek against her mother’s, making her feel an indescribable sense of warmth. They stayed here, feeling the warmth of each other for what seemed like the first time.

***

Isla was woken up by her mother’s pleading voice.

“I beg of you, please, I am the only one here. You killed my husband, and now I am to follow in his fate. Please do it, and then be done.”

“Load her in the back of the truck. We will kill her when we get there,” ordered one of the head military officials.

Isla continued to hear her mother’s pleading and begging, as she sat quietly, hiding behind the pile of fallen trees. Her knees curled up under her chest, tears streaming down her tired face. Her teeth dug into her knees as she held back wailing screams. Stomps that had once been far away had become closer. Her heart heaved. The stomps ceased. Isla saw the green and brown boots of a military official in front of her. Her eyes slowly scanned the man. First to his green jumpsuit that had been splattered with patches of blood and dirt. Then to his face. He had pitch black hair with dark brown eyes. His eyes not filled with distaste or hate, but with sorrow and pain, eyes that resembled her own. The man called out.

“No one here. Just a rabbit.”

“Okay, you can come back and return to your duties,” called out another military official.

“I am gonna stay here and look around a bit more. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, just come back before nightfall.”

The man crouched down to the girl, just like her father had a few days ago. He reached out and grabbed the girl’s hand. His eyes filled with tears. Isla swung her arms around his neck, hugging him. She then let out a small whimper of pain, then a roar.

 

Mung Dhal

We settled down to dinner. My nani put down the pot of dhal on the wooden dining table. Aayan plopped down in the chair across from me. He looked sweaty, his hair shining in the light for the old chandelier above the table. The room smelled of cumin, cardamom, and smoke. The rotis in front of me were slowly deflating as my nana inched towards the table. He was 87, with white hair and a strange smile. He used to be taller, but he has stooped over, his back bent from years of people placing their secrets upon it. He was carrying a cup of water. The glass was multifaceted, the rim slightly chipped. He sat down at the head of the table, in a old, hardwood chair with a cracking wicker seat.  My nani went to the other end, serving everyone dhal before she sat down.

The cars honked outside, headlights shining into the thick air. The Mumbai skyline was grainy, pollution clinging onto the low-hanging, thin clouds. Large buildings tried to pierce through the sky. They stretched up with metal hands to part the rain, and breathe the fresh air hovering just out of reach. The cars piled up, pushing against one another in the endless race to be faster than those who came before. Drivers honked their horns, not to make anyone move, but to release the bottled up anger that made their heads hot and their minds foggy.

People scurried between the cars, feet pounding on, inaudible beneath the cars. Sandals torn, the soles worn down from years of running away from horns and taxes.

“Your mother phoned.” Nani’s mouth thinned.

Her eyes showed years of worry, built up in the form of wrinkled maps of traceable emotion snaking in jagged lines across her face. She had a shawl dripping down across her left shoulder. It was reddish brown, and diamonds imprinted across the surface with wax.

Aayan got up to turn on the fan, his chair scraping across the polished floor. The fan turned on, buzzing above our heads.  The window was open. A fly came in, followed by a translucent gust of tacky wind.

“What did she say?”

Nana tried to look calm, his eyes betrayed him. His hands clenched his tarnished spoon. His knuckles turned pale.

“The usual.” Nana’s hands relaxed.

Nani looked at me, her eyes expectant. I stayed silent.  

My mother used to call every evening, talk to me for hours, and tell me about her new home, her new life. She told me about the people, always rushing around, never stopping to breathe the air and forget.

“The car horns sound different here.” She sounded sad, her voice cracking in places.

She used to call every day, asking how Nani and Nana were holding up. They were the same, always the same. They loved walks, and Aayan still ate too many pani puris. She told me that the food was different, that the meat there was always undercooked, and the Indian food was full of oil. One night, she called to tell me that she had gotten a job, and I would come and live with her once she had earned enough money.

The calls stopped coming as frequently. Some days, I barely heard from her at all. When she did call, the conversations were fleeting and chilled. She told me she loved me, and hung up the phone.

If she loved me, she would have time to talk.

I walked to school every day, along the dusty, cracked streets. The crows flew above me, muttering to each other about things that only they understood. Nani always said they are the ones who see life clearly. They look down on it all, and realize the insignificance of us. We are just ants, crawling on the surface of meaning, touching it and shying away. Afraid of what we might find.

Aayan got up from the table and put his plate in the kitchen sink. We could hear the scatter of white-washed porcelain and leftover bay leaves. He turned on the faucet, the undrinkable water flowing over the silverware. The curtains flapped in the wind. The dishwasher turned on.

I woke up to the sound of veridian parrots getting into a fight at the tree outside my window. The clock in the hallway chimed five, the bells echoing around the carpeted hall telling me I should still be asleep.  I sighed, and sat up to shut the window.

The air outside was heavy. The sun was just starting to rise above the skyline, casting shadows across the buildings’ silver faces. The red reflected in the muddy glass, turning the low-hanging clouds a rusted amber. A car drove past, dark blue and stained. The dry mud splashed up, dusting it in gritty dirt.

I fell back down onto my bed, the pillows coming up to meet my tired head. The ceiling needed to be repainted. The alabaster flaked away in thin, waterlogged sheets. The room was dark, for the sun had not yet met my window. The fan was on, stirring up controversy in the pyretic air. The bathroom door was open, the faucet dripping into the mottled sink. The window in the bathroom was agape, a newly awakened crow sitting outside. A fly buzzed around my ear, circling my head in an attempt to land on my unbrushed, dark hair.

The chair in the corner of the room was worn, the dark brown fabric eaten away in certain places. Next to the chair was a small, stone table with a half drunk water glass on top of it. Some of the water had spilled on the rusty carpet, turning it a darker shade of red. The rest of the floor not surrounding the table was scratched, the stain fading, and the varnish coming off.  The door to the dresser was ajar.  The dresser was old. It used to be painted foamy blue, but it had faded to a musty brown. Inside, my clothes were neatly hung up, the hems dancing in the breeze from the fan. My shoes were in the corner, next to the thick, wooden door. My sandals were neatly facing the wall.

Finally, I gave up on sleep and went to the living room, brushing my teeth before I left.

My mother left almost six months ago. She bought a plane ticket and took only what could fit in her old, black suitcase. She bought a new pair of sneakers before she went. When she got there, she called me to tell me she was cold. It was March in New Jersey when she landed. She said the ground was muddy. It stuck to her shoes, creating a crust of greyed chocolate.

The phone rang. It was seven o’clock in the morning. I got up from the couch to answer it.

***

New Jersey was quiet. The houses neatly lined up next to each other. The lawns were groomed with multicolored flowers lined up along the edge, near the newly replaced curbs. A woman next door got into her small SUV, dropping her grey dog into the back seat. The woman drove away, the potholes in the road staring up at her car.

She walked to the mall, stopping outside the cold, glass door before entering. She entered the overly air conditioned space, the air flying into her face. She walked by a restaurant called Nani’s Kitchen and stopped. The smell of cumin mixed with paneer washed over her. She walked over, staring at the turmeric-colored chicken and the mung dhal.

She remembered her mother making rotis on Friday nights, the elastic, pillowy, pale beige dough being pulled and stretched by her olive hands. She stirred spices, grinding them together: cumin, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, peppercorns. She soaked lentils in filtered water, cooking them with red carrots and tomatoes. She carefully mixed in the spices, watching them swirl together in the already marbled water.

She ordered one plate of food to stay and pulled out her phone to call her daughter.

 

A Body That is Not Your Own

 

When you are born, you receive two gifts.

You get a gender, and you get a name.

Most of the time, these gifts are kept. Most of the time, people are content with these gifts.

But sometimes, people don’t like these gifts. They want different gifts. And when they ask for different gifts, they often get the answer that they had hoped would be out of the conversation entirely.

They get an answer that tells them to be somebody who they are not.

You are imprisoned in a body.

A body your head is attached to.

A body that is not your own.

Now imagine a human,

A human with a gorgeous body.

A human with your body.

What would it look like?

Think.

Some people would say they want fuller hips,

Maybe their nose to be a bit smaller.

And some people say they want a flat chest,

Instead of those

Balls

of

fat

Growing every day.

Or…

Or…

Or…

Imagine.

Flat chest, instead of wearing the binder that just reminds me that I have those.

Penis, instead of wearing a packer that reminds me that I have that.

Smaller hips. Smaller butt. Bigger muscles. Wider shoulders. Lower voice.

Oh, that would be so beautiful.

***

My mother named me Mackenzie.

I wish she had named me something sounding a bit more masculine,

Because Mackenzie just screams

“It’s a girl!”

Like how the nurse did at the hospital

Where I was born.

Maybe she could’ve named me

Marley

Or something

At least

A bit more

Masculine

Or maybe she could’ve named me

Mason.

 

When I was little, I was always thinking about

Names

And one day, I was reading a story

With a character called

Mason

And I knew

Almost at once

That that was my name.

My name.

Not the one on that sheet of paper

That tells my first two gifts.

Not that one

Because that one isn’t mine.

Mason.

That’s my name.

Isn’t it funny how people know they’re doing wrong, but still do it anyways?

 

Been practicing in the mirror for days

And I get back

“You will always be my little girl, Mackenzie.

Don’t talk to me with your made up bullshit.”

And then

She strode off

Without another word

And left me

To my thoughts

And the muted TV

On the wall.

 

I think they started to happen after that night

The breakdowns

Lying, curled up,

On my floor

At three a.m.

Sobbing

Heaving

Headache

Throwing up,

Feeling so dizzy I thought I was

Drowning.                                       

Which I Was,

Drowning in my own thoughts,

In my own emotions,

In my own pain.

 

The water was only rising.  

Twelve hours after I told Mother.

Sitting on the floor

Tissues spread around me like stones encircling a campfire

Arms tight around my bare chest

Staring at the wall.

That wall,

That pink wall

That Mother

Forced me to let her buy,

Even when I begged,

Sobbing

At her knees,

Asking for something,

Anything,

Different.

I turned my head towards my open closet.

Last night, I had thought it would be a funny

Joke

To look back to

After everything was alright

Finally alright.

 

It wasn’t so funny anymore.

 

I turned my head to that closet

And what I saw on those glossy hangers

Were sparkly, pink, purple, white

Dresses

Blouses

Skirts.

All hand-picked by beloved Mother.

Told me to stop wearing oversized T-shirts and jeans.

We were going on a shopping spree!

Hundreds of pounds of

Lady Wear

In the cart.

Try this on!
Oh, this suits you so well!

Definitely getting this…

Returning home, My mother was

So happy

Couldn’t stop smiling.

Took the bags to my

Pink room

And dumped them on the floor.

Then I went to sleep.

 

I remember that day like it was yesterday.

I remember every one of those days.

My mother pulling me to the girl’s department

To the pink paint

To those makeup stores

To family holidays

Forcing me to wear a dress.

So pretty.

What a beautiful girl you are.

And then after

Everything

Lying down

Suffocating

In emotions

No sleep

Only the endless thoughts

And my bed drenched with tears.

I remember all of them

Each one of those

“Meltdowns”

As my mother would call it.

Each and every one.

Miserable.

My mother tells me she doesn’t know

Why

I’m so emotional

Each night.

Does she really not get it?
Can’t she see?

When I was little, I loved wandering off to the boy’s department

But she would always drag me over to the girls,

Filled with stuffed ponies and

Me and Mommy dolls

That you could feed and it would poop on its own

I had enough courage in those times to tell her that I wanted action figures and shorts.

She wouldn’t listen,

But she would listen to me

Have tantrums

With her plastered on

Poker face.

Not saying a word.

She has always pulled me down,

Pushed me down that black hole

That only leaves me with darkness.

Never listening.

Always forcing.

Always forcing.

Always forcing.

 

I have had enough.

 

This piece is dedicated to the LGBTQ+ community.

You are loved.

 

Inside Eden

Eden: Perfect

I am perfect. I try to tell the world how to live. I know what is right and wrong. I am the perfect child, perfect student, perfect human. I am beautiful, I’ll admit. But don’t worry, I’m modest. I get the best grades, and I’m polite and respectful. People like me, and I like them. People ask me how I am so perfect, and I just shrug and smile my white-toothed smile, all my teeth in perfect alignment. And I laugh that tingly laugh that has the perfect balance of sweet sincerity and mild amusement. And as I smile, my eyes crinkle slightly. They admire my long eyelashes, curved up to the perfect degree. And I live my perfect life. The sun shines on my pale white skin, my brown eyes sparkle, and my hair flies back in the breeze, just like a scene in a movie. Because I am perfect.

 

Eden: Broken

My broken life consists of locking myself in the bathroom and sucking in my stomach to see how skinny I can look. It consists of washing my face five times a day, exercising for two hours a day, squeezing out every hint of a pimple, and mixing honey with all my drinks. I swallow every pill with a cup of water just like the package says. I finish my homework in the dead of night when my parents are in bed, smelling like dirt and alcohol, because they never care about my life and never will. I consider punching them, and then I stare I my own balled fist, knowing that I would never be able to do it because I always have to be so darn perfect. I fall asleep crying, wondering why I bother with it all while putting ice packs over my eyes so that they don’t look bloated in the morning. And I wake up as the sun rises to wash my hair and eat my egg salad that I absolutely hate, and spray perfume over me to hide the stench that lingers in my home. I push up the corners of my mouth with my fingers, and step out the door to put on my smiling facade for another long day.

 

Eve: Free

I guess I don’t really care much about anything anymore. Not like I need to. Not as long as Jacob’s grandad keeps sending money from France. Not as long as Jacob’s here. I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life, yet I don’t really want to do anything. I used to have dreams, but they hurt too much when they shattered into a million pieces, and the shards embedded themselves in you. At least when I’m with Jacob, they don’t hurt as much. He’ll hand me a bottle and pull me into his arms, and we’ll roll around on the bed for hours. My mind feels fuzzy, and my lipstick is smothered, but at least I can forget about the pain of the past. Sometimes at night, I wake up and watch my beautiful daughter, locks of hair slipping from behind her ear as she types on her laptop.

I whisper my promise to her, “I will never hold you back. I will never shatter your dreams. You will never feel that pain. I promise.”

And I check for the envelope of money I left on her dresser so that she would find it in the morning, and I smile as I watch my daughter. Free. Free like I never was.

 

Joey: Policeman

I dunno. I guess I never dreamed of bein’ a policeman when I was a kid. Guess I never had time to, what, with playin’ basketball all the time. But it’s a pretty good job. You get pretty good pay, too, and it’s respectable. Maybe I can help the world a little bit by bein’ a policeman. Get people to stop hurtin’ other people’s lives. I tell that to the chief after he asks me why I chose it as a job.

He tells me, “Joey, you’re a good man.”

Then he moves me up in rank.

 

Adam: Popular

There’s this girl in my class. Her name’s Eden, and she’s really pretty. Not just, you know, “pretty” pretty. She’s, like, pretty pretty. And I may, or may not, kinda have a crush on her.

Okay, fine. I do.

Anyways, she’s really smart, and always gets hundreds on like, everything, which I don’t know how she manages. She’s one of the popular girls, but she’s not obnoxious or anything. Eden’s just nice to everyone, you know. Eden’s just Eden. I wonder if she notices me ‘cause, to be honest, I’m not really that popular. But still, I sit next to her in math class, and she smiles at me a lot. Well, actually, she smiles at everyone a lot. And those smiles would melt your heart.

 

Eden: 100%

“Eden.” Ms. Carey always smiles when she calls my name.

I walk up the aisle to retrieve my test, one foot placed in front of the other. My head is tilted up to the perfect angle between pride and modesty.

“100% again, Eden. How do you even manage it?”

My lips part to reveal my perfectly aligned, perfectly whitened teeth, and I give a nod in acknowledgement. When I come back to my seat, I place the paper face up on my desk and wipe my hand over my chair to remove the dust before I sit down, my back at a perfect right angle. And I explain to my classmates in perfect detail how I arrived at every one of my answers, all answered perfectly in the perfect handwriting.

Ms. Carey invites me to lunch with her. Even though I am tired, I smile through it all and eat the food daintily, leaving a perfectly cleared plate when I am done. My classmates watch as I demonstrate every problem perfectly, envious. But they can’t help loving me all the same.

(3x + 4y) – (6y + 8x) – 2x + (9y – 3y) – (4y – 7x) = 0. The 0 at the end of my equation is a perfect circle, equal radii from any point, perfectly symmetrical in every way. I live my perfect life and smile my perfect smile.

The door opens, and there is a man at the door wearing a police badge, asking if there is a girl named Eden in the class. I turn, masking my shock with a confident smile and raise my hand, pale with long fingers. He motions for me to follow him, and I do, my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I’m half-afraid someone will hear. I hope that the officer wouldn’t say anything more. And he does. He tells me they’re just going to ask me a few questions at the station and not to be scared. My class’s eyes grow wide as they realize I’m going to be interrogated, and Ms. Carey is completely bemused.

Hurriedly, I walk out the door first, flashing a reassuring smile at them one last time. But as the door closes, I hear them burst into conversation, my name floating out of 20 different mouths. I move quickly out of the school doors, forcing the officer to jog to catch up with me. I get in the car without a word.

 

Adam: I Think

There was this big fuss about a policeman coming to get Eden today. I’m not really sure what it was about, but I don’t think she did anything wrong. She looked confused for a second but was smiling afterwards, so I don’t think it shocked her too much. I don’t think the issue is about her, and I don’t think they’re going to put her in jail or anything. I mean, how could they put Eden in jail? Maybe anyone else, but not Eden. Besides, Eden was so nice to everyone. Even if they were kinda mean about it because they were jealous. I think Eden’s gonna be okay. I wish I knew for sure. But since when did anyone besides her care about what I think?

 

Joey: Falling Far from the Tree

I watched the girl sitting in the back seat of his car, face blank and emotionless. Dude, she was one pretty girl. In fact, she was sitting so primly and stiffly, she looked like a Barbie doll. Geez.

I turn in my seat to face her.

“You’re allowed to blink, you know.”

She blinked pointedly. I turn back around. Either this whole ‘taken away by a policeman’ thing was a total shock to her, or she wasn’t affected at all. Can’t tell which. The girl, or Eden, as she was called, was looking out the window as if it was just a normal car ride home from school or something.

The man who got arrested today was apparently her father. I guess the apple really falls far from the tree in this case. The man was a drunken wretch, and his daughter was, well, like a princess. I wonder if the girl even knew that her father had been found drunk and unconscious in the middle of the street. I wonder if the girl even cared.

Well, I thought, maybe she’ll show some sort of reaction when they arrived at the station.

Or maybe she won’t.

 

Eden: Escaped Thought

A thousand thoughts whirled through my head, but I ignored their buzz and pushed them to the back of my mind.

Calm down. And put your seatbelt on.

The man driving in the front kept shooting glances at me, as if I was going to attack him any moment now. He said something, something about blinking. I blinked, then turned to look outside the window. A thought escaped.

What was I doing here?

A surge of red-hot anger came up in my chest. It was Dad. Of course it was him. And then I pushed the anger back down, concentrating on keeping a blank face, keeping my tears in.

 

Eve: Saved

I stared at Jacob, asleep on the bed with the blue, rubber mattress. He looked beautiful, even when he was drunk and unconscious. Even in that moment, when he was arrested and was probably going to be fined a large sum of money, I loved him. His jet black hair was messed up, in a rugged sort of way, and his muscles stood out from the outline of his arm. I closed my eyes and remembered all those wonderful moments with him, standing next to him, leaning on him as he whispered in my ear. Jacob saved me from my memories, my shattered dreams, and replaced them with soft, reassuring words, and embraces that told me he would never leave me. I remembered how happy he was when I said yes, I would marry him, and how happy and proud he was when we had Eden.

Eden!

I checked with the officer outside the door that, yes, they were getting my daughter from school. I looked out the window, and a car pulled up. A nice-looking man and a girl climbed out.

Eden. What would she say about this? The door opened and…

 

Eden: Crashing Down

My life comes crashing down. There is a man at the door wearing a police badge, and there is my daddy, unconscious, and my mom standing behind them, looking scared. And then suddenly, I am mad, so mad as what must have happened hits me.

What did you do, and what were you thinking? Don’t you care about your life? Don’t you care about anything? Anyone? Do you want to be a drunken wretch for your whole life?

I hear a sharp intake of breath, and whirl around to face the stunned officers. I realize that I had just said everything out loud. And I sink down to the floor, my head in my hands, and groan. But at this point, I don’t care anymore. I am pleading with my parents.

Why couldn’t we be happy? What did I do wrong? What happened to the family I’m supposed to have, the one where you smile and laugh and care about me? Don’t you know that I’ve spent my entire life trying to be a perfect daughter to you? Don’t you know how hard that’s been? Don’t you care?

Pain flashes through my mother’s eyes. Her eyes tear up and, for some reason, that’s making me cry. But I can’t do anything about the flow of tears, except for hate myself for being so weak, for letting down my image, for ruining it all. The police are taking me somewhere. My feet are moving, but I don’t feel it. In fact, I don’t feel anything. My body feels numb, and I can’t seem to think, and my face is wet with tears.

 

Joey: A Reason

The girl in front of me was hysterical and crying. And, of course, I was the one who was told to go take her to another room and talk to her. I hardly know the kid. What was I supposed to say to her?

“Hi, Eden.”

She looks up at me. The way she’s crying, and trying not to cry at the same time, almost makes me break out in tears.

“I’m Joey. You an’ I can talk a bit, alright?”

The girl is having these strange movements where she sucks up her breath and tries not to cry, and then lets the tears and air back out a few moments later when she runs out of breath.

“It’s okay. You can cry. I can wait to talk to you.”

The girl shakes her head and keeps going. My heart was gonna mush up and melt if she kept goin’.

“Ya know, yer mom had a rough childhood, too.”

Maybe this is a shock to the girl, because she chokes on her tears and hiccups. Or maybe she just coincidentally choked on her tears at that time.

“Your mama wasn’t rich like you, Eden. She didn’t get everythin’ she wanted. And her parents didn’ let her do anythin’ she wanted. See, she wanted to be an artist. And her parents wanted her to be a doctor. They controlled her life. She’s just tryin’ to give you free rein of your life, Eden.”

She didn’t believe me. Of course. The kid had grown up basically on her own, believing her parents just didn’t like her, and now I was giving her a reason for that pain? Of course, the kid was bewildered.

“It’s true. She told me. Go ask her yourself.”

I glance at Eden’s mother, who was standing in the corner, hoping to get rid of the crying kid before my heart turned into Jello.

 

Eve: Quiet Room

I snuck into the corner of the room and listened to the officer talk to the kid. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t even get the guts to talk to my own daughter. The officer was telling Eden what I should have been explaining to her, the duty that I had neglected. I watched my daughter cry, heart-wrenching sobs in a quiet room, and the memories that I worked so hard to bury resurfaced. Proudly showing my parents a painting of them. Telling them I wanted to be an artist. Feeling so happy. Finding the painting, ripped, in the trash can. Being told that painting wasn’t a good job. Crying silent tears over unsolvable math problems, heart-wrenching sobs alone in a quiet room.

The officer looked over at me, and I walked over to my daughter, tears leaking from my eyes before I could stop them.

 

Eden: Dreams

“I’m so sorry,” she told me. She was crying, too. Now, and I’m a mess.

“I thought you would be better off without me. Without me holding you back. I thought you could be free. So I couldn’t break your dreams.”

I looked into her eyes, and I saw pain. Unforgotten. Hidden away.

“Dreams?” I asked. “Dreams? My dream was to be loved by you. To be cared by you. To be enough to deserve you. My dream was to know you.”

She broke down in tears again.

“I thought that if I left you the money…”

I took a 20 dollar bill from my pocket with a look of utmost hatred. I ripped it in half. Then I ripped those pieces in half again. And again. And again. And then I stomped on the pieces.

“Money can’t buy love.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

She pulled me into her arms. For some reason, I was not struggling to get out of them because, although this woman has ruined my life, I love her more than anything.

And, as if she was reading my thoughts, she said, “I love you so much, darling. I love you so much, it hurts.”

And we were both crying into each other’s shoulders, not sure anymore who is comforting who. Just a mother and daughter who shared painful memories and broken dreams, letting out the hurt in the form of tears.

“Why does Daddy hate me?” I looked away, half-dreading the answer.

“Oh, honey. Daddy doesn’t hate you. He’s afraid. He’s afraid that somehow he would hurt you. He’s afraid, like I was. Afraid that we wouldn’t be good enough parents for you. That we’d do something wrong. He thought you were so beautiful, so perfect, when you were born. He didn’t want to mess it up. So he just drank and drank to try and forget about his duty that he was too scared to face.”

There was a silence. I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered that my eyes will be bloated by next morning. Mommy looked me in the eyes, and said she won’t care if my eyes are the size of cantaloupes by morning. And, for the first time in ages, we were both laughing so hard that our stomachs hurt.

 

Adam: A Little Different

Eden came to school for the first time in three days. Her hair was in pigtails, which was an interesting change, ‘cause she usually keeps it down. And she was wearing a baseball cap. I wonder what happened at the police station because her eyes are bloated (which they never are), but she seems a lot more cheerful. She even started dancing to the music that was playing in the recess yard. She’s a pretty good dancer.

Anyways, I’m glad she’s not in jail or anything. Not like she would do anything to be put there. She seems a little different from before, but I can’t really say how. Either way, she’s still my crush. How can she not be?

 

Joey: Pink Pansies and Roses

Eden came today to check on her dad, and stopped by my office to thank me for taking care of him. We chatted a bit, now that my heart wasn’t threatening to turn into mush. She’s a nice kid, especially since she wasn’t rippin’ up dollar bills all over the place. She seems a whole lot more cheerful since last week. I guess she and her mom worked things out all right. Glad I didn’t have to do it. She was lookin’ around at all my picture frames, askin’ a million questions about the people in them. Kids are annoying when they ask questions, especially to a busy police officer. But at least it was a nice change from the Barbie doll in the back of my car.

At that moment, Eden was tellin’ me about how people with the name Joey just couldn’t possibly be unfriendly, and it was just how the name worked. I don’t do well when flattered, so I was nodding awkwardly, hoping she would change the subject. As kids do, something else caught her eye quickly. I craned my neck to see what it was. It was a bright pink vase filled with a nice assortment of pink pansies and roses, all tied with a purple bow. It contrasted drastically with the rest of my office.

Seeing the question in her eye, I blushed and told her as professionally as possible in that situation, “I got a girlfriend. She likes pink.” I grinned, despite my efforts not to. And Eden grinned back.

 

Why Reading is Worth the Time

“When Warren Buffett was once asked about the key to success, he pointed to a stack of nearby books and said, ‘Read 500 pages like this every day. That’s how knowledge works.’” Warren Buffett is a business magnate, investor, and one of the richest people in the world. Many of the most successful people in the world are great readers, including Buffet, Gates, Winfrey, and Musk, but success isn’t the only benefit of reading. Reading is also an important habit that is necessary for gaining optimum information. Books are a peaceful way of learning and connecting with the world and are very enjoyable with tea in bed. Not only is reading entertaining, but it increases your knowledge, imagination on the world, and enhances the well-being of the brain.

Reading should be a habit because it is resourceful. Because books contain such a wide variety of genres, there is a lot to learn from them. They are easily accessible from the library and bookstores. Having reading as a habit also makes people’s brains automatically pick up good vocabulary words and smart phrases. This shows that books even improve the way people talk. Books are also a great substitute to computers and other electronic devices for retrieving information. Although the internet may be faster and easier, an overdose of screen time can damage your eyes and weaken them. Books however, can be used longer without getting tired, and can be easily marked. A paper titled The Relation Between Television Exposure and Theory of Mind Among Preschoolers was published in November 2013 in the Journal of Communication. It was found that preschoolers who are exposed to lots of TV have a “weaker understanding of other people’s beliefs and desires, and reduced cognitive development.” Additionally, technology is highly overused by people, resulting in sleep deprivation and tired eyes. Books mostly control the amount people work. When it gets dark, people get the message that it is time to rest. Overall, everyone should read because they would learn a lot without getting too tired.

Reading should also be a daily ritual because it increases imagination. Albert Einstein stated that imagination is even more important than information because it allows us to invent or discover new things. Reading is a big key to this, for it gains both information and imagination. Specifically, fantasy books, such as Harry Potter, may influence children that anything is possible. Neil Gaiman, an author, stated that books are the future, and that reading is extremely influential. In other words, other’s thoughts, opinions, and discoveries influence more creative books which is a process that slowly increases humanity’s knowledge as a whole. Reading can even connect people. Books come in all languages and is international. Some books, such as Where the Red Fern Grows or Mockingjay, can evoke extreme emotion as the characters go through pain, envy, and heartbreak. Such deep books can even shed light on reality. This proves that books can influence gratefulness. As a result, books should be read because it increases awareness and information.

Primarily, reading should be done for enjoyment. Although learning may seem like extra work, most people do not realize that while they read for fun, they are gaining vocabulary and writing techniques through the sentences. The number of people that read for pleasure is decreasing because of the changing world of technology. According to TIME, the amount of books people read for pleasure had dropped “significantly in the past 30 years. In 1984, 8% of 13-year-olds and 9% of 17-year-olds said they ‘never’ or ‘hardly ever’ read for pleasure. In 2014, that number had almost tripled, to 22% and 27%.” The inky papers are being replaced with dreary video games, such as Minecraft, and online junk, when fun learning can be gained. However, that only gives more of a need to read. All in all, reading is an engaging and purposeful activity.

Finally, reading improves the health of the brain. Specifically, it improves the function of the complex organ on different levels. Researchers in Atlanta scanned the brains of 21 undergraduate students while they rested, then asked them to read sections of a thriller novel as a nightly ritual for five consecutive days. The scans revealed “heightened connectivity within the students’ brains on the mornings following the reading assignments. The areas with enhanced connectivity included the area of the brain associated with language comprehension, as well as the area associated with sensations and movement.” Furthermore, reading increases the chances of a more stable brain during old age. One research study published in the online journal, Neurology, had 294 patients who passed away at the age of 89. The study showed that “those who engaged in mentally stimulating activities, such as reading, earlier and later on in life experienced slower memory decline compared to those who didn’t. People who exercised their minds later in life had a 32 percent lower rate of mental decline compared to their peers with average mental activity.” This means that reading helps maintain a steady memorization capacity, which could be helpful during old age. Ultimately, reading should be done to strengthen the noggin.

To conclude, reading should be done by everyone for comfort, inspiration, and knowledge. Although many people take the easy path of surfing the web, the internet is a confusing and distracting thing that is not too reliable when counting on information. Books, however, are much less distracting, are usually checked for accurate information, and keep your eyes healthy. Reading is an escape from reality that encourages the gain of intelligence. The book Mazerunner was pretty good because, although it had a decent amount of dystopian features, it teaches the reader that exact goals may not always be achieved but something will always be gained from the experience. Unfortunately, screens are even taking over books, and the newest technologies have reading apps and Kindles. Even if reading may not be someone’s style, they should try it once in awhile, even though they may be using Kindles. Kindles are not the best option for reading, but it is better than not reading at all. Hopefully they will enjoy the first experience and decide to read more often.

 

Nur. Is. Nothing.

Meet Nur. Nur is nothing. Nur is a figment of your imagination. You don’t care about Nur. No one cares about Nur, not even Nur himself. The funny thing about Nur is that he looks like something. He is nothing, but he looks like something. Crazy, right? Nur has a circular head that looks kind of like a clear fruit loop. He has a slim, triangular body with a black stripe across it. Is this hard to picture? It is very hard to describe nothing, even when nothing looks like something.

So Nur is nothing, and he hates that. But his hatred is kind of empty, you know? He is nothing, so he can’t really feel anything. He just kind of feels a crust of something, get it? Being nothing, Nur takes up no space and all of the space in your brain at once. He is never there, but always there.

One day, Nur is doing nothing in your brain, the regular. He tries to amuse himself, but finds it impossible, because he is nothing. Out of the blue, or maybe, for Nur’s sake, I should say, “out of the clear.” Nur can’t really see colors. He can’t see at all, really. Okay, so, out of the clear, a flower sprouts in your brain. Right in front of Nur. Blinded by his nothingness, Nur can sense that the flower is smiling, and bouncing, and having a jolly old time. He can also hear that the flower is singing, belting its seedy little heart out. I know, I know, it’s weird that Nur can hear but can’t see. It’s complicated, but I’ll try to explain.

All of the music and sound and noises that squelch out of your brain take up all the space in your head. Nur and all his nothingness take up all the space in your head at the same time, so the noises kind of become him. They consume him, which is why he can hear. Okay, so this flower, this jolly, bouncing, infuriatingly happy flower, awakens something new inside of him. Why can’t he be happy, and this yuppie, millennial, hipster flower can? This flower was just conceived right now, and all of a sudden, it gets to be happy. Nur has been alive for eons, and he has never been happy at all. He has just been nothing.

Suddenly, a machine gun bubbles up out of one of your brain cells. The machine gun is small and boring and gray and truly nothing to write home about, but Nur knows. Nur has this inexplicable feeling that having this machine gun would make him incredibly happy. He must get his hands on this machine gun. He must feel happy. The only problem is the flower blocking his path. He is nothing, so he can’t get past the flower. Nur is in hysterics by this time.

Ah! Nur suddenly has a record breaking idea. Nur takes up none of the space in your brain but all of it at the same time, right? So Nur is technically right next to the machine gun. Nur, the incredible! Yes! He foils the almighty brain yet again. Nur’s nothingness surrounds the machine gun, putting pressure on the trigger. A bullet is released, and Nur evaporates into nothing.

 

Psychologist

As I sit on the dull gray chair, the distant drone of an old AC stops every so often. Just beyond the small, barred window is a cat that scavenges on the littered pavement. Staring at the glossy tile floor, the blurry reflection of deja vu stares back at me. I look away. Closely observing my curious behavior is a woman with piercing, green eyes and long, frizzy hair. Her pale hands tap rhythmically on a blank, white notepad. She asks me to share my thoughts even though she knows I won’t. I can’t. I look down. Down to the secluded darkness that isolates me from the rest of reality. The girl. The sweet, innocent girl who was taken away from me. The girl with the small, doughy hands, hopelessly crying for help. Papa, Papa. Over and over again. Papa, Papa. But time has run out.  Now, the woman with the pale hands comforts me. She tells me that I’m different, that it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t control what happened to the girl. Papa, Papa. The woman gives me a picture. A man. I recognize him. Papa, Papa. I hear the girl shouting my name, but I can’t do anything. This man in the picture, he killed her. Who is he? Who is the man who took the girl with the small, doughy hands away from me?

“You.”

 

And if She Sins

They were sitting in her kitchen, at the small, round table set Jillian had just bought at the thrift store that afternoon. The white paint chipped to show undercurrents of rusting metal and dirt, but Jillian didn’t mind, she enjoyed playing with bumps and bruises. Camilla’s fingers interlaced around the mug of coffee she wouldn’t drink as she peered outside the window that faced the brick exterior of a shorter, renovated building. Her cheeks were hollow, and her collarbones poked through her shirt, but she glowed with a newfound contentment that refreshed her features nonetheless. She knew what she had done, and that she was okay. Really, she was just fine. She had always been one to easily persuade herself of opinions she wished to hold. Her feelings were minute anyway to her clumsy, toppling, but overwhelmingly present thoughts, so she never had qualms about planting morals through twisted logic. As Camilla stared at the monotonous brick outside the narrow window, she saw a small, green plant writhing out of the rooftop, skinny but completely visible. The corners of her lips dragged unwillingly towards the ceiling into a grand smile as she tapped her overgrown fingernails into the mug rhythmically.

“Would you quit it?” Jillian spat.

She was picking the skin off her nails at an alarming rate. Spots of blood marked the napkin by her elbow, resting on the unfortunate table. Jillian was raised in a less graceful manner than Camilla. Her slight wrists seemed harsh and rigid as she carried herself with a certain natural tightness that engrossed her whole demeanor. It was as if she was in an eternal flinch. She was always prepared to duck and bend her body to avoid damage. She had attempted to correct this manner with her nonchalant tone, that danced with any inappropriate remark, and a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes that she made absolutely certain dangled from her lips so loosely, it almost always fell out. Her clothes hung loosely off her slender body, but despite her insistence on casualty, she only shopped at lavish retailers where a white cotton T-shirt would cost upwards of $60. She did this not to boast of her wealth — she had virtually nothing — but to be among delicacy and worth to perhaps elevate her own. Unlike Camilla, who was raised in a family who sent out Christmas cards each year, she was a victim of passionate emotions and had a secret affinity for the melodramatic.

When they had been assigned roommates at their liberal arts school out in California as freshmen, merely because they both were from big east coast cities, they fought about nearly all issues roommates could possibly endure. Yet, their rants were punctuated with similar passive-aggressive jabs until they realized they were truly perfectly matched. They had been inseparable since, until two months prior to the second semester term on a Saturday night, when they had maimed a girl.

Camilla began to pick through a magazine with minimal interest. Jillian let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes?” Camilla asked blankly, her eyes fixed on an article on the importance of completely renewing your wardrobe every six months.

“I don’t know,” Jillian said, slouching back into the chair, with something very clearly on her mind.

Knowing of Jillian’s desire to be probed, Camilla touched her finger to her tongue to flip the page once again. “Alright,” she resigned.

“Well, you can’t just sit here and pretend to be unaffected or whatever, okay? I’m not gonna take it,” Jillian stared pointedly at Camilla, who was onto the most daring runway fashions of the year. “You’re being childish, frankly, and I don’t see a reason for us not to talk about it like adults, or whatever we are.”

At this, Camilla snapped the magazine shut and set it on the table. A few golden locks that had fallen out of her ponytail made their way gingerly into her eyelashes, and she tucked them back behind her ear.

“Adults?” she repeated. “Barely. You can’t go around dragging people by their necks and be mad when they’ve learned how to handle it –” she pushed the strands that had untucked back again, “so you can enjoy your ‘intense sense of justice’ and ‘heated emotions’ and whatnot, and pretend to care about that bitch because I sure as hell won’t.”

Jillian was slightly taken aback. Though profanities took up a large slot in her vocabulary, Camilla had rarely let curse words rush so coarsely out from her mouth. Her mother had made the act of cleaning her mouth out with a bar of soap commonplace in their household. It startled Jillian even more that it was being used against the girl least deserving of all.

“That bitch?” she asked, alarmed.

“Well, what do you want me to call her? She always seemed fake. I know I’m practically forced to now, but I just don’t like her. Never did.”

“Bullshit. You like her more than you like me even,” Jillian remarked matter-of-factly, a tone Camilla found detestable. “You’re lying to yourself.”

Jillian now had three years to learn that Camilla was more malleable than clay. If circumstances changed, she almost always changed along with it and had no problem doing so. It was in sharp contrast to her high level of intellect or, maybe, perfect correlation. She knew better than to get caught up in one stance, even if it meant having an identity.

Camilla rolled her eyes in frustration, “Listen, I’m not lying to myself. I didn’t like her. I don’t like her. I don’t have to because I didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t either.”

She picked up the flimsy magazine again and, this time, pretended to marvel at the advertisements. Jillian, on the other hand, could’ve had a flame lit under her chair, for she was practically jumping out. She gripped onto the arm rests with both hands and shifted her weight forwards, looking at Camilla with such unkempt fury that when Camilla darted her eyes to catch a glimpse, her eyebrows knitted together in momentary surprise before she composed herself again a second later.

“You’re just sitting here in your stupid puddle of arrogance and pretend like you’re not at fault at all!” Jillian exclaimed. She shook her head, “I can’t believe you. You’re acting like your mom, you know that? You’re fucking unbelievable.”

With that, Camilla’s neck snapped up in attention. Her mother, a safe distance away in a cemetery in Chicago, was her biggest and, practically, only fear. She had tortured Camilla with judgemental side-glances and responses of no more than two sentences throughout her entire childhood. She had one time infamously poked Camilla’s small arm, when she was but ten years old, and told her shrewdly that she was thinner at her age.

Jillian quickly backed up. Her own mother smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and spent her nights on an old, tattered couch watching movies of rich, gorgeous women who she pretended to be. She would return from her job, sitting in the toll booth on the highway, watching cars and people zoom in and out of existence, and smearing her lips with red lipstick she had bought in 1987. She’d apply mascara and a dash of perfume, put on her fanciest dress with her pearls, and plop down on the couch to watch glamour through a 25” screen. On nights when Jillian couldn’t sleep — which was nearly all of them — she would often imagine walking through the doors of her single-floor home to find that her mother had taken her near-absence one level deeper and had truly fled. She’d seen her mother’s wardrobe brimming with all she had accumulated in her life, save for the dress, the pearls, and her makeup bag. The image of her mother on a flight to Hollywood in her silly dress with an eternal smile plastered on her face provided Jillian with a rush of comfort or perhaps relief — she couldn’t quite place it. But of course, each time Jillian called, her mother had picked up the telephone she kept right at the foot of the couch and coughed out a rasp, “Who’s this?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t even want to go that Saturday night in the first place. All I’m saying is that you can’t say we didn’t do anything. She didn’t just trip or whatever.”

Jillian pulled a cigarette from out of the backpack lounging under her chair. She clasped it between her lips tightly at first, then remembered her adjustments and loosened her grip. She cupped her bony hand over the lighter out of habit and drew in the smoke.

“I don’t know, maybe. We were there, and I was screaming at her kind of loudly, I guess. I didn’t mean to, I was just caught up in it and all. And then she was… it just kind of happened,” Camilla’s elegant stance got lost just as her words did, and she seemed to almost concave into herself.

It was as if someone had hit her square in the stomach, and her spine drew the letter c to avoid it. For a moment, she remembered Emma’s body mangled in the bike rack. The spot her head had hit was blue and purple, and blood rained down her skin, marring her beauty with terror and gore that somehow enhanced her features at the same time. Her body was so small, and the blood seemed to swallow her whole. Camilla’s hands shook, and they grasped either arm above the elbows, and her fingernails dug into her soft, pale skin.

She regained composure after only seconds. “Hey, would you quit it? I’m not ready to die of lung cancer,” she waved her hand in front of her face to emphasize her point.

“That’s just what they say to scare you. Stop being a baby,” Jillian pinched it out and flicked the cigarette to the ground anyways.

She had witnessed Camilla’s small break but wasn’t prepared to internalize it. Camilla’s icy blue eyes that had melted slightly in the momentary rush of anxiety, cooled once more.

“Do you think Emma will tell them we were there?”

“Shit doesn’t just happen to you. We weren’t ‘there.’ We made it happen. Maybe we deserve to be told on,” Jillian said, and resumed to pick at the skin on her fingernails.

A new spot of blood was added to the napkin. Camilla narrowed her eyes and peered back at Jillian.

“Don’t say that. Seriously, no we don’t. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Cami, we pushed her. Hard, okay? Her head slammed into that bike rack! We need to… to…” she was frantic now, “… to acknowledge that or something! Do something!”

In her exasperation, she had moved the table two inches away from her, towards Camilla. Camilla pushed it back harshly. “God, I can’t take your flimsy morals and opinions anymore, okay?! I was the one who was closer with her. You said it yourself. You barely even liked her! You don’t want to be responsible for this the rest of your life,” she exclaimed in anger.

She had a strong sense that Jillian’s cries were insincere.

“Cause she was acting so fake all year! I said it, okay? But that doesn’t mean we can go knocking her head into bike racks and just running, accident or not!” Jillian added, “You’re such a child that you can’t seem to understand that.”

“Maybe I choose not to. Maybe you’re the child.”

They stared at each other. They knew every silent quirk and whim about each other, but the shadow of an injured girl loomed between them and erased them all to the point of incoherence. Camilla didn’t care for repair. She was fine being on her own and had made a gaggle of friends more similar to her. She thought them all quite impetuous, with vacuous laughs that always came after a very unfunny quip. But no matter, she liked them well enough, and Jillian resided permanently in the gray area, a position Camilla refused to even flirt with.

Jillian had always been drawn to logic but failed to ever utilize it. She had never had someone like Camilla, an almost perpetual ground that stood firm. She loved it. She wanted to absorb it in a way, eat it, and have a permanent stream of Camilla’s concrete conscience within her. But, after all, she was too stringent, and Jillian was fond of breaking the rules. She almost always felt it was necessary.

They stared at each other. They knew they needed each other.

“You’re right. We can’t visit her. It’s too risky. She’ll remember it was us,” Jillian said.

Emma was a nice girl, both Jillian’s and Camilla’s least favorite adjective. She had golden hair that fell near to the middle of her back in waves. She was a talented dancer and always seemed to move her body lyrically. Her mother had been a ballerina but stopped when she had Emma’s older brother. Her family was very close-knit, and Emma spent some nights on the phone with her mother, telling her about the essay on sixteenth-century European art she had to complete by Friday, or about the boy who kissed her but didn’t answer her calls the next day. Emma’s mother would listen, and probably even nod in understanding, at the other end of the line.

The three of them became close friends last Spring semester. Emma was in Jillian’s French class, and the two of them had went for drinks one night where they met Camilla. The conversation never left trivial matters, but Camilla and Jillian didn’t need it to. Jillian liked Emma but couldn’t help but see the obvious air of privilege that wrapped around her daintily. She was happy and had people there in case she wasn’t. To Jillian’s dismay, she wasn’t even dumb or simple; she spoke from a place of intelligence, having read a wide variety of books that ranged from Dostoevsky to Kafka to Kerouac. Albeit a kindness that was often too urgent it seemed disingenuous, she was a ruthless cynic when circumstances provided its necessity. Sometimes, manipulative remarks fell so crassly from her mouth, one would be momentarily stunned, or even blinked twice, as if to clear their vision and make sure their senses were working correctly. She had an athletic build, and her reddish-blonde hair softened her pretty features to the point where she appeared as nothing but harmless. Camilla liked that Emma didn’t get too attached to anything. She even admired her for it. Yet, she would often say how Emma seemed a bit self-centered, making comments to Jillian like, “I mean, you told her, but she probably didn’t care to listen,” or, “she always assumes they’re talking to her.” But the three of them were friends that shrieked in excitement when they learned they would room together the following year.

On a Saturday night, the three of them went to a party at a senior’s apartment. Emma was on the phone with her mother at their dorm before when Jillian widened her eyes at her to indicate that they had to hurry to make it on time. When she turned to the door again, she rolled her eyes in frustration, muttering “bitch” for only Camilla to hear. Camilla laughed and the two headed out the door, Emma falling in a few steps later.

They danced and drank rum mixed with anonymous soda when they arrived a few minutes later. This was convenient for Camilla and Jillian when the paramedics smelled the alcohol on Emma’s breath a few hours later and blamed everything on “a drunken stumble.”

After they had left the apartment, three hours and four shots each later, they laughed as they stumbled down the street. Jillian had to pause every three minutes to yank her flimsy, velvet jacket back over her shoulders, so Camilla and Emma would mindlessly skip further ahead, heads tilted back in the laughter one could only experience with a damaged liver after a night of little to no control. Their entire bodies shook with this roaring happiness that seemed to engulf them completely. It was astonishing that their legs still managed to keep them upright without collapse.

When Jillian caught up to them, the invincible vitality had shattered. Camilla was screaming about her mother.

“Hey! Whadduyou mean?” Camilla’s words slurred out of her mouth. “Don’t say that! She’s a bitch, and guess what? Y’know what?” She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, truly wishing her to guess, “So are you!”

“What’s going on?” Jillian asked, pulling up her jacket once again.

She really shouldn’t have wasted her paycheck on it. The velvet wasn’t even real.

“Don’t look at me. I just asked her why she never spoke to her mom or something like that,” Emma said defensively.

There was a frantic tone to her voice that her words came out as if they were one. She had never seen Camilla in such disorder, and it frightened her. She was a people-pleaser on top of everything else, and she was very unaccustomed to this kind of eruption, especially from such a reliable source of reason.

“Not everyone is so fucking cute all the time! Grow up!” Camilla was nearly incoherent at this point.

She had stepped closer to Emma and even took the liberty of sticking up her polished finger, poking her square in the chest. Emma pushed her back slightly, merely to get her away for a moment. She was stifled by Camilla’s overwhelming anger and looked at her face, her eyes wild and confused. But to Jillian, who hadn’t been too fond of their growing relationship, it seemed Emma was becoming aggressive.

“What the fuck, Em?” Jillian shouted.

She pushed her back, a bit harder than the initial shove, but nothing harrowing. Jillian was surprised with herself. She had never been violent. She was, in fact, adamantly opposed to the act as she had seen what it had done to her mother. But, to her discomfort, it gave her an odd sense of stability and power that she realized she’d perhaps been craving. Emma gasped at this strike, and her shock registered plainly on her face as her mouth formed a wide O-shape, and her usually delicate eyes sharpened. She stumbled back a bit, and Camilla, whose unwarranted rage had been accumulating beside them, threw her tired arms into Emma’s chest with just a bit too much might, increasing her stumble into a spiral as she cursed.

Jillian screamed for a moment in horror and utter surprise. Emma had fallen three feet back as her body, already loose in a drunken stupor, gave in to the blow. Her head slammed into the unforgiving metal bike rack that an elderly professor had built out of consideration to the underclassmen who weren’t allowed cars on campus.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if her right eye hadn’t hit the large winding screw poking out.

She slumped down, her body in a very unnatural position, and lay completely still.

Jillian stood there, too afraid to move, her figure rigid as it was truly meant to be. She then whipped her head towards Camilla, whose arms were still out in mid-shove, but her elbows bent slightly, as if broken or interrupted.

Jillian grabbed Camilla by her slender wrist and took her as she ran as far as she possibly could.

“Definitely too risky,” Camilla agreed, leaning back in the white chair. She faltered for a moment. “You don’t feel guilty?” she questioned cautiously.

Jillian fluttered her lips and swallowed the large, wretched rock that had been making itself increasingly present in her throat, “I mean I did, but whatever. She pushed you first anyways, remember?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess she kinda did,” Camilla nodded, and picked up the magazine once more, the look of contentment resurfacing through her features.

“And she always acted like she was above us, did you notice that?” Jillian reached over and grabbed up the bloody napkin.

She stood up, bent down to pick up the cigarette she had flicked away earlier, and tossed them in the garbage can.

“Exactly, and her family always treated her like a goddamn princess. It definitely got to her head,” Camilla rifled through the glossy pages, stopping at an article on dyeing your hair without exposing the roots.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Jillian said, her arms swinging lazily as she walked towards the hall.

She wrapped her white towel tightly around her torso.

“Okay,” Camilla said, “I’ll be here.”

As Jillian left to wash herself of whatever she possibly could, Camilla looked back through the narrow window and let her eyes fall once again on the escapist green plant. She felt an unparalleled warmth flood over her, and a smile tugged at her lips once again as she read on.

 

Thinking About Boxes

Pushing is very interesting, if you think about it. It is either hard or easy, or it depends on what you’re pushing. If you happen to be a stronger person, then what you’re pushing seems lighter when it isn’t. Or maybe it isn’t the pushing that’s interesting. Maybe it’s the people that make it interesting.

I bet most people think pushing is a boring task, but it really isn’t. You also might think of pushing differently, depending on what you’re pushing. For example, if you’re pushing something you really like, you might like pushing more.

I happen to be pushing something right now, at this very moment, and it happens to be very interesting. It is a giant, humongous, super heavy, unbelievable box. We have to get it there in a few minutes, so I really should be more paranoid. We still have to push a few more boxes there.

You might think that boxes are interesting to push. On the whole, they really aren’t. If the thing inside the box that is being pushed is interesting, then, of course, that would be completely different. But if you are pushing a box, and that box has a lot of empty space in it, are you also pushing the thing inside the box? Because the thing inside the box is also moving.

However, pushing means exerting force to move something, typically with your hand on it. So, are you actually pushing the thing inside, or just the box? Are you pushing the whole thing? For example, if you are pushing a person, are you also pushing the parts inside of a person?

Now, I’m nervous. We are at least five minutes late. Based on where we are, we aren’t getting there for another ten minutes. Running with boxes is much harder than it seems. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. Late means taking longer, spending more time, being here for longer. Nobody wants to push boxes past dusk. We have about twenty minutes until dusk.

Time is interesting. We let it completely run our lives. It’s quite funny, actually. We do everything in our lives, consciously or subconsciously, based on something that doesn’t stay consistent on the earth. For example, in one place right now, dusk has already happened. In others, dusk is hours away. For such a long time, our entire existence is run on time. How much time has passed? How much time until this or that happens? What time is it now? When does time stop mattering? When can we just say that we exist right now, and that’s what matters?

It’s not just us. Plants are also based on time. Or did we just base them on time? How long until they grow? How long does it take from the time they were planted in the ground to when you can first see the signs of life?

Now, we’re here. We’re about twenty minutes late. All the light is gone. The box guy, as I call him, is pacing in front of us. He is angry. We are late, we are slow, we now must finish the rest of boxes in the dark. His lips are moving, and I can kind of hear his words, but my only thought is that he uses the royal we.

The royal we is the use of “we” instead of “I” by an individual person. It is self-importance that typically makes them do this. Self-important people often have no reason to be self-important. One issue with self-important people is that they often haven’t achieved anything to make them feel this way. Most people think they have a small ego, but those people have the biggest egos, and they pretend to be modest even though they clearly are not.

Self-importance also comes from status. For example, if you are, say, running a business and there are 12 people working for you, wouldn’t you automatically think yourself more important? And then, pretend one of those 12 people is challenging your authority. Would you let them, or would exert your self-importance, and the royal we, and say “no?”

We are almost done. One more load, and then we’re done. Then everybody goes home, wherever home is. Some people leave town, and others don’t. We all go to different places at the end of the day. But in the morning, we’re always back pushing boxes.

Home is different for all people. Some people say home is where you live, while others say that they are vagabonds. Home is a matter of opinion. If you ask someone where their home is, they might not say where they live. They might say a completely different place. The actual definition of home is where you live, typically permanently. But, what if your mind lives in a different place then your body? Is your home where your mind wants you to be, or where you actually are?

The boxes are different today. The boxes are smaller, and there are many more of them. The boxes have extra room in them. There usually isn’t any. I wonder what’s inside, but we are on an absolutely 100% need-to-know basis. And we don’t need to know. Ever. I really want to open the box.

The one I’m carrying right now is even opening a little bit. I can’t. I just can’t. I’m banned from opening a box. We all are. What’s the point to us? We’re just pushing them, aren’t we? But, what are we pushing? I’ve never thought about it before. I really want to know now. I need to know.

Temptation is the desire to do something, especially something wrong or unwise. Temptation is hard to resist. You never need the thing you are tempted to have. You just know you must have it. You must do it. There aren’t any questions. It’s the end of discussion.

I think I’m supposed to feel guilty. Or look weird. Guilty because I stole the box. Weird because I put it in my pocket. I don’t think most people have stolen cube-shaped boxes in their pockets. So far, only two people have given me weird looks. I know at least one of them knows I took a box. I don’t know if I should ask her to not say anything or just pretend I didn’t do anything. This is by far the scariest thing I’ve done in the five years I’ve been here.

Fear means being afraid that something might hurt or harm you in any way. Fear is scary. Fear is being scared. Everybody is scared of something or has feared something before. Depending on the person, different people have different levels of fear.

I don’t need to choose. She comes up to me and asks me about the box. Why did I take it? What was I going to do with it? Did I care about the contents? Did I know the contents? I didn’t have answers.

“Alexa Roberts, I expected better of you. You’ve been here,” the box guy looks down at his list, “five years now, haven’t you? I knew you were probably tricked into doing this. This isn’t like you. So, I’m going to give you a warning. If you take another box, you’re leaving. If you leave Raina, you’re leaving. If you stop for any reason, you’re leaving. Also, remember the power I have. Remember what I did for you. Remember.”

The last word is like a whisper, but I still know exactly what he’s talking about. He influenced a lot of things that were related to me. The only condition was me not leaving. I can’t leave this place. It is my home. It’s the only place I can be.

Restrictions. Restriction means a limiting condition or measure. Restrictions are rules. Most people hate restrictions. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Self-restrictions are different. There is no such thing as breaking the rule you made. It happens, but it doesn’t make sense.

For the next few weeks, we keep pushing those small boxes. I’m being watched. I’m no longer trusted. I have went from good to bad. I cannot be trusted. I’m searched after every load. They no longer think of me the same. Everybody is watching. I’m never alone anymore.

The past. The past means the time or period of time before the current moment. The past is history. Some people choose to forget the past, while others choose to remember the past. Constantly reliving. Constantly remembering. Constantly thinking.

I did it! I managed to steal a box! Again! I had slipped it into different people’s pockets throughout the day, and voila! Now, it’s in front of me in my bedroom. My hands are shaking as I reach out to open the flaps. I open it. Inside is a night-blooming cereus.

A night-blooming cereus is also called a moon cereus. They come from a kind of cactus called ceroid cacti. They require a large amount of sunlight, but only bloom at night. The moon cereus only blooms for one night before dying. The bud of the flower gets bigger before it blooms. The moon cereus blooms and dies in one night.

A night-blooming cereus in full bloom is beautiful. This one isn’t in full bloom, and it probably never will be. It won’t have enough sunlight to survive. However, I replant it in a pot just in case. I place it in the sunlight and hope. I hope that it will survive, that there will be enough sunlight. I hope that I will succeed in taking every single moon cereus from the box guy.

The next day, I take a compatible sack. They are these small bags that are bigger on the inside. Throughout the day, I find ways to take more and more boxes. I think I will take a break before anybody gets suspicious.

I’m too late. The box guy is suspicious. I overhear him say, “I bet Alexa Roberts did it. Do you have any more of the moon serum? We need to get the last shipment to her. Vera needs at least two hundred more for the potion. She’s going to kill us if we’re not ready by the blooming again.”

I run before the door opens. This was bad. Moon serum takes the truth out of you, and you can only speak lies. Therefore, everything you say will be reversed into the truth.

I continue my day like nothing had happened. My father had once tried to give me moon serum resistance training. He said that one day, my life would depend on it. I guess it does now.

My father’s life had depended on it. He just hadn’t been able to do it. If you fight the moon serum wrongly, it could be fatal. My father had practiced fighting it every day. He could fight it off in five seconds. Then one day, he did it wrong. He was being interrogated because he was believed to be stealing the sacred moon cereus, the most powerful plant. He fought it wrong. He lasted ten minutes, a new record.

At the end of the day, my sack is full. As I was leaving, the box guy stopped me.

“We have some questions for you, Alexa,” he says.

I stop where I was and try to calm down. He leads me into a room. It isn’t very big. It is really bright, and there is a glass of water on table with two chairs. He sits down on one of the two soft, comfortable chairs. I sit down opposite him.

“Please Alexa, have some water.” his voice is pleasant, as if the water is safe.

The ice in the water looks weird as I pick it up. I drink it as slowly as I can. The slower you drink the easier it is to fight it. When I finish drinking, I drop the glass to the floor before everything became disoriented. I focus on the small shard of glass by my foot. Slowly, everything comes back into focus, but I knew it would be a while before everything should be clear again.

The box guy’s voice cut through moon serum. “This is just a few questions, Alexa. Don’t worry. First question, have you been working here for a hundred years?”

“Yes.” The lie falls out of me. I control my breathing, slow and calm.

“Good. Do you push boxes?”

“No.”

I’m in control now, but I need to wait. He can’t know I’m in control. This is where everybody messes up, holding the control and not letting anybody know. Waiting for the right question.

“How do you feel right now?”

I almost smile. I could laugh right now. “Terrified.”

“Is this fun?”

“No.”

He’s catching on. “Are you in control?”

“Yes.” I always have been.

“Did you steal the boxes?”

“Maybe” I take a deep breath. My control is beginning to slip.

“It’s a yes or no question,” his voice becomes harder. “Did you steal the boxes?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know what’s inside the boxes?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in control?”

“Yes.” I am no longer in control.

“We’re done here. Don’t come back tomorrow.”

I get up, and my legs wobble as I leave the room.

Time can pass slowly or quickly depending on what’s happening.

I replant the rest of the moon cereus late at night. I go to push boxes in the morning, and nobody notices me. We’re back to pushing the big heavy boxes again, and I peek inside and realize there is nothing. They are heavy boxes with nothing inside.

Each night I check on the moon cereus, thinking of where my father had failed and I succeeded. I might be imagining it, but the buds are getting bigger. I check on them a few weeks later. It’s late at night, and we stayed pushing boxes for longer than usual. When I go to check on them, instead of seeing buds, I see flowers, the night-blooming cereus at its best. I stay watching the flowers until morning. One by one, they lose their lives, nobody knowing what their former beauty was except for me.

 

The Sky (A Sestina)

            

The blue

sky shows your heart,

Shows you how to sing,

Lets you speak,

Teaches you to think,

Helps you be you.

 

Sometimes you

might wonder,

Why you are blue,

But remember to think,

Your heart

is yours, so speak

your mind, and always sing

 

Your own song, you must sing

even if it seems insane to you,

And when you speak,

You won’t be blue.

Your heart

will shine once again, freeing you to think.

 

You may think,

You may sing

a different song, but your heart

may not want to listen, may not trust me over you.

But please, don’t let others make you blue.

Don’t be afraid to speak.

 

Never be afraid to speak.

You think

bad things will happen when you speak out, but if you don’t you will stay blue.

Remember to sing.

Sing loudly, let them hear you,

Let them hear your heart.

 

Let your heart,

shine out, let it speak,

Glowing through you,

Ignore what they think,

Just help your heart sing,

Show what you’ve learned from the sky of blue.

 

Right now, don’t think,

Just sing,

And trust in the bright sky, oh so blue.

 

Anxiety

    

I know it’s you,

I can always tell,

when you show up at my door,

and lean on the bell.

 

As I reach to turn the knob,

I want to turn away,

refuse you entry

and go on with my day.

 

But I know from experience

that, if I lock my doors,

you’ll rattle my windows

And shake my floors.

 

Too soon, the glass will break.

Was there ever any doubt

you’d get in and show me

it was foolish to keep you out?

 

You’ll break all the dishes,

scatter clothes across the lawn,

leave my house one big mess

I’m left to clean up when you’re gone.

 

There’s no way to ward you off,

I know that by now,

so I welcome you as honored guest

and before you I bow.

 

A Man-made World

                       

My breath leaves clouds on the small window,

Dissipating to reveal fluffy clouds outside,

The wing of the airplane in which I sit.

 

Below those clouds, the ground is a patchwork,

A carefully cultivated quilt of orderly green squares,

All the same, like they were made in a factory.

 

I doze off as the blanket below grows boring,

Settling into the kind of monotonous patter only man can create.

My head bumps softly against the window.

 

When I wake, the scene has changed.

The plane has passed through the gates of Eden,

To a wild, untampered land, unmarked by Adam or Eve.

 

The snowy peaks of a vast mountain range spread out below,

Wild as white-capped waves on a rough and windy sea,

So bright I have to shield my eyes.

 

But wait, could that be? Yes —

A chairlift,

A stain of civilization on even this wintry scene.

 

River’s Tale

My name is River. My mother named me. Throughout my fifth year, I have traveled across what felt like the world. I used to live by the ocean in a tribe called Mist. Since the time I was adopted to Amethyst by Mrs. Moonstone, I felt like a part of something. But in order to understand that, you must know my horrible introduction.

I lived with my parents, who appeared to be stable at the time. What I did not know was that my parents were bonded by drugs. My father was like fire, and my mother was water. I guess my mom didn’t have it in her to put him out before it was too late. I tried very hard to block out my father’s actions. He joined the nearest tribe after my mom split the leaf. Tribes like to be bitter and competitive towards one another. One of the more offensive and humiliating practices that rival tribes commit is a wing skinning. They will rip the first layer of feathers and flesh off your wings. My father used to take me in a wagon around the town and show me off to his lumber partners when he still shared a leaf with my mom. During the splitting, he moved to an enemy tribe, and reflected his anger at my mother by committing crimes. He took extreme measures from the very beginning. He began with wing skinning. Later on, he started murdering the tribe’s decision makers and peacekeepers.

My mother was hoping to save the conversation of death for a year or two. When we would wake up to bodies hanging from the clothesline in the heart of our tribe, she needed to push the conversation immediately. Everyone was fearful for their lives for the first time in years.

His last action was intended to make my mother kill herself. He broke into our house in the middle of the night, tied her to a chair, and pinned me down as he ripped out my wings that were firmly attached to my back, as they were supposed to remain.

My mother burned down our house the next day. The whole tribe would think we died that night. We sprinted through months of forest in days. All I can remember is the upside-down trees, as I was tossed over her shoulder for most of the time. Everything was fine, until we both came down with the flu after a week of travel. I was extra weak, since I was still recovering from two gashes in my back from my fucking father. My mother lay in the grass, and begged the Earth to take her away. I begged her not to leave, but the flowers and trees answered her prayers.

I avoided religion. After my mom’s death, I concluded that it was too powerful. I seemed to magically recover when I accepted my mother’s death. I traveled through trees and brush for weeks, walking and walking. I was found near a tribe called Amethyst. Mrs. Moonstone found me napping in a patch of grass near her fishing spot, and brought me back to the tribe. From there, I was adopted by her. I loved her rose-gold colored hair, her dark green eyes, and her freckles. She spoiled me. Everytime she was mad at me for disobeying the codes, she could not remain upset for more than a few moments.

I met my true family in my caterpillar age of school. Fallie was my first friend and, later, she became a sister. During my first day of school, we learned how to weave baskets. I was so anxious that I hid inside my finished basket. When everyone started to laugh at me, Fallie put her basket over her head, and sat down right next to me. She was always there when fairies would laugh at me for being wingless and call me an elf. Mrs. Moonstone had also adopted a young fairy named Rexel when he was an infant. I was five, and he was almost two years old during my first year living with Mrs. Moonstone. As Rexel grew up, we became great friends. I helped settle his problems at school, because I vividly remember mine from the same age.

When Rexel was in his tenth year and I was in my fourteenth, Candy Brom Star rolled into town. His body and clothes were so detailed. His hair was bright, salmon pink, and puffy. His face reflected indigo in certain lights. He had rosy lips, big, round sunglasses, and he wore outfits that screamed, “Who the fuck are you?” He was rather large for a child as well. Everyday, Candy Brom Star did himself up to look different than the day before. Candy Brom Star’s unique style distanced him from many fairies in Amethyst, but Rexel was drawn to him. At first, I was skeptical about Candy Brom Star. I found it peculiar that Rexel was playing with what looked to be an adult fairy after school everyday. I found out later that Candy Brom Star was one year behind Rexel.

Everything was going pretty well until Mrs. Moonstone became very forgetful. Over time, she forgot our names. Eventually, she could not even leave her bed. I stayed home with her, while Rexel and Candy Brom Star would go out and do who knows what. Candy Brom Star and Rexel were out the day Mrs. Moonstone died. I wanted to find Rexel, but I was afraid that if I left her for a second, I would not be able to say my final goodbye. Rexel is still upset about missing her death to this day. Mrs. Moonstone gave the house to Rexel, but I was supposed to save it for him until he was old enough to legally inherit it. I was fourteen years old, the minimum age to own property.

Candy Brom Star moved in with us because his home was too dangerous. His mother was always selling drugs to fairies and, occasionally, a goblin. She would sell her own spit, which made her a major target. Goblins love their fairy saliva. Goblins are usually nasty creatures with no negotiation skills. It is rare to live near goblins, but the founder of Amethyst must have been unaware of their presence.

We didn’t live by any tribes, which is good and bad. I would know. Tribes cause nothing but tension. There is already plenty of tension within our tribe between the rich and poor. Though, with our goblin problem, it would be helpful to have double the fairies alongside us to fight. The community leaders have decided to stay friendly but distant with goblins. They had posters up on trees all around Amethyst that state the Goblin Trade And Affairs Act. We traded plenty of supplies with goblins, almost half of what we create. But we were not allowed to give them saliva. If any fairies were caught dealing saliva, they were thrown in jail “for the safety of the town.”

It had nothing to do with safety. Those upper class rats don’t want people desperate to make a living walking their streets. I suspected that Candy Brom Star’s mother had a good relationship with a community leader. It’s hard to believe that no one had grown suspicious about goblins showing up at her door, especially since goblin communication is only available during an entire community town hall. In summary, the town was afraid of goblins. They will overpower us. They will kill us. It was an unhealthy relationship, and whenever they come close to declaring war, we basically give them everything we have. They run the town, even if no one will admit it.

Ever since I became our house’s authority, I insisted that Candy Brom Star move in with us for his own safety. After a few months, he accepted that his living situation was too dangerous, and set up his new room in our attic. I knew that taking in Candy Brom Star would come with more responsibilities. I knew that he was trouble, but it didn’t matter what he was as long as his mother was dealing with goblins.

After a few weeks of living with him, I was on the verge of kicking him out. Whenever I would yell at him for making a mess, or bringing rats into the house with his stupid candy stash, he would shrug and grin at me. If I kicked him out, he would be homeless due to the goblins permanently staying with his mom. I wanted to slap her.

Rexel loved Candy Brom Star, but he was also getting very irritated by his habits. He was constantly puffing nutmeg all over the house. Our nutmeg, from our kitchen. The house smelled, and we were both ready to let him go homeless.

And finally, we did. He was actually fine. He found places to stay, but I was still always worried about him. He was family.

***

Today was Rexel’s birthday. We actually had no clue when his real birthday is, but we celebrated on November 3rd. That was the day that Mrs. Moonstone adopted him, and the day he was found under the Forgiving Tree. Its the tree that you leave things you don’t want. It really takes an asshole to leave a baby there. Fallie stopped by with a present for Rexel, but had to leave. Candy Brom Star had arrived an hour ago in a black suit, rainbow colored shoes, and a rainbow tie. He gave Rexel an orange bandana. Rexel thought it was hilarious, but I threw it out because orange was the color of the goblin flag. I bought the biggest cake in the bakery because Rexel had managed to stay out of trouble this year, and he deserved a big ass cake for that.

Rexel and Candy Brom Star were rolling around on the wooden floor when one of the floorboards cracked. Rexel’s leg was stuck in the hole where the floorboard had been. When we managed to pry his foot from the hole, we noticed it was wet. I grabbed a lantern, and we went underneath the house to investigate.

Candy Brom Star shouted, “Holy shit, it’s a pool!”

Rexel firmly held his hand over Candy Brom Star’s mouth until he bit it.

Rexel said through gritted teeth, “You better shut the fuck up. It’s 11:30 at night. You’re going to wake everyone in Amethyst up, and who fucking knows if this thing is legal? We could get kicked out of our own home for this.”

I shone my lantern over it. “Guys, it is. It is a pool.”

Candy Brom Star whispered, “See you on the other side,” and jumped in.

Rexel rolled his eyes. “He’s a moron.”

I stepped in, and Rexel did after me.

“I think Mrs. Moonstone had her share of secrets,” said Rexel.

“I agree.”

We swam all night. At one point, I questioned whether Candy Brom Star actually was on some kind of drug because he tried to kiss me. I slapped him. I had no clue how this thing was still down here.I wonder if Mrs. Moonstone knew about this. Did she create it herself? She was a very mysterious woman.

I went to bed, and Rexel and Candy Brom Star stayed in the pool a while longer. As I lay in bed, I gazed at the ceiling. As I continued to wait for sleep to come, I saw a timeline appear on the ceiling, memories flashing by. I saw my mother’s face as she watched my father rip my wings out of my back. I saw my mother’s last few smiles before she died. I saw Mrs. Moonstone hand me her winter hat when I was freezing. I saw Rexel for the first time, and as the the timeline came to an end, I saw how much happier I am now. My biggest worries are my two younger brothers and if they are safe. With completely a blissful mindset, I closed my eyes.    

 

Recounts from the Life of Hector

Oh, kids these days. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Always on their God-forsaken phones and what-not. They’ve got no respect whatsoever. When I was a young chap growing up, we didn’t have phones. We would go out, play in the park, get all muddy. Now all these do-nothing, nasty children stay inside all day and post ridiculous pictures of themselves. (Are they called selfies?) These names. Sigh. These teenagers aren’t even cool. They are complete attention-seekers, drama queens… the list goes on and on. And what’s with these hoverboards? A pile of flammable crap if you ask me. Serves ‘em right to catch on fire. And don’t even get me started on the respect issues. They see me hobbling along, cane in hand, and it’s like they don’t notice me! They shove me like I’m nothing and knock the wind out of me! I respond the classic “Get lost!”, and they look back at me like I’m from Mars! Y’all know, I’m so lonely here in New York. Ah! Look what it says here in the New York Times! “Trumpet to Pull out of Paris Agreement”! How does that even make any sense? Oh, wait. Agh, these damn eyes of mine! Even with special reading spectacles! I was wondering, trumpets! Hahaha… *breaks into coughing fit* Bugger that! Nowadays I can’t even laugh without coughing out my lungs! Back to the headlines. What is wrong with that total idiot? Something’s not right up there in that orange head! Fifty years ago, global warming wasn’t even a thing. Now? Global warming this, global warming that, all this money being put into it! Us, the generation that was born in the World War II era, we’ve done a lot! Take me, I served in the army in the Vietnam War! Let’s not get too deep into that, it’s depressing. In that period of time, everything we did we meant. Now? Look at North Korea. What are they doing? Ballistic missile testing? Why. Why?! There’s absolutely no point whatsoever. Anyway, as I was saying before I got interrupted, my nearest relatives are my kids, and they’re bloody overseas in London doing who-knows-what with their lives. And they call me once a month! Talk about ignorance. Times were so good when Bertha was still around. We would take a crack at them kids on the street and scare the mickey outta them! Those were the good ol’ days.

I’m getting hungry. The kitchen is so far away. Crikey! Oh, blimey! Ah, my back! Sorry, I just tripped over this damned carpet. It gets me every time! I’m getting clumsy in my old age. Crap! It just has to be today. I’ve got nothing in the pantry! Well, s’pose I’ve got to go out to the grocery at the corner of the block. And it just happens to be raining. Sometimes New York seems to hate my guts! Where did I put my umbrella? Ah, yes, the closet. Why is this door so hard to open? *grunts* Finally! Let’s get this over with. My keys! Er… there they are! Aight, my wallet’s in my back pocket… I’m ready! Oh, wait, and my cane. This memory! Why! The elevator never works, and I’m all the way on the second floor! I’ve called the superintendent, people these days are so damn slow with their work! They take bloody ages to get a simple elevator fixed! Disgrace. Utter disgrace! Good morning to you too, Arthur! These are the people I like. They know the simple concept of respect! Unlike the majority of the population. Hey! You! Yes, you! Girl! Aren’t you gonna say sorry? That’s right! Stop giggling, you moron! Show some respect to your elders! I’m gonna kick your butt if I ever see you again! And by the way, what are you wearing? More like what aren’t you wearing, you’re showing half your bare skin! Kids have the weirdest styles. See what I mean? Kids, always on their phones, texting all their friends, having online wars, what has society become? In the fifties, we had no electronics. When we had arguments, boy did it get physical! I miss those days. Here we are! What do I need? Uh, let’s see. Oh, hey, employee! Could you get me… a few microwave enchiladas, six microwave mac n’ cheeses, five microwave chicken penne al frescos, seven microwave quesadillas, four microwave lasagnas, four six-pack bottles of Poland Spring, six boxes of Kellogg’s cereal, two jars of tomato sauce, six nonfat Greek yogurts, extra-virgin olive oil, honey, five dozen eggs, three bunches of bananas, and twelve bars of chocolate, please? Why’re you looking at me like that? What? You don’t do that kind of service? I don’t want to get into an argy-bargy about this, young man! You don’t wanna mess with me, I guarantee you. That’s right! Now go get me what I asked for, boy! Service is so bad in stores. They see I’m old with a rapidly balding head, wrinkly skin, wearing a beret and clothes from the 90’s, and they immediately assume I’m gonna be a grumpy, old fart! Could you possibly imagine that? Ha! On a side note, I am completely fine, I just can’t do much, exactly like the Kardashians! My phone’s ringing! It must be my son. Oi, you! Kid! How do I accept this call? Thank you! There’s this teeny tiny percent of the population, they know respect! Hello, William! Wait, what? Social security?! Ugh, what do they want this time? This month alone they’ve bothered me six times! Unbelievable. What? I need to move out of my apartment? I need to move to a retirement home? What’s the logic behind that? I’ve been living in my place for more than six years, I’m not ready for a retirement home! They sound so nasty! Okay, to sum this up, you’re kicking me out of my own home? I’m telling you, you belong in a damn mental asylum! I ain’t listening to you bunch of rowdy gits! No, I will not calm down! Do not tell me to calm down, I do what I want to do! You and the whole crowd of young people, y’all lead sad lives! Sad, sad lives! You have nothing good to do with your lives, so you work for dumb agencies like social security and take out your depression on old people! This isn’t fair! Oh, you did not just tell me to shut up. I know you didn’t. You shut your own trap, dig yourself a nice, little hole and, here’s an idea, why don’t you jump into it too? Don’t you dare hang up on me! I still had some words to say to that imbecile! I’m not going anywhere against my will. Nowhere! I’d better head home and enjoy life before they send a whole blasted police squadron to manhandle me to a retirement home! I almost forgot my groceries! Where’s that young lad? Finally! You took your sweetass time! How much? $127.85? Wow, this place is getting greedy!

Hello, Arthur! Can you believe this? Social security called me again! They want me to move to a damn retirement home! How have you escaped them? Jammy old chap. Why are they calling me again? I suppose they just want to inform me that I’ve been arrested for “bad attitude,” doesn’t sound too far off what they would do! Boy, what do you want? I don’t want to hear your ugl-wait, what? You’ve made a mistake? There’s another Hector Wright living in New York? Thank god for tha-I mean, uh, that’s right, punk! Of course you made a mistake! Stupid agencies, don’t know what they’re doing these days. Stupid agencies! Good-for-nothing, we can handle ourselves. Bloody Hell!

 

Ashes of America

Chapter One: America, 2037

The nation was in shambles, rocked by conflict and corruption. The Republican Party had been in control of the White House for two decades, and their rule had seen America descend into turmoil. The 2034 election of Louis Moor was hardly a victory for the Republicans, whose use of voter suppression outraged the nation, leading to the three day “Red November” riots that wreaked havoc on the Capitol. A year-long war with the Russian terrorist group VL-16 made Moor extremely unpopular, and the anti-free speech acts he had passed to silence the outcry against the war made him hated. His Vice President, Fabian Hall, had called for the imprisonment of anti-war activists, which had been met with mass protests across the nation. The protests had been deemed illegal, and thousands of protesters had been arrested. Meanwhile, mass deportations have severely hurt the U.S. economy, which was already in debt from the conflict with VL-16. Far-right Senator Brigham Wall of Oklahoma saw the opportunity to gain power in a country that had become a police state with no money, a country ripe for conflict.

 

Chapter Two: The Banner of Liberation
In March of 2037, Senator Brigham announced that he was leaving the Republican Party to create the Knights of American Liberation Party, known as “Kalp,” with notorious white supremacist Jonah Clay. Wall was running for President on the Kalp ticket. He held his first rally on March 15, 2037, in Oklahoma City with a crowd of almost 2,000. Wall proclaimed that he would “ensure White Americans [would be] protected and respected,” to which the crowd cheered in agreement. The flag of Kalp, a blue circle with thirteen white stars arranged in a circle, in the center of the stripes on the American flag, was seen flying above the headquarters of the U.S. Nazi Party, flapping in the breeze next to the swastika.

The following week, President Moor journeyed to Oklahoma City to make a long, anticipated speech condemning Senator Wall. As Moor walked down the steps of the Oklahoma Capitol building at 2 o’clock on March 19, 2037, beneath a blue sky, shots rang out. The crowd ran in all directions as shots continued to ring out. Moor collapsed, his red blood splashing on the white steps. Secret Service officers rushed towards Moor, swarming around the dying president. Sirens wailed as both the police and Secret Service jumped out of their cars and into the streets, armed with assault rifles. The ground shook at the same time as the Oklahoma Capitol building exploded, followed by a thunderous boom. Marble and bricks shot up into the air, raining down upon the street. The air was filled with screams, and even some of the police officers fled the scene, joining the stampede. Where the Capitol building had stood only moments before was a burning heap of rubble and rock, from which black smoke rose up, settling above the city like a blanket of darkness. The retreating crowd looked up as a small blue plane circled around them, dropping bright pink leaflets onto the streets. They read in bold, black letters: Save our land, save our race: Vote Kalp!

 

Chapter Three: The Deathbed of Democracy  

For the first time in over 70 years, an American President had been assassinated, shot to death on the steps of the Oklahoma Capitol building in front his supporters, through an act of domestic terrorism. The bombing of the Capitol building was an integral part of the terrorist attack, claiming thirty-eight lives, civilians, and President Moor alike. Moor’s assassination marked the transfer of the presidency from one authoritarian leader to another, as Vice President Fabian Hall was sworn in as President hours after Moor was killed. Hall, who had been a well-known believer of totalitarian control over the populus, immediately ordered the suspension of freedom of speech and habeas corpus, and had six of the nine Supreme Court Justices arrested for declaring his actions unconstitutional. The nation was too shocked and weakened by the OKC attacks, financial crises, and Hall’s draconian laws to speak out against the President. America’s former allies were divided over what to do. Should they fight terrorism but back the Hall regime, or condemn Hall but risk fueling the terrorists? The world did nothing and watched as America crumbled.

Back in the U.S., Brigham Wall was using the attack on the OKC to gain supporters and influence. Wall denied any responsibility in the attack, stating that the plane that dropped Kalp leaflets was sent to “comfort the victims with a message of hope,” leaving questions about how quickly the plane came to the site of the violence unanswered. In rallies across the country, Wall took advantage of the post-attack fear, telling supporters in Utah that “attacks against America and the white people of America [would] not go unpunished.”

The biggest moment of the early days of Wall’s campaign came when he held a rally in New Mexico only five miles outside the Zuni reservation in May. Thousands of Zuni protesters faced off with eight thousand Wall supporters at the rally, many of whom were armed Neo-Nazis. Before the rally even began, fighting broke out. A gang of Neo-Nazi skinheads hurled molotov cocktails at the protesters, injuring dozens of unarmed people. The Zuni protesters ran from the Neo-Nazis and into Wall’s private thugs, who attacked them with metal clubs and pepper spray before moving on towards the rally.

When the rally finally started after a three hour delay, it had been fortified by Wall’s private thugs, who set up barricades of rocks, concrete, and barbed wire. Wall began to speak but was soon interrupted by the boos of protesters who were joined by hundreds of activists from the nearby Navajo reservation. Violence once again broke out. Wall supporters showered the protesters with beer bottles and stones as the protesters swarmed over the barricades into the rally.

A young Zuni activist named Clyde Sullivan jumped on the stage and pushed Wall into the chaotic crowd. Grabbing the microphone, he yelled, “Terrorists and racists! Go home, Brigham!” before being dragged off the stage by the mob of Neo-Nazis. Wall, protected by a few supporters, escaped the riot, and was whisked away in his van.

The fighting raged on, spilling out into the parking lot and onto the highway. The state police soon arrived in riot gear under orders from New Mexico governor, Jane Dawson, who was a vocal supporter of Brigham Wall and Kalp.

“All protesters must stop attacking Mr. Wall’s supporters at once,” the police roared through bullhorns.

Wall’s supporters continued beating the protesters, while the state police watched and did nothing. Rivers of Zuni and Navajo blood trickled across the tarmac, crimson ribbons that laced the black asphalt. The screams of the protesters filled the air like smoke as their hands were placed in handcuffs, their legs in shackles, their bodies in chains. The Neo-Nazis cheered as the protesters were carted off to prison by the state police, the law in a police state.

Brigham Wall praised the “heroic actions” of the state police officers, who “displayed courage and necessary force in the face of anti-white terrorism.” He did not mention that the violence at his New Mexico rally was started by his supporters.

Meanwhile, in the White House, Fabian Hall was passing more fascist legislations in response to the violence in New Mexico. It prompted thousands of Americans to amass at the Canadian border in New York, begging Canada’s border patrol to let them into Canada.

American immigration into Canada, much of it illegal, had skyrocketed since 2020, when then-President Donald Trump postponed the 2020 election because of so so-called “voter fraud” in the previous election. It rose again six years later, when China declared an embargo on the U.S. because of American nuclear testing in the South China Sea, which devastated the United State’s economy. Now, U.S. immigration to Canada was swelling yet again as white supremacists and a fascist President trampled on the constitution as they had twenty years before. American refugees filled the woods of northern New York, living in makeshift camps, in a state of limbo. Democracy was on its deathbed.

 

Chapter Four: The URF

In May, a few weeks after the fighting at the New Mexico Wall rally, in a dilapidated building in the slums of the now nearly empty Brooklyn, a dozen activists met to create a new organization.

“In 1972, the Black Panthers declared the need for a united front of all oppressed peoples,” began Clyde Sullivan, the Zuni protester who had pushed Brigham Wall off the stage in New Mexico. “Today, with the Neo-Nazis in control of our country and their terrorist attacks being a threat to us all, we are creating that front.”

The small group of activists nodded in agreement.

“We are a revolutionary organization,” he continued. “Our goals are to reclaim this land from the fascist regime and the European colonizers who have oppressed the poor and minorities on this continent for 550 years. We will fight the U.S. regime on physical and digital fronts. We will spread justice to the oppressed. We are the URF: the United Revolutionary Front!”

The new members of the URF cheered.

Clyde waited for the cheers to end and continued, “Our first target is Columbus Circle, a symbol of colonial oppression that is currently held by Hall’s police…”

That night, as torrents of rain lashed their backs, the members of the URF crept through the police barricades, and past a lone and oblivious policeman. They gazed up at the statue of Christopher Columbus, which Fabian Hall’s regime had attached a massive American flag to. Clyde led the URF party to the the statue. Without saying a word, they silently laced the statue’s base with explosives. Clyde and the URF slipped out of Columbus Circle and into the darkness. Behind them, the statue exploded. Flames shot into the black sky.

“The revolution has begun,” declared Clyde.

Columbus’s head crashed against the pavement, shattering into a thousand pieces of burning rock.

“The revolution has begun,” he repeated. “The revolution has begun.”

 

Star Stealers

Long, long ago, the beings of planet G-23 did not know the art of war. But the future, with its winged ships and armored spacesuits, dragged them out of their peaceful stasis.

Ava Maria saw the first encounter from the port window of her room, her twelve-year-old human fingers against the reinforced glass. A small dagger rested on the sill, an ancient artifact from Earth that she had never needed to use. From her window, she glimpsed the beings’ high cheekbones and pointed ears. Their skin seemed to shimmer like a mirage.

Humanity called the beings of G-23 the Fae, a word self-explanatory and easy on the tongue. The word, Fae, promised the sort of benevolence and wisdom, immortality and grace, that sharp-eared beings had been depicted with in myth.

But this was not so.

None of this was so.

 

You are not the Fae for which you have been named. This is an appearance crafted from human myth, an illusion of skewed sunlight designed to put the humans at ease. For you knew they were coming.

This is the reason you were sent.

The memory is still clear in your mind. Your queen gathered together both sides of your planet Grandrane: the half always stricken with night and the half drowned in vicious sun.

On one side of the hall stood your sisters of midnight. Their hair — twisted, laced, and braided up into intricate loops — grew as long as nature allowed. Their skin was as pale as the low-hanging moon, and as riddled and pockmarked with scars. Their pupils were as dark as black holes, wide and all-consuming.

You observed them from beside your kin of sunlight. You were markedly different from those who lived in the sun’s shadow. Every kin of yours had hair cut short or buzzed to a fine fuzz. Your skin was marked as well, though with the sun’s freckles and burns. Your eyes had the same golden glow as your favored and closest star.

Before you, your queen raised a hand.

The children of night summoned their scimitars, blades curved like the arcs of the shooting stars that sacrificed themselves to make these weapons. Beyond the halls of this palace, this coliseum, the night sky grew a bit darker for its loss.

You latched onto your own solar flare, twining the flame and light between your fingers until a broadsword solidified in your palm. Its gleam was blinding. Above you, the sun exhaled part of its strength.

Your queen brought down her hand, and both sides charged as one.

Your numbers were evenly matched, a soldier of sun to every messiah of midnight. Where blade met blade, sparks smoldered in the air. It was impossible to tell whether they were specks of moon or sun.

The sparring was short. It was not designed to be to the death. This was how each warrior found her partner on the planet of Grandrane. In the clearing dust and smoke, there were laced hands and matching grins.

Your own partner gave you a feral smile, one with nocturnal fangs, and a hand to pull you off the ground. You spat out a wad of the shimmering gold blood and took it.

Now with a crowd of mixed dark and light, your queen finally addressed the heart of the matter: The Congregation of Many Stars had called upon your race to stop the inexorable invasion of the human conquerors. Humans, who had already decimated their own planet, sought to colonize elsewhere. Somehow, this uncivilized race, one that has only managed long-distance space travel in the last century, had wiped out every other effort to halt their progress. Their innovation and intelligence may have been lacking, but their weaponry was all-destroying. You were the Congregation’s last resort.

At this, your queen seemed to find amusement. It was no secret that Grandrane was feared. Across the universe, you were called the Star Stealers. The Many Stars thought you took too much for savage purposes — coveting other planets’ stars for your own games of war — but they would rather have you as allies than enemies. And, your queen smirked, the Congregation of Many Stars didn’t seem to have complaints now that they had called upon you to fight for them.

So begins your war.

You leave Grandrane for G-23, as the humans have named it, purposefully placing yourself in the mankind’s path as they catalogue the universe in such binary things as letters and numbers. You don the guise of their fabled Fae, refracting sunlight for perfect human features and sharp ears, and masquerade as a familiar face in a vast and unknowable space. For long days and long nights, you live in your structured pairs like mortal twins, one sister’s eyes always open, always watching, always waiting. G-23, with its unpredictable and infernal rotations of light and dark, does not work as Grandrane does. It is during your night’s retreat that the first human vessel is spotted.

By the time humans make first landfall in their bubbled helmets, the sun has wiled its way back to the zenith. Midnight’s children have already sunken into their counterparts’ shadows, making your numbers appear half of their true value.

You play nice for the first two days, ignorance feigned and eyes wide and innocently blinking. You nod to their questions, show them your homes made of twisted roots and hollow trees. You blink prettily and preach of living in harmony with nature and the universe.

At night, you and the humans sleep. At night, your dark sisters sneak onto their ships, glean what they can of weaponry and tactics, and report back.

“Enough of this,” they hiss on the third night. “They are a weak race. Have you not seen the way they shield their eyes from the sun? How their skin burns beneath it? What they wear is not armor. It is life support for their feeble organs. We trained for eons before they walked, much less flew. Let us not waste any more time.”

“Then let us be done with it,” you whisper back.

You are glad the humans have not shown themselves to be creatures of honor and mercy. If they had, perhaps you would have abided by an honest duel. But as it stands, they have destroyed more planets than you have stars, so you feel no guilt at slitting sleeping throats.

Their blood does not glow as yours does.

Of course, the sheen of your light-made weapons and their gurgled cries wake the others, but you have advantages: doubled numbers, surprise, and your enemies’ ignorance. The hilt of your broadsword rests heavy in your hand, the heft of it most clearly felt when you slice through their brittle metal. The arc of its swing leaves a trail behind it, a burning afterimage. They meet your swords and scimitars with guns and bombs, but the heat of your stolen fire burns away their lead. It is not a fair fight, but you knew this when you agreed to the war. Humans do not specialize in close quarter battles, not when they are in their thin spacesuits and subject to their own shrapnel and radiation. This you knew and planned for, like so much else.

Once the fighting begins to die down, it is clear who the victors are. Covered in blood and space dust, you are as savage as your foes.

You personally deal the final blow, ripping a gash into the side of their beached spacecraft. Metal melts, drips, and cools. Pressurized air seeps away. You look back at the fallen, every empty-souled human heaped on the ground.

And then… pain.

Something sharp stabs you in the back. The horrible cold of steel sliding through you brings with it a pain you know heralds death.

You turn, sword dissipating as your energy slips away, and see a young girl clutching a dagger, golden with your blood. She is dying, already gasping away her last breaths, but she is smiling something wicked at you. You recognize that smile. You are her only revenge.

You smile back.

 

Ava Maria has always been a creature of vengeance. There is something sick and satisfying about finally taking it — the feeling of resistance against her dagger and having sticky, blood-stained fingers. There is something depraved about it that calls to her.

The strange part isn’t the death creeping through her lungs. This she saw coming. The strange part is the Fae’s smile at her. It is a smile of pride. It is a smile that says Ava Maria is the only redeeming thing this Fae has seen of humans. It is a smile that says Ava Maria belongs in the Fae’s afterlife with other women and warriors, not in a human’s heaven. It is smile that says you are like us. Your thirst calls for blood like a Star Stealer. You desire retribution and bloodshed.

In her revenge, Ava Maria understands.

Ava Maria and the Star Stealer meet death together.

 

Fort Sphere Woods

It had been about two hours of driving. At least I thought so. The radio blasting 93.5 at volume 10. Samantha hummed the music. I glanced at the rear view mirror that welcomed me to a rainy evening in fall.

Driving through Fort Sphere Woods always made me think of when Samantha and I would come here as little girls who would play in the leaves and find an abandoned shed while searching for frogs. We never got to see what was in that shed, I mean, not that we cared. As I dozed off, Samantha tapped me to turn the music on louder. Just as we heard “On the hill”, our favorite childhood song, Samantha reminded me of all our young moments together. Her ludicrous laugh always made me laugh as well. I was disappointed that my best friend was going to another school. Yet I felt proud and excited for her to be starting a new life. Her school was Richwood Staren School. An elite boarding school. All of a sudden, from a distance, I saw those blue and red flashing lights that never mean something good.

The car still going at 87, I  looked out the window to see the police cars, two… three… four…

***

I woke up on a bench to the sounds of sirens. I got up and tried to walk. Stumbled a bit but accomplished. I got up, walked towards the car, and it looked like my car had been hit by the street pole. I got up to walk around the car.

Just then, an officer held my arm and yelled, “Ma’am, stay seated. We will be right with you.”

As an ambulance arrived, two paramedics came out and approached me. They carried me onto the ambulance and checked me for anything. I asked to be excused and used a porta potty in the ambulance. I glanced in the mirror and saw that the side of my head was bleeding. Dizzy more than ever, I shivered and walked back to the paramedics. That’s all I remember.

I woke up in a hospital bed where I was greeted by doctors. One officer in the room asked me to sit up, and next thing I knew, he informed me that Samantha was dead. And that she had been dead for about four days now. I had been in a coma for four days. I held back more tears than my body could handle, my stomach falling into pieces.

“Sir, I really don’t understand.”

Not being able to interpret what happened, police officers yelled and yelled at me to admit that the murder was on purpose.

 

Fear

I see you all. All the different people. Running around like ants in a farm that has been shaken too hard. You get angry at the little things — your coffee when the barista gets the order wrong, the weather because it always seems to be raining, and the jammed printer in the back of the office that never seems to work. I see you. But you don’t always see me.

I am a cloud hovering over everyone, waiting for the right moment to let all hell break loose. To let the lighting surge through your heart and the thunder burst in your eardrums. I start with a drizzle, small warnings that I am close, but you put up an umbrella and curse the gods. Oh, but you are so wrong. I am no god, wait till you see the eye of the storm. But you never look up to see my raging clouds.

I am the monster hidden under the bed, the one you always get a glimpse of but can never catch. I have fangs and long hair that drips to the ground like a willow tree. My eyes are black and inky and always watching. You see the glimmer of light in my fangs as I scowl. I slowly crawl back under the bed but you never go further than to pull your covers back over your eyes.

I am that one guy waiting in the wings. I watch the show as you sing and dance and run around the stage. You look so happy, so naive. I stare at the production lights through my thick glasses. No one notices me. I am the theater geek who can ruin the show with a push of a button. I see the makeup plastered onto your faces and and your mouths frozen in smiles, but your eyes don’t match the scene. You look to your left as you gallop across the platform, only to watch me close the curtains one final time. You see me, but you don’t stop my actions. You don’t even bow for the wonderful show you put on. Honestly, you fooled us all.

I am the cat waiting to pounce on the mouse. Licking my jet black paws, I imagine devouring the small creature. The mouse doesn’t notice me. It scampers back and forth, creating some sense of order in its life. And when it finally glances at my sleek fur and long whiskers, it does nothing more than wait eagerly for its demise.

I am confused. Why don’t you run? I predict it is because you know that I am only a part of you. A mere shadow, changing shape every day. You created me. With every one of your actions, you give energy to my storms and you pump blood into my veins. You give me life, only to have me destroy yours. You see me in the scariest of your nightmares and in the shadows where no one bothers to look.

I create tornadoes that wreaked havoc through your neighborhood, tossing your life into a pile waiting at the garbage dump. I take your bed sheets, the ones you used to cover your eyes, and I wrap them around your fragile neck. I take the air out of your lungs and you lie limp in my arms. I close the curtains and break the props, smiling as I go. I eat the mouse, its tiny bones crunching on my sharpened pearly teeth. I am made to be remembered. And yet I am still the forgotten piece of your soul, the memories you chose to leave behind. I am your worst enemy. I am you.                       

I am fear.

 

Cigarette Story

“It wasn’t me, it was her.”

My mom found cigarettes under my bed and I had to make up an extraordinary lie so she wouldn’t think they were mine. The extraordinary lie I came up with was that they were my sister’s. So great, I know. I swear I’m not that bad of a liar. I have to do it quite often. My mom sat me and my sister down at the dining room table as though we had killed someone.

“Mom, you really think I would do something like that?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” she responded.

“Wow, good to know how you think of me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah sure,” I responded sarcastically.

“Mom, you know I would never do something like that,” my sister said emphatically.

“Yes, I do know that honey,”

“Are you serious Mom?!” I shot back at her.

“Yes I am serious. Your sister is the good one in the family,” my mother said slowly, each word stinging a little.

“Why the hell do you think I would have cigarettes when my father died of lung cancer from smoking?! Violet wasn’t nearly as close with him as I was, so it was obviously her,” I snapped, thinking how good of a lie that was.

“Mom, please, how could you believe that?”

“Come on, Violet, you obviously hid them under my bed so I would take the blame because, after all, you are the good one in the family,” I exclaimed, storming off to my room.

“Sage, get back here right now.”

I moved a little bit quicker up the stairs. I began to think that I couldn’t live in this house anymore. I went to search for information about my mysterious older brother. My mom had him way before me and, when my parents got divorced, he moved in with my father before he passed so now we aren’t sure where he is. According to my mom, he has adopted similar habits to my father, including a lot of drugs and alcohol. But screw it, I’d go anywhere rather than staying here.

I searched my mother’s closet and under her bed, where I saw a box with a lock on it. This has got to be where it is, but how to do I get into it? I thought of all the important dates and valuable numbers. I tried everything possible. Then I realized I’d forgotten to try my birth year, and to my surprise that was the code. I felt kind of better, because at least my birth was worth putting on a lock. I found so many interesting things in this box, like pictures of my father and a mug shot of my mother. Wow, that was quite a shock. What could my goody-two-shoes mother have done to get a mug shot?  After a few minutes of searching, I found a letter with his address. I packed up my stuff and planned to leave the next morning at dawn. The night was long and dark and I laid awake, waiting for the sun to rise. I gathered snacks, soda, and candy–all I needed to survive on my journey.  

 

***

It was cloudy and sad outside, which wasn’t helpful for my mood at the moment. My older brother’s house was about a five-day walk away, which I was definitely not doing, so I just needed to walk to the nearest train station. I checked Google Maps. It was a two-day walk.  Crap. That’s a long time. Whatever. I began walking towards the direction of the train station, and what do you know, I ran into my best friend Isabel driving her car to school. Ugh, this is the worst possible time to run into my over-protective best friend. I put my hoodie over my head and walked quickly past her car. She flew by and I think, Phew I’m good, she didn’t see me. Next thing I knew, I heard a car swerve around and Isabel was pulling up on the side of the road next to me. Damnit. My entire run away plan is screwed.  

“Sage, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be going to school?” she said, intimidatingly.

“No, I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.”

“Oh wow, you’re feeling salty.”

“Yeah I am, so you can leave me alone now.” I said, getting really vexed.

“Okay, but only if you tell me where you’re going,” she responded, acting like my mother.

“The train station. Now I’m not saying anymore.”

“I’m coming with you,” she responded.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Please Isabel, now is not the time. I’m really not in the mood to be arguing with you. I need to be alone right now.”

“If there is a serious reason, you need to tell me. And I can either help you or come with you.”

After minutes of her pleading for me to tell her, I finally gave in and explained the whole situation with the cigarettes and my running away plan.

“SHE FOUND OUR CIGARETTES?! MY MOM’S GOING TO FIND OUT AND SLAUGHTER ME!”

“It’s fine, I got it under control. I blamed it on Violet. I mean, she didn’t believe me, but still it’s fine.”

“Oh god Sage, we’re screwed. Did they find the weed?”

“Of course not. I hid that a lot better, because if they saw that I would be in a whole lot more trouble.”

“Okay, at least they didn’t find the weed. Cigarettes aren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’m not that stupid.”

“Because of the circumstances, the cigarettes and your mom’s bullcrap again, I give you permission to run away,” she confirmed, acting like I cared if she gave me permission.

“Glad to know you approve. I must be on my way now,” I responded with a pretty rude tone that made me feel bad after saying it.

 

***

I finally arrived at my brothers wrecked shack at the end of a long sketchy road. My heart was racing as fast as a subway car as I walked up the creaky, wooden steps. I knocked at the door and took two steps back. A tall, drowsy, drunk guy opened it. My heart sunk to my toes as I realized he was just like my father before he died: a crazy, drunk, guy. He looked at me with a confused face as though I meant nothing to him. I looked back with a longing desire for him to recognize me.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong address.”

“Get out, kid.”

 

***

His harsh words were not helpful to my lingering feeling of neglect. My sister, my mother, and now my brother. I turned around with an aching heart, dreading my upcoming journey back home. I felt tons of different emotions as I walked up to my driveway, nervous for how my mother was going to react, happy that I would be in the comfort of my own home, and just generally confused about how I felt. What do I do now? I never wanted to come back here.  

I pulled out my key and adjusted it to fit into the hole. The tension I felt vanished.

 

Milo

Milo fingered the the small trinket he had brought to life: a small, funneled hole isolated in a scratched piece of black plastic,  leading directly to a platform with a risen, rusted steel rod that carried a corrugated paper wheel. A mess of wires was connected to the end of the rod, which led to a circuit box hoisted on another rod. This was the generator, and out of its back end was a series of small holes with distinctly colored wires protruding out of each one to a platform of respectively colored LEDs. He merely blew a weak breath into the mentioned hole, and the lights went off in rapid succession in a dazzling array of eye candy — or at least to the best abilities of LEDs.

He sucked in the amount of air sufficient enough to blow into the spot he knew would create the most friction. The LED lights went off for the 176th time this evening — it was a result of the many sighs he’d blown throughout the course of the day, locked in his basement bedroom, trying to make his parents think he was still stewing about what had gone on in the kitchen earlier. He was biding his time until dusk, trying to keep his mind focused and clear, yet nagging thoughts still clouded the corners of his mind. They were all jammed up by the very thing that instinctively wanted to liberate them: his mouth. He channeled his words through his inventions, letting them speak for themselves. But this was important. He could not let any other event distract him from his precisely planned schedule.

With that in mind, he instinctively glanced at the timer at the foot of his pullout mattress, noticing a reminder of reality — one minute and 24 seconds had immediately a burned a hole in his mind, and through there he could clearly see written: You are an entire six seconds off schedule. You were already supposed to have escaped through the back window into the streets, and begun to bolt at a pace of approximately 12 miles per hour towards the hyper-generator. A brilliant failure.

As his thoughts chastised each other, his body was trying to give them direction. He did distinctly what they were telling him to put into action, except the whole escapade was completely offset. He still found himself sprinting for his last clinging hopes, knowing that there was a way the contraption could hold out for a few more seconds — unless it overheated. It came into view shortly as he bolted towards the first story of the tallest apartment building his neighborhood knew. Milo’s soles slapped the slick blacktop, barely gripping the surface. He reached the first step of the steel fire escape in exactly 58 seconds. Maybe there was a chance.

Milo flew up the grated metal platforms, exasperated by its design that prevented him from taking a direct path to his only objective in thought. He normally would’ve taken caution about the gaps between the steel bars, but his foot glided mindlessly across the surface, unheeding the fact that it could easily trip him and create more of an obstacle than there needed to be. Ironically, Milo almost did fall face-flat to the ground if it had not been for one more inch of blessed air. He caught himself, sputtering with sudden bewilderment, and made no hesitation to get up to his feet without learning his lesson whatsoever.

And then he was simply there — he almost stopped for a harsh intake of oxygen at the sight of the city skyline that was somewhat refreshingly beautiful in its own way. Almost. But his lungs would still burn and know no relief until that very machine was up and running on terms he could be satisfied with. He made haste in throwing the protective plastic cover that was draped over the mechanism, immediately connecting the AC power supply to the main body, and watched with immeasurable satisfaction the whirring lights, signals, and wheezes emitted from it as it managed to start up experimentally with some mechanical miscalculations somewhere in the process.

Just as it seemed as if everything was coming perfectly into place, with an entire four seconds left on the timer located on his wristwatch, Milo observed a shadowy figure with rather large pants in what seemed to be a uniform-esque, collared shirt strutting along the unmistakably same rooftop as himself, not fifteen yards away from where he was positioned in a crouch. He muttered a string of unintelligible half-swears under a cloud of chilled breath, as every sinew and muscle of his body strained to put itself into a temporarily permanent position. The figure absently grunted, scratched something indiscernible on his roughly six-foot blob of a body, and seemed to question what the suspicious darkness behind him held. He stared in raw stupidity — at least it seemed so when you were looking at him from the perspective of Milo — at the multi-shaped object looking as if it were going to collapse at any moment. He made the decision to advance towards it, and Milo would’ve half-sweared many more times, except the man would hear it and the whole plan would teeter past the brink of destruction. It looked as if the whole scenario would be ruined as the man advanced, each step marking an interval at which Milo gradually grew increasingly insane. He dared not to make a move, but the man made every one he could. He lumbered with a flat-footed swagger over to the hulk in the night, and then the figure seemed to clarify its purpose.

“Alrighty, whos’ere?” Milo kept still. Accent lumbered closer and placed a hand upon the intricate pipes and gears, interconnecting with each other to create a productive whole. Milo cringed, not three feet away from him and barely managing to conceal his own teenage figure. “S’rsly, mistah o’ missas, ya’lls bettah reveal yo’self o’ else I’s gonna start t’ invest’gate.”

Mistah was torn. He could conjure a not half-bad lie if he were to reveal himself, and Accent didn’t exactly seem to be the brightest person to set foot on his grounds. Then again, there was everything about the situation to be suspicious of, and it wouldn’t be the most difficult option to simply steal off into the inky darkness, leave this all behind, and start anew. Mistah also did not have very much time to process his options in the first place.

“Okays, here’s I’m comin’, ‘n don’ say I did’n’ warn ya.”

Milo chose the more physical situation to play out and broke out of a Usain Bolt-esque mold towards the rooftop’s hazy edge. He was inhumanly determined, straining his eyebrows together like he never knew he could, and doing his best to ignore the barking cries chasing his heels. He was praying, just praying, for some sort of fire escape in the direction he was going — and then he tripped.

It was a nondescript, capped pipe heavily thickened with paint, a subtle stalagmite, and it had rendered his entire conquest utterly unsuccessful. Milo sputtered in disbelief. His abdomen slapped the rooftop, and the other way around, causing him to hurt all over. He gritted his teeth. He should be concerned about his personal safety, but all that engulfed his mind was the looming fear of the generator completely failing without him to man its many operations. Accent swaggered over to Milo’s failure of an escape, cocked his brows and brought them together simultaneously to create an expression of complete misunderstanding. It didn’t look like Milo was ever touching the control panels of his creation with a build like Accent’s never budging from its standpoint.

“So, mistah… ya’lls wan’ t’ tell me what youse is bein’ up here f’r?” Accent questioned with an undertone of accusation.

Milo reluctantly turned his face to the man and just stared in utter confusion. He squinted in the dark of the night. What he saw was not a face that you passed by on your way to the usual bus stop, but a cobweb of skin that stretched from his left ear to rightmost side of his lip. So, that was where that ever-so distinct drawl came from…

He stared. He knew he shouldn’t, but something in his mind just wouldn’t allow him to pull his field of vision away from this exotic character who still seemed somewhat approachable. This attitude swept over both of the rooftop members at the moment, and neither one nor the other dared to speak a word for a very long few seconds.

And then Accent penetrated the thick silence with his rowdy dialect. “Look, kid. I knows youse ain’ g’ne t’ b’lieve me, but… heres we go. T’is warse all just an act- ‘n y’r g’ne t’ have t’ come with me t’ somewheres ya’lls has nev’r b’n t’ b’fore. Youse is g’ne t’ have t’ leave all dis b’hind- ‘n n’vr come back. ‘N-”

Milo’s voice found its home in the pitch-black air and broke through. “I… I don’t think you understand… sir. The machine behind you is highly unstable and is bound to go into its automated meltdown phase any second now, soon in milliseconds. So either we make a bolt for it, or you let me man my own invention — and your future doesn’t look so bright if you don’t make a decision in about 13 seconds.”

Milo drew a sharp sigh, and made one for himself, not caring to brush his sooty experience off as he returned to the structure from which he had came from, now using it for its intended purpose — an escape. He heard the rumble, deep like a vintage car engine starting up for the first time in many years, then the wheezing pops (imagine an amplified version of the pressure applied upon your ears at high altitudes), and the clanks and clatters, the most disappointing sound of all.

On the fifth floor’s platform, he suddenly halted.

He thought about how he no longer had to run, how the destructive shame was over, and that he should be worrying about the poor man with the deformed face who he had left to burn in an explosion that would have never happened if he had never listened to his stupid aspirations that were never going to make a difference at all in his tiny, little town on the edge of nowhere, and how he must help the man the best he could…

He turned on the ball of his foot, preparing to ascend the stairs once again.

Out of all the possibilities, Milo was staring directly into the same chest he had faced just a few moments earlier, and he began to reel back in utter horror. The man should be dead (and Milo didn’t want him to be), yet here, in the living flesh, he stood. He acted like it was normal too. Milo swallowed the saliva down a throat that burned as if he had swallowed a spark from one of Pa’s summer weldings.

“Heh… kids.” And that was all Accent contributed to the situation in his gruff undertone prior to dragging Milo towards the palm of his hand, which let out an insignia of pure energy, drawing every neuron in his mind towards that one location rooted in a place where Time and Space fell easily at the hands of Mentality and Power… And then they vanished with an adrenaline-fueled sweep of sound. Without a doubt, he must join Them.

Keep in mind that this was all before the Collector.  

 

Clinophobia: Fear of Sleep

It has been six days now.

6 days.

144 hours.

8640 minutes.

518,400 seconds.

 

The days are getting longer. The nights, an eternity. Have you ever noticed how slowly the sun moves? I have, I’ve watched it. For 12 hours. Sunset to sunrise.

It doesn’t just disappear below the horizon. It doesn’t just emerge in one fluid movement. Beautiful hues of cotton candy pink and baby blue don’t just place themselves in the sky. The sun takes its sweet, precious time, like it has no care in the world. It will never have to leave its family. It will never die of old age.

Time, to it, is meaningless.

I’ve been counting the days, counting the hours, calculating the minutes and seconds. I write in my pink, leather notebook I got from Christmas. The tally marks, scribbled onto the page. The numbers and equations etched in the thick, off-white canvas. They are the only convenient ways to fill the empty space.

One hundred forty-four tally marks later, I remain seated on my quilted comforter, staring aimlessly out the fogged window.

I think I have a problem.

My eye bags are darker today. The thin, muted gray shadows under my eyes have become a concentrated purple, like a bruise left after a punch in the face. It aches and stings. It begs for sleep — sleep to heal the wounds. But I cannot. I will not. My complexion, once fair and peachy, is now pale, yellow, and sickly. My pink lips are chapped and peeling. The exposed skin stings every time I touch it.

I have done the impossible. I have aged 20 years in six days.

Maybe it’s the coffee. The dark, strong caffeine rushing through my body. The sight of it makes me shake. Maybe it’s the yelling. It rattles my bedroom door, twists the wooden knob and smashes itself into my room. Or maybe it’s just me. Me and my restless mind. Always racing, like a never ending sprint to the finish line.

My heavy eyelids droop, lower and lower, but I refuse to close my eyes. I cannot. The conformation, the acceptance. I will not. If I close my eyes, I will conform to the rules of time. The rules we all follow blindly, unwillingly, unquestionably. If I let my heavy eyelids cover my eyes, if I lie my head on the pillow and pull my sheets over my cold, nimble legs, I will accept the average patterns of time.

I am not average. I cannot, I will not.

I am not afraid of the darkness. In fact, I think it’s quite nice. I enjoy not being able to see anyone or anything around me. The shadows and the blackness reminds me that I am different. I refuse to be average.

The blinding red beams of light illuminate from my digital clock. 7:00. I reach over to grab my pink, leather notebook and my dull #2 pencil. The book opens to a page full of meaningless dark dashes.

My brittle pencil makes a heavy black line, snags on the rough paper, and snaps.

 

Spilled Milk (Part One)

Ever heard the expression, “Don’t cry over spilled milk?” Well, sometimes, you should cry over spilled milk. In this story, you will learn how the spilling of a glass of milk set off a chain reaction that destroyed the entire universe in a matter of days.

 

***

It was April tenth. A normal day. It all started at breakfast. I had just woken up, and my family was still asleep. I was eating pancakes. They were very good pancakes (especially considering that I made them) and just as I was reaching for more, my arm moved, and I knocked over my glass of milk. As the glass was falling, I caught it mid air. However, this threw me off balance, and I fell off my chair with a thud and, in the process, dropped my glass of milk, which spilled all over the floor. This may seem insignificant, but we lived next to a construction site and a nuclear power plant. The construction site was so loud that if one more decibel was emitted, the power of the sound waves would destroy the plant. The whole neighborhood was forced to wear headphones to block out the sound. The sound emitted, when my glass fell to the ground, added that extra decibel. You can probably guess what happened next. In the few seconds that followed, I ran down the stairs to my family’s basement and threw on my gas mask (everyone in the neighborhood was given one in case of this situation.) Sweat poured down my face in the rubbery mask. I started hyperventilating, just thinking about how many people I had just killed. Suddenly it came, like when you know you’re just waiting to throw up, but it still comes somehow unexpectedly.

BOOM!!!

I was thrown against the wall and the ground at the same time. Everything hurt. When I finally gathered enough energy to look up, I saw that the roof of the basement had been obliterated, along with just about our entire city.  When this completely dawned on me, I fainted.

I woke up about 13 hours later. It was becoming hard to breathe. The air was very stuffy. It was like sucking on a sweaty pig. The filters on my mask were starting to fill up. I wasn’t sure where we kept the spares. If they were upstairs then I was screwed. I might as well look for them. I began to grope around the basement. Black smoke had clouded the sky, and the lenses of my gas mask were fogged, so it would be hard to find the extra filters. I crawled along the floor until I reached a door. I stood up and fell down. My legs were shaky and weak. I slowly heaved myself off the ground. I leaned against the door and felt for the doorknob. The supply closet! If it was, I was saved. If not, well, let’s just say I was already having trouble breathing. I slowly turned the doorknob. I peered through the lenses of my mask. I could make out an oddly shaped thing in the middle of the room. I walked in. As I felt for a wall, I stumbled and fell into a tub of some sort. Of course! This was the bathroom.

I was doomed now. I had almost no air left. I struggled to stand up in the tub, and then I fell again. I hit the edge of the tub with my chin and bit my tongue. I could taste blood. I carefully crawled out of the tub and slithered out of the bathroom. I began to feel around in a last attempt. I collapsed from a deprivation of oxygen. My head clunked against a box.

I turned around and saw a cardboard box with nuclear stuff scrawled onto it. I remember writing that! I flung off the lid. Yes, the filters! I quickly exchanged my mask for a new, less fogged one.

I then folded myself into a ball and cried. I cried and cried for my family, for my friends, for everyone that I killed.

 

World War C (Part One)

I was over at my house when it started. It was something that I’m sure nobody in the entire world was expecting. Nothing, not nukes, not machine guns, nothing could stop this.

My name is Jake, and this is the story of how I survived the Great Purge of 2017.

But it is not the type of purge you would think of. People who spoke spanish called it, “las vacas de los muertos.” If you know spanish, you know what that means. It sadly means, “the cows of the dead.” Yep, this is the story about the zombie cow apocalypse. So let’s get into it already.

 

***

I was driving home from my normal day routine. I would wake up, drive to the animation organization, animate some videos or video games or something like that, get a paycheck, feel good about how much money I had just earned, realize that it wasn’t a lot of money, drive home, go to bed. But I was stuck at the second to last one on my list. I was sitting in my car, on the highway, stuck in complete traffic, but I did not know why. I turned on the radio to pass some time, and I heard something that would start a whole new phase of my life.

“If you do not get outututut, the-e-e-m leeeeeave!”

The whole station was staticky and messed up.

“Heeeeelp! Moooooooooooo!”

Now it sounded like a sick cow had gotten into the station. Well, that was weird, but the traffic had started moving again, so we were getting somewhere. An hour later, I was walking through the front door of our two story house with my normal end-of-the-day face on. As I turned the knob to the door, a couple of ambulances rushed past my block with their sirens blaring, driving around 60 miles per hour.

There must have been some pretty big mess.

I shrugged and went inside, but something was definitely wrong. Things were misplaced, and that was something that my mother would never approve of. The vase with our new roses was on the floor, broken, instead of on our dinner table. Pictures and paintings on the wall were on the floor or dented. But the weirdest part was how the entire kitchen was completely destroyed. Pots and pans all over the place, the counter was flipped over, silverware was everywhere. Almost as if something big ran through here.

“Mom!!!” I yelled, now suddenly alarmed. “Dad!!!”

What is going on?

I ran upstairs to my parents bedroom, in hopes that they might not have heard me. But as I ran up, I noticed that it seemed like something big had come through here as well. As I ran to the bedroom, I saw that the door was smashed open and in pieces. I slowed down to a walk as I heard screams dying off within the room. As I closed in on the room, I saw something moving around in it.

Then I screamed as I saw what was inside the room, a messed up looking greenish cow chewing on two people who looked familiar.  

My mother and father.

The rest of that day for me was all a big blur. I remember the creature looking over at me and snorting. But if I could remember one thing from that time, it was the way the creature looked. The cow-like thing’s eyes were dead, instead of full of color, blank of expression and dark gray. Its skin was greenish black with rips and tears, and some of it was falling off, as if the creature was shedding its skin.

I remember sprinting out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door as fast as I had ever run. And I kept running, till I couldn’t run any more. I collapsed on hard concrete, on a street I didn’t know. Wiping tears off my eyes, I realized my knee was bleeding like crazy.

I didn’t care.

Just then I passed out.

 

***

When I awoke, I was greeted by strangers rushing me on a stretcher through the halls of what looked like a hospital, but it wasn’t. I knew this when I saw a truck speed by, to my left, carrying a rather large bomb, which looked to be nuclear. All of a sudden, they shoved me into a room with medical supplies everywhere, and they lifted me onto a bed. Just then, one of the people carrying me took a syringe off a table and stabbed it into my neck. Everything around me started spinning, and my insides felt like they were on the loopiest roller coaster in the world.

I passed out again.

I woke up, this time, to find I was still in the bed with tons of wires and tubes strapped around my body.

I didn’t know what was going on, where exactly I was, what that thing in my house was, or if there were more of them.

But I did know one thing. I was going to get revenge for what it did to my parents.

 

The Bomb

Chapter One

 

I had five minutes to defuse a bomb that would destroy everything. It was located in the left wing of a hospital, but I didn’t have any other information. I was not given a defusal kit. I was only given the resources around me, but they would do just fine. I raced down the hallway, visually checking every space possible to place a bomb. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so I kept going. I ran into a waiting room filled with people in chairs. I looked around but could not see anything suspicious, until I saw a small flicker out of the corner of my eye. I raced to the suspicious spot and looked under the chair occupying the location. A small, black bomb was fastened to the bottom of the seat with tape. I ripped the tape off and grabbed the bomb. The bomb was completely black besides a small, green light that gave off the flicker. I flipped the bomb over to reveal a panel connected by two screws. I scanned the room and spotted a screwdriver on a desk in the corner. I grabbed it and unscrewed the panel to uncover a mess of black wires with a battery underneath. This might be a challenge for most bomb defusers, but I was not most bomb defusers. I separated the wires from each other and singled out the two wires that would disarm the bomb. The first wire connected the battery to the rest of the unit, and the second wire powered the timer. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk and cut both wires at the same time. The light on the bomb turned off, and my surroundings morphed into a white simulation room. My commander walked toward me and grinned.

“Congratulations Agent Alpha! You’ve set a new record: one minute and ten seconds.”

I smiled. I knew that I would set a record as I located the bomb, but I didn’t think I completed the trial that fast.

“Thank you, Commander! It’s nothing much. I only want to serve my country!” I replied warmly.

Agent Cayes, a good friend of mine, shook my hand.

“I knew that you would beat the record! I expected nothing less from an agent as talented as you!”

I nodded and smiled.

“Good luck on your test! Even though I make it look easy, take your time. I easily could have failed this trial if I didn’t study hard last night.”

Agent Cayes nodded and walked out of the room. I left the room and entered the elevator. I swiped my ID card, and the elevator took me to the top secret floor.

 

Chapter Two

The top secret floor contained the apartments that every agent lived in. I exited the elevator and walked into a small, white room. The room was completely empty, besides a retina scanner and a keypad. The keypad controlled which room you would arrive in, and the scanner was simply for security. I keyed in my room number, 302, and placed my eye against the scanner.

“Eye approved. Agent Jonathan Alpha,” The scanner deadpanned.

A tube came down from the ceiling and vacuumed me into the complex of tubes. I took a series of lefts and rights and landed in the center of my white apartment. The tube retracted and became flush with the ceiling. I exited my room and entered my white living room. It contained a tv on the wall, a simple sofa facing the tv, and two doorways, one leading to the kitchen, and the other leading to the bathroom. I slept on the sofa, and thus, a bedroom was unnecessary. The bathroom contained a sink, shower, and toilet. The entire room was also white. Noticing a trend? The kitchen contained a refrigerator, microwave, sink, shelves, and stove. The room, and everything in it, was white. White is the theme of many things in my life. The suits we wear are white (when we wear them), and the rooms and furniture we have are white.

The material we use for everything is able to camouflage itself into anything. For example, if our base is infiltrated, we can disguise it to protect our organization. Also, our suits can appear differently to suit our missions. The material is strong enough to be used as walls, and it can be thin and malleable enough to be comfortable to wear. I prefer my room to be white, though. It represents purity and peace to me, and it helps to balance out the stress from my work. Anyway, I sat down on my sofa and turned on the tv. A news program was on, but a more sinister message interrupted it.

“There is a huge bomb in this city. Find it before it’s too late! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!” A masked face said.

Immediately I got a call from my commander.

“Agent, come to the briefing room, immediately!”

I rushed to the teleportation tube and was taken to the elevator. I pressed 13 and began a rapid descent. The door opened with a soft ding, and I rushed into the white room. My commander was at the front of the room, and many other agents sat in front of him. I grabbed a seat in the front and nodded to the commander. He nodded back.

“Agents, we have received word of a criminal who calls himself Boom Boom. As you may know already, he broadcasted a message just a few minutes ago stating that there is a bomb in the city. Each of you will cover a district to maximize efficiency. Find this bomb,” the commander said.

Every agent, already having a preassigned district, left the room except for me.

“What district am I covering?”

“You will cover the district where we think the bomb most likely is since you are our best agent. Go to District 12.”

I nodded and opened a map. District 12 was Times Square, the busiest place in New York, and the easiest place to hide things. I groaned and gathered my bomb materials.

 

Chapter Three  

People pushed past me as I desperately pushed past others. The voices of thousands distracted me as I tried to focus. Times Square was the worst. I needed to search every nook and cranny to find that bomb. I ran to a large statue and poked around. It would be impossible to put a bomb inside the statue, but it could be hidden in the base. I took out a flat, metal prying tool and pried off the metal plate on the base of the statue. I let the plate drop and examined the newly uncovered part of the statue. Nothing out of the ordinary. I bent down to retrieve the metal plate and saw a small crack in one of the tiles beneath me.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flat, metal prying tool. I inserted it into the groove in the tile and pushed down. The tile begrudgingly pried loose and revealed a deep hole with a rusty ladder leading down into it. I put away the prying tool and gingerly clambered down the ladder. My feet slipped a couple of times, but I managed to make it all the way down. I pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. I was standing in a huge room, filled with wires and mechanical stuff. A huge timer was mounted on the wall, and it read 5:23. I had enough time, hopefully.

I looked around and spotted the main circuit board. I walked up to it and paused. It had ten wires instead of the normal two. This was highly uncommon and very difficult to deal with. I could rule out four wires that weren’t connected to anything, but the other six were difficult. Upon further inspection, I could rule out four wires that weren’t connected to the timer, but the last two completely stumped me.

One of them connected to each circuit board, and the other one connected to all but one. I quickly glanced at the timer, and my heart started to race. I only had one minute left. I ran to the circuit board in question and examined the back. Fake circuit boards would be slightly yellowy on the back, and sure enough, it was. My training prepared me for things like this. I ran back to the main circuit board and cut the correct wire. The timer turned off, and I sighed. I exited the secret room, making sure to replace the tile, and hailed a taxi. My mission was done.

 

Chapter Four

The crazy man frowned. His plan had failed, and that made him upset. It was supposed to go boom, but it didn’t. Someone had messed it up. He didn’t think anyone would actually find the bomb. He only wanted chaos, death, and destruction. Maybe he should have refrained from announcing his plan to the entire world. They will try to find him now to stop him. His base was deep underground, and he thought nobody would be able to find him. But they can find anyone.

A drop of sweat dripped down his forehead and splattered onto his red jumpsuit. They were on to him. He took off his white mask and contemplated his future. He knew that he would die soon, but he accepted that. Ever since he was a child, he was bullied because of his red hair. His real name was Charlie, but he never cared much for that name. It was burned up in the fire that he set in his school. In his rage, he ran away to live underground. He became unstable and violent, craving destruction and anarchy constantly. Boom Boom, enraged by the memory of his bullied self, grabbed a pack of explosives and began his ascent to the surface. His death was imminent, and he wanted to make one last boom before it was all over.

 

***

“Congratulations again, Agent Alpha! You defused the bomb!” My commander said.

I nodded mutely. I was used to compliments by now. I’ve been exemplary my entire life. I had an innate ability to learn and memorize everything since I was born. Just as I was about to leave, the emergency siren went off.

Warning! Boom Boom is in the streets with explosives. Warning! Boom Boom is in the streets with explosives. The siren repeated.

My commander handed a high quality defusal kit to me and gave instructions.

“We have snipers on the rooftop. Try to reason with Boom Boom and defuse the bomb. I have given you tools that can be used to disarm the bomb at a distance. Be careful, lives are on the line! Do NOT kill him, or we will be forced to eliminate you!”

I hurried to the express elevator and rapidly descended. The doors opened, and I ran outside. A man in a red jumpsuit, with a crazed look in his eyes, stood in the middle of the square. I walked towards him slowly, making sure to be at least 10 feet away.

“Boom Boom.” I said as I circled him carefully, trying to get a glimpse of the bomb. “You don’t have to do this. We can let you walk out of here freely if you just disarm the explosives. Nobody here wants to die.”

Boom Boom’s expression turned wild.

“You’re lying! They’ll kill me!”

I peeked over Boom Boom’s shoulder and saw a single wire. It would be hard to cut the wire without injuring Boom Boom. I hate hurting people. I became a bomb defuser to save lives, not take them. It goes against everything I believe in. Human life is sacred to me. I smoothly slid a small throwing knife out of my wrist and carefully aimed at the wire. Sweat pooled on my forehead as I intently watched Boom Boom, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He turned slightly and I threw the knife, cleanly severing the wire and disabling the bomb. Or so I thought.

“HAHAHAHA!” Boom Boom screamed. “YOU CUT THE WRONG WIRE! IT WAS FAKE!”

I blanched. I had never failed in my life. I was never taught to accept failure. I couldn’t deal with it. My vision turned red, and I threw another throwing knife at Boom Boom’s throat. He gurgled on his own blood, his eyes welling up with tears, and collapsed. I stepped back in shock, realizing the horrible thing that I had just done. A shot rang out in the streets, my demise. My body hit the ground, blood already pouring from my head, and everything went black.

 

 

Chapter Five

I woke up with a headache. My entire body felt numb. I was strapped down to a metal table by heavy leather restraints. I was in a white room, some kind of subterranean lab. I could tell by the test tubes and equipment that was scattered around the room. I bent my chin down to my neck and saw a doorway right in front of me. A man in a white lab coat walked into the room with a filled syringe in hand.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The man didn’t reply, but instead, injected me with the syringe. I felt a weird sensation in my feet and passed out.

I woke up in the same room. This time I was not restrained. As I sat up, my body felt weak, and my vision started to go fuzzy. A masked man walked into the room and stood in front of me. He pulled out a syringe filled with a different liquid than before and tried injected me with it. I drunkenly tried to twist out of the way, but the syringe hit its mark anyway. I wished that the man would go away. Suddenly, he went flying across the room and crashed into the wall. A guard stormed into the room and knocked me out before I could do anything.

 

When I woke up, I was restrained to the table again. Another masked man walked into the room and injected me with a needle. I urged myself to escape the restraints, remembering the last syringe I was given, and the restraints magically snapped in half. The man panicked and tried to run out of the room. I urged him to stop, but the powers seemed to fail. The serum must’ve only been temporary. I assumed that they would continue modifying the serum and injecting it with me, so I didn’t resist as the same guard from before ran into the room and knocked me out again.

This time when I woke up, I was in complete darkness, and a machine was attached to my head. My thoughts were fuzzy, and my coordination was messed up. I could hear metallic footsteps coming from somewhere around me, but I couldn’t tell the direction. I braced myself for the pain of an injection, but no pain ensued. Instead, the metal man did something with the machine on my head. It pressed into my head, and the pain of a thousand fires coursed through my body. The man walked away, his footsteps becoming fainter with every step, and a door slammed shut. My body started to float, and I lashed out with my mind, sending a shockwave of energy through the room. The machine shattered into hundreds of pieces, and light flooded the room. My entire body was glowing, and I felt powerful. Those scientists should have restrained me more. Nothing will stop me from destroying them for the pain that they caused. I focused on the door, which I could now see was in the back of the large room I was in. It went flying off its hinges and hit the back of a wall far away. I flew out of the room and into a huge area filled with scientists and computers. They took one look at me and ran away screaming. I grabbed one and lifted him off the floor.

“WHY WAS I BEING EXPERIMENTED ON? WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?”

The scientist quivered in my hands and started crying.

“The government wanted to cr-create a s-super soldier. This project is run b-by your com-mander. You’ve been given p-powers. Please don’t hurt me!” The scientist said between tears.

I tossed the scientist to the floor and flew out of the room. The next room was filled with vials and syringes of different liquids. I unleashed a shock wave, not wanting anyone else to suffer the same fate, and destroyed every single serum in the room. The liquid poured out onto the floor and flowed out of the open doorway towards the computer room. The sound of computers being destroyed filled my ears as I ran into an elevator. I pressed the top floor and started the ascent to the surface.

 

Chapter Six

The doors opened into a small room. A lone computer sat in the back on a table. I started to walk past it, but a name caught my eye. My name.

Project #22: Super Soldier. Agent Alpha was transferred to the lab after his faked death on Monday. He was given a sleeping serum to allow the doctors to modify him. He was given a prototype serum on Tuesday and reacted positively. He was given a stronger dose on Wednesday and realized that he would be given a stronger dose each day. On Thursday, he was given a serum to activate his modifications. He destroyed the lab and experimented with some of his powers. Then he found the computer that held documents of him. He explored…

The computer continued to type as I moved, but no one was typing on the keys. They moved on their own. I walked up to the computer and started to explore the documents. They said things about my history and the project. I looked back at the Project #22 file. The computer had typed more, foretelling my death somehow. It said that I would leave the room through a trapdoor and get killed by soldiers that were to ambush me.

“How does this computer know what I’m about to do?” I asked, thinking out loud.

The computer typed, “I can predict the future. I know everything about you. You will die today if you leave this room.”

No, that can’t be true! I won’t die today. I can’t. I could easily use my powers to stop the soldiers. But if the computer said it, then it must be true. It has predicted everything else accurately. But what if I don’t exit through the trapdoor? What if I go through the ceiling? I used my powers to blast a hole through the ceiling, and daylight streamed into the room. I flew out of the hole and immediately heard a shot go off. There were soldiers all around me. They must have known that I would go up. My last thoughts were of my life. If I had not killed Boom Boom, maybe I would still be alive. I plummeted through the air and breathed my last breath as I hit the floor. In the corner of my eye, I saw the computer delete the ending and replace it with something else.

 

The Stone of Shadows

 

Chapter One: Elf in a Tent

 

It was the crack of dawn, and the evergreens were standing proud and tall by the small river. The trees stood twenty-seven feet tall, making plant life on the forest floor almost impossible. But these trees were surrounded by roaring hills, standing so tall that they could not be measured. In response to the rising sun, the birds had gone as wild as a tiger in the radius of fire. The bird’s chirping had echoed off the forest with the response being confused as real.

A small, leather tent stood by the fast, running river. Within the tent, a dark elf, by the name of Alexandra, awoke to the sounds of dawn. Poor Alexandra laid sick from the cold, for today was the second day of winter, and she was unprepared. It wasn’t that she lost her winter coat or anything like that. Alexandra intentionally left it. She had escaped her sanctuary during the winter solstice and didn’t bring her coat. But her lack of warmth was not the main issue (her race was known for having a small resistance to the cold), it was the amount of damage done to her body that showed. Scars and bruises went from her face to her ankles, and they were not going anytime soon. Besides that, Alexandra’s appearance had cloaked her true age, for she was a twenty-seven-year-old trapped in the body of a fourteen-year-old. But for a dark elf, she was quite tall, standing five-feet and eleven inches, three inches above the average height.

Alexandra, looking up while lying in the tent, had to figure out what to do. A town had settled not too far away from her location. But her wear had consisted of a completely black shirt with sleeves going to her elbows, pants that went to her knees, and a hooded linen cloak. With damage all over her arms and legs, she could not go to town. Alexandra wanted to avoid questioning and suspicion from the town.

An hour later, Alexandra was squatting outside the tent by a small fire. She stood close by the fire to keep herself warm. Unfortunately, it did not provide much warmth. At a nearby tree, a deer was sniffing the ground for whatever he could find. Although it was the second day of winter, it had not snowed. Therefore, the ground looked like that of a steppe. Alexandra looked at the deer’s fur with envy. The deer looked up and saw Alexandra squatting by a fire. Suddenly, the deer wiggled his ears and galloped away. Alexandra looked confused. She did not move a limb, but the deer ran away. She looked behind herself and saw a man standing high above her. The man had a fur cap and wore a fur coat going down to his knees. The man’s face, in addition to his rough beard, was quite frightening. Slowly, Alexandra stood herself straight in front of the vicious looking man. Although she was tall, the man had stood around a foot taller. Alexandra slouched herself to show the man he was more powerful. The man didn’t seem to care. In a deep voice, he began to speak.

“What are you doing near my tent?”

Alexandra did not know how to respond to the large man. She began to straighten up.

“I use that tent during spring, summer, and autumn,” said the man. “I am a hunter, so you understand why I don’t use it during the winter.”

Alexandra nodded her head.

“Usually, I find runaway slaves and traveling prostitutes staying in my tent. But you’re different.”

The hunter observed Alexandra with his eyes and hands, with no intention of hurting or sleeping with her. She stood frozen in awkwardness. The hunter noticed her long, pointy ears, longish black hair, yellow eyes, and blue skin color. It was not common to find a dark elf running about, but the hunter was unimpressed. He then noticed the damage on her naked arm.

“Well, you have a story,” said the hunter. “But, I know you’re not a slave because you’re not wearing ragged clothes.”

The hunter observed Alexandra again.

“And you’re definitely not a whore. So, if you are neither of those two, what are you?”

Alexandra relaxed herself and spoke in a calm tone. “My story can’t be explained in one word. And I don’t title myself as any sort of class.”

The hunter looked surprised by Alexandra’s voice.

“You are obviously older than you look,” he said. “Follow me, you can tell your story by a warm fire.”

The hunter walked away, beside the river. Alexandra needed warm asylum, but the hunter seemed sketchy. If he did try something on me, she concluded, I can fight back. Alexandra followed.

 

***

The fire crackled loud while Alexandra sat in comfort and warmth. She took a drink from her warm, pine tea. The hunter was in another room, fixing a solution for Alexandra’s scars. Alexandra looked around the fireplace and saw the display of bows and arrows. These bows were not just a simple stick and string. These bows looked very powerful and expensive.

“You are obviously very wealthy,” Alexandra yelled to the hunter.

“Yes. I am the only hunter in town, so I tend to get a lot of customers,” said the hunter, walking towards the fire.

Sitting next to Alexandra, he handed her a bowl of crushed herbs.

“Here,” he said. “This should get rid of those scars.”

Alexandra rubbed the solution on her scars.

“What’s your name?” asked the hunter.

“Alexandra. And yours?”

“Bjor.”

The two stood still while the fire cracked.

“Are you hungry?” asked Bjor.

“I’ll be alright. I don’t want to take any of your product.”

“Well, of course you’ll pay me,” said Bjor.

“Well, I’m sorry, Bjor, but I don’t have any money,” said Alexandra. “And I’m not paying any other way.”

“How about your story?” asked Bjor.

Alexandra felt bad for judging Bjor. He was not the perverted freak she expected.

“Alright,” said Alexandra, putting her tea on the ground. “Now, listen closely, because this is very important.”

 

***

A day before the winter solstice, Alexandra was with her two sisters in a dressing room of her family’s castle. The room had a mirror and a small window looking out to the black, oak forest. It was near the end of the day, and a large glare had entered the room. Fortunately, the mirror and window were right next to each other, so the glare did not hit the mirror.

Alexandra and her older sister, Anna, were in front of the mirror, trying out clothes for tomorrow’s party. For dark elves (and other elves as well), the winter solstice was a very important day, for it signified the end of life. Usually on the first day of winter, Alexandra’s father, Mallekath, would host a large party. The party would consist of other families within the region of Mirewood. It was a very large gathering, over a hundred and seventy people or so.

Anna looked at herself, wearing a white dress, in the mirror with Alexandra standing two inches taller than her.

“Alex, do you think this is an excellent dress?” said Anna, posing to the mirror.

“Why would it not be?” asked Alexandra.

“I feel like it would bring too much attention.”

“But isn’t that good?”

“Yes, but last time, I felt like the main attraction of the party.”

Anna took another glance at the mirror.

“I think I’ll give it a second try,” said Anna. “What are you going wear, Alex?”

“Just the usual black cloak, shirt, and pants,” answered Alexandra.

Anna stuck her tongue out at Alexandra in disgust. Alexandra looked at her little sister, Krosna, sitting in the corner of the room. Krosna was only twelve but was very intelligent. However, she was also shy and tended to hide in her room during the winter solstice parties.

“What are you going to do this year, Krosna?” said Alexandra.

“I think I’ll pass on the party this year,” said Krosna in a soft voice. “I’m worried about father. He’s been acting very strange lately. I think he’s getting too close to the Shadow Stone.”

The Shadow Stone was one of the many ancient artifacts that granted absolute power. Each stone provided a special attribute to the user. The Shadow Stone allowed the user to create an army of shadows, if handled by the right person. However, if the Shadow Stone (or any other stone in general) was handled without caution, it would be catastrophic.

“Krosna, that’s silly,” said Anna in a minorly frightful voice. “Father knows what he’s doing.”

Krosna silently shook her head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Alexandra.

 

***

At midnight, Alexandra was lying in her bed looking at her toes, which were uncovered by the blanket. She looked up at the ceiling and saw how extremely tall her room was. She then looked at her large window and saw the moonlight streaming into her room. Alexandra got out of her bed and walked towards the window to draw the curtains. Suddenly, she heard a crash. The sound came from the main hallway, the room where the Shadow Stone sat on a large column.

“What could that be?” Alexandra said aloud.

She left her room and quietly ran towards the hall. When she entered, she saw her older brother, Michael, trying to clean up a vase he broke. Michael looked up at his sister with an evil eye. Michael didn’t have a good relationship with Alexandra. He usually tried to take control of things. But Alexandra tended to resist.

“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked.

“None of your concern,” answered Michael in a rude tone.

Suddenly, their mother, Elis, entered the hall.

“What is going on here?” asked Elis in an annoyed tone.

Michael looked at Alexandra, then at his mother.

“It was Alexandra. She intentionally broke the vase and tried to frame me,” cried Michael in an accusing voice.

“That’s a lie!” yelled Alexandra. “I was in my bedroom when…”

“Alright, alright, I don’t want to hear it,” said Elis. “I don’t care. Just let the servants get to it and go back to bed.”

Michael left the room, not looking at anyone or anything. Elis turned around, walking towards the doorway.

“Mother…”

“Go to bed, Alexandra!” yelled Elis.

Then, Alexandra’s mother had left the hall. Alexandra did the same, but she was more frustrated. As Alexandra walked towards her room, she ran into Babastian, the Venorian servant. For those of you who don’t know what a Venorian is, they were basically a cross breed between a lizard and a human. They usually lived in the deserts, wetlands, and mountains, and they originated from the continent of Maltopia.   

“Master Alexandra, why do you walk the halls at midnight?” asked Babastian in a concerned voice.

“Why do you ask?” said Alexandra.

“It is my job to make sure you are well, and lack of sleep can turn a man insane.”

“But I am a woman, am I not?”

“It applies to all,” said Babastian.

Alexandra walked on. She then remembered her father.

“Babastian,” she said turning around. “Has my father been acting strange lately?”

“Oh, my dear,” sobbed Babastian. “Your father has truly gone mad. He always stumbles his way to bed, yells out rude things to your mother, and talks to himself all the time.”

Alexandra looked worried. Her father was usually not like this at all. Maybe Krosna was right.

“Do you think it’s the Shadow Stone?” said Alexandra.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Babastian. “I saw him stare at it for over half an hour. Just the other day, little Krosna suggested destroying the stone itself. Although she presented a solid argument, your father was outraged and ended up throwing a cast iron pot at her.”

Alexandra was shocked by the story. She could not imagine her father doing something like that, especially to his daughter.

“Anyway, I must be on my way,” said Babastian. “I wish you a good night.”

“Goodnight,” said Alexandra as Babastian walked away from her.

 

***

In her bedroom, Krosna was deep asleep with a pillow over her head. Alexandra entered the room and quietly walked towards her sister. She then kneeled beside Krosna and softly shook her.

“Krosna, wake up,” whispered Alexandra.

Krosna opened her eyes and removed the pillow from her head.

“You were right about father.”

Krosna was now wide awake. She rubbed her eyes and took a breath.

“We have to destroy the Shadow Stone,” said Krosna.

“How do we do that?” said Alexandra.

“The stone is pretty easy to destroy. The hardest part is acquiring the stone without anyone noticing. But I have a plan for that, and you would be very useful.”

 

***

On the night of the winter solstice, around twenty families had shown up to the party. Alexandra stood at the edge of the main hall, seeing the Shadow Stone towering over the crowd of people. The stone was a cube shape and medium size. Alexandra wore her usual wear with a necklace hanging from her neck. The necklace held a blue, transparent, diamond-shaped gem. She remembered the exact instructions her sister gave her. If anything goes wrong, break the gem in half.

Alexandra felt nervous. It was almost time to do her part of the plan. She needed to create a distraction while her sister snatched the stone. Suddenly, the time had come. Alexandra found a position where she could see most of the party. She cleared her voice.

“Excuse me, everyone, I have an announcement to make.”

The party paid attention to Alexandra (with all eyes looking away from the Shadow Stone.)    

“I am happy to say that this is the fiftieth winter solstice party that my father has hosted.”

This was not true. It was actually the twenty-first. But the crowd applauded anyway.

“Because of this special event, let us celebrate to our fullest.”

The crowd was in uproar. Their eyes were still pointing away from the Shadow Stone. Mallekath came out of the crowd and walked towards his daughter.

“You usually don’t speak up like that,” he said. “What gave you the motive?”

“I just found a reason to celebrate,” said Alexandra, hesitating.

“Well, you should have probably waited twenty-nine years, but no harm done.”

Mallekath turned around, and his eyes gazed at the balcony above the left doorway.

“What is your sister doing up on the balcony?” he asked.

Alexandra saw little Krosna on the top of the balcony, gripping a rope. Suddenly, she jumped off the balcony and swung across the great hall, grabbing the Shadow Stone on her way. When Krosna got to the other side, she grabbed onto the ledge with her right hand, her left arm wrapping the stone and holding the rope at the same time. “That little bitch!” yelled Mallekath in anger.

Without hesitance, Mallekath pulled out a crossbow from his left belt (which he always carried for safety purposes) and shot it at the little girl with the stone. The bolt sped through air and hit Krosna in the leg. The little girl let go of the ledge and rope, dropping around twenty feet or so. Krosna hit the ground with a thump, the Shadow Stone beside her. The party had completely stopped and looked at the little girl lying on the floor, unconscious and damaged. Elis came out of the crowd, in shock, and cradled her daughter in her arms. Then came Mallekath and Alexandra. Then Michael, Babastian, and Anna. All surrounded Krosna.

Elis looked up at her husband with an evil eye.

“How could you do such a thing to our daughter?!” she yelled.

“She tried to destroy the Shadow Stone!” said Mallekath, picking up the stone.

“She did it to save you,” yelled Alexandra. “She knew the stone was consuming you, so she tried getting rid of it for good.”

Mallekath stared at Alexandra like a wolf staring at its bait.

“And you. You helped her,” he said in a monster-like tone. “You will pay for this!”

Suddenly, Mallekath pointed the stone towards Alexandra and a great beam of light, coming from the stone, blinded the crowd. Without delay, Alexandra ran away from the stone. But a great blast came from behind and pushed her out of the hall. The main hall behind her was consumed by a blinding light of death. The walls cracked and broke while she sped through the air. In a second, she ended up falling off the outside balcony. Alexandra was speeding down with the rough terrain beneath her. With no time to think, she took the gem from her necklace and split it in half. Alexandra disappeared from the scene.    

 

***

The fire crackled as Bjor stood in shock from Alexandra’s story. He gave her a piece of venison.

“You’ve obviously been through a lot,” said Bjor as Alexandra was munching on her venison. “You said you were from Mirewood, right?”

“Yes. I was in the northwest. On the border of Morrisland and Mirewood.”

Bjor let out a strong sigh.

“Well, if you’re planning on heading back, I suggest staying ‘till the end of winter.”

“Why?” asked Alexandra in an anxious voice.

“Well, this is Red Pine.”

Alexandra sighed in frustration. Red Pine was a region in the Orcish kingdom of Red Rock. This mostly human area was more than two-thousand miles away from her home. Why did the gem bring her here? It must have been a mistake from the gem. The destinations were sometimes random.

“You can stay here till the spring solstice,” said Bjor in a kind voice.  

“Thank you. I’ll try not to be a burden.”

 

Life is Beautiful

                           

life is soft and serene when you let her

when you wake up too early and you sit in the living room

the sun hits you and you hear ocean waves

you don’t live by an ocean

take everything slow

appreciate the life you have

and life will smile upon you

and she’ll make it easier to appreciate

because I woke up at 6:30

and I sat in my living room listening to the sounds

watching and smiling

it felt like a Blank Banshee music video

but deeper I felt hunger

because I never want life to stop giving me those moments

but I’m not sure she will

 

Fire

                    

I watch the little spots of color

Dance around the night air

Like lightning bugs,

Twirling into the night sky

And disappearing from sight.

 

Sitting there, beside the stone circle,

I feel as if a heavy blanket

Is draped over my shoulders,

Warding the encroaching cold

From sinking beneath my skin.

 

I lean back, hair splayed over grass,

Listening to the snaps and crackles,

Watching the almost lightning bugs

Race upwards,

Mimicking the specks of stars,

And trying to be them.

 

The Adventures of Melon

Once upon a bork, there were three incredibly stupid characters in a spaceship in between Earth and the moon. They needed a quick way to escape. Their names were Walter Mellon, Olivia the Moon Squirrel, and Richard the Talking Baby.

 

***

“Welp, the ship broke down. We’re screwed,” I said, after checking the ship’s engine and hull in the engine room.

The engine was destroyed because of some guy I’d seen in the past before, but decided not to kill. Bunko Mob or something like that, driving in a strange van made of dirt and random debris. I stole his shotgun once–he seemed very annoyed–but he eventually got it back from me. Maybe he wanted revenge and decided to try to kill me. How he managed to ram into us and completely destroy our ship, I will never know. Heck, I’ll never know how he was driving a van through SPACE, but this wasn’t my biggest concern. But we needed a way off of this ship, now. The hull would collapse on itself soon. I didn’t know how we would get off, I was only with a baby named Richard and a squirrel from the moon named Olivia.

“What do we do?” Richard said, and I yelped.

I had no idea Richard could speak perfect English.

“How are you speaking?!” I asked. “You are barely even two years old!”

“So?” Richard said.

He sort of had a point, so I left him alone.

“Ok, I don’t have time to argue about this. We need a way off this ship now. Can you drive an escape pod or something?”

“I can drive one,” a new voice said.

Richard and I both yelped this time. I turned around and saw a tiny, pale-grey squirrel with a fuzzy tail staring at us. We had no idea a moon squirrel spoke English as well.

“I would ask how this is happening, but in this story, all of this is probably considered logical,” I said. “After all, I’m a freaking human-melon with a gun.”

Richard didn’t seem to care. He was busy trying to snap Olivia the Moon Squirrel’s legs.

“HANDS OFF DA SQUIRREL!” I yelled, picking up my rifle and aiming it at Richard, momentarily forgetting he was just a baby.

“But… it’s squirrel!” Richard whimpered.

I was starting to wonder if Richard was mentally stable.

“A few moments ago, you were a mature talking baby. Now you can’t speak one legitimate sentence. Care to explain?” I accused.

“I have a medical condition called… uh… Superlegitdiseasethatmakesyoukillsquirrelsrightnowitis.”

I believed him, I’ve seen victims of it before. There was one problem, though.

“My good sir,” I said.

“What?”

“A human body should only be weak enough to catch Superlegitdiseasethatmakesyoukillsquirrelsrightnowitis at the age of 50.”

“How would you know? You’re only a watermelon shaped like a human.”

I wondered how he was so educated. I was about to ask, but I decided that I didn’t want to know.

“Okay, everyone, let’s go to the upper deck. Maybe we will find some kind of airlock and escape.

“Fine by me,” Olivia said, trying to get away from the deranged baby.

I found some stairs and began to climb. I eventually made it to the top and pulled a hatch open. Outside the hatch was open space protected by a force field keeping oxygen on the ship. We were on the upper deck. I then began to search for an escape pod, and Richard chased Olivia around, trying to pull her torso in half. Olivia occasionally screamed for help and tried to shoot Richard with my rifle once or twice.

The upper deck had no airlock, so we went back downstairs, into a corridor. There were three doors in the corridor: the engine room, the living quarters, and a door leading to another corridor. I chose the second corridor and found an airlock after what seemed like days (although I tend to exaggerate, so let’s just say it was about 10 minutes.)

“Hey guys, come check this out!” I said and waved the others over.

Olivia ran over to the door, and Richard followed her, still trying to break her legs. I opened the door… and…

Found a hatch. I was about to open the hatch, until I noticed a gigantic sign that said: TOTALLY INCONSPICUOUS GIANT SIGN THAT TOTALLY DOESN’T HAVE A SHOTGUN BEHIND IT OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

I got the sign off, looked behind it, and…

There really wasn’t a shotgun there. I hate stupid signs like that. I went back to open the hatch, until I noticed another sign in front of it that said “Airlock.” The airlock it was gesturing to led to nothing but space.

“Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute.” I said.

A minute passed. I finished waiting.

“Who tried to trick me into opening an airlock into space?!” I said.

“Uhhhh, totally not me or anything like that, hahahahahahaha!” Richard said.

“Are you telling the truth?” I said.

“No, I mean yes!!!” Richard replied a bit too quickly. This (of all the absurd things in this story) didn’t seem right.

I squinted. Richard sighed.

“All right, all right, I tried to kill you.” he said.

“Why?!” I asked.

“‘COS I’M UNCKO BAWB HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!” he yelled, before going into a massive coughing fit. “AGH, SWEET SAUSAGE-SLAPPING SANDWICHES SACRIFICING SAD SAILBOATS!!! SMOKING DOG BISCUITS WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!!!”

At this point, Richard’s head fell off, and a tall, fully grown man with a potbelly and an almost bald head somehow pulled himself out of Richard’s head. The man was wearing a weird gold jacket and jeans (the jeans seemed to be about five sizes too small). I instantly recognized him and reached for my gun.

You!” I yelled. “You tried to kill me!”

“I KNOW!” he yelled. “I DO BELIEVE YOU WERE AWAKE FOR THE LAST THREE MINUTES!”

“STOP IT WITH THE SMART COMEBACKS!”

“GIVE ME THE OTHER HALF OF MY TRACKSUIT FIRST!”

I became a little confused.

“WHAT?!”

“THIS GOLD JACKET IS HALF OF MY TRACKSUIT! GIVE ME MY PANTS! THESE JEANS BELONG TO MY SON! I WANT MINE BACK!!”

“MAYBE LATER! ALSO, WHY ARE WE YELLING? MY THROAT IS STARTING TO HURT!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE A THROAT!”

“I SAID STOP!” I yelled, as I grabbed my rifle, aimed it at his head, and fired. A moon squirrel slammed into his face.

“Olivia, why were you in my rifle?” I asked.

“Hiding from that hideous creature–oh, it’s just a human,” she replied.

“AAAHH! OUT OF THIS HOUSE, VILE DEMON!” Uncko Bawb yelled and threw a piece of melon at her that he was keeping in a jacket pocket that may or may not have had a wormhole inside of it (don’t ask how I know that.) Then realized he how much he just screwed up.

“Aw, shoot.”

“You killed a melon! Die!” I yelled and repeatedly shot at him.

Because of my rage, I missed multiple times.

“SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT!” he yelled, and tried to run to the airlock. Because of his ridiculously small pants, it was more so like waddling than running.

“TIMMY, GET THE VAN!” he yelled.

“Okay!” a voice that sounded like a teenage human (I’m guessing it was Timmy) replied, and a van made of dirt and trash somehow drove in front of the airlock.

“Haha, so long suckers!” Bawb yelled and tried to throw the airlock open.

It wouldn’t budge.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Bawb said. “Since when does an airlock need a key?!” He pointed at a keyhole seemingly made of wind. “I swear, this story gets dumber every second.”

While he was distracted, I aimed my gun at his head. Before I could fire, Olivia got my attention by looking at something past the airlock. It looked like it was made of something frozen.

“Iceberg, dead ahead!” Olivia yelled, as we crashed into it, sending a huge crack through the steel roof of our ship.

“NO, I CAN’T DIE!” Bawb cried. “I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!”

“You can’t be serious,” I muttered. “I think the author of this stupid story is running out of ideas.”

Just then, the roof tore open.

“WE’RE SINKING!” Bawb yelled.

He was right. You could see space pouring into our ship.

“Find the key for that airlock!” I yelled. “Olivia, check the engine room! Bawb, you-”

“Oh heck no, I’m outta here!” Bawb yelled. He then screamed “TIMMY, I’M COMING!” and jumped out of the ship and landed inside his trashy (pun intended) van.

The van started up and flew towards Earth. I could hear a distant “SO LONG, FREAK! WOO!” before the van disappeared from sight.

“Well, this isn’t good,” I muttered, as space kept pouring in, covering the nearest objects in the ship and blocking off the engine room and our living quarters.

“What do we do?!” Olivia yelled, before some of her pale-grey fur was almost engulfed by the incoming space.

She yelped and ran towards me. I didn’t know what to do, and I had to hurry and think of something, fast. I could see the vastness of space outside the ship, and there wasn’t much air left, since we were sinking. That was when I noticed a green object fly through the door to a nearby corridor. I grabbed Olivia, and followed it into a hallway with the door to the engine room in it. I wondered what the object was, but I couldn’t waste time searching for it. We needed to leave. I remembered there was a secret spare escape pod there, but at first, I thought it would be completely wrecked like the engine was. I thought it was worth checking it out now.

We burst into the engine room, and I braced myself for what came next. In order to get to the pod, we would have to move the entire engine, without making it explode. So, naturally, like the genius melon that I am, I picked up my rifle and unloaded an entire magazine of bullets into the fuel tank.

The engine exploded, sending shards of scrap metal into the walls next to me and Olivia. After the explosion cleared up, three things happened:

 

  1. We saw a hatch leading to a fully-functional escape pod, blown open.
  2. We heard an automated voice: “Attention: Lack of fuel. Gravity set to 0%.” We began to float in the air.
  3. A few seconds later, the voice game back: “Emergency: Primary systems offline. Self-Destruct Sequence initiated. All inhabitants evacuate. Self destruct in 30… 29… 28…”

 

At 28, I realized the seriousness of the situation and grabbed Olivia, stuffed her in the empty magazine of my rifle, loaded her in, and shot her into the pod.

 

26… 25… 24…

 

“OLIVIA, START THE ENGINE!” I yelled, as I kicked off the steel wall of the ship. It broke off and flew into oblivion. More space was pouring in. I heard her scream something like, “okay!” But I had no time to focus on her words.

 

23… 22… 21…

 

I missed the pod but managed to throw my rifle inside as I heard the engine charging up in the pod. I then kicked off the other wall, did a 180 degree flip, and flew right through the hatch, landing face first in the pod, 15 feet below me. Thank God for no gravity. I quickly bounced back up and pulled the door on top of the escape pod. I looked around. It was a circular pod with a control panel taking up much of the space. There were windows on all sides of the pod.

 

20… 19… 18…

 

“How long until the engine is fully charged?” I asked Olivia.

“10 seconds, I think,” Olivia replied.

Her fuzzy tail was twitching nervously. Wait, scratch that. Her entire freaking body was twitching nervously.

 

17… 16… 15… 14… 13… 12… 11… 10…

 

The engine stopped charging and made a tiny beep. Another computerized voice turned on saying, “Welcome. All systems online. Preparing thrusters…”

 

It took us exactly 3.57372619539284759372739487482817383482738 seconds to prepare the thrusters. We then took off really quickly. And emphasis on the really. We flew through space so fast, I hit the back wall of the pod and nearly broke through it. I could barely hear a faraway computerized voice say, “3… 2… 1… 0,” before I turned around and saw a massive explosion, with bits of our ship flying everywhere. One massive piece almost hit us, scraping the top of our pod. I turned in a full 360, surveying the scene. On my left, I saw an intercom fly by us, saying, “Thank you for cooperating. This was directed by Michael Bay,” before it got caught in the orbit of the moon.

“To Earth!” I said happily, amazed that we survived that massive ordeal.

“Aye aye!” Olivia said, obviously just as happy.

As we headed to Earth, I saw something amazing and grinned. Uncko Bawb’s van’s engine died, and he was stuck in the middle of space. There also happened to be a pile of sniper ammunition and explosives by the side of the pod. I think you know what I had in mind.

I was about to put him through the hell of his life, but I heard him talking on a radio. “Yeah, Michael Bay, I need some help. Can you get me outta here? ‘Kay, thanks,” he said.

I was filled with rage once I remembered what the intercom said. Michael Bay put Bawb up to this?I hate Michael Bay! He tried to shove a stick of dynamite into one of my sniper rifles once. I unloaded all my explosives by throwing them at the trashy van. They stuck to it for some reason. I then picked up some ammo, took aim, and fired.

The explosion that took place there was unbearable. I could feel the heat from inside the pod. Somehow, the van didn’t explode, just spiraled into the next galaxy with a very angry, fat, baldy yelling, “I WILL AVENGE MY TRACKSUIT!”

We then got caught in Earth’s orbit and flew into a place called New York. We ended up crashing through a building and landing on some guy. His name was Adam or whatever. When we climbed out of the pod, there were three very surprised people sitting on couches with computers, staring at us.

“You saw nothing,” I said and climbed out of the place where I landed, running away through a broken wall and scaling a building.

Getting out of the place where we crashed wasn’t much of a victory. The police would be here soon. But at least we could get back home, to a secret base I owned. There are secret pathways to get there, one of them being in Bitchfield, UK (no lie, that is a real place.) These pathways are portals to another alternate reality, where normal humans don’t exist (yep, this just turned sci-fi.) In order to get there, we would have to find a way from New York to Bitchfield. That would be pretty tough, since we didn’t have any means of transportation, and we just crashed our escape pod on a male human in a weird place named Writopia (I read a sign as we ran from the building.) I thought I heard sirens, so I decided now would be a good time to run faster. I eventually found my way to a nearby museum. I thought it would be a good place to hide, so I was about to go inside, but something stopped me. This “something” was a van made of dirt, falling from the sky with a very angry, bald guy inside wielding a shotgun.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Uncko Bawb crashed into the street, completely demolishing it. A wave of dust flew out from the ground where he landed, blinding me. When the dust cleared up, there he was, standing with a severely pissed off teenager, wielding dual pistols, to his left. To Bawb’s right, there was a man with brown hair in a blue shirt, holding a rocket launcher and wearing a belt of grenades… wait, no. The belt was made of grenades. If these people were who I think they were, I was probably about to get my melon bits burst open.

Michael Bay and Timmy Bawb raised their weapons, aiming them at me. Bawb did the same.

“I told you I would avenge my tracksuit, Melon Boy!” he exclaimed.

“Dude, where are your pants?” I said.

Bawb looked down. He was wearing no pants.

“They got uncomfortable, so I took them off.”

“How did you get back here?” I said.

“Michael Bay,” he replied, motioning at the dude with the rocket launcher.

I forgot he called Michael for help. Speaking of him, why did Bawb put him up to this? Was it because Bay found out that Bawb wanted his tracksuit back and blamed it on me? Huh, that may have been what happened.

While I was thinking about it, Bawb distracted me by yelling, “Michael, shoot him!”

And the sound of a rocket fired towards me. I had no time to run, so I held my arms up in defense and braced myself for the end. I heard the explosion as I flew backwards. After groaning in pain, I looked up and saw my escape pod on the ground where the rocket was.

“Wait, what?” Bawb said, as a kid climbed out of the broken pod.

It was the kid I smashed, somehow not dead. He took a computer out of the pod, typed something in it, looked up, and flicked his hand towards Bawb. Bawb and Timmy flew backwards and crashed into a tree. The boy then typed something else, and Michael Bay froze in time. He then began to glow and dematerialized right in front of us, turning into a pile of dust and explosives, and blew away in the wind. The boy turned to us.
“What’s up, Walter?” he asked as Bawb curled up into a ball, groaning in pain.

I squinted at the boy.

“Who the heck are you, and how do you know my name?” I demanded.

“I’m the writer of this insane story, but I had no idea this story was actually happening in real time,” he said. “I’m guessing the pathway to your home in Bitchfield is real too.” He snickered. “God, I will never say that without laughing.”

“Hold on, hold on,” I said. “You wrote the story we are currently in?”

“Yes, but as I said before, I had no idea this was happening in real time.”

“Can you somehow send us home?” I asked.

“Us?” he wondered.

Then he saw Olivia, who I didn’t notice was trying to hide in my gun. Her bushy tail was stuck in the barrel.

“Oh, right. Absolutely. By the way, here are Bawb’s pants.” He tossed me Uncko Bawb’s pants (I never noticed when he took them out.)

While I was wondering why the author gave me the pants, he took out his computer, typed a few words, and clapped his hands.

Poof. Suddenly, we were above a hidden hatch in Bitchfield (I don’t think I will ever say that without laughing either.) Olivia was still in my rifle, for some reason. There were female dogs on the ground, writhing around (I guess that’s why they call this place Bitchfield.) Anyway, we climbed underground, through the hidden hatch, and stood in front of a five-foot hole which led to a portal.

“So, you live in a portal?” Olivia asked.

“No, this portal leads to my home. You go first,” I said, and after putting up a huge fight (Olivia is apparently trypophobic), she reluctantly leaped headfirst into the portal. I jumped in after her.

After I felt a quick, cold, tingly sensation (I usually do when I go through a portal), I landed on my face, in my underground hideout, in front of my rifle rack. Olivia was staring at my other rifles in wonder and was probably thinking about how I connected a metal weaponry rack to a dirt wall underground. Or how I got it underground in the first place.

I walked over to a hatch in the ground, which I used as an entrance and exit. I opened it and looked outside. The hatch was hidden by trees, since I lived near the edge of a forest.

It was raining out. I could see a field nearby, the wet grass glistening. I looked at a nearby house (which happened to belong to a fat man named Bawb.) I had nothing else to do, so I went up to his house. Hey, maybe I could find the rest of his tracksuit and hold it for ransom.

I peeked through Bawb’s extremely dirty window. No, literally. His house was made of dirt and random debris too. I have no idea where or how he found this place. Bawb was sitting there, watching TV with a scowl on his face. The author must have sent him and Timmy home after me and Olivia were sent back. I guess I’m not going to take his tracksuit right now.

As I turned around to leave, I saw something a little odd. Not like “Justin Bieber is running around naked” odd, but more like “HOLY CROW, THERE’S A TIME VORTEX OPENING IN THE SKY” odd. Which was exactly what happened. Also, Justin Bieber was running around naked. Forgot to mention that earlier.

I watched the weird time vortex open in the sky… no wait, two time vortexes. A second one opened up inside the first one… and another… and another… and another… and inside that one, there was a bottle of Mountain Dew… no wait, that was a time vortex shaped like a bottle of Mountain Dew… oh, inside that one was the Mountain Dew. But inside the Mountain Dew was another time vortex. I’m pretty sure opening infinite time vortexes inside of time vortexes at the same time (vortex) shouldn’t have been possible, but while that was happening, pieces of the ground around me began to get sucked inside. And then I was being thrown inside one time vortex, and then into another one, and another one, and another one and another one, and another one, and hey, there’s the bottle of Mountain Dew. And another vortex, and another one, and another one. This went on for many hours, but I still tend to exaggerate, so let’s say ten minutes again. I saw Bawb pass me, screaming, and landing inside the bottle of Mountain Dew. He made a big swoosh and was whisked back in time. I, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if I should’ve been be scared, utterly terrified, or confused. Suddenly, I heard a big explosion and saw bits of me vaporizing. I thought now was a good time to be utterly terrified.

As bits of me vaporized and flew away, the time vortexes I was passing through rapidly cleared, and I saw the ship that Olivia and “Richard” and I was on a while ago. Far away, I somehow knew Bawb popped out of a bottle of Mountain Dew and threw himself (and Timmy) into his van. He then drove off into space, and I could see him coming from Earth to annihilate our ship. I could see him ramming the wall in the engine room. He then popped into a tiny, fake baby suit, and jumped onto the upper deck (by the way, this is an actual ship, not some crappy spaceship. Why else would there be an upper deck?) A few minutes later, I could hear myself saying, “Welp, the ship broke down. We’re screwed”.

Wait… I could hear myself? Maybe it was because I went through infinite vortexes and Bawb fell into a bottle of Mountain Dew, so Bawb actually went back in time, so he ended up actually going back in time, and I didn’t. I was just watching. Or as an experienced scientist would say, I was stalking them. But this wasn’t my biggest problem: How in the world do I get home? Well, actually, not in the world, I was at least 300,000 and a half miles away. So,how around the world do I get home?!

“What’s up?” said a voice behind me.

I quickly turned around.

“Wha–How?!” I said to the author, who was sitting directly behind me.

“I have a name,” he said.

I forgot he did.

“Anyway, yeah, you’re sorta screwed right now.”

“How do I get out of here?” I asked him. “I sorta wanna go home right now.”

“Oh, to Bitchfield?” Adam completely lost it. “Sorry, I had to. Use Uncko Bawb’s pants.”

“What?” I asked.

He motioned for me to look to my right. I turned and saw Bawb’s pants, glowing.

“Oh.”

“Touch them,” Adam said.

“Can’t. Sorta got vaporized in a freaking time vortex.”

“Oh, right.”

Adam took out a computer (where is he keeping that thing?) and typed something in it. Suddenly, I had an arm.

“Okay, now touch it.”

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“You put Michael Jackson’s face on my shoulder. There’s no arm.”

Adam smirked.

“Oh.”

He typed something else, and bam, I had arms. I was about to touch the pants but thought of something.

“How come you didn’t just tell me about the time vortex to begin with?”

“Didn’t think of that,” Adam said, clearly trying to lie.
The little jerk.

“Why was there a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex shaped like a bottle of Mountain Dew inside of an actual bottle of Mountain Dew inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex?”

“Justin Bieber running around naked caused the universe to cringe and try to kill him,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” I said.

I could agree with that answer. It sounded believable. With all this in mind, I touched Uncko Bawb’s pants and heard a loud beeping sound. Suddenly, I was back at the portal in Bitchfield. I jumped through, and the first thing I saw when I climbed out of my home was Justin Bieber in a field, dancing around naked. I shot him in the head. I could swear the universe was yelling thank you at me. As I was going back into my home, I could then swear I heard the universe yelling “I WANTED TO DO THAT!” at me. I turned around and there was Uncko Bawb, with his shotgun. Nope, that was him yelling that.

“WHY ARE YOU WEARING MY PANTS!?” he yelled.

I looked down and realized I was wearing Bawb’s tracksuit.

“Um… do I need a reason?” I asked, a bit awkwardly.

“TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES!” he replied, a bit angrily.

“I’m not taking them off right here,” I said, a bit weirded out that I was wearing these clothes.

“THEN GO TO WHEREVER THE HECK YOU LIVE AND CHANGE, MELON BOY!” he yelled, a bit antagonistically.

“WILL YOU PLEASE STOP YELLING! I’M RIGHT HERE!” I yelled, also a bit antagonistically.

“NO!” he yelled, also a bit antagonistically.

I was beginning to get antagonized to my limit. I was about to antagonistically antagonize his antagonistically antagonizing antagonization because it was so antagonistically antagonizing, but I decided not to antagonistically antagonize his antagonistically antagonizing antagonization for some antagonistically antagonistic reason. I just went back home.

When I crawled through my hatch, I was greeted with a moon squirrel and a paper to the face. After Olivia’s greeting, she explained how she found the hatch after I left, and she ventured out to a nearby town and found out that Uncko Bawb had a reward for whoever found his pants. I began reading the paper Olivia threw at me:

 

WANTED:

MEH PANTEHZ

THER IZ REWAARD!

REWAARD IZ TWUNTY FIEV MILION DOLLAHS!

-Love, UNCKO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWB <3 <3 <3

 

Once I finished reading, I looked to the right,and saw a grinning moon squirrel (can moon squirrels grin?) staring me in the face. Instantly understanding the grin, I quickly changed into my old clothes, which consisted of an old leather jacket, black shirt, and black jeans (no, I am not emo. Or goth. Or anything of the type. Go away.) Anyway, I changed out of my clothes and prepared to go give Bawb the clothes and take his money. I opened the hatch to get outside, and…

Wait.

Wait, what?

Why was there another melon person staring at me? While I was trying to find out who this melon person was, and why he was stalking me from about 15 meters, he called out to me.

“Walter, is that you?” he yelled.

“Who the heck are you?” was my reply.

I climbed out of my home and came closer to inspect him. He did the same.

“Walter, do you really not recognize me?” he said, sounding a bit hurt.

“Um…b no,” I replied.

“Does the name Salter Mellon remind you of someone?” he asked.

I tried to think of who he might be, but didn’t come up with anything except a small amount of recognition.

“Wait, are you…” I tried to say.

“Yes, Walter, it’s me, your brother.”

Dun Dun Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.

 

To be continued… maybe… eh, forget it. (Nah, there’s going to be a sequel.)

 

Sunset

                            

Yellow is the bright color of sunflowers and sunsets

Then the sun goes down and the sunflowers are forgotten

I whine when I can’t see sunlight

I write my feelings on a white substance called paper and

Infinite numbers of people say goodnight to the beautiful sun

Trees go to sleep when the moon says hi friends  

A cow says its goodnight with its pristine white underbelly

Contacting the moon with my long sighs and loud cries

A downpour of rain begins while wishing the sun to return

Sun comes up and the day starts again

 

An Old Friend

The castle had remnants of grandeur, of beauty long forgotten, now hanging in rubble and ruins over the cliff of the violently churning sea. Perhaps once it had been glorious, but now it lay in tatters, much like the man who claimed residency there. Torn and ripped apart at the edges, his gloom hung heavy upon the castle, echoing in every cracked mirror and shattered window, hauntingly beautiful in its demise.

His shouts were etched in every stone, carved into the very fabric of the castle, for to separate one from the other was surely impossible. Years of mindless madness had ruined him, now only a shadow of what he once was, a mere flicker of humanity trapped inside an empty, bloodied shell.

Stumbling blindly over the cracked, ancient marble, chasing the figures that tormented him so, the nameless man ran ragged through the ballroom, following those who had broken his mind, crumbling it down until it had turned to dust. Breath flowed harshly from his parted, cracked lips, hands scrabbled for grip upon the cold, unforgiving walls. Yet those he hunted so perversely were never caught, steps echoing upon the floor painted with tales of centuries past, the scream falling from his tongue before he had a chance to catch it, to stop the sound of pure, unforgivable hell filling the room like a chorus of demons, their faces savage as they ravaged his mind, their hands upon his shoulders, forcing him down upon the ground, and yet he could not feel them. Only his eyes could find their grotesque forms, the sunken orbs frantically searching from beast to beast, fingers scrabbling at the moonlit shadows that cast paintings upon his pallid, translucent skin, the unforgiving years hallowing his frame until only a small, pale ghost of a man remained.

He could hear the laughter ringing around him, their mockery agonizing him until his palms bled, the ugly crescent marks staining the whiteness of his hand vivid red, blood pooling under the fragile surface. Blood was not new to him, in fact, he welcomed it with familial affection, glorifying the way it spilled from every vein his demons ruptured, venerating each drop as if it was life itself, and in a way, it was. Yet as the blood spilt upon the floor, it proved a painful reminder of his greatest tragedy: the feeble beating of his wretched, forsaken heart. Each beat thrust against his ribcage as he was brought abruptly to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck prickling as he felt the undeniable feeling of being watched, of being hunted, the figures that had eluded him so suddenly gone in a moment of terrible clarity, vanishing into smoke and ice as he was left alone in the banishment of his solitude.

Staggering to ripped, aged curtains of ravished velvet, the unwelcome solace of the horrendous truth slowly building in his decaying mind, swelling like the great rise of a revolution destined to fall. The hunter had nothing, now stripped away until only the prey remained, weak and trembling, gripping those curtains as if they could save him from the ending of his story, the last inkblots staining the crumbling page. But even as the air filled his lungs, as the pain of life fell so heavily upon his weakening shoulders, he felt a gloved hand upon his neck, belonging so clearly to a being more than merely smoke and shadow, finding the chilling comfort of an old friend as his hurried whispers dissolved in one last moment of finality.

 

Blood Stains

Pierre Gusteau was a different child. Not in a bad way. He always wanted a legacy. Everyone wants a legacy. Everyone wants to be remembered. But Pierre. Pierre lived for a legacy.

In school projects, while others collaborated, Pierre would work alone. He wasn’t antisocial. He could make friends very easily if he tried. He just didn’t want to have such burdens. He just wanted a legacy. He wanted to be remembered. And he wanted to get full credit for his work. So in the late hours of the night, when no one was up, he would turn on the candles and hunch over his desk like a vulture. And he would furiously dab his pen into the ink pot. His face was inches away from the paper, and every so often, he smiled. He was playing a game with himself. He was trying to squeeze as many words as he could into one line. As a child, he had always stayed at school later, helping around the classroom. After about an hour of slow-paced organization of school supplies, Pierre would decide to walk home. As he entered, there would be silence, and if you listened closely, you could hear the suppressed sobs of his grandmother. Sobs that wanted to be released but were held inside. And there, on the creaking bed, lay Pierre’s mother. She had died of the disease known as Tegrofy. She looked like a scared infant who hung coldly and loosely in a fetal position. Pierre, who was crumbling with disappointment and sorrow, didn’t know how to show it. As he lay down next to his mom, and as he wrapped the grey strands of her hair around his finger one last time, he made a vow.

He promised himself that he would find a cure to the disease that unjustly stole his mother. He only studied the sciences from that point forward and treated it as the only thing of importance in his life. It was the only thing he lived for. His grandma was always asking questions about his relationships. She tried to be sneaky about them, but it was apparent that she wanted him to marry a nice girl. At the mention of marriage, however, Pierre would merely roll his eyes and softly grunt, which was a sign that he couldn’t be bothered.

Grandma finally found “the perfect girl,” and they were married in a humble ceremony at the local  church. For the first time in many years, Pierre smiled. He smiled as the sun beat down on his face. He smiled as he saw his wife-to-be. He smiled as his wife-to-be became his wife. He smiled at his uncle’s repetitives jokes. And at the end of the night, he smiled one last time, remembering how great the day had been. But the smile quickly faded as he remembered his mother. How he wished she were here. And then, again, his urge for making something of himself overtook his life, and he started wondering about what he would do tomorrow in the lab.

He explained to his wife, Amelie, that he was working on this cure for a disease. And he explained how this meant everything in the world to him — to help the lives of people similar to his mother.

And so, every day after the marriage, Pierre locked himself in his study, which had become his lab. As he closed the tall brown doors to his lab, he felt a sense of pride, and he stood a little straighter. He worked alone, by himself. He always daydreamed peacefully about unveiling his cure before a crowd of people. He dreamed of being surrounded by wealth, and by glory. He dreamed of winning awards, and he wished for people to clap as he waved to them. He wanted fathers to bring their children up to him and, with a kind smile, say, “Son, this man is a hero!” He worked alone so that he wouldn’t have to share the glory. He didn’t want to have to share the award. He wouldn’t consider himself selfish, though. He would argue with passion that it was human nature to want the best for yourself, and that it is only natural that some people were better than others.

Meanwhile, his wife had nothing to do. Amelie had come from a modestly rich family, so her father provided enough money for the two of them. Amelie had nothing to do when she wasn’t meeting with the ladies of her club. And so, she made it her duty to clean every inch of the house in the morning hours. So, after a breakfast of oats and eggs, Pierre would lock himself in his study, and she would clean the house. She especially enjoyed cleaning the smooth marble tiles of the kitchen floor. She would crouch on the floor, with rags, and would wipe the floor. Every few minutes, her knees would start aching, and she would have to switch positions. She took each piece of dirt by vigorously wiping the crevices in the tiles. One day, her husband decided to go on their honeymoon, even though it had been two years since they had married. They both took a break from their work and enjoyed it. Pierre was laughing again. But often, he thought about how the break would soon end — and he was for the first time scared of the work that lay ahead. He decided that relaxing breaks were not for him.

However, in that time, his wife became pregnant, and nine months later, she bore a pair of twins. They were two baby boys, with wide smiles that stretched across their faces, and they had such dense patches of freckles that seen from afar, darkened the entire pigmentation of their face. And so the children grew up, their freckles disappeared, and they no longer shook when they sneezed. Amelie, now much older, still cleaned with all her strength.

And Pierre was on the verge of the cure — though he didn’t know it yet. The work had taken a toll on him. Deep wrinkles were now engraved in his forehead, thanks to all the reading and writing he had done hunched over a candlelight. And his skin was sickly pale. Often, late at night, when his family was asleep, he would take midnight walks, where he shivered in the cold, and where he kicked trees to take his anger out. If only my mom hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be obsessed with this stupid disease, he would think to himself. He beat himself up for the time he had wasted. He beat himself up because he could no longer remember where his uncles lived. Or whether “the uncle with the repetitive jokes” was still alive. But he hoped he was.

Amelie now had a purpose to clean every morning, because by nightfall, thanks to the boys, the kitchen was in careless ruin. With all of this work on her plate, you could find Amelie on her knees, wiping with her dirty white rag from morning ‘till sundown. The boys had no supervision, and the family was not wealthy enough to afford a nanny. So after school, the boys would do whatever they pleased. They didn’t become bad kids, but they became more daring. Every few days, they would both get a mischievous look. Their eyes would stare off into the distance, and a sly grin would slowly appear on their faces. With no words spoken between the two of them, they would run off on their next adventure. They would not return until nightfall sometimes, and if Pierre noticed, he would get quite angry. That is what kept the boys in line — the fear that their father might catch them. Even though, most of the time, Pierre was so consumed by his work that he forgot the faces of his children. At night, he would look at their sweet, innocent faces in bed. And he would smile, and try to make a picture of his children in his head that he could remember. He would kiss their cheeks five times each before leaving, but by the next morning, his work made him forget his kids’ faces once again. And so, the cycle repeated.

One day, when Amelie was meeting with friends, the boys brought a friend of theirs over to play. They decided to use knives to replicate the sword fights they had read about in fantasies. They used the kitchen knives, and started slashing the blades in the air. They started fighting each other slowly, and then the fighting became faster. The sound of the metal knives clashing in the air was like a gong, and with each hit, their senses awakened even more. Pierre heard the fighting from downstairs, but decided not to be bothered, as he had found something interesting in his test results. And as he examined the test results, one of his son’s knives was thrown off course and plunged into the chest of his other son. The other son froze for a moment, and in that split-second, the knife of their friend plunged into his stomach. The boy joined his brother on the floor, and they limply lay in the puddle of blood. Their friend, angry and distraught by what he had just done, balled up his fists and ran away, sobbing.

And as the last breaths escaped the clutches of the two boys, upstairs, in the study, there was a joyous scream of, “Eureka, finally, finally.” He ran down to show the test results to his family, but only found a streaming flow of blood coming from the kitchen. And as he saw the two boys on the floor, he dropped his papers and ran to them. He picked their flaccid bodies up into his arms and whispered, “I should have been there for you…”

He let the bodies slide back onto the floor, and he kissed each of the boys’ foreheads one hundred times, to make up for the times he wasn’t there for them.

As Amelie returned, she, too, was filled with sadness and wished she could have been there for her children. She stopped her cleaning for a few days as they prepared for the funeral. Pierre looked to see if he could find the address of his uncle to inform him of the loss. He found it, but was informed that his whole family had died from Tegrofy, like his mother. If only he had worked in a lab with more people, instead of just himself. Maybe he could have saved them earlier.

Days passed. Pierre became famous, but once again, he felt empty. He didn’t know what he needed. But he lived every day with regret. He was regretful that he saved everyone’s lives — but he let his own children die.

And Amelie, after falling into a deep depression for months, once again picked up her cleaning rags and continued her unfulfilling life. She would clean every single inch of the house — except for one part. She let the blood stains dry onto her beautiful marble tiles. And from that point on, she no longer enjoyed cleaning the kitchen. She cleaned around the bloodstains. As a reminder that both of them paid for a legacy.

 

Unified Separation

                           

Once there was a sun and moon

The sun circled the moon, like a dog racing to catch its tale

They were Unified

Stronger together

The light and the moon

The same

But separate

The light and dark’s appearance

The sun’s shining face blared down on the moon’s darkness

The shining sun tried to overshadow the moon, they didn’t know the moon was a star

But the moon struggled to shine, as it reflected light off the sun,

As the moon attempted to appear in the same shimmering sky

 

The sun will outshine the moon, but there are still thousands of moons.

Years Later

The sun

Shines over all the land

With little reminiscence of black moons.

 

iPhone 7, Yes or No?

You just bought the new iPhone 7. Super wow. Maybe you should rethink your choice. The iPhone 7 might look really cool, but it’s missing things and has many flaws. During the course history, even the very first iPhone way back in 2000 had a headphone jack. Now, I know a lot of people are saying, “it’s about time” but if you buy an iphone 7, you also need to buy $200 earbuds. No biggy. Secondly, the iPhone 7 is supposed to be waterproof but it’s NOT. Thirdly, the iPhone 7 fails to impress. In the past, we have had big upgrades from phone to phone, but the iPhone 7 just doesn’t do it.

For a long time, the iPhone has had a headphone jack. Recently that has changed. With the release of the iPhone 7, there came the removal of the headphone jack. This was a huge mistake. Now, not only do people require wireless headphones, but Apple doesn’t supply them with the phone. So you “might want” to buy 200 dollar headphones with your 1,000 dollar iphone (if you don’t know any better.) In addition, wireless headphones are tiny, many people fear that they will lose them instantly, although there is a charging case to put them in. Apple has estimated the dimensions to about 0.71 by 1.59 inches at its longest and widest. Also, the AirPods may not fit well in everyone’s ear, according to Andrew O’Hara, who has bought these earbuds. They may be too small or too big. And finally, the AirPods don’t have better sound or clarity than normal wired headphones.

Plooof. “NNNOOO,” goes the teenage boy. “Oh wait, my phone is waterproof.” He fishes it out and tries to turn it on. It doesn’t. “Ya know,” says a voice from the heavens. “It’s not waterproof, it’s water resistant.” This is an example of a scene that might happen if you don’t know that the iPhone 7 is water resistant, not waterproof. That’s right, water resistant. The people at Apple keep saying waterproof, but the 7 won’t survive underwater for very long. Although the iPhone 7 will survive a splash or a quick dip, it will not come out functional after a full swim.

Wham. Steve Jobs comes and invents the iPhone. The public explodes. No one has ever seen something like this before, and 10 years later, the iPhone has barely changed. Where has the hype gone? Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but from the iPhone 6 to the iphone 7, not much has changed. When the iPhone 6 came out, everyone loved the new size and shape and 3D touch. From the iPhone 4 to the iPhone 5, Siri was added. I wondered what Apple would come up with from the iPhone 6 to 7, but barely anything has changed. They’ve only removed the headphone jack and made it water resistant.

So now what? What phone do I get? Will the iPhone come back? Although I cannot answer these questions, I can say the iphone has rarely disappointed before. Hopefully, the iPhone 8 will have an amazing new feature. But even if it doesn’t, Apple will still be one of the top phone and computer companies in the world for a very long time.

 

Commute

I walk through Times Square at 7:16 A.M., and a lady dressed in an MTA uniform stops me.

“We’re interviewing people about their experiences on the subway.”

“Uh… I’m in a hurry. I have to get to school.”

“This will only take a second. We need some information.”

“Why?”

“Just a survey.”

“Okay.”

“How would you describe your experience on the subway?”

“Each day, I commute to school. The subway, in my case, is the fastest way to get around the city.”

“Interesting, I’m glad that’s working out for you. Continue.”

“Every weekday, I commute to Astoria to go to school. People think, ‘Woah! Astoria. It must take you hours to get there.’ And, if I feel like educating them, I usually say, ‘Well, it’s not as bad as it seems. It’s only 35-40 minutes from the Upper West Side.’ My trip begins at 100th and Broadway, where I walk down to the 96th Street station. From there, I take the 2 train down to Times Square so that I can transfer to the N, W, or R trains. These trains take me to only a short walk away from school. Frequently, I get questions such as, ‘Is it weird being on your own for so long?’ Inside my head, I roll my eyes and wish I could ask, ‘Isn’t your commute to work the same?’ What I say is, ‘Oh, it’s alright. You get used to it after a while.’ Anyway, I’m not really alone. After having done the same commute for more than half a year, you start to see some patterns. There are certain people I see every Tuesday going to the shuttle at Times Square, or that man who walks really slowly on the stairs at 36 Avenue on Wednesdays. Of course I don’t know any of these people’s names, but I can guess.”

“That’s great, sweetie. I just need to know more about YOUR exper-”

“Of course, but I’ll just say a little bit more about this. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find it amusing.”

 

***

The Lady In The Pea Green Coat

One of my favorite everyday people is the lady in the pea green coat. No matter how hot or cold, she wears a heavy, green coat with fluff around the head. I’m not too sure but I think she lives on 97th and Amsterdam. I always see her turning the corner onto Broadway at 97th. She wears shoes with big, loud heels that send the message, “move or I’ll stomp on you.” She always has her metrocard ready at the station and swipes it flawlessly so that she can run down the stairs. Her frown is always apparent, and she’s always grumpy. We both know exactly where to stand so that the train car opens right in front of us. If I’m standing where she wants to stand and I was there first, she rolls her eyes and shoves me over. When the train comes, the lady always mutters rude remarks under her breath toward anyone who enters before her. At this point, I always wonder what her job is. What kind of person would want to work with a grump like this one? I bet she works in an office all day, slouched by a computer, muttering comments about her coworkers, and complaining about her life.

Once, when we got onto the 2 train, there were two seats next to each other. One of the seats was half-occupied by a man, who was spreading out his legs so much more than he needed to. This day I got onto the train before the lady, and I got the whole seat. I didn’t think that she would decide to sit next to me, but she did. She sat right down on my leg and pushed down until I was forced to squeeze over. Then she stuck her elbows out into me. I had to sit like this until Times Square.

At Times Square, the lady in the pea green coat MAKES SURE she is out of the train car first. When the train driver starts to make the announcement, “This is Times Square, 42nd street. Transfer is available to the… ” the lady stands up and positions herself in front of the door. On her way to the door, people roll their eyes at her and say things like, “You’re not the only one getting off.” She ignores these comments and pretends she is. I wonder if she wears earplugs to block out all the people who are commenting about how rude she is. As the doors open, the lady stomps out, elbowing anyone in her way. Her heels make loud clacking sounds as she stomps up the stairs. I follow behind her with sneakers, not making that much noise. Once she reaches the main part of Times Square, she holds her purse tight and sprints through crowds of people and into the downtown N, Q, R, and W. As I walk by to the uptown N, Q, R, and W, I see her train leaving the station and wonder how it gets there right as she walks in every day.

 

The Lady Who Paints Her Nails

When I’m at the N, Q, R, and W station, there are multiple people I see every day. There’s one lady who wears so much makeup and has her hair dyed a different color each week. She gets on the train at Times Square and stands near me. I’m not too sure where she comes from, but I know it isn’t the 1, 2, or 3 trains. I think she comes from the opposite direction, meaning that she takes the A, C, or E trains to Times Square and comes to transfer. She could live in Far Rockaway or as close to my house on 96th and Central Park West. She stands, gossiping to her friend in Spanish, a language she thinks no one understands. She would be surprised how many people can understand her. Or, maybe, she doesn’t care and just wants to pass time by talking to her friend. You never know with these people.

When the trains come, she only gets onto the N or W. This means she needs to go to somewhere into Astoria. She gets off the train after me. Similar to mine, her time on the N or W is longer than most people. To me, this is a good time to study vocabulary from English class or listen to music. To her, it’s a good time to put on more makeup and paint her nails. Once, I made the mistake of sitting next to her. She smelled so strongly of makeup that I had to hold my nose and breathe through my mouth. Only two stops in, she took out a bottle of bright red nail polish. The smell was so strong that as she opened the bottle, people slowly began pinching their noses. Then she sat there, intensely concentrating on her nails and elbowing the person to her right every time she stroked her nail with the paint. After this day, I never made the mistake of getting into the same train car as her.

 

Miss Bao

If I’m early, and I leave my house at exactly 7:00 A.M. like I’m supposed to (instead of the usual 7:05), I sometimes see Miss Bao. She knows exactly where to stand so that the N or W train leaves her right in front of the 36 Avenue train stop exit. I wouldn’t really mind Miss Bao, except for the fact that she’s my Mandarin teacher and advisor. She lives in the Bronx and takes the D or B trains, then transfers to the A train to get to Times Square. Miss Bao doesn’t speak English particularly well, but she does tell us that she grades our tests and does work on her long subway ride to school. Is that so? I see her reading Chinese newspapers and watching television programs on her phone.

She wears a large coat, and I suspect it might be helpful to cover up what she’s doing. I’m not sure how much warmer it was where she lived in China than here, but it doesn’t seem she’s quite adjusted to the cold weather. She wears this grayish coat and when she sees me walking down the platform, she discreetly pulls her hood up and zips the coat all the way. The first time I ever saw her, I was really happy to see someone I knew. I waved at her and said hi. This was a mistake because she just waved her hand back and when the train came, she walked away from me so that we wouldn’t be near each other for the subway ride. Now, when I see her, I just ignore her just like she ignores me. My mom says I should walk up to her and say something in Mandarin. If I walk up to her and say 你好吗?, she’ll probably just say 我很好,谢谢 and walk away quickly. I don’t think Miss Bao likes to mix her commuting life with her teaching life. Another suggestion from my mom is to start singing one of the catchy Mandarin songs from the internet. My argument against this is that then the other people on the subway will think I’m crazy. The Miss Bao, who I see on the subway, is completely different from the woman who teaches me Mandarin.

 

The Guy Who Wears A Suit

Although there are so many different people on the subway, the average man in the morning will have a briefcase and will be wearing a suit. I don’t think the specific man I’m going to write about is any different from any of the other Wall Street guys you see randomly on the street. He gets on the express 2 train at 96th Street and is super tall. This height has some advantages because he can push past people–even the lady in the pea green coat–to get onto the subway car. If he’s running late, he can skip two or three steps at a time to get on the train. I envy this greatly because I absolutely hate the feeling of missing the train. The one time the man almost missed a train, he stuck his arm into the train car and made the conductor open the door for him. Although it must be cool to be really tall, I can tell it also has its disadvantages. Once, the man tried to get onto the train and hit the top of his forehead on the door of the subway car. Now, I notice that he always seems to bend down while getting onto the train.

This man’s lifestyle is really easy to predict: he wakes up in the morning, drinks coffee, and gets ready. Then he packs his briefcase with some important papers and his computer. He gets on the express train and transfers at Times Square. From there, he takes the R or W down to Rectors street so that he can walk to his job on Wall Street. Once he gets to work, he probably sells bonds all day and has fancy work meetings with clients. His commute home is just like his commute to work. He gets home at promptly 10:00 P.M. and sleeps, just so he can wake up at 6:00 for another day full of work.

 

***

I’ve finished my story, and the MTA officer is just staring at me. Then she laughs and stands up.

“Thank you for your feedback. I enjoyed it.”

I laugh to myself, knowing I didn’t really answer her question. I see her walking away, turning her head back and forth. Honestly, I bet she’s searching for the people I told stories about. I start walking to N, R, W, and Q, but then, to my amusement, I see her stopping the four people I just told her about. I decide that I could be a little late to school.

The MTA officer sits them all down. She turns to the lady in the pea green coat first.

“Tell me about your experience on the subway. Why do you use the subway? Where do you work?”

***

Margaret

I’m a teacher at a French school Downtown. Class begins at 8:20 A.M., but I like to get there early to help my students. I teach English and some of these students need all the help they can get. French is a beautiful language, but let’s face it–English is more helpful in New York City. Most of my students are already proficient in English, so I teach them one curriculum, while the children who are from the foreign exchange program get another.

I live on 97th and Columbus and dislike germs. Some people call me a germaphobe, but I disagree. I take the train to school every day, and any germaphobe wouldn’t stand for that. They would probably spend a fortune on taxis or buy a car, which is a pain in the city. My commute to school is a 35 minute subway ride, but I can do it in 30. I’m an exceptionally fast walker, and I know my way around the subway better than almost everyone. After having been teaching at my school for four years, I’ve mapped out the perfect places to stand so the subway doors open right in front of me. I don’t think anyone–even those who have done the commute with me– has realized what I’ve been doing in previous years. Usually, I’m the only one standing in the perfect place. The 2 and 3 trains are extremely crowded at seven in the morning, and I take pride in myself for getting a seat. When taking the subway, there are two very important things I do to keep as many germs off of me as possible. The first one is to always get a seat. By doing this, I don’t have to handle the polls, which are one of the dirtiest parts of the train. Second, I usually wear my big and heavy green coat. It’s not particularly stylish, but it makes due. No one can touch my skin directly, even on a crowded subway car.

This year, someone’s giving me a run for my money. There’s a girl, who can’t be more than 13, who always wears a straight face. At the beginning of the year, I didn’t notice her, but recently, she’s been standing where I stand. Sometimes she even beats me into the subway car. I wouldn’t consider her rude, because she apologizes to the people she bumps into, but she isn’t easily pushed. Most kids her age will move out of the way if a grown up shoves them. This girl stands her ground and sometimes uses that push to angle herself closer to the subway door. She apologizes like she means it, but I doubt she does because she doesn’t let the person she hurt beat her into the car.

At Times Square, I need to be the first one out of that train car. If I don’t run across Times Square, I’ll miss the W train and then have to wait who knows how long. When I get off the train, usually people shoot me dirty looks–unhappy that I beat them off. The girl contributes to those looks, although I bet she also understands my dilemma. I wonder what train she transfers to at Times Square. I wouldn’t know because I’m always the first one up those stairs at Times Square.

“Thank you, Margaret. You may go.”

She turns to the lady with the nail polish and asks the same questions.

 

***

Lucia

I’m Lucia, owner of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Astoria. It’s on 34th and Broadway. We cook mainly Mexican food, and we cook it all fresh. If we have the ingredients for something a customer wants and if it doesn’t take too long, we’ll make it. The restaurant opens at 8:30 because we serve breakfast, so I leave my house at about 7:10. I live on 50th and 8th in Manhattan. When people ask me why I chose a location it Queens, my answer is usually because I don’t love all the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. At my restaurant, I have my usual daily customers who I look forward to seeing each day, but I also have new people who I can always greet happily with a smile. In the city, my restaurant might be too busy or my customers might be in a larger hurry. I wouldn’t be able to greet them personally.

My commute to the restaurant consists of only one stop on the C train, and then I walk through Times Square to the N and W. I get off on Broadway and walk two blocks. It isn’t too difficult, although I like to make the best time I can because I’m NOT a morning person. The later I leave my house, the better. I know I have to get ready for my job and show people that I care about this work, but I can’t get up any earlier than 6:30 in the morning. This means that I’m not completely ready when I rush out my door at 7:10. I have found a way to fix this problem by just doing my nails and hair in the subway car–it isn’t really crowded. The problem is, I feel a pang of guilt each time I do it in one of the subway cars that has the poster that says “The subway car is not a dressing room.” But I have to do what I can to look and feel my best for my customers.

Once, the girl who usually stands a little farther down the train station didn’t make it to where she usually stands. Maybe it’s because she’s younger, but I would have assumed someone would have taught her that it’s common etiquette not to show someone you don’t like the smell of their nail polish. She had her nose pinched the whole trip, but now that I think about it, so did everyone else in the train car. Usually this doesn’t happen, so I assumed it must have been the nail polish. After this experience, I always make sure to buy more natural nail polish so that the whole train car doesn’t smell like chemicals.

 

***

After she’s done, the MTA officer shoos Lucia away. Lucia hurries to the train–she doesn’t want to be late to work.

The MTA officer turns on Miss Bao, who looks a little impatient. “And you?”

***

Huilang

I’m a Mandarin teacher. I moved to New York from China when I was 27. Throughout my childhood, I studied English and thought I was pretty good. I was so wrong–people actually speak very differently from what the textbook says. When I first moved, I practiced English even more and then started teaching in Astoria. I enjoy teaching, but I suspect my teaching style is extremely different from the other teachers. The other teachers joke with the students, but I get straight to the point and don’t push to make them comfortable with me. I guess this distances me from my students, but shouldn’t it always be this way? In China, my teachers taught this way, and my friends had fun with me. Here, you can also have fun with your teachers. Weird.

Another thing that is very different from where I lived in China is the subway. I lived in a smaller town, and we drove or walked everywhere. I’ve adjusted to the NYC subways because it’s been part of my commute to work/school for a while now. People always seem to be in a hurry. I try to blend into the crowd, and I think I’m getting pretty good at it. Recently, a friend told me that the reason people don’t talk to anyone on the subway is because if you show weakness, someone will try to mug you. Also, a couple years back, one of my students had his iPhone out, and someone just grabbed it and ran out of the train car. He never got it back. These events have made me wary of people on the subway. My commute to school is not an easy, short one, but it isn’t as terrible as it seems. I take the A train down to Times Square and then the N or W from there. Certain days, the A trains are delayed and I get to Times Square slower than expected. When this happens, I have to wait for two trains to pass before the one I need to take comes.

On these days, I see one of my students. This makes me relatively uncomfortable because I have my “commuting life” and my “teaching life.” I prefer to keep them separate. I act similarly in both modes because at school, I talk to those I’m teaching and meeting with, but not anyone else. During my commute, it’s the same as at school except there’s no one that I’m teaching or meeting with, so I can just act like a person who doesn’t care about the rest of the world. No one will know what type of life I have–except for my student.

 

***

After she finishes speaking, she gets up from her seat and hurries down to the platform, where she just barely makes her train. I consider getting up, but I have one more story to hear.

The MTA officer looks at the guy in the suit. He’s sitting in a chair much too small for him.

“You know the drill,” says the MTA officer.

The man begins to speak.

***

James

My life is work. But that’s not a bad thing–I don’t say it negatively. I don’t know where I would be without work. I went to college at the Wharton School of Business, and stocks have just interested me all my life. The only thing I’m mildly interested in is basketball. I’m always up for a good game of basketball. Once a month, our office holds a tournament, and I’m the 8-time champion. My officemates say it’s only because I’m so tall, but I think it’s because of the lack of competition. When I was younger, I lived in Pennsylvania, where we had a basketball hoop in our garage. I have practice shooting. The people I work with now sit in front of a screen or make business calls all day. Most of my officemates grew up in New York City, where you would have to walk to the park to play. I bet most of them thought this was too much work and just stayed inside learning about business or doing schoolwork.

Among others in the city, specifically males, I fit in perfectly with the crowd. In the mornings, the only people up that early work at schools or on Wall Street. Why would anyone else need to be on the subway that early? I think I’ve almost mastered using my height to my advantage. I can walk faster, and I’m stronger than others on the subway. People perceive me as some guy who’s important and shouldn’t be messed with. This detracts some of the usual paranoia that someone may feel about the subway. To work, I wear my striped shirt which is always neatly tucked into my dress pants. I wear a tie of varying colors and my usual black shoes. I leave my house at 7 A.M., but always make sure to wake up at 6:00 so that I can look suitable for the day. My commute consists of two simple transfers, but all the trains I take are crowded. I walk from my house to 96th Street, where I take the 2 or 3 trains to Times Square. From there, I take the shuttle to Grand Central and the 4 or 5 trains down to Wall Street. While taking the train, I can tell that I behave very differently than when I am at the office. Although there isn’t a large chance I get robbed, I still walk surely and keep me head held high. My arms swing by my side, and I make sure they look completely natural. I barely notice anyone on the subway and pretend to be a stuck up businessman. After all, am I ever going to see any of these people again?

 

***

The MTA officer stands up. She’s amazed for a couple seconds, and then her face returns to its normal expression. She proceeds to interview other people.

I start down to the platform. I check my phone. Only 7:28. I can still make it to school on time.

I rush into the train and get a seat.

People are so different on the subway. Some of us realize it, and some of us don’t. We can choose to completely ignore others, like James, or we can think about others, but put our best interests first. Most people think that no one remembers anyone they see on the subway. This is true, unless you see them more than once. I didn’t realize that some of the people I noticed have noticed me too and know as little about me as I know about them. People are so different when they think no one notices them. They can turn into their worst selves. Because of this, the relationships between people who take the subway together is not good–but it does make for an interesting story.

 

Geneta-landia (Part Two)

16 April 5042

Central Breeding Center

New Johannesburg, UNoA (United Nations of Africa)

A doctor in white scrubs progressed among the tanks. He took a look at the cardiographs for each patient and saw that they were running steadily. Beep, beep, beep, beep. He saw a nurse and said, “Are the new ones ready for inspection?”

“Yes, doc,” was the reply.

A cart full of screaming babies, suspended in a fluid, rolled on its own accord, and a robot hoisted a baby up to the light, staring at it intently with one electronic eye. The robot then said, “Not suitable.” It killed the baby with a laser and threw it down a garbage chute. It then picked up another and said, “Suitable for second-stage testing.” Another robot, whose arms ended in a giant bassinet, rolled by and the robot dropped the baby into it. He then went back to surveying the rest of the babies.

The robot with the bassinet rolled down hall after sterile hall. Eventually, it came to a door. The door slid open with a chuff and the bassinet robot was admitted to a room containing hundreds of thousands of individual cribs. The robot with the bassinet dropped each baby into an individual crib, which was then sealed by a glass top. Another robot pressed a button and a cool computerized voice said, “Pain test, level one.” Electrical volts shot out of the side of the crib and the baby began to scream and cry. After five seconds, the computer said, “Results are being sent to doctors for analysis.” Then, “Endurance test, level one.” A wheel shot out of a crib and an arm pushed the baby into it. The baby began to crawl faster and faster. Then, the baby stopped. A cool computer voice said, “Overwhelmingly negative results. Disposal process initiated.” A needle punctured the baby’s thigh, and a clear fluid shot down the needle. The baby’s face seized, it began to shake, and, suddenly, there was no movement.

Three rows over, a baby had completed that task and was moving onto the next test. A cool computer voice said, “Cardio resistance test, level one.” A lamp came over the crib, and the crib began to heat up. A screen next to the crib read the temperature. The temperature jumped from a comfortable 70 degrees, to 90 degrees, to 112 degrees, to 190 degrees, and the baby began to pant. The cardio monitor beside the bed began to go crazy: beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeep. The beeping was no longer steady; it was getting higher and higher. It climbed to incredible levels before being replaced by a flat monotone: booooooom. The line on the screen was flat. Again, “Disposal process initiated.” There was a flash of light and the baby was gone. Simply disintegrated.

Meanwhile, upon completing these tests, those who had passed them successfully were sent in for actual testing by a human being. In this new room, babies were subjected to visual inspections of all areas. They were tested for genetic compatibility and, if the results were unfavorable or average, the next procedure was the sterilization of the genitals, which was done by simple x-rays. If the genetic combinations were extraordinary, then that particular human being would be allowed to reproduce sexually, which was a long-lost luxury for much of the world’s population. Upon the completion of this simple procedure, the babies were subjected to yet another visual inspection. When this was completed, the babies were transferred to a holding pen, while genetic makeup was analyzed. This was done by a combination of a computer and a human reviewer. The computer would perform initial analysis and then the human would finalize. Upon the human finalization, the babies were transported to an adoption center.

 

17 April 5042

Central Adoption Area

The completion of the genetic tests took a day, but, when that day was completed, the babies were transported to the adoption center in the morning. In the adoption area, babies were kept in rooms according to one of four races, each of which was carefully curated by those who combined the genes to make the babies in the first place. The only four races which were allowed to live on were Caucasian, Asian, Middle Eastern, and Black. All other races and their minorities were exterminated by simply not including genes to produce them anymore. At precisely 9:00 AM on the 17th of April each year, the public was admitted to the viewing rooms. If a couple or single spotted a baby they were interested in, they would take the baby into a playroom to have a trial. If the baby had the desired genetic characteristics of that particular family, the baby would be taken home. If not, the baby would be returned to the main adoption center. The adoption center would be open for twenty-four hours, seven days a week from the 17th of April until the 24th of April. Any babies who were not picked by that time would either be exterminated or called to complete early army training.

 

18 April 5042

Sana’a, Yemen

People bustled in the streets. It was sunny, and above all lay the symbol of the Genetic Covenant. The supreme leader/Dontar of the Genetic Covenant was the leader of the world. This began years earlier, when ISIS was vanquished in 2025. In order to prevent the entrance of any more extremists, it was decided that they would simply stop breeding extremists. From then on, all reproduction was tightly controlled by the Genetic Covenant to ensure that no more terrorists were bred into the world ever again. People were still allowed to worship as they would, but their loyalty was above all to the Genetic Covenant, by genes. The Genetic Covenant was created with the Genetic Accords in Yemen in 2011. They would come into effect when Al Qaeda/ISIS/other Islamic extremist groups were vanquished from the world. The Genetic Accords were signed in secret by all of the great powers, spearheaded at the time by President Obama. Then, the Minuteman strike paralyzed most of the terrorists. This meant that the Genetic Accords could now go into effect. The first Breeding Center was opened on June 5, 2025 in New York City. To the creators of the Genetic Accords, it was important that one of the world’s most powerful cities would be the first to adopt the program. President Trump did not agree with the Genetic Accords entirely, believing that there should be a limit on Muslim genetics as well, basically eliminating Muslim genes from the world. However, Secretary of State Rex W. Tillerson stopped the measure behind the President’s back. This saved a race. The United Nations set about directing nations that were not on the Security Council to begin using the program.

 

19 April 5042

122 Freedom Street, New Johannesburg, UNoA

Jane and John Petersburg played with little baby Yohan without knowing what her true purpose was. Yohan was one of the New Ones — a race of superhumans under genetic modification at the United States Genetic Labs in Washington D.C. in the United States of America. The superhumans not only combined the perfect genes of humanity, but also the strongest. There was a plot.

 

23 April 5042

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20500

White House, Oval Office

President Alex Sarappo LXX stared up at the portrait of President Washington, which sat right alongside the portrait of President Obama. He could have sworn that President Obama winked at him. He stared down at the briefing once again and sighed. There were anti-geneticists. But how could there be? The human race was so perfect with the genetic modifications. How could anyone be opposed to such a perfect society? He left the office, shaking his head.

 

700 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20408

National Archives, Rotunda

President Sarappo LXX walked into the Rotunda, accompanied by seventy guards who all wore suits with earpieces and dark glasses. He stepped up to the Declaration of Independence and the guards stepped aside. The doors parted and the Declaration of Independence was exposed. The President read for an hour and then he ripped the Declaration down.

“But, sir!” yelled one of his guards. But it was too late. The president took out a cigar lighter and set fire to the Declaration of Independence.

“Let it be known that I am the top. In the name of the people, I choose that I should dictate to the people. I order the destruction forthwith of the Constitution and the undoing of all its principles. Now, I briefly declare martial law to have you do one thing: knees, now.” And everyone kneeled.

The president stamped a foot and said, “Now, hail me.”

 

24 April 5042

New Johannesburg

The CNN broadcaster finished his report with, “This report has been approved by the new IPG and Sarappo the Great. I will not be executed for broadcasting this material.”

Jane put a hand to her head and said, “So this is how freedom dies. This is how the world’s greatest democracy falls. They told us it would be perfect. They told us the world would remain a democracy. They told us that we were beyond all of this. They told us that genetics would make our world perfect, but purity in genetics leads to dictatorship. The Dontar remains democratic so that the entire world is not a dictatorship, but absolute power always corrupts absolutely. It never goes as it does in the movies. It never goes completely. It begins with the slightest rot in one organ of the machine.”

Her husband sighed.

 

25 April 5042

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20500

White House, Oval Office

The Speaker of the House entered the room, thumping his fist on his chest before extending his arm and bowing deeply. “Mr. President, sir.”

“No one call me President. Execute this man immediately.” A secret service guard in suit and tie and dark glasses ran in. He had a needle at the ready and the man was executed on the spot, his last expression one of bewilderment and his last words, “Why?” It was in this way that the United States was “cleansed.” The developments in the United States were reported to the Dontar, and he attempted to make a change in the United States. He ordered the President executed by the United Nations immediately. It was set to occur on the occasion of the President’s first address to the people. The President would then be replaced by an interim leader, until fully democratic elections could occur with the only person prohibited from running being Alex Sarappo LXXI, because it was considered that Alex Sarappo LXX would be dead.

 

27 June 5043

1600 Me Avenue, Sarappo City D.M., 20500

Imperial Palace Lawn

Alex Sarappo LXX emerged from the palace gates. He was in a black car, which was surrounded by motorcycles, on which rode guards in military fatigues bearing assault rifles and other automatic weapons, including even a tactical nuclear missile launcher. He stepped down from the car to an ornately decorated podium where two men and two women bowed to him. He waved his hand and, all of a sudden, a silent maid gave him a bowl of fruits. He tossed one into the pyre beside his throne and took a bite out of another, feeding the rest to a monkey perched on his right shoulder. He said, “Citizens of the Empire of Sarappo. 3,000 years ago, when this country was still a democracy known as the United States of America, my great ancestor Alex Sarappo worked at an organization called Writopia Lab. This organization was a think tank which provided quiet, uncensored writing spaces for free speech. This is what I have eliminated for you. Things are better when I make decisions for you. My great ancestor would never have wanted what I have done, but I have done what I have done, and I have risen this family to a position of power unoccupied by any other.”

As he began his speech, citing references such as “budget,” he said, “Why do you need budget when you can work for me and only have a pay of honor?”

In the rear of the lawn, two soldiers stood guard. One of them fell forward. The other, startled, said, “Jacobs!?” He too fell to the ground as three people in black military bodysuits rushed across the lawn. Darting between the revellers, who stood in fear and happiness before the emperor, they attempted to move unseen. They soon reached, however, a line of imperial guardians, which they darted past, but the guardians began to fire at them. One of the men fell, blood spurting from a hole in the back of his balaclava. The other two attempted to continue, as people around them yelled wildly, “For the empire!” and tried to grab them for the soldiers to shoot.

Emperor Sarappo grabbed a pistol and shot one of the remaining two through the skull so that blood and pieces of brain splattered through the hole in his head. Meanwhile, the remaining person attempted to shoot Emperor Sarappo, but failed as he was shot three times in the back and three times in the head simultaneously by Emperor Sarappo and an imperial guardian. The Emperor said, “Send the Dontar my withdrawal notice. We are coming after them. We can defeat them!”

 

20 July 5043

Central Breeding Center

New Johannesburg

Yet more babies were undergoing tests as the robots brought them through the Central Breeding Center. One of these babies was a baby named Jonathan. To be more specific, Jonathan Bletchley Smith II. He was just an innocent babe in those times, but he would grow to pass the tests and save the world from the tyranny of the United States. A buzzing robot came to take him to the Central Adoption Center, and this was the beginning of a new life.

 

21 July 5043

The Mansion, Sherwood Dr, Bletchley Milton Keynes MK3 6EB, UK

Bletchley Park

Jonathan Bletchley Smith II sat in a sitting room at Bletchley Mansion. This was his mansion now. He had a staff of over 1,700 people to take care of his every need. But this was truly his base of operations to focus on something larger: the maintenance of the genetic system and the rescue of his Yemeni relatives.

Sun filtered through a gap in the velvet curtains. He stared at a computer screen as though willing all the work he had to do to go away. But it wasn’t budging. If you got in this business, you had to do the work that came with it.

Yemen had fallen to the anti-Geneticist rebels, but, again, why would anyone rebel against such a perfect system? In most situations that are dystopic, there’s a restriction of personal freedom, but there was no such thing in this system. Everyone was allowed to live as they would, with undesirables executed at birth, with nothing more being heard.

Suddenly, as he pondered this deep question, an air raid siren sounded. At the same time, his computer began to go crazy, popping up with an alert that there was a nuclear bomb attack inbound. Jonathan was curious: had the rebels really gotten this far already? If they had gotten this far, he himself would have lost confidence in them long ago. He got up from the chair and strolled leisurely to a massive door with seven wheels on it. The door swung open as he stepped inside of it. He retreated down a stairway as the alarms followed him, watching flashing sirens on the walls. A voice came through the alarms: “Under attack. Warning. Under attack. Please seek shelter immediately. You will be alerted with a blue alert tone when everything is all clear.” The voice repeated this over and over again as he hurried down dark stairway after dark stairway. Upon reaching a dark concrete room, he assumed the proper hunkered-down position. He watched what was going on above on a television screen and wondered exactly why they sounded the alarm.

Suddenly, the voice came through again, “Drill. Drill. Personal message: ha ha, I’ve got you thinking you almost died!”

Jonathan asked, “Who are you?”

The voice replied reverberatingly, “You shall never know exactly who I am, but you may refer to me as the Harvester, the Protector, the Seeder. But you can call me Joe. I have come to your planet to play practical jokes because I’ve got nothing better to do after the first war three millennia ago. I can control all of your systems and humans and animals like they are rag dolls. So you are basically a giant, I believe you call it a ‘Lego,’ set. I shall be playing more jokes on you later. Goodbye.”

 

22 July 5043

Sarappo City D.M., 20392

1 One Guy/Girl (depending upon the gender of the Presidential Regent) Less Powerful than Me Circle (formerly 1 Observatory Circle)

Presidential Regent Joan Alchmire looked out the window. She wondered, “What is my place in all of this? What is my place in Emperor Sarappo’s regime? Am I supposed to be his secretary, something for him to parade around and put on display? But he has given me the power to do this.” The Regent suddenly called a number of the Imperial Marine Corps officers to stand. A number of officers arrived. “Now, officers,” she said, “Do jumping jacks!” They did jumping jacks. When they were finished, she said, “Grab a random person from the street, arrest them, and bring them to me now.”

When a poor looking man in a jacket who smelled strongly of cocaine and heroin arrived, she said, “Knock him in the head.” One of the officers obediently grabbed his pistol and slammed it into the side of the poor man’s head. “Now, shoot him.”

“Of course,” said a Marine. There was a silenced shot that sounded like a polite cough, and then there was a sickening crunch as his shoulder bone shattered and his arm hung limp. The man screamed.

“Shoot him in the mouth,” screamed the Presidential Regent. There was another polite cough and blood poured from the man’s mouth as he fell to the floor. He was unable to make any sounds, but his eyes conveyed a world of pain. “Now shoot him through the top of the head.”

“Of course,” said the Marine sergeant. He pressed the gun against the small of the man’s head, and there was the sound of an even more muffled polite cough, as the man adopted an expression of shock and fell forward like a stone. She turned away, feeling satisfied.

 

12 December 5043

Sana’a, Yemen

Unknown location  

On a street corner in clear, cool Sana’a a stone building sat abandoned. A dilapidated, illuminated sign said, “مقهى سياحي! نحن نعرف اللغة الإنجليزية جيدة! رخيص! رخيص!”

Another sign next to it read, “Tourist Cafe! We Know English Good! Cheap! Cheap!” It buzzed on and off with the frequent power outages. The last occupants of the building had forgotten to turn it off, but the power failed so often in Sana’a that it was like it was off permanently. Inside, there was a 3092 year old layer of dust covering everything. Since the building had gone unoccupied, there were rumors that it was haunted or occupied by hermits. As these rumors were proven to be untrue, squatters had moved in and out again. However, there were some lasting fixtures, such as metal tables and chairs. Impaled in one of the metal tables was a fragment of paper yellowed and degrading with age. It read:

?اقتلني

A man sat and stared at the paper. A light briefly flashed as he took a picture with his phone.

 

8 November 5044

Sarappo City D.M., 20392

1 One Guy/Girl Less Powerful than Me Circle

“Do you know what this is?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Emperor Sarappo.

“This reads: ‘Will you kill me?’ Forensic analysis has confirmed our suspicions. It’s from over 3,000 years ago, in 1951. We believe that this is our trail to the elusive Jonathan, and that Jonathan is, in fact, the great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grandson of Jonathan Bletchley, founder of Bletchley manor in Milton Keynes in the state of England. Jonathan Bletchley II is one of the greatest supporters of the Dontar, but if we turn him to our side, I believe he will be amenable to assisting us, because he thinks that the Genetic Program will lead to great things. Now we know the last name of this early instigator, and we can look through civil records from that time to determine his personal details.”

“Then go ahead and do it,” screamed the emperor. “What are you talking to me for? In fact,” he yelled, “someone get in here and shoot her!”

A sergeant ran into the room and read as fast as the fine print in a car commercial, “You have been charged with direct treason against the state. Under penal codes 5420 & 541204422, you are sentenced to death.” There was another polite cough as though someone had a question, and the Presidential Regent fell to the ground, her eyes glassy.

 

9 November 5044

Libreville, Gabon

Gabon was one of the few countries in the world poor enough to not have a long-range spaceport, which catered to destinations such as New Congo on Ganymede V. The only transportation fixture was an airport, dubbed Libreville International Airport, or “the place of the steel birds” by native people. Jackson Dueter got off of a flight on a supersonic Concord XVII from Bangkok. It reached cruising speeds of around 17,000 mph, which was escape velocity for chemical rockets back in the 2000s. This meant that the flight took 22 minutes. Upon arrival, he was waved through Customs and Immigration, because even in those days, authorities were easily bribed to ignore the fact that there were 100 assault rifles and a small number of tactical nuclear missile launchers in his suitcase. He stepped out into the heat and briefly contemplated holding a taxi driver at gunpoint before deciding it would be more productive to pay. He jumped into a dilapidated GCM (General Communist Motors) Eagle, which was made in the Soviet Union in 1998. He practically screamed at the driver, “Get me to the city center! Now!” The driver was tanned and wore old camouflage fatigues. The car stank of urine and years of having just enough care to keep it working for thousands of years.

When he arrived in the city center, he jumped out of the car and bounded toward a door. He pounded on it with a brass knuckleduster three times, rap rap rap. He then did two quick taps: taptap. A voice came through the door, saying, “Kodi inu bwenzi kapena mdani?”

To this he replied, “Palibe ndine wosakwatiwa.”

The voice came through the door again, barely audible over hysterical laughter, “No, you idiot. You just said you weren’t married! You were supposed to say, ‘I am not a foe!’ or ‘Sindine mdani!’”

“Fine, fine. Just open the door and don’t make a big scene for the police,” whispered Jackson. The door silently swung inward, as someone within stepped aside to allow Jackson in.

“Now comes escalation!” said Jackson as he slammed his fist on the table at which they were sitting by the fire.

 

14 November 5044

Sarappo City D.M., 20001

148 Lack of Freedom St.

A black hover vehicle touched down on the tarmac. Its windows were tinted, and inside it was lusciously appointed. But its luxurious appearance hid a far more sinister purpose. This was a car which was converted into a tank with assault rifles and grenades. A police officer walked by and got a faceful of acid paint that started to melt his skin and skull, as he screamed ever so briefly before falling silent because his mouth had melted away. Soon, the car drove away, as the heap of police uniforms and bubbling acid fizz sat on the ground. Beside it was a post-it note: “We are coming.”

 

Geneta-landia (Part One)

12 April 1959

Sana’a, Yemen

Unknown Location

Jonathan stepped into a doorway– above which a sign read, “مقهى سياحي! نحن نعرف اللغة الإنجليزية جيدة! رخيص! رخيص!”– murmuring, “Hello?” He was quickly met with a sheet of paper reading, “ من أنت؟ ما أنت” هل ستقتلني؟”. He responded by writing a single line of text on the paper: “انا صديق”

 

2 May 2011

Washington, D.C. 2202

The Pentagon Situation Room

President Obama put a hand over his head and sighed. “It is done.” He repeated this over and over in a whisper, “It is done. It is done. It is done. My God. It’s done.” He ran out of the room, taking the stairs at a run. The Marine sentries nodded as he ran out of the West Wing lobby, toward Marine One. The stairs of the helicopter were down and he jumped inside, followed closely by his two daughters. A car would be arranged for Michelle, he knew. He yelled at the Marine sergeant at the door, which was totally outside his usual custom, “Get me to Andrews now!”

“But sir,” a Marine sergeant, whose nametag read “Johnson,” exclaimed, “you are not scheduled to go anywhere, and you have a meeting with Queen Elizabeth tomorrow!”

“I don’t care,” yelled Obama. “Get me to Andrews now. That’s an order. A direct order!”

The Marine sergeant snapped to attention and closed the door, yelling, “All clear!”

Obama sat in his chair. “Thank you Johnson,” he said, before sighing. “This is a matter of utmost importance that only a few know. Only Secretary Clinton knows the true intent of my visit, and I’m afraid that a sergeant’s security clearance does not warrant my telling you anything. Just please get me a bottle of water, and alert Air Force One to fuel up. We’re going to Yemen.”

 

Five hours later…

President Obama sat aloft on Air Force One, sipping his coffee. He looked at a folder, which lay on the desk. It said, “TOP SECRET: OPERATION ULTRA (Uni Lateral Tactical Robust Attack).” This document is protected with a radio seal that is monitored by the Pentagon’s Central Document Recording Office. If the fingerprints left on this folder do not match those of the president, the folder will immediately self destruct. President Obama pressed his thumb to the folder and pulled it open. The top document was labeled, “Vacation.” The document under that was labeled, “Possible Trajectories for a Nuclear Missile Strike of 30 Minuteman III missiles on Syria and Northern Saudi Arabia: A Study by the Global Strike Command.” He looked at the map. In 21 days, pending Congress approval, the entirety of the Libya/Syria area of Africa, Yemen included, would be a radioactive wasteland. This was part of a mission, a mission to save the human race.

 

A Town with Nowhere to Cry

I woke up with a deep, solemn feeling. Opening the drapes to see the gray sky didn’t help my spirit, nor did it help that it was a Sunday. I put on my slippers with a slow creak of the floorboards, each screech giving off a sound of desperation. As if someone were calling for help on a depressing day. If only I could make that sound.

I decided to go downstairs to have breakfast. I tampered with the word “breakfast” in my mind. Breakfast. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Three times a day, every day. Sow the needle, weave the thread. Why waste all that food on a depressed person? Why? I got out of my mind zone, disturbed by the sounds of my two adolescent children coming downstairs and starting their daily complaints. For now, I’d have to leave my question unanswered. They sat down, confused about whether they wanted to eat cereal or eggs, and I just stared at them. I watched them move their mouths in silence. I looked at them and felt something that was a long time overdue. But it seemed as if I couldn’t quite get a hold of that feeling, as if I couldn’t hold on. The feeling so many people yearned for. Love.

 All of a sudden, they turned to me, as if asking me a question I hadn’t heard. Then the interrogation began. They asked me if I had signed their school papers, gone to the store to buy them what they needed, and washed their clothes, but I just simply shook my head and said no. Then they just stood up and threw themselves like a bunch of parasitical people on the couch.

I got angry and frustrated but not because of them, mostly because of my depression. Thoughts raced through my mind, voices telling me wrong and right, making me feel like a crazed lady. I was having a war between mind and feelings inside my head while my children argued with the least of care. I was overwhelmed. I screamed inside my head for everything to stop. And just as suddenly, everything did. Everything was silent, even my children. I had screamed out loud. My children looked at me with stunned faces. I excused myself, got my coat and purse, and walked towards the door. I got up because I didn’t want my children to see me cry, and I didn’t want to seem like the sensitive mom who always needed attention. I didn’t want to make them feel bad. I kept on walking towards the door while my kids asked what was wrong. I denied their care and said I had forgotten something at a friend’s house.

I went to the car and drove. Then I burst. I just started crying. I asked myself, was it because of me? Did I do anything wrong? If not, then why’d he leave me? Alone. I was crying so hard, taking quick hiccuping breaths to at least manage a constant flow of air. But my throat was just so clogged up with a feeling, that my stomach had a bunch of tears just waiting to flow through my eyes. My stinging, burning eyes. My throat stung, but I kept on driving. I drove and I drove until it was too unsafe to drive with such emotion. I parked myself randomly. I didn’t know where I was, norr did I care.

After time had passed, a policeman came up to me. At first, it was with hard emotions, which then softened after seeing my tear-stained face. He said that he had been called by the house’s owner saying that there was a suspicious woman parked at their house. People during this time period were dangerous and cautious in my country. He asked me what had happened, and I told him I wanted to be alone and cry. He continued to ask why, but I just shook my head. And I just kept replying that I wanted to be alone. The policeman got tired of me and got straight to the point. He said I could do anything I wanted, just not here. I would have gone to a park, but the policeman advised not to. He said to go to a church.

I looked at the time with a slow bob of my head, noticing that all churches were closed at this hour. Was there no place to cry? Was there no place to feel sorrow? Already embarrassed and with no more options, I went home. My children were at the table playing an old card game that I had shown them. Beuda. That’s when I decided that I wanted to show my children more than just a card game. I asked if they just wanted to have a nice Sunday. They smiled, grinning ear to ear. Then I felt that feeling again. But this time, I held on.

 

Garrett Tropical

Finally, I was shipped to a store, a deli in Brooklyn. The first day there was boring. I was stuck in a pack with my cousins, and they were really big pains. I watched customers come in and out, grabbing the Cinnamon family and the Strawberries, where my best friend Joey was. Then came those from the richer parts of Gumville, where the Spearmints and all the other mints lived. From the town next to us, more shipments came in to the same deli. This went on for a week until a boy came in and picked my pack up.

“How much for this?” He asked.

“$1.75,” the owner said. The boy handed him the money and left.

I was carried uncomfortably for a while into a loud area. Then a train, which I have seen in Gumville before, came roaring in. On the train, he opened up the pack and grabbed my parents. I screamed, “No!” but of course only my cousins could hear me. The whole day, I was worrying about what happened to my parents. Later in the day, going back the same way we came, I remembered my last moments with my parents. My cousins, all of them at the same time, were picked up next. I was horrified that I was the last remaining member of the Tropicals. That night, I was put in the boy’s mouth and chewed for two hours before he spat me out of his window. It was very uncomfortable.

I was on the ground for about twelve hours. I could not sleep thinking about what had happened to me. I got stuck on somebody’s foot, and I couldn’t believe my luck. His shoes seemed brand new because of the smell. Then I saw the logo. They were Jordans. They were my first pair of shoes. In Gumville, I had won them in a contest. They gave me a forever-colored ability, too, so I wouldn’t look like tar in a couple months. I enjoyed my new life for a couple of days until he found me while he was showing off his new shoes. Horrified, I started to scream. It turned out he was big on not littering. He put me in a tissue and carried me into a school. There, he put me in a urinal. This experience was terrible for me. I had yellow liquid sprayed all over me for what felt like years, even though it was only a couple of hours.

A janitor, whom I knew from my studies at school, had come. He scrubbed and scrubbed until I was unstuck. Then he threw me in the trash. Right then, the garbage truck came and tossed the trash, including me, into a giant open space. A gatorade bottle started talking to me about how a really famous basketball player named Carmelo Anthony drank his insides.

We exchanged our stories, and soon we were best friends. We traveled for about thirty minutes until we were all picked up in our bags and carried to an unknown destination. I was sick of being handled like this. I said goodbye to Gator and slipped out of a little hole I was sitting next to. I used my telepathic powers to ask my old friend Wendy to blow me to a truck. Once there, I relaxed until the truck started moving. It stopped by the water and I inhaled the fresh air. Suddenly, I wasn’t stuck anymore. I felt around and, in moments, I was already stuck again–this time to Skechers.

“Crap, Skechers!” I said in an exasperated voice. The person sat down on the grass, but then noticed me and started to pick me off. Thank god, I thought.

This thing came bounding towards me. It was actually extremely cute. I think it was either called a Don or a Dog. It licked me, which kind of tickled and I laughed, but then I realized that it was trying to swallow me. I struggled with all my strength and put a hole through myself. Relieved, I started to relax. Having a hole through you isn’t as bad as you would think. My rest was soon interrupted when Skechers man picked me off with a plastic bag. He carried me over to another trash can, which wasn’t too bad. The plastic bag introduced himself as Plas Ticbag. I told him my name was Garrett, and we soon started talking about our journeys to the trash. We made our journey to the sanitation department. As we got close, I peeked out of the truck and spotted my friend Gator. I felt overwhelmed with joy. He looked like he was in pretty bad shape. We hopped out and made our way over to him.

We asked if he was okay and he responded, “I just haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

The next day, when we were all rested, I explained my plan to them. Then, I texted a garbage alert to the rest of the garbage in the US. Gator, Plas, and I saw our first target. It was a young worker at the department. I went towards him with my friends. Plas quickly jumped onto his back and enclosed his head. He started shouting. Gator hopped in and crammed his mouth. Then, I stretched myself across his nose. He quickly couldn’t breathe. Two minutes later, we had killed him.

“Good job boys, we can take these humans,” I said. “Here is where we go next. There is a garbage convention in Nepal. We can get onto the flight in someone’s luggage and stay with them until we are in the place they are staying. There are cardboard boxes over there. We will hijack them and roll to the airport. This particular airport is about ten minutes away.”

At the airport, we looked at the screen and saw that there was a flight for Kathmandu leaving in twenty minutes. I saw a man heading towards security. We could get in his open briefcase and get to gate G5. We made our way over to it and climbed in. I glanced at the papers inside and realized they were nuclear codes.

“We have to steal these,” I told them.

This would cause national devastation. Five minutes later, we were through security. We hopped out of the briefcase with Gator hiding the codes inside of him. We walked to the gate and spotted a kid with an orange suitcase.

“This looks good,” I said to them. We snuck in and made ourselves comfortable. About thirteen hours later, we arrived. We stayed inside until we approached what sounded like a hotel.  Then the suitcase got opened up and we were spotted.

“Back to the trash for us,” I said. We were put in a trash can, but almost as soon as we got in we were out in a dump truck headed to the convention. Perfect, I thought, already on our way.

At the convention, I recognized a lot of my former friends. I then took an old mic and yelled my plan out passionately.

“We have to stand up to these humans! They treat us terribly and murder our families. GARBAGE FIRST!” I screamed.

Then I got the biggest round of applause I had ever gotten. A couple days later, we owned Nepal. Next stop Beijing. In Beijing, the humans put up much more resistance, since they had heard what happened in Nepal. They were armed with garbage spray. This was a deadly weapon used in the first garbage war back 371 years ago. We will succeed where our ancestors failed, I thought to myself. My great-great-grandfather was the leader back then. Then I thought, This is for GG Grandpa. Suddenly, I snapped back to reality just as a human was spraying Gator with garbage spray.

“No!” I screamed as everything went into slow motion. Gator was dead. “Revenge, revenge!” I screamed, rallying the new recruits. I jumped up on the man who had killed Gator, almost instantly stretching myself out to wrap around his neck and choke him to death.

This was a turning point in our victory in Beijing. We lost thousands of soldiers but defeated Beijing. Our quest to take over Asia had just begun. We paraded through the city, the streets now filled with our superior kind showing off human heads. Humans feared us. We came to new cities and villages sparing some human lives so we could test out new weapons in death camps. I did have a soft side in me. I spared all kids.The kids worked for us in return, spying on the humans, relaying to us vital information about the humans’ weaknesses. Every place we came to we destroyed, leaving devastation everywhere.

The one place I decided we would leave wholly normal was the USA. We would settle in across the country. When we finally arrived back in NYC a couple months later, I started to settle in Brooklyn. The humans had already evacuated the city upon hearing that we were coming. I then thought to myself that we had done it; we had conquered the world.  I started to pass time by joyriding around in Lamborghinis. Eventually, this got boring and I started taking employees. We were starting to recreate the world.

 

The Heroic Person Who Survived a Plane Falling on Him

Tuesday, 9th of August, 2016.

At 13:33 PM, a plane falls out of the sky at high speeds, causing severe injuries.  

United States – New York – Queens – JFK

13:22 PM – Delta Airlines Flight 19 is almost finished boarding 324 people. 287 of those are passengers on a flight en route from New York, JFK Airport, to Honolulu, Hawaii. The estimated flight time is about 13 hours and 32 minutes. The first officer-in-command is 72-year-old John Smith. He has accumulated 43,272 flight hours under his belt, including 25,000 flight hours in the 747. He has been flying with the airline for about 63 years, making him the youngest pilot on Delta Airlines. 67-year-old co-pilot Frederick Ahmad, who has been with the airlines for more than 50 years, will be flying this leg of the journey, until they reach mid-way to their destination. Then, Smith will take control. Ahmad has about 30,000 flight hours under his belt, including 7,000 flight hours in the jumbo jet.

The two old men check the exterior and find nothing wrong with the outside of the plane. As people board the flight, they start the ignition process and the takeoff procedure to get the plane off the ground. The flight engineer, Jacob David Mink, has been a flight attendant on Delta Airlines for about 54 years and used to be a pilot. He loves his job. The relief officers are Zane Hamdan and Milo Hamdan. They are brothers that are both interested on airplanes. On the fourth hour of the flight, they will take over the controls of the massive jumbo jet and let the two senior pilots take a rest in their bunks.

But, none of this will happen. The flight will last less than 45 seconds.

Pilot Smith: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen; this is your captain speaking. We’re running on schedule, so we’ll get you up in the air in about five to ten minutes.

13:27pm: Delta Airlines Flight 19 lines up for position on Runway 22R for departure. They request takeoff clearance.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Control center JFK, this is Delta Flight 19 requesting takeoff clearance 22R.

Control center JFK: Delta Airlines Flight 19 cleared for takeoff 22R.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Control center JFK, thank you. Is the runway long enough for our departure?

Control center JFK: Yes, it is. It’s about 20,556 feet long. You have plenty of room for your takeoff roll. Fly a heading of 350, turn left over the Atlantic Ocean, and make a final right turn to your destination.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Have a good day. Thank you.

This is the last transmission heard from Delta Airlines Flight 19.

Captain Smith: Flight attendants, prepare the cabin for departure.

The cabin dims, so the pilots have better radio contact with the control center.

Finally, Captain Smith pushes the four engine throttles all the way up. In ten seconds, the aircraft reaches the maximum takeoff and Captain Smith pulls back on the controls. The nose of the plane points up at an angle of 20 degrees.

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0…

Captain Ahmad: V1, Rotate.

With Captain Smith in control, the passengers and the crew members have no idea what trouble they will run into. At about 13:32 PM, with 17 seconds, Delta Airlines Flight 19 powers into the sky with four big engines, about 71,000 pounds of takeoff engine thrust and a speed of 250 knots. Flight 19 leaves right on schedule from New York’s JFK airport. The temperature outside is 29 degrees Celsius (84F).

The takeoff roll is completely normal and no one has the slightest clue that something will go wrong. Among the passengers, Massachusetts native Rachel Platten is on board today’s flight to perform for the beach festival that happens every August.

As the flight climbs to 39,000 through the clear skies, suddenly, something catastrophic occurs. The pilots are startled from a loud bang throughout the cabin and cockpit. It shakes the plane so violently; the pilots cannot get control of their aircraft. The state of the art Boeing 747-400 is in a deadly troubling situation.

Captain Smith: What the hell happened? I have no control of the aircraft. Do you have the controls?

Captain Ahmad: No!!! We are going to crash. We are going to crash!!!

Autopilot off!

Captain Smith: At least we are flying.

Flight Attendant: BRACE! BRACE! BRACE! BRACE! STAY CALM! EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY!

In the cockpit, the pilots are knocked out because the cabin becomes depressurized, and they are completely unaware of the oxygen masks that came out.

The lives of 324 passengers depend on the experienced pilots. The pilots are powerless; the plane erroneously flips over into a 270- degree bank and the aircraft’s speed increases 50 mph per second. The steep bank puts so much stress on the frame of the plane that it completely flips into a full, 360 degree bank and tears all four of the engines off the enormous jet’s wings. The captains face a myriad of problems. Secondly, the plane’s wings fall off and burst into flames. The ailerons are stuck 15 degrees and the right, and left, part of the rudder won’t move.

The plane is dropping 685 feet per second and will soon slam to the ground. The jet is crippled. Thirty-five meters below the crippled jet, people on the ground have no idea what they are about to witness. About five seconds after the death dive and a 360 degree flip, the plane rips apart. Seats eject from the aircraft, and the cockpit’s controls fly out the glass cockpit window, breaking the glass.

Automated System in the cockpit: Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up!

Finally, the plane suffers a massive, explosive decompression and finally slams to the ground of Astoria Park at a speed 1,052 mph. The passengers onboard survive the plane crash but will face serious injuries that will take years to recover.

Samuel Sklar is the first victim to be hit from the burning, crippling jet that falls from the sky.

 

Twenty-Four Hours Later – Madison, WI

Bill Nye: So, Samuel, you were on the news yesterday, and I want to interview you on what happened in the Astoria Park Crash.

Samuel: Well Bill Nye, I was in a traumatic state when the aircraft hit me. I was riding down the hill when, suddenly, I felt something very massive hit me, and I fell off the scooter. I tried stopping myself with my feet, but I hit my head on the ground, twisted both my wrists, sprained my ankles, and fractured all 10 of my fingers. Before the aircraft struck me, I heard a loud bang in the sky, but I didn’t have the slightest idea that an airplane was going to crash. When the debris fell on me, my body went into shock. It was completely out of nowhere, and I did not expect what would happen to me on that fateful afternoon of Tuesday, August 9th, 2016. When I fell and injured myself badly, I was sad because it was the day before I went on my trip to Madison. I was also petrified and frightened because I wasn’t with my mom. I was only with my friend’s mom.

Bill Nye: Would you sue Delta Airlines for crashing onto you?

Samuel: I would not sue Delta Airlines for the accident because it would not resolve anything and, second of all, that would be taking things way too far. Third of all, that would be a waste of money for the airline.

Bill Nye: What would be the next step?

Samuel: I think the next step is to have a serious conference with the airline and file a complaint against the Boeing company because the Delta plane that crashed was a Boeing 747-400 and Boeing made the series.

Bill Nye: Well, Samuel, this was a great meeting with you. Get some rest.

 

THE END

                                                                                                       

Green Grass

         

47

The elk stood together. The forest around them was covered in a thick blanket of snow. One doe stood away from the rest of the herd. Her coat was wet from the snow collecting on her back. The breath of the elk gave the area the illusion of smoke rising. The crack of a branch sent all ears facing the old oak that had given up one of its limbs. Its branch lay. The oldest doe turned her head and walked out towards the river.

The rest of the herd followed the eldest does, then their fawns, then the young bulls. Most of the elk were starved, only the fawns of the matriarchs had full stomachs. The elk trudged through the three foot snow banks. The elk were two miles from the river. At the river, the snow was not as deep, and the herd could easily get to the grass that laid in waiting. For thirty minutes, the elk moved in the powder snow, moving their heads at the smallest sound of a bird singing or a chipmunk running up the tree.

When the herd had finally reached the river, they rushed to the bank, drinking. The cold  wind blew across the water, creating ripples that splashed the thirsty, till they could no more. Most of the elk had slipped away, into the dense brush surrounding the river bank. Three of the herd members stood, watching over the thicket that the group laid in. It was late November, and many packs of wolves were prowling the area to feed pregnant females.

The sun had set on the cold land, and the elk huddled together in the snow. As the snow storm got stronger, and the night got darker, the sound of the forest, breaking, scared the animals. In the morning, the forest was quiet. Nothing moved. The elk herd made their way back to the area where they had bedded down the night before. The elk sniffed around the area for anything interesting. The scent of death hung in the air. The group looked to see one of their own, dead, lying on the ground. Frozen in place. The blank eyes stared towards the river. A young fawn, only about five months old. The herd, unable to understand what had happened, moved on. All moved on, except the elks’ mother who  hung back. She would later die too, most likely from wolves.  

 

44

The cold wind kept blowing, and the elk were forced to move to a warmer area. The town of Bozeman seemed the only place. As the herd moved on, the wind and snow picked up. They  walked toward the town, but stopped at the edge of a cul-de-sac. The people, who lived there, went out of their warm houses to view the beautiful creatures. As the sun set on the town, the lights of the shops came on, and people started to move about. The elk, scared from the movement, moved farther out of town. The herd stopped, at the edge of a golf course, and settled in for the night.

The herd woke, with a start, as gunshots fired. They turned and ran as a man, in a golf cart, came at them, holding a rifle. He yelled at them, and they pounded the ground, sprinting to the town. They ran, oblivious to the the highway in front of them. The sound of metal on fur stopped the animals dead in their tracks. They looked at the road to see a young bull, lying on the side of the road. They continued to move to the plains.  

 

43

The snow kept coming, and the winter was long and hard. Death was always an enemy, hanging there, waiting for the weak or the sick to come to its gates. As the white turned to green, the mood of the forest and plains grew happier. The Spring and Summer was the best time for the elk. Babies were being born, and the air was sweet with the singing of birds. As the months moved on by, the herd grew with every passing day.

 

52

As the sun set on the beautiful day, the elk settled in for the night. They sat under the brush and saw the light fade away. The old cow stood alone in the green grass.

 

The Golden Book

All I knew was that it was a job and that I was looking for a job.  

When I saw the ad in the newspaper, all it said was: “Tutor needed for the son of Mr. and Mrs Ordake.” They were paying a lot of money. Well, I was a teacher, so I applied for the job and somehow got it!

So the next day, I caught the bus uptown. I arrived in the fanciest neighborhood I had ever seen; even the squirrels had bushier tails and walked like they owned the world. I even thought I saw one with a necklace. I followed the directions, from the letter they sent, and walked the few blocks to get there. Number 23 was just as big and grand as the other houses on the block, trim and elegant. I nervously walked up to the door, picked up the stone knocker, and tentatively tapped it against the tall, oak door. No one answered. I knocked again, this time louder, then a little louder. Finally, I heard footsteps. Smoothly, the door opened, and a man in a dark suit stood in the doorway.

“Are you the new tutor?” he asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“This way.” He gestured me inside.

I walked in. I tried not to stare at the crystal chandelier and the plush red carpet. I knew they were rich, but this was unbelievable. The man led me up five flights of stairs and into a small room with a bed and a desk.

“This is where you will sleep. You can put your bag in here.”

I did so and followed him, down three more floors, into a humongous room strewn with toys and video games, and shelves filled with more toys and games, and on one wall, a gigantic T.V. with millions of remotes and DVDs. And there, lying on the bed, was a skinny little boy with mousy brown hair and dull green eyes.

“Give me cake now!” he ordered.

“And this,” said the man, “is your pupil, Allen.”

Later, I learned that his mother and father were always too busy with their work to pay any attention to him. Mrs. Ordake was an extremely successful businesswoman, and Mr. Ordake was a famous actor. I’m not saying they were bad people; it’s just, if they had paid more attention to their son, he might have not been, well, such a brat. Allen was very spoiled; his parents gave him ridiculously high amounts of money and hired servants that would do whatever he wanted. But, since his parents neglected him so much, I was sure he was a poor, misunderstood child.

“So, how far have you gotten in math?” I asked Allen the next day.

“None of your beeswax,” he muttered.

“Yes it is. I am your teacher.”

“So.”

“So, you need to learn, and I need to teach you.”

“So.”

“Please, stop saying ‘so’!”

“You’re saying it too.”

“No, I’m not.”

And that is how it went, over and over again. It was very, very exasperating. I missed my grandmother. I took out her last gift to me, her (now my) book. When my entire family perished in a bizarre accident, my grandmother passed the book on to me. I was alone in the world now, with no money–that’s why I had to take this blasted job. The moment before she died, in the hospital, she told me to be careful and heed any warnings the book said. The book’s cover was made out of solid gold. There were two pages torn out in the very beginning. I could have sold the gold and gotten out of there. Instead, I had opened the book. Inside the front cover, there was a short message:

Be careful what you write, for it will become your reality.

That’s strange, I thought, but I didn’t really worry about it. It was probably just a quote. I placed the book on my bed and hurried downstairs to supper. I was down there longer than usual because Allen would not eat anything, except for candy, and when I asked him to please, eat some real food, he stormed upstairs. After I finished my meal, I went up after him. He was in his room writing! I couldn’t believe it! After all these weeks, he was finally putting pen to paper and forming words; it was a miracle! Allen looked thoroughly absorbed in his work, so I left the room, not wanting to disturb him.

The next morning looked to be a promising one. The sun was bright, and there were just enough clouds in the sky. Allen did not whine once during breakfast. After breakfast, for once he seemed eager to start his lessons. In fact, he asked if it was okay if he worked on his writing. It was amazing. He was abnormally focused.

“Can I see what you are writing?” I asked.

“No,” Allen said.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because, I don’t have to.”

“It seems to me that you don’t want to show me it. So, why don’t you want to?”

“Well, why should I?”

“So I can help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

I sighed; this kid was very stubborn. I glanced at the book he was writing in; the cover was solid gold.

“Allen,” I said, “where did you get that book?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because that is my book, and you need to give it back right now!”

I stood up and extended my hand. Instead of giving it to me, he took off, running down the corridor. He was faster than me, so he beat me to the door and ran outside.

“It’s too late!” he yelled. “When I am done, you will never order me around again!”

This did not sound good. I wanted to run after him, but he was already too far away. I searched for the rest of the afternoon. Then I told Allen’s parents, (they hadn’t even noticed) who then called the police. I think they felt guilty. But, who could be sure? They never said anything to me, so I stayed at their mansion without their knowledge. After a week went by, without news of Allen, I started to look for him again. I needed to stop him, and I needed the book back. I didn’t know what it did, but I knew it had fallen into the wrong hands. I searched for about a week. I read the newspaper every day, trying to find news of him. Eight days after Allen ran off, it was reported that leaders from all over the world started to go missing. I never thought Allen would be behind it.

One night, when the air was particularly crisp, I came back to my room to find the door open. Through the door, I could see the window also wide open, with the curtains blowing in an unmistakably creepy way. I rushed inside. I have heard that the simplest mistakes are the worst ones, and I definitely saw that. The person who had opened the window was still in the room. I had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Allen was behind the door. I turned around to face him. He was holding the golden book, my golden book.

“Allen,” I said with all the calmness I could muster, “what are you doing here?”    

“You’re the only one who can stop me. For this, you will die. My parents never noticed me; I spent my whole childhood trying to get their attention. But this, ruling the world, will get their attention.”

As he went on and on, about what he would do once he ruled the world, I started to think. There was no way to stop him, unless the ripped out pages. . . I wondered . . . suddenly I understood how it all happened. I had seen Allen writing in the book. What if what he wrote somehow came true? Or, maybe the book had taken over his mind. Back to the ripped pages, if I could somehow tear the pages out, maybe… maybe everything would go back to normal. But, how would I get the book out of Allen’s hands? I decided to go with instinct. While he was distracted, (yes he was still talking) I lunged at the book. I grabbed and, as quickly as I could, opened the book and ripped out the pages. The world was spinning round and round; it was over.

 

The next week (after I had guilted Allen’s parents into paying more attention to him):

“So, Allen where have you gotten so far in math?”

“Not so far.”

“Okay, let me help you with that then.”

 

THE END

 

Don’t Kids and Teachers Need a Break to Function?

Recess is as important as education. Recess isn’t only good for your health, but it’s also good for your mood. When you wake up in the morning, you usually think about school, but that shouldn’t be the case, should it? You should be thinking about free time and education.

Part of the reason why kids don’t like school is because there is not enough recess. Recess should be extended. School should be 50% learning and 50% recess because free time is as important as learning. When I interviewed other students, Isabella G. from Booker T Washington School said, “I believe that kids should have longer recess because it gives kids the chance to have fun. In addition, when kids come to school they are normally tired and feel as if they are going to fall asleep, but when they get to recess, it invigorates them.” Recess puts people in happy moods, which is important. It helps a student learn, because without recess, your brain can’t function and you can’t focus on working.  

Extended recess will make students focus more during class time. Anne L., who is close to my age, said, “Recess means exercise, and exercise means clear thinking and more concentration. Exercise is like a vent for your patience and concentration during class.” I think that this is important because when you’re at recess, you need exercise or else it’s not healthy. If it’s not healthy, it defeats the purpose of recess. This is also very good for people who are a little bit overweight so that they can get their exercise at recess. Also, not only do students need breaks, but teachers need breaks as well so that they can teach better, and so that they are happier when they teach.

I think that teachers need breaks because they also get grumpy and tired. Also, even when we do have recess, most teachers just spend time planning the next lesson. Not only should kids be complaining, but teachers should be too. Some schools don’t even have recess. Issent that… I don’t know how to explain it. How do kids function? It’s mind boggling that schools would do that. There are too many reasons why recess should not only be an option, but also extended to some schools. But, I strongly think that it should be a law that there is, at the very least, two hours of recess.

From now on, I hope that after people read this, they will take it in, and think about what I’m saying, and really think about what would happen with longer free time.    

 

Frozen

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ti–

That was his watch’s final breath.

Later…

Charlie froze. Something was off. Everything around him was slowing down. The other people on the sidewalk — they abruptly stopped. It was windy out just a second ago, yet, now it was dry. The wind — it just vanished. He was weirded out, although he assumed it was some kind of a prank. He looked at one of the people who was walking next to him. His face was expressionless. Charlie put his hand to the man’s mouth. He wasn’t breathing. Charlie walked to the person behind him. The person had the same expressionless face and wasn’t breathing either. Yet, both of them were somehow mid-walk.

“What is going on?” Charlie said out loud.

“Hello? Anyone there?!” Charlie screamed.

Charlie heard crying from up the next block. It sounded like a child’s cry. Charlie rushed to the street, seeing the cars all frozen in place. He ran between the cars as he saw a child running to him from up the avenue. He had a small, round face with a sad frown. He had dark brown skin and had a twinkle in his eyes. The child was holding a small action figure in his hand. He looked to be about eight years old. As the minor got closer, Charlie noticed his expensive watch. It was almost identical to Charlie’s watch. It had the same gold rim and leather strap. Charlie looked at his own watch. He found it wasn’t moving. The child saw Charlie looking at his watch and looked at his own.

Suddenly the world was full of life again, except for two humans. Two people–one man and one child– were now frozen in place, stuck on a busy street.

 

Please Stand By (Part One)

An audible click floated from the front doorknob; Julius grunted as he heaved a large bicycle, with fading yellow paint, through an inconveniently sized open doorway. After tossing the hunk of transportation to the side — making a crashing noise against the nearby wall; then it landed on top of his shoes — he carelessly shuffled through a pile of envelopes he had found in the lobby’s mailbox. He slapped the bills on the kitchen counter, moved aside the three-month late birthday card from a family member, and came across the last one.

It was an envelope of the lightest, faded brown. One could fit two of them on their forearm; the paper was wrinkled and whatever folded contents in there might not have been money, but nonetheless, it was thicker than any average handwritten letter. Of course, it had all the necessities of any letter: his name, Julius Coleman, his apartment number and address, 24 Quove St, Apt. 3-A, and everything else, except a return address. At least, a legible one. There was definitely something written on the top left corner of the envelope; it was written quite clearly and in the neatest handwriting, and Julius was sure he could read it, if he had recognized the language it was in to translate it. It looked much like Latin, with elements of other languages such as Hindi, Swedish, and even Japanese. Whatever this was, there was no turning back. Not a very good way to start reading an unknown letter, was it?

Julius stared at the envelope. His eyes were growing heavy, he had faced a tedious day at the office from God o’clock to six p.m. Honestly, he wanted to do nothing other than eat something from the fridge and sleep.

So, while logic screamed to stop, Julius ripped open the envelope. A folded piece of parchment was now in his hands, the same color as the envelope. Curly handwriting, a single sentence, lay on this first fold and face. Thankfully, this was in English.

Please take your time to have a good look at your surroundings, and remember them.

This had no point at all, it couldn’t have, but Julius had the urge to obey against all logical odds. He blinked, yawned, and moved his glance around the room he was in and the rooms that surrounded. Julius’s apartment was a palette of dull beige and canary yellow light, mixes of white, black, and an excess of gray. The rooms were simple, there weren’t many to begin with, and descriptions of any inch could not go far. In front of him was a black, dirty counter. Near that was the small refrigerator, containing not much but enough.

A table covered in magazines. A cabinet full of hair dye. A mirror near the jackets. Julius himself. Short, bright red hair, short and skinny body; that body wearing a plain gray T-shirt and khaki shorts with all kinds of pockets, completely matching the palette of his home.

It was nothing special. Why was this needed? Why was this important? Why did Julius need to look at some of the most boring things on the face of this Earth; why his home, his sources of enjoyment, himself?

He knew why when he opened the folded letter further.

Once you are done with remembering your surroundings and the world you once knew, please stay calm and know that you are safe, no matter the circumstance.

Something seemed to be stuffed inside his lungs; he was no longer able to breathe, and no longer able to see as all went black seconds afterward.

 

The True Tale (Part One)

Loud coughing filled the train car. Kat sighed, leaning her head against the advertisement for Samson’s Sandwiches. “New double-bacon combo available for only $3.99!” She looked up at the resting bitch face of the woman standing above her, who was scrolling through her phone. Kat unzipped her backpack and took out a bag of chips. She opened them loudly, shrinking under glares from phone-woman and a guy who forgot to plug his headphones into his phone.

Really, how could you miss that? And Beats weren’t particularly quiet either. Kat swallowed a Pringle and checked the red letters above her head. Sixteen more stops until Atlantic Av.

That was the sucky thing about going to a school for Gifted and Talented Young Scholars. You know, other than the mounds of homework and that one persistent nerd who always asked if he could have harder tests. (It wasn’t nurturing the brain or whatever other bullshit he had in his head.) GTS, the high school that Katherine Webb, “genius” sophomore, attended was approximately twenty-five subway stops from the obscure area of Queens, where she lived.

The good part about that? Extra homework time, you know, for all the crap that she was too lazy to finish the night before. The bad part? She had to wake up at 5:30 a.m. so she could leave at 6:15. I mean, let’s get real here. She didn’t really leave at 6:15. More like 6:30. That’s why her attendance record was going down the drain. But still.

Also, the whole subway thing in general was a bit tiring after you’d done it five days a week for a year. I mean sure, to tourists, riding on the Subway (to Times Square wearing an “I <3 NYC” shirt) was cool and exotic, but to Kat, it was annoying as hell.

And you shouldn’t get her started on the people. God. From the homeless people who yelled at you when you didn’t give money, to the woman who screamed at her kids on the train, to the man who took up four seats, it was too much to handle some days. Just the other day, a boy her own age had yelled to her, “Hey, sweetheart, drop the frown. What’s wrong?” Kat had thought that kind of behavior was reserved for creepy, old men, but now, future pedophiles were starting early. Kat had grimace-smiled and walked away, too afraid of the guy a full foot shorter than her to do anything.

The phone lady had dropped her phone into Kat’s lap. Kat handed it to her with a grimaceit was wet with her sweatand the lady snatched it up from her with a glare. Maybe it wasn’t just a resting bitch face.

Kat shifted her little purse to sit on her lap and shut her eyes. With probably an hour or so left of her subway ride, she might as well get a few minutes of rest.

As soon as she shut her eyes, however, she was awoken by a startling jolt of the train. Her eyes flew open, hands protectively flying in front of her bag of chips. But, once she saw what was in front of her, she released her chips, and the bag fell to the floor;  her mouth hung open.

Kat was staring at a blue wall, decorated with awkward family portraits and posters of random bands and TV shows. A Salvador Dali-style clock hung above a bulletin board with a calendar on it. A black beanbag sagged lazily against the wall; a light-oak wardrobe hung slightly open.

Kat’s stomach lurched as she stood up and turned around. The second wall held a long window with draping curtains against it, a closet door, and a cage which used to hold a parrot, but it was empty now. A dangerously full clothes hamper hung from the ceiling.

Kat slowly rotated around the room. In the wallright next to a bookcase and side tablewas a bed.

 

The same bed that she slept in every night.

 

Kat took a step backward and wondered how in holy hell had she ended up in her bedroom.

She looked down at herself. She was fully clothed, and she was sure she had put on her monkey PJs last night. She didn’t have much of a history of sleepwalking, and anyway, who got up in the middle of the night, let their chickadee out of its cage, put their clothes on, and woke up?

And seriously, who dreamed about subways? I mean, it was one thing to dream about killer robots, (her recurring nightmare when she was six) but the subway? Only the most mundane person in the world would have that dream. And she wasn’t mundane. At least, that’s what she liked to think.

(She briefly ran over the other options in her hand. Time travel, teleportation. Both not probable.)

Then, of course, there was the option that this was a dream. Again, pretty mundane. And this seemed pretty real to her. She gave herself a pinch, just to be sure, but all that happened was a throbbing in her forearm and a bruise in the same place. She blinked a few times, but nothing changed. Only the empty birdcage was in front of her, gently lit by the early morning light.

Or was it early morning? The light streaming through the curtains was unnatural, uncanny, too bright. Kind of like the lightbulbs that gave her migranes at school. The morning light was soft, gentle, and incredibly annoying when she was trying to get an extra two minutes of sleep.

She looked over at the clock on her bedside table. It was off. She kneeled down to put the plug into the wall, but the plug was still there. She fiddled with it for a moment. Nothing happened. Dad was always buying faulty plugs.

Kat crossed the room to the window and pulled aside the curtains.

The light outside wasn’t coming from the sun. It was bright, but not so much that it hurt her eyes. Instead of the warm yellowish color, it was milky white. She didn’t know what the light was, but it definitely wasn’t the boring brick wall of Mr. Morrison’s apartment building that she looked out to each morning. This definitely wasn’t the view from her window.

A door quietly closed behind her.

“Have you figured it out yet?” a voice from behind her said smugly.

Kat spun around and sputtered.

“Whatwherewho the hell are you?”

A girl stood in front of her, short and black-haired, leaning against the wall as if she owned the place, wearing a self-satisfied smirk along with her jeans and a T-shirt. She casually surveyed her nails, picking the nail polish off one. She folded her arms.

“That doesn’t matter,” the girl sighed. “Anyway, have you figured it out? You were being extremely slow. I can’t just wait around for you, you know.”

“Figured what out?”

Surprisingly, Kat was doing a good job at stopping her hands from shaking. The girl rolled her eyes.

“The door,” she said.  “You’re supposed to go through the door. It’s been, what, ten minutes, and you haven’t taken a step toward it. What kind of idiot opens the curtains before the door? I gotta say, I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Kat asked, then shook her head. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Well, at least you have your priorities straight,” the girl said sarcastically, in the same voice Kat used when she argued with people, which was pretty rarewhen you looked past her startling hair, her height, and her death glares, she was pretty awkward.

Except, apparently, when strangers broke into her room. Then she was in tip-top shape.

“What am I doing in your room? I’ll tell you what I’m doing in your room. I’m here to make you go through the door. You were being slow. I don’t have forever. Happy?”
“N-no,” Kat said, fiercely trying to keep her voice steady.

She pressed her hands together behind her back. Her entire body was shivering a little bit, but it wasn’t cold in the room, which was a rarityher parents both liked the house at below-sixty temperatures. It was the only thing the two actually had in common.

“Tell me what’s going on. What’s behind that door?”
The girl smiled mysteriously.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”

She turned on her heel and opened the door, showing Kat a glimpse of the same brightness outside her window.

Squinting her eyes, Kat yelled, “Wait!”

The mysterious black-haired girl turned around.

“I told you, I don’t have forever-”

“This isn’t my room, is it?” Kat asked.

The girl rolled her eyes again.

“Genius,” she said, and then she was gone, disappearing into the white light that swallowed up her body.

The door clicked shut behind her.

 

Kat had said that she wasn’t in her room to the mysterious intruder, and she was certain she wasn’t.  Aside from what was outside her window not being what was outside her window, her chickadee, Oscar was gone, and her clock wasn’t working. Besides, the whole room was quiettoo quietnot full of the usual yells from her mom for her to get up, clean her room, do the dishes, or the insistent meows of her cat Lulu to get into her room. Obviously Kat never let Lulu in because she would eat Oscar, but it was mostly just because Lulu was annoying.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t her room, and it definitely wasn’t her house.

Kat closed her eyes for a second, 99% convinced that this was just a dream, and she would wake up any second on the subway, holding her bag of chips. But, all that greeted her was the same room, lit by the same eerie, white light crawling through the curtains. Kat stared at the door, then back at the window. Kat wasn’t stupid. There was only one way out of there, and it wasn’t the window.

Kat grabbed the door handle. She had lost count of all the times she had yelled at characters in horror movies.

Don’t answer the phone! Don’t go into the basement! Don’t yell “who’s there?” Don’t split up! Don’t trust the mysterious black-haired girl who broke into your not-room and is telling you to go through a door!

But, Kat’s heart was pounding in her chest and something made her walk toward the door. It had gray marks on it from when her parents used to measure her height. When she was three feet tall, four feet, even five feet. Until they stopped caring.

Kat put her hand on the doorknob that was still warm from the girl’s hand. The door clicked as it opened, and Kat shut her eyes against the light that was so bright that she could see it behind her eyelids, but it was barely warm.

With her eyes almost shut, she reached out a hand into the light. Not to go through the door, just to test the waters. It was, indeed, warmkind of like a welcoming hotel pool, but thicker, more foggy than just air. Kat could feel wisps of fog curling around her hand, and then farther up her arm. She watched a thin tendril crawl up her upper arm with fascination, not even thinking to panic, until it reached her neck. She jerked away, startled, but the fog was stronger than it looked. Kat grabbed the doorframe as the fog tendrils that had crept up her arm reached across her torso, and other wisps reached out from the doorframe to latch onto her feet and slither up her legs.

Kat pulled her free arm away from the fog to grab onto her bedpost, but the rest of her body was being dragged forward. It had enveloped her chest, arms, and legs, and was inching up her neck. If she had wanted to go through the door before, she definitely didn’t now. In her chest, along with constricting panic, she felt- no, she knew, that what was pulling her away from her not-room was evil, something dark that made her heart skip a beat; Kat finally understood when characters in horror stories said they were paralyzed from fear.  

Her bed slid a few inches with the weight of her body being pulled away from it. Her hands, sweaty with panic, scrabbled at the post, trying desperately to hold on and drag her body out of the fog, but she had, after all, avoided gym class for six years. Her feeble arm muscles gave way and her fingernails scrabbled at the bed, leaving a long scratch, before fog engulfed her arm.

Her legs and torso had far passed the edge of the doorframe, her body wriggled aimlessly, devoured by the mist. It was uncomfortably squeezing her legs, but that was the least of Kat’s worries as she struggled to take a breath, her throat constricting with fear of the fog slowly covering her face.

Kat’s hand, now grasping at the doorframe, was nothing but the tips of fingers emerging out of a white cloud. Her vision was getting hazy, the outline of her bedroom getting fainter and fainter.

She felt as if there should have been some dramatic, suspenseful background music to play behind her as she felt her fingers get sweaty and her hold loosen from the doorframe. Striking chords echoed from the empty CD player. A chorus of violins grew louder and louder. She thought that, at least, the white mist should have made a sound, preferably a loud hissing or rumbling. But, Kat’s not-room was filled with only her ragged breath.

She knew that she could only hold on for so longat best, another minute. There was no chance of pulling herself out of the white cloud now, and even if she did, what would she do, bust through the ceiling? (Her not-room was unfortunately devoid of chainsaws and jackhammers.) The door was the only way out, even if the barely warm mist filled her with an undefinable chill.

So, Kat took one last look at her not-room and let go.

Instantly, a gust of white wind pulled her backwards and away from the door that she could barely see. It was more than free fallingit seemed a strong force was pulling her fiercely in one direction, faster and faster and faster and, whoa, she was getting carsick. Or mist-sick. Whatever.

Kat vaguely felt herself falling faster and faster. Her stomach was in her throatnot because she was nervous, just because she felt incredibly sick. (I mean, she was nervous too. Let’s get real.) She felt her chest constricting, not only from panic, but also from an invisible force that was making her head pound and throat squeeze.

And suddenly, it went from discomfort and dizziness, to each bone in her body being torn apart, smashed; her chest was being ripped open by a flock of mist-white birds with vapor claws. More pain than she had felt her entire life, each scrape and fall and twisted ankle, combined into something much worse.

And then it was over, and Kat was blisteringly aware of grass pressing through her shirt and sun shining behind her closed eyelids.

 

A Study in Self Titled (Part One)

She waits for a taxi. In that specific moment, or rather on that night itself, the world is drained of color. Or, maybe it’s filled with too much color. She can’t tell. No one can.

It’s not that big of a deal for some people. You see where I’m coming from, right?

In that moment, only little details matter. Her phone is dead. She ought to know why, but her friends have those answers. Her sneakers feel soggy, and water is seeping in through her socks, despite the fact that there is no rain. She could’ve stepped in something wet, but she really can’t remember. It’s as if she has just been born. Or reborn.

Across the street, a group of people are loading a coffin into the back of a hearse. She doesn’t know the man, or woman, but all of a sudden, she’s sad, and the morning sun comes out, nearly blinding her. Her hands are in the pockets of her hoodie, one clutching a folded up piece of paper and the other balled into a fist.

She has wanted to give Anita her letter, but Anita hasn’t been in town for two weeks. The thing about Anita is that she fills up the space of about twenty people. When she isn’t there, it’s as if the town is deserted, as if Constance is the only one alive and the only one roaming the streets.

When she had tried to explain the concept, of how wild it is to feel like the only person alive, to her friend, Harold, he had told her that that was “complete bullshit.” The only problem is that Harold says that about everything, so it kind of lost its meaning after a while, and it becomes harder and harder to tell if he really means it, or if he’s just drunk.

She’s so lost in thought that she forgets she has been gripping the letter with a force that she didn’t even know she possessed. She lets go. The apartment door behind her has been left ajar ever since she left, and she has been standing on the sidewalk ever since, mesmerized by the sunrise and the mourners across the street, who are now arguing in low voices about who should ride in the front of the hearse and who should be forced to sit in the back with the dead man.

The tallest man in the group, who looks like he’s somewhere in his 50’s, stares blankly at the ground, clearly in deep thought. The others are either sniffling into crumpled tissues or hugging each other, but this man seems to feel indifferent about whoever is in the coffin. Maybe it’s his worst enemy who is in that coffin, or maybe she’s thinking too much. However, she isn’t the only one who has a bad habit of doing that; everyone she knows is like that.

Whether it be by coincidence, or because she just happens to be living in one of the most run down places on Earth, it is true. The one who seems to overthink things the most is Anita. Constance would always get missed calls and frantic voicemails early in the morning from her, where she would ramble about how she didn’t understand the assignment, that had been given to her in her English class, and how her dad was mad at her. The voicemails usually only lasted around 30 seconds, and they always cut off towards the end, which Constance assumed was because Anita was still figuring out how to get her new phone to work properly. When Constance would call her back, she’d always answer in the same frantic voice, although she always sounded a bit calmer than she did before. Anita has a nice voice; everyone liked that about her. That is one of the things that Constance misses the most about her after she left, or rather disappeared.

No one can explain it, really.

But, we’re not here to talk about Anita.

The mourners across the street still haven’t moved from their spot, their feet still planted firmly on the concrete, surrounding the hearse. The trunk is open. Now it’s getting ridiculous. Are they just going to have a funeral out in the rain? It could be some sort of tradition, but no one wants to deal with a corpse left out in the rain, not even spiritual people.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh wow, I expected better from Constance. She really shouldn’t be making assumptions about strangers.” However, Constance knows what she’s talking about. Constance’s mother was a spiritual woman. She would preach ancient legends and light incense in the living room every other month and pull her daughter close, whispering phrases that no one could really comprehend. She didn’t think twice about it.

You don’t know Constance like I do.

The woman closest to the trunk slams it shut quickly, making a few of the other mourners flinch. She is wearing a long, black coat. There’s no fur on the coat, no fancy jewelry draped on her, just the sleek coat. A tote bag hangs by her wrist. Constance wonders if she bought the coat and the rest of her outfit specifically for this occasion, or if she had it before. Fashion is an abstract concept. The woman is rich. How do I know this? I don’t. But she looks like she is, and that’s all you need to know.

The rain is gone; the streets are still scattered with puddles here and there. There was no rain in the first place, but we, here in Mountain Oak, don’t like to assume. Our weather has been so unusual, lately, that anything is possible.

Constance sighs, stepping forward and looking both ways to cross the street. There are two cars parked on the street, none passing by at that moment, neither of them moving. Right foot, left foot. Before she can speak, or even think, she’s on the other side of the street. No cars whiz past behind her, and the absence of warmth is unsettling. She isn’t exactly face to face with the mourners, but is still pretty close. One by one, they begin to turn their heads, their gaze drifting from the coffin to Constance.

“Why are you here?” the rich woman asks, squinting her eyes with disapproval.

Constance does something, kind of like a shrug, in response to the rich woman. There’s a pause, not an awkward one, but one filled with deep thought. As if the rich woman is trying to figure out what to say next.

“Lydia, I can feel you glaring from here. Be nice. She probably just needs directions, ain’t that right?” a voice from inside the car booms as a man pokes his head out of the window, flashing a smile at Constance.

He has a thick, booming voice. A chill travels throughout her body. Not because of the way he talks, but because she’s never met someone so straightforward before.

“Not necessarily.”

There’s a thoughtful pause, and suddenly, he tilts his head to the side a bit, as if he’s about to ask a question. She steps closer, hesitantly putting her hand out. The driver probably thinks she’s going to shake his hand. That would be insane; they’re just two strangers on a sidewalk. He squints a bit, as if he’s trying to read her expression like you would read a book for English class. He raises his eyebrows for a second, and then nods.

“Do you need a ride?”

She looks back at the mourners, wondering why he’s so casual about giving a stranger a ride and abandoning the mourners that clearly need to get somewhere.

“The mourners do,” she whispers, and he smiles a bit.

“They’re family. I can send one of my other guys to help them. They’ll understand,” he chuckles, and Constance wonders if he can see the rich woman, who is crossing her arms and glaring in his direction.

They don’t seem that shocked; a few of them are being a bit too nonchalant about it. A few of them are staring at the sky, spaced out and suddenly far away from the small town. The rich woman turns her head. The engine revs up, and all of a sudden, Constance’s mind goes blank. She can’t remember what she was going to do before, or why she even walked up to the car. All she knows is that she’s getting into the back seat of the car, behind the man. Why does she do it? She has places to go. She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear as she looks up at the driver, or the back of his head at least.

“Your family must be really understanding if they’re okay with you just abandoning them to drop a random stranger off.”

She cocks her head towards the back, the people behind fading as the car drives on. No response, but there’s probably a good reason why he doesn’t answer. Something lingers within her, like she’s forgetting something, but that might just be her suspicions rising. As they’re driving down neverending avenues, it’s as if time doesn’t exist. Everyone feels like that at some point, and if you say you haven’t, you’re probably lying. Local shops fly past her, and in the back of her mind, memories are there. If she concentrates really hard, maybe she’ll be able to access them again. Pizza places, apartments, and bookstores all whiz past, a sea of color in a colorless town.

“So, lil’ lady, where are you headed? Most people tell me that I’m a pretty flexible guy, and these blocks are a lot longer than I remembered, so feel free to speak up and tell me when,” the driver booms, turning his head to flash a toothy smile at Constance, and then continuing to watch the road.

The world is becoming fuzzier by the second, and all of a sudden, she’s slumping down further into the back seat, trying not to fall asleep as she’s overwhelmed by fatigue.

“Tell you when what?” she mumbles, her words becoming more and more jumbled together by the second.

“You know, when to stop, when to go, when we get to where you’re going,” he responds, his tone of voice suggesting that he thinks this is obvious.

The streets are becoming less and less complex, the driver’s voice is fading bit by bit. The story goes on.

“Where are you going, anyway? Hey, are you still there?” his voice booms from the front of the car, disguising the hesitation he possesses.

Constance blinks, and the voices and places fade in and out. The streets don’t seem so crowded anymore. She takes a deep breath in, and she falls into a deep sleep, muttering something that sounds like, “I’m going to find my friend.” Or maybe she said something else, like, “I’ve finally lost my head.” We don’t know.

Maybe we never will.

 

Pokemon GO Should Not Be Given Another Chance

Pokemon GO should be banned because the game is addictive to an extent, where it takes away lives. Pokemon GO should be banned because of the problems it imposes on our society and others around the world. Additionally, this fun game can be problematic for those who are not directly involved with the game.

It should be banned because of the violence it causes. People die from this game as a result of careless people, who put their phone game over people’s lives. In 2016, a truck driver, playing Pokemon GO, killed a pedestrian in Japan. People got injuries from falling off a cliff while trying to catch the rare Dragonite. By looking at these two incidents alone, we can see the damage Pokemon GO is doing to our society and how it is hurting those who have nothing to do with the game. It’s wasting our lives (for those who play it), and it’s wasting all our efforts (because people, who have better things to do, are dying from it). People who play Pokemon GO should be more cautious, so they don’t waste other peoples lives, who are not directly involved with the game, but ultimately, banning it will stop all the accidents caused by it.

It should also be banned due to fact that people in the world, who play this, can ruin their productivity at work, even when they are handling decisions for countries. According to CNN, one article said that the leader of Norway’s liberal party, Trine Skei Grande, wasted the country’s resources playing a game and betrayed the nation. She did not pay attention at work and was scolded by the other members of the hearing. If Grande put Norwegian lives at stake, she would be disgraceful to her country by not fulfilling her responsibilities as a partisan leader. By doing so, the quality of laws and actions made would drop significantly. For those citizens living in the nation, it ruins the quality of their lives as residents and can make them protest against those in power (even if they did not previously indulge in such activities). If people protest against those in power, it looks like the country is carefree. Especially after what happened in Norway, with the liberal party leader, Pokemon GO should be banned, so it looks like the country is taking steps to stop people from not fulfilling their responsibilities. If Norway bans this game, other countries might follow, and Pokemon GO may be banned from most countries around the world.

In conclusion, Pokemon GO should be banned. It should be banned because of how it is affecting people’s lives and quality of life. This game really does affect the lives of so many people around the world, so it shouldn’t be ignored. The entire game can ruin the lives of those innocent people, who are not related to the game in any direct way. Many other games also have similar kinds of outcomes, but Pokemon GO is a major concern because it requires lots of walking and constant activity with the phone or device in action. By banning the game, people won’t get physically hurt, and many people will be protected from careless acts.

 

Citations:

Britton, Blanca. “Politician Caught Playing Pokemon Go.” CNN. Cable News Network, 26 Aug. 2016. Web. 05 Mar. 2017.

Delzo, Janissa. “Men Fall from Cliff Playing Pokémon Go.” CNN. Cable News Network, 16 July 2016. Web. 05 Mar. 2017.

Riley, Charles, and Yoko Wakatsuki. “Pokemon Go-playing Truck Driver Kills Woman in Japan.” CNNMoney. Cable News Network, 24 Aug. 2016. Web. 05 Mar. 2017.

 

An Overview of “Overwatch” : Best Game of the Year

The new hit first-person shooter (FPS) game, “Overwatch,” by Blizzard Studios, is not your ordinary shooter game. This is why it’s breaking game stores all over the world. The Blizzard workers are some of the most popular in the gaming industry, and all of their ideas are always highly anticipated. Some of Blizzard’s most well-known franchises are “Diablo” and “World of Warcraft.” Blizzard’s new first-person shooter perspective, “Overwatch”, is a must play game for it’s unique design, exciting array of heroes to choose from, and addicting multiplayer modes.

Overwatch has attracted gamers and non-gamers, of all ages, mainly because of its flawless design in both heroes and maps. In Vince Ingenito’s IGN review of the game, he says, “Overwatch exists at an intersection between design and artistry, a crossroad at which pure tactile joy meets refined intelligent design.” In this comment, Ingenito is stating that Blizzard’s main focus, after the gameplay of course, was to make the game as clean and colorful as possible. We think that they accomplished this for sure. The maps are a main part of this. We guarantee you’ll love “Overwatch” just for its beauty alone.

Furthermore, the 22 unique playable heroes will have you falling in love in no time. From a gorilla rocket scientist with some very fragile glasses, Winston, to the high flying egyptian soldier from Egypt, Pharah, there is truly a hero for every type of gamer. What separates these heroes from each other are their unique weapons and abilities. Every hero’s partner in crime is their main weapon. Main weapons are the reloadable, usually projectile, firing weapons that each hero primarily uses. All heroes have around two to three abilities, which help them out in battles. Some well-known abilities in “Overwatch” are Reinhardt’s “barrier field”, Soldier 76’s “helix rockets,” and Genji’s “deflect”; these abilities are helpful, but a hero’s ultimate ability (ults) can easily change how a match plays out. Ultimate abilities are usually for taking out a whole truckload of enemies, like Mcree’s “deadeye” and Junkrat’s “drip tire” ability, which is a controllable tire bomb that deals crazy damage. Some ults, though, are used for healing, shielding, or other purposes. All of the support class heroes have these kinds of ultimates. The 22 playable heroes, and their backstories, are magnificent and extremely addicting to play with.

Despite the main heroes, “Overwatch” provides many smaller elements that complete the game. The most popular side factor is loot boxes. In the typical FPS, a loot box, or crate, is equipped with guns and boosts, but Blizzard decided that there would be no boost or extra weapons for heroes. Instead, there would be alternate skins, emotes, highlight intros, sprays, and more.  Loot boxes are each filled with four items of different frequencies: common, rare, epic, and legendary. Players can achieve these boxes in multiple ways like leveling up, winning their 3rd, 6th, and 9th games in arcade mode (it resets each 7 days), and other ways. Another exciting addition is the seasonal events. Seasonal events bring new loot box items and the most recent event, Chinese New Year: Year of the Rooster, has brought capture the flag, an exciting new game mode. Other events have been the Summer Olympics, Halloween, and Winter Wonderland.

Many have said that “Overwatch” has certain flaws like no solo champaign, the matchmaking process, and others. This is a somewhat valid argument, but every good thing comes with flaws, and unlike a movie, Blizzard can fix these “problems” in the future considering that this game is fairly new. Besides, this game has received extremely high ratings from IGN, Metacritic, Common Sense Media, and has won best game of the year. What I mean is that if this game is one of the best of all time, with just multiplayer options, then does Blizzard really need to make any big changes? The answer is no.

 

Butter

                                       

It happens quite often that I feel my thoughts start to disseminate like continental drift.

It happens also that I feel like I am biting into a chunk of solid butter.

Sometimes, though, it is melted butter, and sometimes, the butter is whipped.

Those days are good ones.

From time to time, the sky appeals to me so much that I have an uncontrollable desire to drink tufts of clouds through a peppermint-striped paper straw and feel the wispy white slinking down my throat.

I have a muscle in my leg that, when I’m really concentrated, pulses under my knee and doesn’t allow me to stop bouncing it.

Sometimes, when I watch rain pouring down outside my window, I feel water lapping over my contact lenses like there are windshield-wipers in my eye bags.

 

I do feel in control of myself occasionally, though.

I know how to swallow on purpose, blink on purpose, listen on purpose.

 

Some days, I have neutral legs.

Neutral wrists.

Neutral shoulders.

My legs and wrists and shoulders give off a slight vibration that is unnoticeable: energetic, yet calm.

 

When I’m cold, my sweat glands secrete fire; when I’m warm, they secrete ice.

 

I wonder if there is anyone in the world who has pierced fingertips and five hoop earrings dangling from each hand.

I wonder if anyone else has ever wondered about that.

 

Sometimes, if my mom is driving our car, my dad will stick both his legs out the passenger seat window.

I’ve never asked why, because he probably won’t have an answer that makes sense. But I’ve always assumed my impulsive nature stems from the strands of DNA I inherited from him.

 

I wonder if he has an urge to drink clouds. I wonder if anyone else does.

Sometimes, I am frozen milk left out in the sun, and I’m dripping and unfreezing and whipping myself into wispy clouds so that I can drink myself.

 

When I listen to people talking while I’m mad, all I can hear are potato-peeler sounds that cause my skin to flake and my feet to writhe.

When I listen to people talking while I’m sad, I am the churning heat in the air, creating wind slowly, like a milkmaid making butter.

 

My brother is less than one year old and hasn’t quite mastered crawling yet, so when he tries, his knees are soft, watery butter, and he slips and smacks his tummy on the ground, so I pick him up and put his knees in the refrigerator for a while.

Soon, he will have butter-knees strong enough to crawl on.

 

Sometimes, though, my mom is confused to see drawings of knees sitting in the fridge, but I tell her it’s a metaphor.

“I’m teaching Alec how to crawl.”

She gives me a look.

This is when I know my thoughts have disseminated.

 

“Mom have you ever seen someone with pierced fingertips?”

“I don’t think people do that. There are too many nerves in fingertips.”

“Is it possible?”

“I guess so. Don’t do it, please.”

 

My leg is bouncing, emitting blips of energy without my permission, but I am melted butter today, so it is a good day.

 

I have decided to like cauliflower and pumpernickel, and I have decided to like these things as a two-year-old likes bubbles.

 

My lips are bubbling. I used to play with bubbles.

There are liquified soap bars in my stomach, and solidified liquid soap has encased all the wiggling cells in my brain.

My brain contains pink soap balloons.

The balloons are turning yellow, like salted butter. The yellow balloons taste like sour apples. The sour apple taste is delicate, like cauliflower.

 

When I was a two-year-old who played with bubbles, I would catch them in my mouth and feel the soap cover my tongue.

A few years later, I melted butter and mixed it with whipped cream in a bowl and drank my mixture and pretended I was drinking butter-flavor whipped clouds. That was yesterday.

 

Sometimes, I wonder if it is possible for butter to rot to the extent where it’s brown like pumpernickel.

I wonder if anyone else has wondered about that.

 

Biting into frozen butter with buckteeth is like being the only one awake on a double-decker airplane.

Butter for buckteeth.

Rotten pumpernickel butter for buckteeth.

Expired airplane pumpernickel butter for buckteeth.

It happens on occasion that I feel like my tongue is a frying pan being burnt by butter.

It happens also that I feel my irises revolving like a silver doorknob.

Sometimes, the doorknob is sticky from bubbles.

Sometimes, my tongue is sticky from bubbles and butter.

 

Sometimes, I think my urine is melted butter.

 

Sometimes, my stomach is chunky like a chunk of butter after I eat butter.

Sometimes, my mom tells me not to eat butter.

 

Sometimes, I think I’m allergic to butter.

 

One time, when I was trying to pick Alec up off his tummy, there were hoops dangling from my fingers, and I couldn’t.

So Alec had to stay on his tummy.

 

I’ve decided I won’t pierce my fingertips.

                                                And clouds are too high up for me to reach.

 

My brother has learned how to crawl. Now I am waiting for his soft-butter-feet to harden.

 

Not So Perfect

Chapter 1

On May 18th, 1999, Julie’s life changed forever. She moved. It was the most horrible, rotten day ever, according to her. But for her parents, it was great! They were finally going to get rid of Julie! The puffy, blonde-haired brat would be out of their lives forever. They had been forced to take care of this horrible girl for twelve years.

“Come on Julie! We are going to miss your train!” her mom, Thelma, shouted.

“That’s the point,” Julie grumbled, scuffling her feet as she dragged her suitcase into the foyer.

“Oh sweetie, you don’t mean that!” her dad perkily said. “We know you want to move just as much as we want you to!”

Her father lugged the suitcase into the car.

At this very moment, she hated her parents more than she thought was humanly possible. She looked up from her bright pink hightops. The corners of her mouth pricked up a little when she saw what her dad was lugging into the trunk of the car.

“Ugh, Julie, what did you put in this bag?! Bricks?”

“Yes,” she said under her breath.

“Well whatever you packed is not our problem anymore,” Thelma chuckled. “Let’s just get in the car.”

“Okay, Mummy.” Julie smirked. She was trying so hard to contain her laughter.  If her parents were going to get rid of her, they would have to deal with extreme pranks all the way to the train station. And when they ate dinner. And when they went to walk their dog Fido. Her parents named him that. Julie hated it. It matched the neighborhood she lived in. Or used to live in.

Boring, happy, and perfect. Everything was the same. The neighbors were always nice. The houses all matched. All the lawns were cut 1½ inches off the ground. Julie had measured them on one of those perfect days.

Julie thought aloud to herself, “Would you be surprised if I told you that half of the dogs there were named Fido? No? Well, to add to that, the other half were called Skipper.”

She thought her life was like The Truman Show. Ever since that movie was released last year, she had watched it eighty-seven times. It was her favorite movie ever! It was because she related to Truman so much. He was stuck in a boring town that wouldn’t let him leave. Except she was being kicked out.

By the time Julie snapped out of her daydream, they were pulling into the train station. She saw all the cars in perfect rows. She was glad to be going.

“Bye mom! Bye dad!” she shouted gleefully. When she got out of the car, she closed the door really slowly. Just as she was boarding the train, which arrived at 10:45 on the dot, she heard it. BOOM!

Yes! The firecrackers had gone off at the perfect time! After the joy rush wore off, she realized the fun was over. She leisurely sauntered onto the train. A few minutes later, right on schedule of course, the train pulled away from the small town she used to live in. The beautiful trees turned to shrubs, the houses became more and more scarce, and the sky lost its baby blue color.

 

Chapter 2

As much as she tried to hide it, she was going to miss her perfect town. She was undeniably sad. She knew why her parents sent her away, but they would never admit it. Julie tried, she really did, but she could never be like them. It was too… well, perfect! Nothing ever went wrong.

A couple hours later, the train slowed to a stop. She stepped on the the rickety platform. She saw a sign that said, WELCOME TO MANIFEST. FOUNDED IN 1804. The “F” in “MANIFEST” had fallen off, and the “T” looked like it was trying really hard to hold on. You could tell that the paint on it was at least twenty years old.

Julie grimaced as she looked around. There were women wearing big hats, men wearing suits and overcoats, little girls with puffy dresses, and little boys wearing sailor outfits. Even the little caps!

She heard footsteps running up from behind her.

“Abilene!” someone shouted. “You’re back!”

Julie looked around. There was no one else on the platform. The same person who was just calling Abilene, whoever that was, ran up to Julie and hugged her. She had auburn hair and bright green eyes. She looked familiar to Julie, she just couldn’t place her. As a matter of fact, the whole village looked familiar!

“I’m so happy you’re home! I missed having my best friend around!”

“What?” Julie said, confused about what this strange girl was saying.

“You were only supposed to go on vacation for one month!” the girl who was apparently her best friend giggled. “You were gone for an entire year!”

“What?!” Julie repeated. She decided she would call this girl Barbie, until she found out her real name. She seemed like the kind of person who would always be happy, and would fit right in with her parents. Julie was tempted to just ask her what her name was, and why she thought that they know each other, but she didn’t want to hurt Barbie’s feelings.

She might be crazy. Julie thought. I better pretend like I know her.

“I’m so sorry!” Julie exclaimed with mock sympathy.

“Let’s go to the river!” Her new friend babbled on about the new benches near the river for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about five to ten minutes.

They headed away from the train platform and into the town.

 

Chapter 3

As they walked through the town, it seemed as though everybody thought she was Abilene. Julie still didn’t know who that was, but she was determined to find out. Everything in this place looked like it was from the 1800’s! They passed a small shop called Ms. May’s Flower Boutique. Julie caught a glimpse of herself in the window, and she had to try really hard not to scream.

She was wearing exactly what every other girl in this weird town was! A big puffy dress, white gloves(which she probably should have noticed before right?), and black flats.

“Susie Johnson! Is that Abilene I see walking with you?” She heard a faraway voice say. Julie was elated! She finally knew Barbie’s name!

“Yes mama!” Susie called back.

“Well bring her in here so I can give her a proper greeting!”

The two girls walked up the squeaky porch. There was a porch swing, chairs, and even a table. There was a pile of newspapers on the table that looked dangerously close to falling. She loved it. They weren’t in a perfect pile like they would be at home, and no one seemed to care. Just as they were about to go in the screen door flung open with a loud SWOOSH.

“Come here, Abilene!” Susie’s mom cooed. She looked just like Susie. It was kind of eerie. Julie took a step forward and was enveloped in a bear hug. She was having a hard time breathing, but she did enjoy it.

“Did you guys go to the river yet? Did you see the new benches?” Mrs. Johnson squealed.

“Geez,” Julie muttered. “What’s so special about some benches?”

“What sweetie?” Mrs. Johnson said alarmed. “You know that it’s the first thing they added to this town since it was founded 48 years ago!”

There was an awkward pause while Julie did the math. Math was the only subject she was failing in school. Julie snorted. “You’re kidding right? That would make it 1852!”

“It is.” Susie retorted obviously confused. “Just look at the local paper!”

Julie didn’t understand what they  were talking about. Were they playing a prank on her? And why was the whole town wearing clothes that seemed like they would be from the time these strange people were claiming they were in?! Was the whole town in on the joke? She didn’t even know them. What if they were all going to try and kidnap her? Why had she followed Susie, if that was even her name?! She had known something was going on from the start since they were all calling her Abilene, but then again, they had sounded pretty sincere. She stood in silence for a few more seconds. She heard someone say Abilene, which she ignored for another few seconds, until she realized they were talking to her.

“What?” Julie said abruptly.

“I said, do you want to go over to the school and tell everyone that you’re back?” Susie replied. “The class will think that it’s awful that you’re back.”

Julie snickered. This Abilene girl must be really mean. But then, she remembered what they had learned about the 1800’s in school. Words meant different things than they did in modern times. Awful didn’t mean horrible, it meant awe-inspiring! And the word backwards meant shy, not the opposite of forwards! She would have to get used to this. If these people were playing a prank, they were very good actors.

The two girls ran into town, Julie trying to act like everything was normal, and Susie just being normal. They ran past the butcher’s store with pig legs hanging in the windows, they ran past the cemetery, past the bookstore, and then, Julie saw somewhere she wanted to go. The sweet shop. She didn’t go for the candy, although she did buy some; she was more interested in the newspaper. She scanned the the articles for a date. There was a man behind her who was telling her all about the new printing press, and how they could now have updated news everyday.

“Not that anything important is ever going to happen here,” he sourly remarked.

Julie didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. She felt like she was going to faint. The date at the top of the paper said “May 18th, 1852.”

She didn’t know what to think. If this was a prank, not only were they great actors, they went to great lengths to pull it off. Julie decided that if they were going to prank her, she might as well play along. She would be Abilene, and pretend like she was part of this strange joke. She would wear the itchy clothes, she would try to talk like them, and she would continue this until they gave in and confirmed her suspicions. If that took forever, so be it.

 

Chapter 4

The next day was the same. It was a lot harder for Julie to act like she had lived there than she thought it would be. Everyone was surprised to see her, and she got a tour of the town. Julie felt that she had to act bored and pretend that she already knew where everything was, but she was actually fascinated. There were butchers, fishmongers, grocers, greengrocers, bakers, dressmakers, tailors, shoemakers, jewellers, ironmongers, a stationer’s shop, drapers, and chemists.  Julie didn’t know what a fourth of these things were.

She was amazed at the signs, the people, and basically everything else. She wanted to remember this prank, or whatever it was, forever. She reached into her backpack, which everybody was pretending that they hadn’t seen before, and pulled out her camera. She had a Casio QV-10 Digital Camera that her parents got her for her birthday when they still loved her. She was so proud of it. She took it out of the case and pressed on the power button. She counted to three slowly in her head. One…Two…THREE! The screen lit up and made the starting sound. On the last ping, everyone that was in hearing range heads whipped around.

“Abilene.” Susie whispered. “How did you make that shiny, little box light up!?”

“Whoops.” Julie murmured. She had forgotten that she had to be careful about what she did now, they might think she had powers or something. As it turned out, Julie was right.

Susie pulled her aside. “Abilene,” she said, “tell the truth. Where did you really go? Did you go to witch school? You know that if the town finds out, they’ll put you on trial.”

“No!” Julie retorted, confused. “What are you talking about?!”

“You made that wood slab light up!!! Stop that, Abilene!”

“Stop calling me Abilene! Why is everybody calling me that?! And I have no idea who you are and who the rest of these people are! Why are you pranking me like this?! It’s 1999! Not 1852!”

In the midst of her screaming, she hadn’t noticed that the town psychic had pulled her into the fish mongers.

“Okay,” the town psychic whisper-screamed. “Are you done ranting?! I know that you’re not Abilene, but they don’t!”

Just then, Susie walked into the store, and the lady stopped talking.

“Oh hi, Ms. Romanowski! My mom told me to make sure you would still do her appointment later! I had forgotten, but I must have told Abilene! You’re such a good friend that you remembered! Mama would have been so upset!”

Now it was Susie’s turn to pull Julie away. The further into the fish shop they got, the worse it smelled. There were fish heads sitting in buckets of ice, with the heads chopped off. The beady, little eyes were staring at random points in the room, and it was making her really uncomfortable. Susie said something, but Julie was too lost in thinking about how she was going to escape the murderous fish.

“Abilene!” Susie slapped her.
“Ouch! What was that for?!” Julie screamed.

“What’s going on back there girls?!” Ms. Romanowski yelled from two doors over. “Are you okay!”

“Abilene, we need to get out of here! Some of the townspeople decided to look through your backpack after someone reported the glowing, little box, which you still need to explain. They are all outside chanting!”

“What are they chanting?” Julie asked, puzzled.

“Burn the witch!!! Burn the witch!!!” Susie started running around chanting. “Burn the witch!!! Burn the Witch!!! Burn th –”

“Stop! Just tell me how we are going to get out of this!”

“Okay, so we are going go outside, and start chanting with them, and hope they don’t notice that it’s you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work!?!”

“Then you die.” Susie said.

“Wow, thanks.”

They ran outside and shoved their way through the crowd. Nobody noticed them until the got to the sign.

“Hey! isn’t that the witch!” Some kid screamed.

Julie heard a bombardment of “Get her” and “ We found the witch!!!”

She ran as fast as she could, but the town athlete caught her. Soon, the rest of the town caught up, and they all dragged her to the burning stake. Julie blacked out. When she woke up, she could smell smoke, and there was an intense pain in her legs. She looked down and saw the flames lapping at her feet. She blacked out again. This time, when she woke up, the flames were up to her neck, and a few seconds later, it all went black.

 

Monday Is

Monday is the lowest of the low. It’s at the bottom of my trash can of hate, along with fake smiles and the objectification of women. I picture it like this: we have a perfectly good weekend, right? And on Friday and Saturday, we’re ever so happy.

But then on Sunday, we start prickling, just a bit, with dread, and the hairs on the backs of our necks stand up straight. “Whatever,” we think, and we brush it away and enjoy the last of our glorious weekend, like the last bits of an ice cream cone, the melty drips that slide down our throats, and it’s just as sweet and cold as the rest.

Except that then, you’re left with an empty cone in your hands and sticky drips on your fingers and a too-sweet taste in your mouth, and all you want is a nice, cool glass of water. All the magic and sweetness of that big, old ice cream cone is gone, and all that’s left is sticky fingers and an empty cone.

And that’s what Monday is: that empty cone. Because on Monday, there’s nothing to look forward to at the end of the day, nothing to push through for. No. All you’ve got is a school day stretching out in front of you, and after that, a school week, and you’ll have to wait until Friday for that big, old ice cream cone feeling to come back to you.

 

deities of green

                    

i actually kind of like the park

it’s just that once my mother lost me and i’m still afraid of dirt paths and trees that look like faces in the dark

once, someone wrote a song about me and called it the Forest

i can’t remember the tune but i haven’t been able to get it out of my head/the idea

that i walk around with leaves in my hair

and woodchips and candy wrappers in my mouth

trees growing in my palms

trees growing from seeds to saplings to monsters under my care

the idea that things live and grow and die so quickly in my mind/i wonder how god does it

how he can sectionalize and rationalize and put all the green things in the city in one square of 843 acres

how he can put humans in a world full of birds and call them gods

give them a portion of the power/delegate the work

let them blame him/let them pray to him/let them fight wars in his name/let them die for him/let them live for him

my uncle believes that god resides in Central Park

says he had a spiritual experience once

when he saw the virgin mary walking her dogs

i’m afraid that he’s right

that getting lost was divine intervention

and i swore in the presence of a holy being

 

orange

                

orange is my least favorite color.

orange isn’t a peaceful birth, it’s a painful one.

orange is your mother screaming in labor.

orange isn’t the color of a peaceful death.

orange is a murder that’s creepy on another level,

a painful death with a chainsaw to cut you in half,

eyes out and on the floor.

orange is a witch-like person standing in the forest, and when you walk,

they follow you.

orange is the awful smell of garlic when you open your closet,

and when it opens,

you see the dead body from last night.

 

Honeysuckle Yellow Sunny Socks

                

There is water in the air bubbles that pop when I crack my knuckles. I am in a tank of water. The water tank is full of floating honeysuckles.

I am out of the water tank. There are strings of honeysuckles wrapped around my arms. There are honeysuckles in the air bubbles that pop when I crack my knuckles.

 

There is clean dust on my curtains.

There is clean dust in the air bubbles that pop when I crack my knuckles.

The clean dust from my curtains sprinkles down onto the honeysuckle strings on my arms. The clean dust on my honeysuckle strings trickles down into the cut on my foot. There is a sanitary infection on my foot from the honeysuckle clean dust.

 

The honeysuckles in my knuckles are dyeing my finger bones yellow. My yellowing finger bones are dismembered and have joined my honeysuckle strings.

I am a honeysuckle.

There is saliva contaminating my sanitary foot infection.

 

My foot infection is secreting yellow pus.

 

When I walk, my honeysuckle yellow sunny socks are whispering to the moss that is being squished under my heels, and the moss is shouting at my sunny socks. I feel the discord under my toes, squish-squashing, clay against green against yellow against flesh.

I am listening to the leaves of honeysuckle bushes rustling, and the rustling is beginning to sound like crashing ocean waves. Leaves are waves like I am honeysuckle.

There is someone pulling the honey vocal chords out of my honeysuckle-body.

The water from the tank is seeping through my pores and filling my lungs.

I’m alone in a water tank and drowning with no honey left in my blood.

There is someone plucking my honeysuckle pistils.

I’m being picked apart.

I’m crumbling into dirty dust.

Yellow pus is soaking my yellow sunny socks.

The pus is turning green.

Dirty dust is tickling my unsanitary infection.

I’m starting to float and bloat like the honeysuckles in the water tank.

There is dirty dust and green pus in the air bubbles that pop when I crack my knuckles.

There are dirty, dusty curtains in the air bubbles that pop when I crack my toe knuckles in my honeysuckle yellow sunny socks.

All the floating honeysuckles in the water are seeping through my pores and into my skin.

I am full of bloated honeysuckles.

All the water from the water tank is inside my body.

 

I am swollen and swelling and swamped.

 

The Tall Grasses Return

Chapter 1: Apocalypse

Merlin’s eyes opened. As usual, a white ceiling was above him. It was the weekend; he should have stayed in bed. For some reason, he didn’t. He wanted to get up and eat breakfast. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was hunger, Merlin would never know. So Merlin rubbed his small eyes, scratched his light brown, overgrown hair, and walked downstairs to the kitchen table.

He first noticed the smells that were floating up the stairs. It didn’t smell like pancakes or fresh-out-of-the-box cereal, or anything like that. It smelled fresh and full of nutrients, but not the kind of nutrients that were that appetizing.

Merlin’s foot brushed over something growing on the step. It wouldn’t hold. He slipped and bonked all the way downstairs to the kitchen. That’s where he saw it.

The kitchen and dining room were barely recognizable as those things at all. It was more of a garden. That’s right, a garden. An overgrown garden.

The table wasn’t the rusty, wooden brown anymore. Some kind of flowering moss was there instead, acting as a tablecloth. That moss was all over the floor, along with dandelions and some golden wildflower that Merlin didn’t recognize. Giant, curling roots broke the window and molded around the cabinets, counter, and faucet. The sink was full of water, not to mention the lily pads and lotus flowers.

Outside didn’t look anything like a city. That one branch was curling through everything it could see. There were other trees, leaves that were growing and falling, moss, grass, wildflowers, bird baths with algae, and telephone poles covered in ivy.

The walk that Merlin began outside was anything but easy. The grass almost reached his torso. He shivered, not used to the feeling of mud and water, and even some bugs on his bare toes. He didn’t think to get his shoes. He was just wondering what the heck happened to his so normal town.

As Merlin walked, his feet grew numb, and it just felt like sneakers on the concrete again. He knew that it was still concrete, and that his sneakers were still inside his house, but to be truthful, he never walked anywhere without somebody who had a good sense of direction. He had no idea where he was, but he did know that he went straight for a while and then took a left, then straight, then another left, and then, a right. That’s what he knew, apart from knowledge of the strange attributes the city got. Things that he would recognize well.

The strong soil smell was still there. The spring day was breezeless. Merlin felt the exact thing that he was: alone. That didn’t make sense to Merlin. His city was densely populated, or at least it was. Now, nobody was in sight. So Merlin kept walking the endless streets of this overgrown place and kept taking notes of the interesting things he saw. Such as: a one-story house that had flowers of intense purple covering its roof, a fence that was covered in loose grasses and what looked like animal waste, a small patch of sidewalk that was covered in darker grass, rather than lighter grass, and many other things. The sky was painted a brilliant blue, which was new to Merlin. Before, almost every day had a gray, nimbus sky. That’s what Merlin was used to: a gray, nimbus sky.

Merlin stopped. A small breeze rustled his hair, and then stilled. The leaves were facing the sun. A squirrel scurried down a nearby tree, nut in mouth. Why wasn’t the sky gray or nimbus? Why did it alternate from breezeless to breeze? Why were there roofs covered in flowers, and branches curling around telephone poles and faucets? Why was Merlin alone? Why were his feet numb?

I’m not used to this, Merlin thought, I’ve never seen or felt anything like this. Was that a squirrel? I never usually see squirrels… but there’s another one running in the grass, and another one, and another one! What’s going on? I’ve never experienced this before. I’ve never walked this far, I’ve never been alone. Then why do I like the numb feeling in my toes?

“Why?” Merlin asked out loud and stared at the sun.

The sun did not answer him. It instead converted his vision to a burning white. Merlin’s head flew back down, and he shook it.

“Why?” Merlin asked again. “I used to be around so many people. Why am I alone?”

He started to look around. Then, he stopped.

“The funny thing is, you aren’t,” replied the person standing in front of him.

Her arms were thin, and her hands large. She wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short either. Her hair was black and matted. She had the largest ears Merlin had ever seen. She wore loose, black shorts, a brilliant orange, plaid, long-sleeve tunic, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her feet were completely bare. She smiled.

“Who might you be?”

Merlin let out a breath. He was beginning to think that all this was a dream because it was so surreal, and because dreams only had faces the dreamer has seen before. Dreams never have ears that big.

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin said, with some difficulty. It seemed that for a fraction of a second, Merlin couldn’t remember how to speak.

“That’s a cool name,” the girl said with interest in her voice. “My name’s Cecilia.” Cecilia smiled some more, and then her face suddenly became quizzical.

“I don’t recognize you. Do you live around here?”

Then, she started to look worried. Her arms started to raise, and her hands clasped together. They started massaging each other.

“Maybe you don’t… I shouldn’t have told you my name.”

Cecilia took one last look at Merlin and ran. All he did about that was stare. And stare. And stare. Stare at the grass, and at the moss. At the little stream coming from the sewers, ironically, with healthy and clean water.

Cecilia, Merlin thought. Cecilia. Why was Cecilia scared of me? Cecilia. Cecilia.

A habit of Merlin’s was, when he met a new person, to repeat their name over and over again in his head, so he might remember it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. You won’t ever know, will you? But then the thought, that question, came back.

Why was Cecilia nervous?  

Merlin then noticed that Cecilia wasn’t nervous at first, and then suddenly she was.

How peculiar…

Peculiar. “Peculiar” was a word that Merlin used often. When he first heard the word, said by his father, or maybe it was a kid on the street, Merlin didn’t remember. But when he had first heard it, he repeated it over and over again. Peculiar, peculiar, peculiar. At that time, Merlin did not know what peculiar meant, but he used it anyway. That system got many laughs from the surrounding adults. Something that came across as peculiar to Merlin was that when you’re a kid, you were always surrounded by adults. Merlin noticed another thing: there were no adults in sight. Merlin was alone again. A bird chirped in the distance. Another one joined in. More squirrels. More flowers. Merlin sighed, and finally decided that he should go after Cecilia.

He bounded across the streets, dodging trees, trying not to step on animal waste. Soon, Cecilia was in sight. She was with another woman. That woman was the tallest woman Merlin had ever seen. She was wearing an extremely dirty and faded, blue, floral dress. Her hair was black, like Cecilia’s, but less matted and longer. The woman wasn’t wearing any shoes either. Her toenails were long, and painted blue. So blue that Merlin could see it, even from where he was now.

Merlin called out “Cecilia!”

Cecilia’s head whipped around, and her face met his. At first, her face matched the expression of how Merlin saw her last, a little confused and scared, but then, her face twisted into a wide grin.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. She hopped over to Merlin and then said, “I’m sorry for that little outburst. My mother says I can get emotionally weird sometimes. Oh!”

Cecilia turned to the other woman, then grabbed Merlin’s arm and abruptly dragged him over to her.

“This is my mother. Mom, this is…” She looked back at him for a second. “Merlin! That’s your name.”

Cecilia’s mother smiled sweetly.

“Why, hello there, Merlin. This is new. Cecilia has never had a friend before.”

“That’s not true,” Cecilia complained, “What about Henry, and the others?”

Her mother looked at her and then looked back at Merlin.

“That is true, she does have friends,” Cecilia’s mom continued. “But you are her first human friend.”

Merlin paused. First human friend? Wasn’t Cecilia human? She looked like it, and so did her mother. They were nice people, though Cecilia was a little childish. Merlin looked around, then looked back. He smiled.

“That’s cool.”

“How old are you?” Cecilia’s mother asked.

“Thirteen”

“I’m almost eleven!” exclaimed Cecilia.

“That is true,” Cecilia’s mother said. “You are a little older than my daughter.”

She sighed. A sharp wind started to blow around the area, and the wind shaped her skirt beautifully. Merlin noticed her legs. They were dirty, and even a little hairy. Cecilia’s mother looked around just like Merlin did a moment before. She seemed to mirror his every move. She turned back to Cecilia.

“Did you tell Merlin our last name yet?”

“No, ma’am,” Cecilia proudly announced.

“Good girl,” her mother said

“How about we go back to the house then? I’m sure Merlin has some places to go.”

Cecilia’s eyes became as large as clementines. She rushed over to Merlin and grabbed his arm again.

“Can he come over?” she pleaded. “Please? I don’t think he knows where he is,”

“Well, if that’s the case,” her mother pondered.

A couple of seconds passed. Cecilia looked eagerly from her mother to Merlin, back and forth.

“I guess he can stay for a little while.”

Cecilia grinned her crooked grin again, and suddenly screamed, “Race you to the house!” and took off. Merlin shortly followed.

His bare feet pounded the ground, splashing water everywhere, hitting textured moss, and even cold, wet concrete. He slowly caught up to Cecilia, who was darting back and forth taking zigzags along the streets. She jumped over a stream, where Merlin had to jump across some rocks. She swung across some vines and branches and still had the energy. Pound, pound, pound went Merlin’s feet. Prot, prot, prot, went Cecilia’s feet and arms.

More zigzagging, and then, Cecilia abruptly stopped. She held her chest, bent over, and then flipped right up again.

“Whew,” she exhaled. “Won again.”

Then, she turned around to Merlin.

“You’re pretty fast, you know that?”

Merlin slowly nodded. He had just remembered that for some time, he had been on a track team.

“Look,” Cecilia pointed. “This is the farm, we’re really close to home now.”

Merlin looked ahead, and what he saw was almost unreal. What he remembered to have been the city park was a giant community garden, growing trees ripe with fruits, vegetables, roots, and flowers. Beautiful flowers in all sorts of colors. There were sections, it seemed, split by man-made streams of clear water leading all around the garden. Merlin knew why everybody was gone; they were all here. Thousands of men, women, and children were working and playing in the garden and the small islands of wild around it. Merlin stared in awe. That was what happened. This wasn’t a city any longer.

Soon, Cecilia’s mother was close behind, and she too stared. After a couple of minutes, Cecilia’s mother moved them along.

Cecilia didn’t run, but walked close to her mother, waving at various people. They waved back. Merlin was close behind them, looking around.

A garden? A farm, even? Why would we, if we came so far, suddenly resort back to farming? Why is everything so primitive here?

Merlin looked around at all the people and their faces. Some were happy, some were not, and some were neither. The children were playing, or sulking, or just sitting down. The adults were farming, playing with their children, or gossiping. Merlin sighed.

He thought, My parents didn’t know how to farm. I have a black thumb, and so do they. My mother may be able to cook food, but she cannot grow it. I’ve cooked before, and it turned out okay. I’ve tried to grow flowers before, and it turned out the opposite of okay.

So he just walked with the others, around the entire edge of the garden until they were back in forest again. That was when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Merlin ran up to Cecilia’s mother and asked impatiently, “What’s going on here?”

Cecilia’s mother looked back at him, confused. Then, it looked as if she had an a-ha moment.

“I see,” she breathed.

“When your great-great-grandfather was a child,” started Cecilia’s mother, interrupted by Cecilia.

She ran over to stop her mom, saying “Storytime!”, and then sat down right in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, Merlin sat down too, on top of a dead tree stump. Cecilia’s mother giggled, and sat down as well.

“When he was a child, even younger than Cecilia, this whole area was a big city. Buildings everywhere, made of clay and stone and metal and glass. There were roads leading to every single place there was, and all the grass and trees were controlled.”

“No way!” Cecilia exhaled.

“Yes way, if you’re strong enough to believe it. Everything was different, all the resources were from somewhere else, brought to our home by magical machines that could fly.

Cecilia’s mouth gaped wider.

“But one day, it all…” Cecilia’s mother paused. “Went away. It all disappeared. It wasn’t very fun, then.”

“What do you mean?” Cecilia asked quizzically, “After it disappeared, then it was like this?”

“Well, if you recall what I told you about plants–”

“They take time to grow.” Cecilia answered, “Ah, I see. What was it like then?”

“I’m getting to that,” Cecilia’s mother said patiently. “It really wasn’t fun. All of that clay and glass and metal were broken into little pieces of rubble on the ground. There were few survivors. Oh, what’s the word I’m looking for… paco… upa…”

“Apocalypse,” Merlin said. “The word’s apocalypse.”

Another peculiar word, and a word that Merlin did not like to say.

“Yes,” Cecilia’s mother said, looking at Merlin with happiness and a trace of sympathy. “Apocalypse. A time where there are few survivors. But, of course, he was a survivor and he grew up to reproduce me and Cecilia.”

Cecilia smiled.

“And you are a survivor, Merlin. One of the lucky few.”

 

Chapter 2: Days Turn To Years

Storytime left Merlin’s brain fried and confused. He had to think all the way through the forest; he couldn’t look at any of the sites or the broken buildings.

A survivor? An apocalypse? I was a survivor of something, something huge. How? It’s so peaceful here! How? It’s like nothing ever happened. Like the entire world changed in the time I was asleep…

How long was I asleep?

Merlin jogged to catch up to Cecila. He looked back at her mother, who knew the area so well she could walk through it with her eyes closed. He began to repeat that word. It was such a terrible word. He knew it so well, but he repeated it.

Apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse…

All the way through the forest. There were hills, valleys, animals, reptiles, rain, sun, and the word “apocalypse.”

Cecilia eventually ran back to Merlin, concerned.

“Are you okay?” she asked, “You’ve been silent for the past ten minutes.”

Merlin nodded his head. He was okay. He was just confused.

“Well, anyway,” Cecilia closed her eyes and held her head high.

“We’re here!”

Cecilia stopped, and so did her mother, in the same place. They both opened their eyes at the same time.

They all stood before a clearing surrounded by moss-covered trees, and a single warehouse with many holes. The clearing had grass that was much taller than any grass Merlin has ever seen, even those near his own home. There was a hut in the middle of all of it, made from bricks seemingly from the warehouse, boulders, and straw. The walls were held together with some kind of sap, and the roof was stone and straw. In the very front, a wooden door stood, closed. There were windows, those windows being holes in the walls, and a single sign next to the door. It read “Mentoris.

That must be their last name, Merlin thought.

He began his usual habit; he really wanted to remember that name.

Mrs. Mentoris beckoned the two children inside, and they followed.

Inside was a large bed made of wool and soft grass. A wooden, handcarved table with three stools. Those two holes making windows caused the bright sun to pour in from seemingly all angles. Merlin could see the dust particles flying. There was a small fireplace, with a pot hanging very close to a very small, dying flame. There was a trapdoor; Merlin guessed it was for storage. It all looked so primitive, like everything else had looked. Merlin looked around, interested and disgusted at the same time. Once he looked down, straight in front of himself, he took a step back.

A small groundhog was standing on two limbs, looking at Merlin curiously.

“Oh, that’s Henry,” explained Cecilia. “He’s one of my dear friends, so dear that he stays with us in the house.”

Merlin turned his head slowly, even more confused.

“He’s… supposed to be here?”

“Merlin!” Cecilia scolded, “Don’t you know about the revolution?”

Merlin stared blankly at Cecilia.

“What?”

“Where animals and humans joined together? Y’know, the rule that you can only kill an animal and an animal can only kill you if it’s for purposes of survival?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“What are you from? The twenty first century?”

Cecilia laughed, raising her face to the ceiling. Merlin looked away from Henry, and found Mrs. Mentoris sitting on one of the stools.

“What does she mean?” Merlin knew that Mrs. Mentoris would have an answer.

“It’s a joke, meaning that the people who lived four hundred years ago were stupid. She’s young, Merlin. She doesn’t know about the freezings.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“The freezings,” Mrs. Mentoris repeated, “Don’t you know? A surviving is placed in a bed and frozen. Their muscles are paralyzed and memories are erased. It saved hundreds of lives!”

Merlin looked down at his leg, and rolled up the pant leg. It seemed to be twitching. He found a band strapped near his ankle.

Muscle paralysis band – children’s. Freezings INC.

 

Generation of Fear

               

After World War I ended

Hitler took the stage

He took the crowd, suspended

Projected on them his rage

 

“The Jewish are to blame,”

He shouted with a sneer

“They took away our respect and fame

They are the ones to fear”

 

Most citizens believed the one

And started to despise

The ones chosen to hate upon

Fed with fear and lies

 

America was drawn to fight

By alliances and an attack

Finally, it was too clear war was in sight

Too late to turn back

 

“The Germans and Japanese are here”

Sounded whimpers and cries

“They come as spies,” they announced in fear

And were fed with their own lies

 

The war ended soon enough

Wrapped up with nuclear ties

Russia was hardened now and tough

Matched us, weapon-wise

 

“The Russians are our enemies!”

The public now exclaimed

“They will start more tragedy!

They will be to blame!”

 

The Cold War came to nothing

And besides lots of normal rage,

Everything seemed to be settling

Until that fateful day

Two planes hit the twins

The country was horrorstruck

As the buildings caved in

And fell to the ground in dust

 

George W. Bush invaded Iraq

In fear and rage and spite

A power vacuum sprung with a crack

And ISIS took the light

 

“Non-believers are to blame!”

The group called out in haste

“They attacked us out of spite and hate

They’ll grind us to paste!”

 

Now, all Muslims are blamed for them

While ISIS blames us all

Feeding the lies the others said

While supporting their own call

 

I grew up in this crazy world

Just one child amongst the rest

And you say how good it was before

We were all put to this test

 

Now, we are always being monitored

Everything is recorded, photographed

We are imprisoned by terror

As everyone submits to such futile tasks

 

Watch what you say in public

One wrong word could kill

A slip of the tongue could cause panic

Edit your words, if you will

 

My friends are ostracized

For the hijabs on their heads

My fellow siblings, children of God

By some are wanted dead

And adults are always warning me

“Don’t do this, or that.”

Beyond a point, I’m not free

Because safety is where it’s at

 

“You can’t talk to certain kids,”

“You can’t go to certain places,”

“If you do, you will be killed.”

That is thrown into our faces

 

Cameras watching everything

Threatening wherever I go

“You will be killed,” adults are always saying

This is what I’ve always known

 

Criminals, terrorists, different ones

These words I must fear and know

Everyone is scared of… everyone

They just fear the unknown

 

In a Generation of Fear, I’m cast

This is what I see

Not the first and not the last

But a worse one, seems to be

 

Call me naive, call me wrong

But I wonder why you’re all so scared

For I knew, all along

That danger is always there

 

The Assassin

“What was that?” John said to himself.

It was the sun glinting off of something shiny that was lying in the sand. John went up to investigate.

“Wow — a triangular piece of a gold doubloon!” John exclaimed.

John went to his camp, a tent hidden in bushes, and looked again at the report and pictures of the person he was supposed to kill.

“Where is he?” John said to himself again, since there was nobody else to talk to.

For thirteen years, John had had only his clients to talk to, and occasionally the police, but not for long, because it was boring to talk to dead people.

The reason why John was so alone was because, when he was eight, John had gone fishing with his dad, whom he loved so much, off the coast of Costa Rica. From out of nowhere, there was a tropical storm that grew into a hurricane. There was a huge storm surge coming at them, and suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound as the storm surge came down on them, and everything went black! Slowly, John’s hearing came back and everything was quiet, and then a few minutes after that, his sight came back. John realized that he was on an island with black volcanic sand. John went looking for his dad.

After a while of looking for his dad, John found his boat’s remains on the other side of the island and started to search it. While searching it, John found a telescope and his dad tangled in the ropes, dead. John quickly looked around the island with the telescope and saw the tip of a mountain smoking. Occasionally, sparks would fly out. His dad, James, had been strangled by the ropes and was bent at an unnatural angle. It soon became night, and John used his boat’s sail for a blanket and tent. John was devastated by his father’s death and cried himself to sleep. John dreamed about his mom, who was probably wondering where they were at this time. When John woke up, his eyes were red and tear stained. He was still sad, but not as sad as the night before.

The following morning, John decided to explore the island, since he had never gone to the other side of the island because it was so big. On his way to the other side of the island, John thought to try and see if there was an island nearby that he could find life on. John was looking for an island out at sea with his dad’s telescope when he stumbled on something. When John looked down, he saw the end of a stick protruding from the ground. John decided to dig it up and see what it was. It turned out it was the skeleton of a boat, and John decided to use it to make a boat. John hauled the boat down to his tent with vines he had found and laid it down beside the tent. By that time, it was already night, so he decided that first thing in the morning, he was going to explore.

The next day, John woke up and washed in the ocean. Then, he dried off in the sun and set off for the other side of the island. Once on the other side of the island, John took out his telescope and looked around.

“An island!” John shouted.

John could see boats leaving and arriving at the island! Finally, civilization. John could use the boat that he was building to get there. Later, when John was building his boat, he realized that the land he saw was where he had come from. After John finished the boat, it was weeks later. John was still homesick and couldn’t wait to leave the island and get back to his mom, but it was too late at night now. First thing in the morning. He did like that there were a ton of monkeys to play around with.

The next morning, John dragged his boat down to the shore and stopped to have breakfast, which consisted of a coconut and some monkey meat, which he had caught the day before. Finally, John started rowing himself and his food, which was even more coconuts, over to the island. That night, John stopped to camp at one of the islands he had spotted that he would pass along the way. In the night, John shivered on the cold ground; even with the sail of his ship on him, he was cold. In the daytime, it was warm, but at night, it was freezing where he was.

Finally, the following morning, John set out for the next island, which would be his last island before the main island. After hours of rowing, John still had not made it to the island, and he was scared. The reason he was scared was because there was no island near him. Finally, John made the hard decision of sleeping in his boat that night. It was a long and painful night, so the next morning, John’s back was aching, and he was so tired. John finally got to the next island, but he was soaked with not only water, but also sweat. After a few more days of rowing, and rowing, and rowing, John finally made it to the port.

Finally, John was at the island, and he was so happy that he ran all the way to his house, which was only a few blocks away. The first thing he saw when he got there was the police tape and the police surrounding his house.

This must be the wrong house, he thought, but he asked anyway.

The police closest to him said, “A woman named Sarah Cable had killed herself because she thought her son and husband died in a hurricane, so she was so depressed that she tied a weight to her feet and hands and jumped into her pool.”

“How do you know why she killed herself?” I asked.

“Sarah had left a letter on her door.”

At that point, John had been crying for a long time.

“Why are you crying?” said the police officer.

John said, “I am crying because Sarah Cable was my mom and I am John Cable and my father was James Cable, but he died in the hurricane, but I survived.”

The officer was stunned for a while. Finally, he pulled out his walkie-talkie and said, “Whoever is inside the house, this is officer P. Johnson. Are there any family photos in there?”

After a while of silence, the walkie-talkie crackled and a voice said, “Yeah. Why?”

“Because there is a kid out here claiming to be Sarah’s kid,” replied Officer P. Johnson.

An officer came out of the house carrying something in his hand. After a while of comparing the photo and John, the officer told Officer P. Johnson that the only difference was that John’s hair was longer in real life than in the picture, because he had been at sea for three years.

The next thing that happened was so sudden. Officer P. Johnson said that John had to go to an orphanage. He didn’t want to, so John tried to resist, but P. Johnson was too strong for him.

The next day, he was driving off to an orphanage in the heart of the town. He felt scared.

That night, John had a sleepless night at the orphanage. The next day, nobody talked to him. In fact, over the next ten years, all of his days were the same: Wake up, have breakfast, walk in the park outside, read a book, eat lunch, read a book, go to the park, eat dinner, read a little more, and finally go to bed. He would read action and adventure.

Well, all days were the same until one day, when he was at the park. Somebody, dressed in a coat that went down past his knees with the collar pulled up to hide his face and a hat pulled down over his eyes, asked him about the orphanage.

The person, who sounded like a man, asked questions like, “Are you happy at the orphanage?” and “Do you like the food here?” and “Do you like anyone here?”

John’s answers were: “I do not like it here, the food is awful, and I don’t like anybody.”

Just before the strange man left, he asked two more questions. The first one was, “How old are you?” and John’s answer was eighteen, and the second question was, “Are you mad at people?”

To this John’s answer was, “I am mad at people because my parents died, and I am depressed.”

The strange man replied, “I am leaving now, but I am going to leave you with this question. How much do you hate people?”

For the next two days, John thought about the question, and when the strange man came again, he had an answer.

“What is your answer?”

“I hate people so much, I want to wipe them off the face of the earth. I just wish there weren’t any people on earth except me and you, because you have been so good to me.”

“Well, then, I have the perfect job for you.”

“What is the job?”

“It is being a hitman.”

“How do I know I can trust you? What if you are the police?”

“I am not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Anyway, do you accept my offer?”

“Yeah, sure!”

“Okay. I will bust you out. At midnight, come down, and I will cut a hole in the fence and you can come out.”

“Okay.” John says.

Beep, beep, beep. John’s alarm clock was going off at 12:00 p.m. and he went out to the yard. There the man was, standing there with wire cutters and a hole in the fence. John crawled out, but in the process he got a lot of scratches.

When John came out, the man said, “You need to be quiet. Follow me.”

“Okay,” John said.

They walked a long time.  Finally, they got to a dark building and the strange man said to go inside.

“First, tell me your name.”

“My name is Xavier.”

“Huh,” John replied.

* * *

The next few months went by in a flash. John practiced his accuracy with a sniper, pistol, and Ak-47.

One day, Xavier came up to him after practice and said, “It is time.”

“It is time for what?” John replies.

“It is time for your first kill.”

“Okay. Who do I have to kill?”

“You have to kill somebody named David Oreily. He is a billionaire.”

“Okay. Where is he?”

“He is going to be coming out of a limo near the Italian restaurant, Gibetto.”

“Where will I be?”

“You will be across the street on the top of a building with a sniper.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”

John went to the building and climbed the stairs to the roof.

There David was. He was getting out of the car! He stopped to talk to one of his security guards, and that was the time when John looked through his thermal scope and found David’s head. Before he got moving, John shot and hoped for the best. It was like slow motion, the bullet slowly traveling through the air towards Oreilly’s head. All of a sudden, John lost track of the bullet and waited for one second before seeing Oreilly jerk his head and fall to the ground.

John did it! He took apart his gun and threw it in his suitcase and ran down the stairs. John looked out the door, and there were police everywhere. Instead, John used a side door and got into a car that was waiting for him, and off he went.

After two years passed, John was assigned to a mission at the Grand Canyon.

There was a trillionaire who had just created really high-tech virtual reality goggles. John was on his motorcycle when he saw the trillionaire driving his Mustang convertible. John started chasing him and the man looked in his rearview mirror and saw John. John opened his throttle and closed in on him. John was closing in when the man saw a huge hill. He jumped off the hill and landed in front of his car, but he kept coming at John. John pulled out his pistol and shot the trillionaire. His head jerked back and he died, but his car still kept on coming.

John started up his engine and tried to get out of the way, but the car hit him. John went over the edge! He was falling! It felt like forever. John reflected on his life and the people he killed, and that this was the feeling to know that you are going to die. He regretted killing so many people. John wished he had never done that.

 

The Library Dweller

I.

I walk into the public library and sit at a small table. The library is very small, with only a couple of tables, but with bookshelves on every wall. Most of the bookshelves are full, giving me the impression that the library is infrequently visited. I absently scratch my leg and select one of the books that is conveniently on top of a bookshelf next to me. I open the book and try to start reading, but I get this feeling that someone is watching me. I look around me, but see no one, so I try to ignore the feeling and get back to my book.

I get midway through the first chapter, but become bored with the book, realizing that it is completely non-fiction. I scratch my arm and scan the bookshelf. I don’t see any books that are interesting, so I put down the book I was reading and start to walk around. My footsteps echo loudly, so I try to walk quietly. All of the sudden, I hear a quiet voice coming from somewhere. I can’t really hear it with the noise my feet are making, so I stop moving and listen.

“Help,” I hear, coming from somewhere to the right of me. I start walking slowly and hear it again.

“Please, help me!”

I walk to the corner of the library and hear it much louder.

“I’m trapped in here!”

I walk up to the bookshelf where I think the sound is coming from. I hear rustling on the other side, and I pull the bookshelf out of the way to try to get behind it. I try to move it. The bookshelf moves away and reveals a small hole in the wall. A tiny creature walks out of the hole and smiles. Its eyes and face are visible, but its body is in the shadows. I sense someone behind me, but see nothing as I turn around. The feeling is still there, but I ignore it and call out to the creature.

“Who are you? What are you?”

The creature’s smile broadens and asks me a question. “Who are you?”

“My name is Aaron,” I answer. The creature’s eyes grow brighter, and a shiver goes through my body. It steps out of the hole, and I gasp. It looks like a mouse, but it’s completely blue, with speckles of purple around its eyes.

“I am not a who, but a what,” it says. “Also, my name is Bill.”

“Well, that’s a dumb name.”

“I didn’t choose it.”

“Whatever. Why did your eyes just glow?”

“I read your mind and viewed your soul to judge if you were worthy of learning what I am about to tell you. It is no coincidence that you were able to find me. Few can hear my voice, and the ones who could were unable to find me. I have been here for thousands of years, and you are the person I was waiting for. You are the only person that can stop the destruction of the world.”

 

II.

“I have to apologize for one thing. You did not come to this place on your own. I sent you a telepathic message so that you would come here on this exact day. It had to be this exact place, for this is one of the few places in the mortal world that magic is at its strongest, and this is one of the only days that I am able to enter the mortal world. Magic is everywhere in the world, and everyone is able to see it, they simply don’t care. Many years ago, before I was even born, humans started to ignore magic, and slowly, they lost the interest in it. Once a century, a person is able to care enough to see magic, and even then, some of these gifted people never even realize that they can. Anyway, I’ll tell you more later, dinner’s almost ready, and you should get home. Your parents will get worried. I’ll visit you in a couple of days,” he says, his eyes swirling.

I nod numbly, too many thoughts going through my head to take in at once. I turn around and walk out of the library.

***

I ponder those words while walking home. I arrive at my apartment and knock on the door.

“Aaron! I was so worried! Where were you?!” my mom exclaims, as she opens the door.

I roll my eyes and walk inside.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Everything will be okay,” I respond, as I walk towards my room.

“Whatever,” my mom mumbles.

I sigh and flop onto my bed. Before I realize it, I’m dozing off.

“Dinner’s ready!” my mom yells, as I am unceremoniously shaken awake.

“Stop! I’m awake!” I yell, as I stand up and stumble to the kitchen table.

I groan. Dinner tonight is meatloaf. My dad anticipates my complaint before I can even talk.

“Don’t complain, Aaron. This is the only thing that I know how to make with the limited amount of ingredients we have,” my dad says, as he glares at Mom.

“What?! I said I would buy food tomorrow!” she exclaims.

My dad sighs and proceeds to devour his meatloaf, while I have barely eaten half of mine. After a couple minutes of speed eating, I finish my food.

“Done!” I exclaim, as I stand up and go back to my room.

“Only an hour!” my dad calls after me, but I barely hear him.

I run back to my room and take out my phone. I unlock my phone and check my messages. I have a text from my best friends.

“Did you go to the library that we dared you to go to?”

I respond to both of them with a “yes” and lie on my bed, replaying the events that unfolded at the library. Bill’s words echo in my head. “You are the only person who is worthy enough to stop the destruction of the world…” As soon as the echo stops, he appears in front of me.   

“What are you doing here?!” I exclaim in surprise.

“I don’t have much time,” he says, as his form flickers like a broken flashlight.

“Be… careful… watch out… for… the…” he starts to say, but his final words get cut off, as he vanishes.

“Watch out for the what?!” I exclaim, realizing too late that he wasn’t able to respond.

 

III.

The next morning, no one wakes me up, which is odd. Due to this, I am late for school. I get up and walk around the house, but no one is to be found. The only other living thing in the house is my cat, who swipes and growls at me as soon as I get near him. I try calling my mom. No answer. I try calling my dad. Nothing. That really gets me worried. My mom is always on her phone. I try to set my nervousness aside and leave my building. I get a taxi and go to my school.

I walk inside, but there isn’t anyone there. Oh yeah, class field trip. I groan and walk outside. I have no idea where the field trip is at. I guess that’s what I get for not listening in class. I call an Uber and go back home. The ride in the car is fairly uneventful, and I get home in a decent amount of time. I walk into my apartment and sense that something is wrong. I look at my phone. It says 8:20 A.M., but that was the time I left to go to school. That’s kind of odd. I get an uneasy feeling, but decide that I must be imagining things. I check on my cat again, but he is sleeping. He never does that. Now I’m really worried. Maybe it’s because of…

“It’s happening,” Bill says out of nowhere.

“What’s happening?!” I exclaim in fear, but I don’t get a response.

Then, the realization comes to me. Something must be stopping Bill from communicating with me. All of the sudden my body feels heavy, and everything fades to pink.

 

IV.

Everything around me is pink. The trees, the grass, even the sky. But it’s not the kind of bright, happy pink that you often see. It is a dull pink that looks like the life has been sucked out of it. Like it has given up. Bill appears in front of me.

“I had to take you here, so that I could finally talk to you. He has been interfering with my ability to communicate with the mortal world,” he said, in a voice that sounded dull and lifeless.  

“Who?”

“I cannot say his name, for fear of my life. If I speak his name, I will be found. He would suck away my essence, just like he did to this land. You must find the sword. It is the only thing that can stop him.”

There is a flash of light in the distance, and his eyes widen.

“Quickly! I must send you back! He has found me!”

His eyes glow, and I’m suddenly back in my apartment again. What sword could he be talking about? I get distracted by a vibration from my pocket. Josh or Melany must have texted me. I pull out my phone and check my texts. I have one new message from Melany.

“Aaron, what is going on? You aren’t responding to anything. Please answer me!!”

I respond with, “Something is going wrong. My parents aren’t at home and there is something I need to talk to you about. Meet me at Starbucks in fifteen minutes.”

***

I buy some coffee at Starbucks and wait patiently for Melany. She arrives a couple of minutes later.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks.

“When I was at the library, I saw a strange creature. It told me that magic exists, and that I’m the only person that is able to stop the destruction of the world. And that its name is Bill.”

Melany bursts out laughing.

“That’s a really good joke!”

“I’m not kidding!!”

Everything around us stops, and Bill appears in front of us.

“Aaron is completely serious. I exist, and I need your help. You two have to find a sword. I’m not sure what the sword is or where it is, but I know from my research that Aaron has the ability to somehow sense its location.”

“Wait, how can Melany see and hear you? I thought that I was the only one able to?” I say in a confused voice.

“Only people like you can see me without any knowledge of my existence. The ability to see and hear me was given to Melany when you told her about me.

Bill disappears and time resumes its cycle.

“Well, that was odd.”

“Yeah. He’s mentioned the sword before, but never how to find it,” I answer.

As I say these words, a small shiver goes through my body. I instinctively know that it’s the sword calling me. I stand up violently and spill my coffee on my shirt. Without even noticing it, I toss some money on the table.

“Melany, follow me!” I yell behind me, as I sprint out the door.

Melany rolls her eyes, mumbling something about my rush.

 

V.

Melany bursts out the door panting.

“Nothing yet?”

“No. The feeling that I was getting in Starbucks is gone. I think we should go back there and investigate,” I say, as I head back towards Starbucks.

When I’m only a block away, I sense that the sword is nearby. I immediately stop, and Melany runs into me.

“Ow. Why did you stop?” she asks.

“I can sense that the sword is somewhere nearby,” I say, as I look around.

I start walking towards the Starbucks, and the feeling becomes stronger. All of a sudden, the feeling goes away completely. I retrace my steps and notice that I’m standing right next to the playground.

“Aha!” I exclaim and run through the entrance.

Melany and I split up and start searching. A couple of minutes later, I hear Melany calling my name. I walk towards her, and the feeling gets stronger. As I stand next to Melany, the feeling gets to its strongest.

“This area looked strange. I think this is the place,” she explains.

I nod and start searching the wall. I can’t see anything out of place, but after some investigation, I notice a piece of the wall that looks unnatural. I push it, and a portion of the wall opens up. We walk inside in amazement, and I see a stick. Melany tries to pick it up, but she is unable to.

“It must be like Thor’s hammer. You can’t pick it up unless you’re worthy enough. I guess I’m just not worthy enough,” she says with a small sigh.

I try to lift the stick, oblivious to her feelings, but it doesn’t budge. I try again, but still no response. Finally, I will the stick to move while trying to pick it up, and it lifts easily. As I grip it with both hands, it changes from a stick to a shiny sword. I grin and take some practice swings.

“Aaron!! Be careful!! You almost decapitated me!”

“Okay, jeez! I’ll be more careful,” I complain. “How am I supposed to walk around if I’m holding a sword?”

“Try to will the sword to turn back into a stick I guess,” Melany says, quizzically.

I shrug and stare at the sword. Before my very eyes, it shrinks into a stick.

“It’s getting kind of late. I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Melany says, as she starts walking home.

“Okay,” I say, as I too head home.

The next morning, I wake up and get an idea. If I can understand how the sword works, then I can talk to Bill and figure out how to stop the person that he was talking about. I grab my phone and text Melany.

“I have an idea. Meet me at Starbucks again.”

I grab the stick and leave the house to go to Starbucks. I walk into Starbucks and see Melany in one of the corner tables.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I have an idea. If we can figure out how this sword works, then we can talk to Bill and fight the thing that we need the sword for. Let’s go back to the playground. There might be some clues in the place where we found the sword.”

Melany nods in agreement, and we walk back to the playground together.

I press the button to the secret room, and we walk inside. I activate the sword, and it lets off a slight glow. Melany and I examine the sword, and I notice that there’s a word engraved on the hilt. I bring the sword closer to my face and say the word that is engraved.

“Vis!”

Immediately, the sword starts glowing, and the blade catches fire. I gasp and almost drop it in shock. The fire slowly creeps from the sword onto my hand. My hand doesn’t start melting, so I assume that the fire won’t hurt me. Soon, the fire consumes my entire body, but I still don’t feel any pain. Melany looks at me curiously.

“Are you okay? How are you covered in flames?” she asks in wonder.

“I’m fine, but I don’t know how,” I respond, as I look at myself. As I turn around to walk outside, Bill appears in front of me.

“Quickly! Come with me!” he says in fear.

I turn the sword back into a stick, the flames disappearing with it. Melany and I stand next to Bill, and for the second time, everything fades to pink.

 

VI.

I wake up to the sound of Melany yelling in my ear. I almost ask where we are, but my question is answered when I look around. Everything is the same dull pink, but it looks even duller than the last time I was here. The trees are blackened, and the ground is scorched.

“You got the sword!” Bill exclaims in excitement.

I nod.

“Now, how can I stop the destruction of the world?”

“You need to stop an extremely powerful being called The Drainer. It sucks the life out of a world and uses the energy to become stronger. It is only told of in myths, and the myth that I have heard says it is almost invincible. I did some research and have been able to pinpoint its location. I will try to help you in every way I can, but I will not be able to kill it. You must be the one,” Bill explains.

“Umm… Okay,” I say. “How do we get there?”

“Follow me,” Bill says, as he starts walking towards a giant castle in the distance. Melany and I follow him towards the castle.

I activate my sword and cut a hole through the castle doors, like a hot knife through butter. I look behind me and without words, they nod. The three of us line up and walk into the castle as a group.

***

The silence is eerie. Only our footsteps can be heard through the blanket of muteness. We are all tense, fearing an unknown assailant, but nothing confronts us. As we reach the end of the entrance hall, we are stopped by a large wooden door. I tentatively push it, expecting resistance, but it slowly opens up without trouble. It is all too easy. We know that we’re going directly into a trap, but we decide to continue. Bill peeks his head through the doorway and immediately catapults backwards, screaming. The screaming suddenly stops with a crunch. I wince, but my worries are quelled, as I hear Bill groaning and cursing. I try to ignore him and focus on the door. I slowly peek through the door, hoping to not go flying.

“No! Get back!” Melany yells, as she tries to pull me away.

I resist, but she pulls me back anyway. The door slams shut with a crash.

“Damn it, Melany! Now we’ll never be able to get past this door!”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want the same thing to happen to you,” she responds in a quiet voice.

“I know. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Melany. It’s just really annoying. This thing will destroy our world, and I just want to stop it.”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I forgive you. Let’s go check on Bill,” Melany says with a smile.

Melany and I walk over to Bill.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Get me up!”

Melany and I roll our eyes and grab his arms. I pull with all of my strength, and Bill finally gets into a standing position.

“What did you see through that door? I wasn’t able to see anything,” I ask him.

“I saw a little creature that looked like a skeleton. There is a door behind the creature, and I think that it leads to where the Drainer lives,” he responds.

“Okay. What are we waiting for then?!” I say, as I turn the doorknob and rip the door open.

The skeleton creature is standing in the center of the room, eerily still. What is it doing? I slowly creep into the room. As soon as I step into the room, the skeleton lunges at me at inhuman speed. Before I can even react, I am shoved outside of the room. As I am sent flying, the skeleton walks back to the center of the room as if nothing just happened. I hit the wall with a grunt and slowly get up.

“Guys, I don’t think we can get the skeleton out of this room. It only tries to attack me when I enter the room.”

“Maybe we don’t need to get the skeleton out of the room,” Melany muses. “Maybe we just need to attack it while we are outside of the door.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, “Good idea!”

I take out my sword and aim it at the skeleton, while staying away from the door. The sword ignites, and I shoot a fireball at the skeleton. It burns completely through the skeleton’s ribcage and continues into the door. The skeleton’s upper body caves in, and it collapses to the ground, shattering on impact. I grin and walk into the room. The skeleton bones start to shudder, and I quickly destroy them with fire. The feat of power makes me feel strong. I walk to the next door and pause. I look back, waiting for confirmation. Melany and Bill nod. I open the door and brace myself for whatever is behind it.

***

The door swings open easily, on hinges well-oiled.  An empty white room, coated in mist, appears. I put my hand through the doorway and hit an invisible wall. I push and feel the wall slowly move. Melany helps me push the wall, and we walk through into the room. There is no visible door in sight, so we split up and start examining the walls. Almost immediately, Melany shouts. I turn around and see her getting sucked into the ground. I run to her side and try to pull her out, but the attempt is futile. Before I know it, she’s gone.

 

VII.

“This is all my fault!” I complain loudly.

“It most definitely is not,” Bill says reassuringly, “You couldn’t have done anything more than what you did.”

I sigh.

“I guess so,” I say, as I look at the place where she was taken.

I suddenly realize something. There’s a little button on the ground that I didn’t notice before. I bend over and push it. Slowly, the ground near me turns invisible, and I’m able to see a ladder going down into a dark hole. I peer into the hole and realize that it’s longer than I first expected. It goes down for at least twenty feet, and the rest is darkness. I gingerly put my foot on the top rung and start going down slowly. Suddenly, my foot touches the floor. I get off the ladder and look up to encourage Bill to follow me.

“Come on! The ladder is really short!” I yell up to Bill.

He nods and starts descending on the ladder. I look ahead and see a plain, white door, an arm’s length away. I try the handle, and it opens into a room with computers everywhere. Most of the monitors are in a fixed view of the misty white room, but a couple of them say “Project: Drainer.” Melany is tied up in the center of the room. She puts a finger to her mouth and motions for us to stay still. I raise my eyebrows, and she points to something in the doorway. I focus on where she’s pointing and see a bunch of small red lines crisscrossing the door frame. I assume that they’re motion detectors and move back slightly. Melany points to the goblin, and I see a small black remote control. I sigh in defeat. It’ll be impossible to reach the remote from where I am without going inside the room. As I turn around to leave, I hear a faint click. I turn back around and realize that the motion detectors have deactivated. The goblin must have rolled over onto the remote! I tiptoe into the room and untie Melany. I pull out my sword and blast the goblin with fire. Its body turns into a blackened crisp, and I look away. The three of us run out of the room and climb the ladder. We run back through the rooms and out of the castle. The three of us stand in a circle, and Bill warps us back into the mortal world.

 

VIII.

The next day, the three of us meet at Starbucks. I ask Melany for her version of how she got kidnapped, and she starts talking after a moment.

“All of the sudden, I was pulled underground by a goblin. It tied me up and carried me down the ladder. I was dragged into its control room and put on the floor. It sat down in a chair and turned on a computer. After a couple of minutes, it left to go to sleep, but it forgot to turn off the computer. I waited a couple minutes and started using it. I read about a secret project called, “Project: Drainer.” It said that the Drainer is actually a robot controlled by the goblin that kidnapped me. The room that it took me to was the control center. After that, the computer died, and you came to rescue me,” she said.

“Wow,” Bill exclaims, “I was led to believe that the Drainer was some sort of monster. I guess not!”

Out of nowhere, my phone starts buzzing.

“Sorry guys, I have to go!” I say.

I get up and run home for dinner.

 

Epilogue

One year later…

Melany and I are sitting down at a table in Starbucks. I drink the final drops of coffee with a straw, listening to the sucking sound that it makes when the cup is empty. I have bags under my eyes; it took forever for me to finish my homework last night. I can’t believe that my life is finally normal again. Just as I’m about to get up for more coffee, Bill appears in front of me.

“Aaron, I have another mission for you,” he says in an upbeat voice.

“Not again!” I exclaim, as I roll my eyes.

 

The Journey

I sat there, my red Converses tapping the cement, while my two fingers twitched nervously. I waited under the large bus sign with my red hood draped over my head. It was the day I had been dreading since the beginning of August. I waited.

But, as the bus swooshed near the curb, splashing a puddle, the same uneasy feeling came again. I threw my tattered backpack over my shoulder and reluctantly stepped on the bus. The driver gave a quiet nod as I counted each silver coin, paying the fare of $1.50. I walked to the very back and slid into an empty seat. As the bus slowly drove away, I leaned back, resting my head near the frosty window. My eyes gazed, noticing a father and his daughter crossing the street. I watched as they giggled, their umbrellas dancing behind them. They slowly disappeared. I looked away, my hands fumbling as I cleared the lump in my throat.

Final stop. I looked around as I gripped the silver pole beside me. The driver, looking through his stained mirror, gave me a silent smirk.

“Have a nice evening,” he said. I nodded, my lips pursed together as I grabbed my headphones out of my backpack.

Stepping onto the ground, my Converses hit the crusty pavement. I stopped. I reached for the folded piece of paper in my back pocket.

“44 Dayton Lane,” I muttered. Behind me stood the 8 Pin Motel, the sign blinking in bold, red letters. I pulled out the torn map of East Michigan from my backpack. To the left, a stop sign read, “Hollow Road.” I followed it.

As I walked, my thick, sandy hair turned damp, and the rain continued. It seemed to be a rather quiet town on this chilly Tuesday.

I wondered. Thoughts about the future circled my mind, but I instead pushed them away. I continued on, directing myself through the ramble of streets.

“Muten Road.” I was one final street away. There I stood, my feet unable to move. I wanted to turn back and run. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t allow myself to. It was then that I realized my life would never be the same. What I once knew would be in the past, and that scared me.

But, while thinking this, I walked on, my Converses hitting the gravel. I was there. I took one deep breath, and I rang the doorbell. I heard footsteps coming from inside, and the door slowly opened. There was my father, the man I never met.

***

“Hi,” I managed to blurt.

“Hello, can I help you?”

He was a tall figure with thick, sandy hair and piercing, green eyes, much like my own. His house was small, yet comfortable, with a light blue painted coat. His voice was deep and stern, but with the slightest warmness that was indescribable.

I stood there, my hands fumbling in the pocket of my sweater.

“Ron?” I asked, quietly.

“Uh, yes. You?”

“Jane, your daughter.”

He stood there shocked, his eyes wide. He began to mutter nonsensical things, his mind unable to comprehend what I had said.

“So…” I watched, as he nervously debated what to do.

“Uhm, come in,” he muttered.  “I think that will be best.”

He opened the door a bit wider and allowed me in. I walked into the dark foyer, drying my shoes against the welcome mat. He led me into the kitchen, where he offered me a seat. I sat, drying the ends of my hair.

“You said your name was Jane, right?”

I nodded.

“And your mother’s Anna?”

“Yes, ” I said as he shook his head.

He began asking questions.  After every few minutes, he would nod his head in disbelief.

“How old are you again?”

“I’m turning eighteen this fall.”

He looked out the window, seeming confused.

“How’s Anna?”

“She’s dead.”

His face deepened, and his eyes grew big. I felt my stomach turn.

I stared silently out the window. I watched as the rain fell, tapping each window.

“Why did you leave?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he sighed.  “I was young.  I was seventeen.”

“I know,” I interrupted.

But why? I wondered. Why? That is  just an excuse. I’m seventeen, and I still face reality. That’s why I’m here.

Looking to my side, I saw a small picture frame. It was of a family, a happy family.

“Who are they?” I said, pointing to the silver frame.

“Oh this,” he said, as he reached for the picture. ”My wife, Christina, and our two daughters.”

I so badly wanted to leave, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Tell me!” I demanded.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me why you left?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“You told me an excuse. Tell me why!”

I sat there. He gave a sigh and stared down at the floor.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“But why? My whole life was this unknown mystery. And now, I’m so close but–”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry.” His eyes widened and became slightly watery. “I regret it, that’s all I can say.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Tell me why you came.”

I paused. Why did I come? I thought for a while.

“I wanted you to know I exist,” I shrugged. “But that’s all.”

He looked down and muttered something. He was hurt, and I could tell.

“You came here to find your father, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I am the closest thing to a father. I may not have been there for you, but I am now.”

“I know, but you were the one who left. You caused my mother nothing but trouble, and I will never forgive you for that,” I screeched.

“But I am still your father.”

“So?” I said.

He sighed and circled the kitchen. While he paced the floor, I noticed the silver detailing around each cabinet. I stared. We locked eyes, and I saw his pain. I shouldn’t have felt bad, but I did. I knew he regretted it, but I wouldn’t let go. He hurt me. And it was as simple as that.

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

“I think I should go. It’s getting late,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, sure.”

I stood up from my chair and threw my backpack over my shoulder. He gestured, and I followed him down the hall.  When I first came, I believed my life would never be the same. But it still was.

He opened the door and stared down.  “Well I guess this is it,” he said.

“Yep.”

Was I really going to leave? I suddenly remembered the day my mother passed. I recalled picking up the phone at around noon and hearing the sound of someone telling me that she had died. I thought it was all a dream, but it wasn’t. It was reality. She was gone. Gone. I hung up, and I ran to the phone book. It was then that my quest to find my dad began. I remember wondering, What would happen if I knew him? Would my mother still have died?

“I’m here if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Jane.”

“Bye, Dad.”

 

Invisible

           

You don’t see me

I am Invisible

You don’t know how I think

Feel

I want to be noticed

I’m right in front of you

I am a rare bird who’s there but not seen often

My gold feather with multiple colors of feathers

I can change but I would never attack

I am not like the plain birds

I don’t have just gray feathers

and my beak is orange and sometimes has little bits of colors

I notice you

You are part of the ones who are rare and unique

We rares are invisible in far away places

Miles and yards away from the commons

We are Invisible but special

Why not me

You see the ones who are not unique

Rare

Special

I may not show my feeling

But I’m still here

Common ones go

But rare ones stay

I will stay

Rain or no rain

Thunder or no thunder

I will stay.

It’s not my fault that nobody notices me…

I am just special

And not just anybody can notice me but you can.

Invisible

Birds

We are in small quantities of rares but that’s us

Invisible.

We soar above everyone who stops us.

 

The Last Time I Saw You

              

I remember the last time I saw your face

It was nighttime

The sun was falling over the horizon

You were angry at me but I didn’t know why

You wouldn’t tell me why

You looked at me, frustration exploding like fireworks all over your face

You couldn’t communicate your feelings to me

I didn’t know that

I know that now

But it’s too late now

What will I do without you

Without your pretty face

Without your certainty of my purpose

Without your constant and unwavering encouragement

To lift me up

And then

At the end of the day

When it disappears

And the real you surfaces

Only to show your real face

Your real side

And when I look at you then

I find that your heart is missing

You are unable to love me

I want to fix you

But I can’t fix you

Please let me fix you

 

Why Do People Brag?

During the summer, I went to class in Colombia.

One time, I said, “I’m the best at soccer in this class.”

I was the only girl in my class who played soccer. That gave me an opportunity to show off in front of the other boys. I only said that so that I would have more confidence when I played, but it really didn’t help.

This gave them high expectations, so when I made a clumsy mistake, they really bothered me about it.

After that, I tried not to brag again, because I realized that you need to demonstrate that you are good at something and not just say it.

Sometimes, if you brag, people will be offended and try to prove you wrong.

According to writer Claudia Calv, I was bragging to prove that I was really good and to give me confidence to play better. Calv wrote, “They [people who brag] are seeking validation that they have done well or are doing well. They are seeking your opinion in order to judge themselves!”

I realized that I might’ve felt better if I hadn’t said, “I’m the best at soccer in this class.” Instead, I could have stated “I’ve been playing soccer for five years.” This would have shown my experience with soccer, which isn’t bragging because I would have been stating a fact, instead of just using an opinion that made me feel better about myself.

Some people say bragging is saying something good about yourself. However, I think complimenting yourself isn’t a problem. But when you start exaggerating and thinking really highly about yourself, that’s when it starts bothering people.

For example, Hillary Clinton needs to say she will be a good president and say all the good things she will do for the United States, but she doesn’t talk so much about herself, unlike Donald Trump. Trump thinks that he can do anything to a woman, just because he is rich and famous. Trump has said, “And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything.”This is considered bragging because Trump has said things that are false and offensive. He can not physically or emotionally abuse women or any other people just because he has power.   

In conclusion, bragging is something that happens in day to day life, but we have to limit it, so that it doesn’t get to the extent where it makes you look like you’re obsessed with yourself, or you are offending people. It is also important to remember that people only brag because they want to be able to judge themselves. If one of your friends brags, it is important to remember why they are doing it; you shouldn’t be mad at them or dislike them, because they are really just insecure. If this ever happens, you should just remind them that they are bragging, so that they can recognize it and stop.

 

I Remember

           

I remember the last time I saw you

The last night I saw you at that party

Your eyes looked pained

But every time I asked if you were okay, you said nothing

You were drinking champagne from a wine glass

The wine glass had a red lipstick stain on the side

I knew from the red ruby color you had given up

You had a far away look in your eyes

I could tell you wanted to go

I could tell you wanted to leave this life

You were done

You couldn’t handle everything happening around you

It was overwhelming you too much

You couldn’t take the violence anymore

I felt the same way

I think you knew that without me having to say it

I still loved you

I wanted to tell you that so badly but I knew you had moved on

I didn’t want to ruin you all over again

I didn’t want to knock down the wall that you had tried so hard to rebuild

I’m sorry I never tried again

I know you loved me

You know I loved you

We both wanted it to work

But it couldn’t

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be

I miss you

I miss the sparkle in your eyes

I miss the way you used to say my name when you were angry

I miss the way you would run your fingers through my hair

I miss watching you put lipstick on in front of the mirror

I miss watching you dab at the corners of your mouth with a tissue to make it perfect

I miss when you wanted to look good for me

I wanted to look good for you

As time went on

As we beat at each others walls

As our walls slowly began to crumble before the other

As we began to see the other

As I began to see you for who you really were

It made me love you even more

I never told you that

I’m sorry

 

The Bomb

Five hours ago, my mother walked up to me and dropped a bomb. Right there, in the living room. People shouldn’t be allowed to do that.

Ever since school got out, I’ve been working. All my friends, well, they’ve been out riding their bikes and wall jumping and doing the sorts of things that one would expect a 15-year-old boy to do.

But every time I sit down and start drawing, it’s almost unthinkable to stop. I submitted a portfolio to my local arts high school a month ago, and I’m so anxious sometimes, I notice that I forget to breathe. My mom agreed to send in the application, after months of me begging and being extra nice. She thinks I’m studying for the SAT, but I’m drawing. I don’t think I need to study for a test I have to take in 3 years, and I would much rather be working on something I love to do. She won’t listen, though, so I have to lie.

Anyways, back to the bomb. I’m not a scientist, but I’m pretty sure an entire town could have collapsed from that one.

My mother, she didn’t send in my portfolio.

I don’t know if you’re aware of the deadlines for the Las Vegas Academy of the Arts’ Visual Art Program, but it was yesterday. So why, you may ask, did my mother not submit my portfolio? Well, she and my father had a discussion without my knowledge. Let me illustrate the conversation that we had.

“Honey, can you get the mail?” my mother screeched out of the dining room.

“Sure, Mom,” I mumbled, scooping the letters off of the marble floor and placing them in her pointy fingers. I stood there, with my hands folded, swaying back and forth.

“Harrison, what do you want? Stop slouching,” she said, as she browsed through the mail.

“Mom, I know you’re getting tired of me asking, but is there any possible way you’ve heard from LVA?” I winced as I asked. The last time, I got yelled at. I suppose I have been nagging her a bit.

“Jesus Christ, Harrison.” She groaned as she started to play with her silk scarf. Who wears a scarf in the summer? “We’ve been through this. You’ll hear when you hear, and besides, your father and I don’t even want you to attend that pitiful excuse for a school. Your father already has a spot for you at Meadows, where you’ll get a well-rounded education.”

“Okay, Mother. I know this school isn’t preppy enough for you, and it may not have buckets of money, and the average SAT score may not be 1500, but please could you consider my feelings? I want to go there, okay? The number of times Dad takes me to meet alumni or the staff there at his golf tournaments won’t change that.”

“Okay…” she said, rolling her eyes at me with such force, that I’m pretty sure I saw some eyeshadow flake off.

“No, Mom, listen to me. What is going on here? Why are you hiding the results from me?  Contrary to what you think, I’m not stupid. The results were supposed to come in a week ago. James already got his results back. He got in, and if he can, I certainly can. What did the letter say?”

“I think we should discuss this with your father, and anyways, we don’t have time. Go upstairs and get ready for the dinner party tonight,” she said, setting the unopened mail down on the table and slowly getting up from her velvet armchair.  

“God, why are you always so passive aggressive?” I yelled, slamming the oak door behind me.

“Fine, Harrison. Do you really want to know? Do you really want to hear it from me? Here? Now?” my mom yelled, following me into the hallway. “You didn’t get into the school.  You know why? Because I never handed in your goddamn portfolio. There you go. That is the truth. So stop nagging me about it.” Her pointy heels dug into the carpeting as she stormed out. “Do you know how hard your father and I worked to get you into Meadows? Don’t you understand that LVA isn’t a real school?” she yelled behind her, her voice bouncing off the paintings and trophies and photos that attempted to fill up the empty house.

I’m pretty sure I stood there for about ten minutes with my mouth wide open. Not to be blunt, but I hate my mother. Not in that teenage angsty way where I’m upset because she won’t let me go to a party or because I’m grounded. But because I genuinely don’t respect her. What kind of a person lies to their kid about that kind of thing? And I don’t buy that, “Your father and I just want what’s best for you” crap. Please. She just wants to be able to tell her friends that her kid goes to Meadows. That way she can get their manicured, blow dried, and botoxed approval.

I stormed down the hall, past all of the trophies in their glass cases, determined not to become one of them. When I got to my room, I ran to my bookshelf and ripped all of the pamphlets and books about Meadows onto the carpeted floors. I went to the back of my closet and rummaged around until I found the mustard yellow Meadows hoodie that my parents gave me for Christmas, and I threw it in the pile.

Then, I put on my usual suit and tie for dinner. I was halfway through putting on my belt when my phone rang. I picked my jeans up off the floor and pulled my phone out of the pocket.

“Elise? Why are you calling me?” I put my phone on speaker and continued to put on my belt.

“You don’t even have the decency to say hello to me, Harrison?” she joked. I knew she was smiling, and I could picture her dimples.

“Okay. Hello, Elise,” I mocked, catching her smile.

“Well, guess what?” she teased into the phone.

“What?” I was curious by then.

“I got into LVA! I submitted my portfolio early, just like you, and it paid off! I’m so happy, and I know you’ll get in. You have to!” She sounded like she had just won the lottery, and I’m sure I would have too, if I were in her situation.

“Oh, that’s great.” I’m not a very good actor, and this wasn’t an exception. I think she knew something was wrong. I mean, after all, she knew me the best out of practically anybody.

“Is everything okay, Harrison? You don’t sound too good. Did your mom go off on you about LVA again? You know, you really should stand up to her at some point. I know I’ve said that about a million times, but just because she’s your mom doesn’t mean she can control you.” Elise gave me the usual speech. I mean, yeah, I should stand up for myself, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Mom either wouldn’t listen or wouldn’t care.

“I have to go to this dumb dinner party with my parents, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I didn’t wait for a response and hung up the phone. I didn’t think she would mind. After all, she was going to make a million new friends at LVA, and I was just this little boy who couldn’t even stand up to his own mother

I rode the car ride there in silence. Cold, bitter silence.

When we arrived, I sat down across from my mother, and to the left of my father.  The long, oak table stretched on and on, and I hoped the evening wouldn’t do the same. When the appetizers were served, my mother brought up a topic that really wasn’t wise to bring up.

“You know, Amy, Harrison is absolutely delighted to attend Meadows next year.  Do you have any alumni advice for him?” She talks differently around these people. She coos when she speaks.

“Well, you’re in for a tough ride, but a good one. I think you’ll fit in there.” Amy half laughed as she talked.

I didn’t look up. I just moved the mustard greens around on my plate. I couldn’t listen to any more alumni talk, so I turned to my mother.

“You know what, Mom, I don’t really think you should be going around telling people that I’m going to Meadows when I haven’t even agreed to go.” I spoke softly, hoping that nobody else could hear.

“Harrison, what are you talking about? We agreed at home, an hour ago, that that is where you will be going to school. Now, shut up. We can talk later.” She smiled as she talked, but believe me, she wasn’t happy.

“Are you kidding me?” I spoke louder, and the whole room turned their big heads toward me. “We did not agree that I would be going to Meadows. You told me that you didn’t submit my application to the school that I actually want to go to. I don’t know what world you live in, but that doesn’t suddenly make me want to attend a snotty private school.”

My mom was looking at me in utter disbelief and didn’t seem to notice that her Chardonnay had spilled onto her croquettes. “How do you have the audacity to speak to me that way? Your father and I have discussed this. You are a child. Our child. And we know what is best for you. Your attitude about this is deplorable. I’m not discussing this here any longer. We will settle this at home, but there isn’t any more to talk about at the moment.”

“I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you with the timing, and my apologies go out to you, Mrs. Smith, for I’m afraid I have disrupted your casual get-together. But do you even listen to yourself, mother? I mean really. ‘Your attitude is deplorable’ Who talks like that? Who spends an hour on their hair and ten minutes on their kid? You probably aren’t even listening to me right now, you’re probably too busy wondering what excuse you’ll make up to excuse your son’s deplorable actions.”

 By now, my mother’s left eye was twitching, and one of Mrs. Smith’s embroidered napkins was balled up in her lap.

“I try to talk to you about this at home, and you run away into one of the million rooms to hide in. Well you can’t run this time, Mom. Listen to me. I don’t want to go to that boring, privileged, and snotty school. I don’t want to do things so that you can tell Cindy or Mary about how studious your son is. Will you just stop thinking about how other people will view you?”

“Okay, okay, let’s stop this acrimonious discussion, darling.” My mother was half smiling (I’m pretty sure she was thinking about ways to punish me), and she was completely unraveled.  

“Do you hear me? I don’t care if I have to go to the shitty, local school. I’m not going.”

The company was astonished that I had just cursed, but my mother yelled over the gasps.

“That’s it. I’m done. You try and handle having a kid. You try what I have to go through every day. Your ignorance is aggravating. I’m doing the best thing for you, not me. I’m sorry that you want to be an artist. I’m sorry that you want to become homeless and unaccomplished, but I won’t allow it. You’re embarrassing yourself. Just leave.” She sat back down and picked her wine glass out of her plate.

I was happy to oblige. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Mrs. Smith,” I yelled behind me as I escaped out of the dining hall. I probably wouldn’t be invited back.  Oh well.

Our driver wasn’t going to pick us up for another hour and a half, so I started to walk home. Our estate was miles and miles away, but at least I would have something to do. I didn’t know what to think of what had just happened, but I suppose I finally got heard.

Punny

Nobody liked 30-year-old George Denton’s show. It was on at 10:00 at night, and it was called This Week in Jokes. It was supposed to be a hilarious show filled with funny anecdotes about the latest gossip, but George didn’t do a great job living up to those expectations. He really wasn’t funny. All he could write were terrible puns, and no one really appreciated them. It was a miracle he could make a living off his horrible show and still have enough money to pay his only crew member, Charlotte Lacourse.

All George wanted was to be a famous comedian, but it’s very, very hard to do that when you’re not funny. When he first started, George absolutely loved his job and thought he was on the path to fame and fortune. However, after years and years of disappointment, George’s love for his show began to fade away. He would’ve stopped as it was quite far from a success, but if he didn’t work on his show he would have no money at all.

“You know, George,” Charlotte said to him one day when she came in to work, “if you’re really unhappy with this show, perhaps you should consider looking for a different job.”

“A different job? There’s nothing else I’d be good at.”

Charlotte wished dearly to say that if that was the case, there was nothing he was good at, for he certainly wasn’t a good comedian. However, her respect for his feelings prevented her hurting them in such a way.

George ran his fingers through his dark brown hair thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s no harm in looking…” he said very slowly.

“No there certainly isn’t,” she replied. “It might also be a good idea to talk to someone who can help you figure out what kind of job would be best for you.”

George, happy with this suggestion, made an appointment with a life coach by the name of Dr. Walsh. He was very smart, and very Irish. His accent was, at times, absolutely impossible to understand.

George got to the office at 3:00 for his 4:30 appointment. Charlotte, who had recommended him, had told him that he might be taken early, but he had really misunderstood her. However, it just happened to be George’s lucky day, because he was the only one in the office and he saw Dr. Walsh at 3:15.

“Hello Dr. Walsh,” he said nervously, “I’m George Denton. I had an appointment for 4:30.”

“Yes, I see that,” said Dr. Walsh, staring down at a notebook.

“Pardon me?” George said hesitantly, for Dr. Walsh’s accent was just too much for him.

Dr. Walsh cleared his throat, seeming not to hear him. “Well George,” he said suddenly,
“What is it you need from me today?”

“Well

“Wait,” Dr. Walsh said, cutting him off, “your shoes look rather tight. Take them off please. I find it’s much easier to talk to patients if they’re as comfortable as possible.”

“Alright… ” George said hesitantly, wondering quite how weird Dr. Walsh was going to be. He removed his shoes and placed them on the table.

“No!” cried Dr. Walsh. “You cannot put shoes on the table! It’s the most important Irish superstition! Put those shoes back on and get out of here.” He pointed to the door.

George told Charlotte about his very unsuccessful meeting with Dr. Walsh, hoping she could recommend someone else to talk to, but she had no one. Dr. Walsh was the only person she ever went to see. George supposed she never put her shoes on the table or let her chair fall over when she stood up, which Dr. Walsh had nearly fainted at when it happened to George.

That night, George performed another one of his shows, though he was really not in the mood. He had hoped that Dr. Walsh would have been able to help him solve his job problem, but he had no idea how insane he would be.

“Hello, and welcome once more to… This Week in Jokes!” George said, turning his chair to face the running camera held by Charlotte. “This week, we have had some very interesting reports about animals. First of all, Karla the Koala has learned to sing! I bet that girl gives some Koality hugs!”

Charlotte laughed. She always did that so it sounded like there was an audience enjoying all his terrible jokes.

“In addition to our animal with the great Koalafications, the cow who wrote that book last summer has come up with a moo novel!”

Charlotte laughed again.

“Speaking of novels, Barry the beagle thinks that the dogs in the wonderful book from last week, All the Queen’s Corgis, had a pretty ruff life! This is an interesting theory as most would think that being the Queen’s pet would give you some serious advantages.”

Just like all the other shows they produced, this show was not successful at all. It didn’t really affect George, though, because by now he was so used to his failures that he would have had a greater reaction if it had actually worked out.

The day after this show, George was walking along fifth avenue when he spotted a sign. It read: DR. ANDREW JACKSON, LIFE COACH. George got excited and decided impulsively to walk inside.

“Hello,” he said confidently to the receptionist.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked irritably, staring at him over her square rimmed glasses.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, we can try to fit you in but I’m not sure we’ll be able to,” she sighed.

“Oh, yes, it does look rather busy in here,” George said under his breath, looking around at the empty waiting room.
“What did you say?” the receptionist demanded.

“Nothing,” he mumbled in reply.

“You’re in luck,” the lady said, though she didn’t sound at all enthusiastic, “Dr. Jackson can just squeeze you in today. You’ll have to wait twenty minutes, though.”

“Alright,” George said happily. He had nowhere else to go.

After twenty-two minutes, the receptionist told him to walk down the hall and enter the first room on his right.

“Thank you,” George said. He discovered that there was absolutely no reason he had had to wait, for before he went in, no one came out, and there was no one exiting the room as he entered it.

George took a seat on the fluffy couch placed across from the armchair where the rather short Dr. Jackson was seated. There was no desk in between them.

“Hello,” Dr. Jackson said. “What’s your name?”
“George Denton. I don’t have an appointment but the lady at reception told me I could come.”

“Alright, George, what exactly do you need to talk about?”

“I’d like to talk about my job situation. I’m not happy where I am, but I don’t think there’s anywhere else I’d do well.”

Dr. Jackson sighed. “I get that a lot. People need to make better decisions about jobs.”

“Yes, well, I’m certainly not happy with mine,” George replied, trying to get back on topic.

“May I ask what about your current occupation it is that you are so unhappy with?”
“I run a show called This Week in Jokes. I’m the only member of the cast, and I’ve only got one crew member. I’ve been putting it on for five years now, but it’s a very unsuccessful show.”

“How on earth has it stayed in business this long?” Dr. Jackson asked, and rather insensitively, George thought.

“We’ve only got one investor, but he’s so wealthy it doesn’t really matter to him where his money goes. He agreed to pay for our show years ago when we told him we’d pay him a lot if he did. That was back when we thought our show would be a great success. Obviously, we didn’t make enough to keep our promise, so gradually we had to stop paying him, but he never really noticed and he keeps giving us his money.”

“Hmm… I’m sure you’re very grateful to him.”

“Yes, we are,” George said eagerly.

“But anyway,” Dr. Jackson said, “We need to talk about your unhappiness with your show. Why don’t you like your job?”

“I’ve always wanted to be wealthy and famous. I used to have fabulous dreams that everywhere I went people would stop me and ask for my autograph. I thought I’d be an outstanding comedian. But no one appreciates my jokes, so I’ve been beginning to think that maybe I’m not that great after all.”

“Well,” Dr. Jackson replied thoughtfully, “If that’s the case it would be a good idea for you to look around at other jobs. What do you think you’d be happy doing?”

“Anything where my talents are really appreciated.”

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about that one. How about I look around and let you know when I find things I think would be good for you?”

“That sounds wonderful! Thank you!” George said enthusiastically, and he left feeling quite happy he had seen that sign. Dr. Jackson was certainly better than crazy Dr. Walsh.

George had to wait a couple days before he heard from Dr. Jackson, but eventually he received a letter in the mail with his return address on it. Inside, he found four different packets filled with information about four different jobs.

The first one was, interestingly enough, a position at Starbucks. Dr. Jackson’s note said that this job might be good because the baristas were always spelling people’s names wrong and he could use his sense of humor to come up with funny name spellings. Somehow, George didn’t think that was quite the job for him.

The second job was a job at Apple in which he had to fix autocorrect issues. Dr. Jackson suggested that he could make autocorrect phrases into funny autocorrected phrases. Although working at Apple might be kind of cool, George thought he’d likely get fired if he irritated people with autocorrect when he was supposed to be making it work better.

The third job was a job working at Buzzfeed, for they were always making funny jokes. Though George did appreciate their funny articles, he didn’t think he’d do well working at a computer all day when he hardly understood how they worked. The only person who would have offered to teach him was Charlotte, but he hadn’t wanted her to think he was dumb for not knowing, so he just told her he was great with technology. He resolved not to tell her he had received this offer.

The fourth and final job was a position as coordinator of kids’ birthday parties at a gymnastics venue. Though this job didn’t seem like it would really require a sense of humor, Dr. Jackson said that when working with children, you always needed to be funny. However, not only did George find most children rather irritating, he had very bad organization skills and didn’t think he’d do well coordinating anything.

No matter what job he chose, even if it wasn’t one of these four, which it probably wouldn’t, he needed to put together a resume. He started this immediately, with help from Charlotte, for it needed to be done on a computer. George spent a while trying to come up with an excuse for why he needed help, but he didn’t need to, for although he always pretended he understood computers, Charlotte had always known he really didn’t.

“Okay,” Charlotte said. “So what was your first ever job?”

“I worked at a CVS,” he replied, slightly sheepishly.

Charlotte repressed a laugh. “Alright,” she said, typing that in. “And you started this show right after that, right?”

“Yep. And I’ve been working on it ever since.”

Once George and Charlotte finished putting together his resume, they needed to plan their next show. George looked at the latest news and discovered that a wonderful new shop called Georgia’s Chocolates had opened. George started thinking about some good chocolate puns.

“I know!” he said out loud, and Charlotte turned to look at him. “What?” she asked.

“I wonder if Georgia owns a pet chocolate moose!” George said excitedly.

Charlotte gave a small laugh.

“What, not good enough?” George asked indignantly.

“Oh, no, it’s perfectly good!” Charlotte said quickly. George seemed satisfied and they continued working in silence. It didn’t last long, though.

“Hey Charlotte?” George said after five minutes.

“Yes?” she said, preparing herself for another pun.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh! Of course!” she said, taken aback.

“Why did you go to Dr. Walsh in the first place?” George asked.

“He seemed like a good life coach,” Charlotte replied, thinking the answer was really quite simple.

“Well, yes,” George said impatiently, “I didn’t think you would have gone to someone who was supposed to be bad. But why did you need a life coach in the first place?”

“Oh… same as you. Career stuff.”

“When did you stop seeing him?” George asked, thinking that Charlotte didn’t need any job help now that she worked for him.

“I still go,” she said, trying to stay calm.

“But… why? Aren’t you happy with your job?”

“I wasn’t pleased. It’s hard to work on a show that has no success, who’s only investor doesn’t even know they’re paying for it. Dr. Walsh helped me to better appreciate my job.

“But you appreciate it now, right?”

“Oh… yeah, of course,” Charlotte replied uncertainly.

Though Charlotte’s answer would have been satisfactory, there was something in her voice that made George suspicious.

***

The next day, Charlotte was late to work. She was supposed to come in at 9:30, but it was now 11:00, and George was constantly checking his watch. He decided to call her, even though he knew she hated it when she got phone calls that weren’t emergencies.

He dialed her number and held the phone up to his ear. He heard it ringing on the other side, but no Charlotte answered it. He waited and waited until he heard Charlotte’s voice. He started speaking, but then realized that it was only, “You’ve reached Charlotte Lacourse. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!” Frustrated, George waited for the beep and left a message asking her where she was.

Charlotte didn’t call George back, or show up to work that day. He was starting to worry that something bad had happened to her.

That night, George was going to call ‘Missing Persons’ to see if Charlotte had gone missing, but because he was very forgetful, he didn’t. However, he hoped that Charlotte had just been sick yesterday and had forgotten to call him, so he went into work thinking she would be there. She wasn’t. She wasn’t there at 10:00, 11:00 or noon. She never showed up and, again, wouldn’t answer her phone. George was starting to get very worried. He was so preoccupied that when he went home, he walked right past the doorman, not realizing he had mail for him.

“Excuse me, sir,” the doorman said, “I’ve got your mail for you.”

“Oh! Thank you,” he said, taking the mail. He got upstairs and dropped the letters on the coffee table. He wasn’t even going to open them, but he noticed that the letter on top was  in very familiar handwriting, and upon picking it up, he realized that the return address was Charlotte’s. George got nervous, for Charlotte never wrote letters, never. Breathing quickly, George ripped open the envelope (which took a while, for he was about as good at opening letters as he was at following Irish superstitions) and pulled out the paper. He began to read, having absolutely no clue what he would find there.

Dear George,

I thought this would be easier to write in a letter than to tell you, as I fear it will surprise and worry you greatly. I’d like to elaborate on what I said about why I saw Dr. Walsh and my satisfaction with my job. To be honest, I never liked my job. Like you, I wanted to be famous and it frustrated me that your puns never got us anywhere. I majored in comedy at college, and I was really good. I knew that if I had my own show, it would be successful and my jokes would be hilarious. I didn’t like your show. I thought that if I helped you out by recommending some good life coaches, you would see that you needed a different job, and once you were gone, I would be able to take over your show and make it my own. I know this will come as a blow, but I never wanted you to succeed. I always told you your puns were good because if you knew they weren’t, I worried you’d ask me for help and then they would be good jokes and your show, particularly you, would become successful. That was the exact opposite of what I wanted, because then you would stick with the show and I would not be able to take it over. After our conversation the other day, when you asked me about why I needed a life coach, I realized that you were too close to discovering the truth and I had to leave. I was terrified you’d find out, but now that I’ve left and won’t be coming back, I feel like it’s safe to tell you, and you deserve to know because of how trusting of me you’ve been. When I first left two days ago, I had the design of coming back once you had left the show, which I knew would happen now that your only crew member was gone and you’ve told me you’re not happy.  However, upon leaving and moving to Portland, where I am now, I got a job assisting one of the best comedians of all time, Jackson Hatson. This job is a clear path to fame, whereas reviving an unsuccessful show would be very hard and less likely to turn out well.

Now that you have found out about my selfish character, I know we will surely never see each other again, so I wish you all the best in whatever you pursue and I hope that you have a happy and healthy life.

Charlotte Lacourse

George was speechless, not that he had anyone to speak to. He couldn’t believe this. Charlotte, who had always been so kind, Charlotte, who had always seemed so supportive, Charlotte, had betrayed his trust. It was absolutely unbelievable. It was even more painful to know that Charlotte was right, he would leave his show without a crew member. He’d been planning on it for a while anyway. George was going to miss his show. He remembered the day he had decided to start it…

***

George went home and collapsed onto the couch after a long day of working at the local CVS. He reached out his arm and grabbed the television remote lying on the coffee table. He turned on the tv and selected a channel at random.

“This looks pretty good,” he mumbled to himself.

The show on the channel of George’s choice was a fake news show put on by Michael McMarty. It was very funny.

“That looks fun to do,” George thought to himself. He started daydreaming about being someone like Michael McMarty. Wouldn’t it be great to be a famous comedian? George loved jokes, and though he had never tried, he thought he would probably be good at making them up. George loved the laughter of the audience watching Michael McMarty. He loved everything about the comedian’s life. That was the day he resolved to be a famous comedian and start his own show.

***

George sighed. Back then, he had thought that being a comedian was the best thing he could possibly do, that it would be so much fun and that he would be famous and successful. Clearly, comedy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

George decided to go out for a walk. He thought it might be a better opportunity for reflection than sitting inside all day.

When he was out walking, he spotted a small, cracked bottle of blue nail polish lying on the street corner. Figuring he would be a good citizen, he picked it up and was about to throw it out when he noticed the name on the bottom. ‘Don’t Be Blue,’ it read. George chuckled to himself. He wondered who wrote those punny names… and then, it hit him. He needed a job coming up with nail polish names.

That night, he wrote an email to the head of Essie, one of the most prestigious nail

polish companies in the country, if not the world. George was shocked to receive an answer just an hour later. Upon reading it, he saw that Essie would let him apply for the job! Very excited, he pulled out the resume he had constructed with Charlotte. He winced. It pained him to think of her.

The next day, after sending in his application, George received another email. He was wanted for a job interview with Essie! He was ecstatic.

George’s interview went very well, although not all of it was comfortable. There were lots of questions about This Week in Jokes, for he had been working on it for a very long time. Every recollection was painful, for there had never been a day, until she left, that Charlotte had not been with him at work. He scowled, remembering that she had surely only done that to continue working her devilish scheme.

The people at Essie seemed very pleased with George. The puns that the viewers of ‘This Week in Jokes’ had hated so much were exactly what these people loved. He got the job, and it was absolutely perfect. George mourned Charlotte as if she had died, for the Charlotte he had known certainly had. Though he learned to move on and really loved his new job, the loss of his partner and supporter stayed in the back of his mind forever and always made him sad when he thought of it.

Epilogue

One Saturday night, George went home to watch television. He was going to switch to the channel of his choice, but before he did he noticed a headline that interested him: Famous Comedian’s Assistant Fired. He clicked on the channel, wondering who it was. A reporter was speaking.

“ — assistant to Jackson Hatson has been fired. Let’s hear from her about what went wrong.” George’s eyes widened. Though he wished to turn it off, because he hated thinking about Charlotte, there was something about the segment that drew his eyes like magnets. Charlotte appeared on the screen.

“So, Ms. Lacourse,” the reporter said, “why do you think Mr. Hatson has brought this sudden end to your time with his show?’

“Oh, I really don’t know what went wrong,” Charlotte replied distractedly, “I was going to be famous, everyone loved me, but my jokes began turning dull and Mr. Hatson thought I was hurting his career instead of benefiting both of ours.”

George felt a sort of grim satisfaction. Finally, Charlotte could experience the huge disappointment he had had to go through.

“Well, Ms. Lacourse,” the reporter said, “On the bright side of things, I love that nail polish you’re wearing. What’s it called?”
“Oh, it’s called Li-Lac-ing Color,” Charlotte said, looking at the very light shade of purple on her nails.

George laughed out loud. He remembered inventing that specific color. Charlotte had now gone through what he had to when he discovered how unsuccessful he was, and she was wearing one of his nail polish colors. George was satisfied.

Great Compromise

The great Compromise of 1850 sparked the rebellion of slavery by the northerners. We live in the 21st century, where equality is wanted everywhere by everyone. We want equality on the basis of gender, race, age, and on personal information. In recent situations, females have been wanting to be treated equally by having the same salary for the same career as a male does. Also, people want to be treated fairly no matter if their income for the year is higher or lower than the benchmark. The abolishment of slavery led to these equal wantings. And when the compromise is the cause of the end of slavery, it leads us to the era in which every man or woman should be treated all the same.

As a kid, not all of us are into the whole subject of history or social studies. Whenever we think of this school subject, we think of boring textbooks and completing questions given to us by teachers. But little do we all know that events in history eventually led us to the present, where people are happier because changes have been made throughout history.

No one ever wants to repeat mistakes, but how will we know what not to repeat without actually learning the history that started it all? History may be referred to as a simple period in time when everybody did their jobs and didn’t have to worry about much. Such that, one may think about the late 20s to early 30s and think that nothing else was happening during that time except for flappers dancing and men in suits drinking and laughing. But in reality, times in history weren’t always just so simple. There was more drama and meaning in the 1850s. During the time period of the 1850s, this period led to the blood and gore of the Civil War in the 1860s that have plenty of bloody battles that were results throughout the great Compromise of 1850.  

So, what is truly the Great Compromise of 1850? The Great Compromise of 1850 was issued by Senator Henry Clay, who was nicknamed “The Compromiser” due to his efforts to keep peace between both sides so that no more states would secede and rebel. The compromise was built over the argument of slavery. It was issued to supposedly benefit both sides and make things right, but that wasn’t always the case. Things were unfair between the north and south within the issue of slavery. The north wanted to abolish the act of slavery while the south did not.

To the north, California was admitted to the Union as a free state, and the slave trade was to be banned in the capital. In the south, the people who lived in the territories of the new land gained by the Mexican-American War were to decide themselves whether to become a free or a slave state. This was called the act of popular sovereignty, in which people get to decide themselves on issues rather than elected representatives decide. Additionally, the other benefits to the north was that the debt on Texas was going to be paid and that there was a new and harsh law given to the north called the Fugitive Slave Act. This was the act in which any runaway slave fleeing to the north to escape slavery must be given back to the owner in the south only if a northerner saw a runaway slave.

The northerners hated this new law because they wanted to help some slaves  to escape slavery. Many northerners would even risk their lives to help and free slaves instead of turning them over to the rightful authorities. Many revolts and boycotts were also put in action to go against the fugitive slave law. The consequences to the Northerners if they did not help out were that they were fined and sometimes even summoned to jail or a death sentence. However, there was always a loophole to these kinds of situations that the people of the north had found out. This trip-up was that if a northerner had to report a slave, they could direct the police or the slave catchers in the opposite direction that the slave went. This would stall some time so the slave could be free and hopefully escape to Canada, where slavery was completely illegal.

The real question in this topic is, which side did the Great Compromise of 1850 truly benefit more, the north or the south? Many would say that the benefit was given to the north because the Compromise only added on positive actions, such as banning slave trade in the capital and the admission of California as a free state. Meanwhile, the benefits given to the south weren’t all positive. With the action of popular sovereignty, some land could be added and vote to be a free state instead of a slave state. However, this may not be the case.

I strongly believe that the benefit of the Compromise of 1850 was given to the south because the Fugitive Slave Act really boosted their benefits while it dragged the beliefs of many northerners down. The north was so affected with this new law considering that no benefit to the north has affected the south so much. This proves that the result of the compromise was an advantage to the south.

Thus I can conclude that the Compromise of 1850 was an agreement that was beneficial to both the people of the north and the south. It tied the silver lining from both sides of the nation closer together from what it was originally. The two different distinct social classes of owner and slave worker were now closer than ever, and there was a more fair and just group of males and females that could decide on their own whether to live in an area where slavery is in action or to live in a place where people deserve to be held to their right of freedom and their liberty. In future years, Illinois lawyer Abraham Lincoln had stated in his speech of the Dred Scott case in 1857 over the issue of the rights of slaves that according to the U.S. Constitution, every man or woman is a citizen and every citizen is entitled to their freedom and individual rights. With this statement, Lincoln had said, he eventually had the authority to end slavery in the 1860s and when the age of slavery had ended, it led to our present time of the 21st century where the issue of equality has been improved. In some ways, this issue has been improved now is that people of different race are allowed to be in the same school and use the same restrooms. So, this is how the Compromise of 1850 has led to the rebellion of slavery which led to the abolishment of slavery which led to the present where equality issues have been improved. And with the recent issues of equality, it just seems that these situations arose from the outcomes of the Great Compromise of 1850.

Lost

          

Don’t know where to go
I’m lost, but not found
No solid ground, just walking around
Will I ever find a purpose?
I’m lost, but not found
I need help, but no one’s around
Will I ever find a purpose?
A piece of me is gone, severing my true soul
I need help, but no one’s around
I need to find a path, a road, something!
A piece of me is gone, severing the soul that is truly me
It’s like I’m a stranger to myself
I need to find a path, a road, something!
The future that awaits me is a blank slate
It’s like I’m a stranger to myself
I know nothing about me, and I don’t remember my past
The future that awaits me is a blank slate
I have no value
I know nothing about me, and I don’t remember my past
I’m just a wandering vessel in space with no sense of direction
I have no value
Don’t know where to go
I’m just a wondering vessel in space with no sense of direction
No solid ground, just walking around

The Box Sat Unopened on the Table

Johnathon Mathew was not an unusual man. He worked every day from nine o’clock in to morning to five o’clock in the evening for five days a week. He was a little soft around the stomach and loved to read mystery novels. That’s all there is to know about him, really.

Johnathon lived alone. Of course, he didn’t feel like he was alone. Every morning the birds were singing just for him, it seemed. Every evening he would make himself a lovely meal. Yes, Johnathon lived alone. But some might say he was the happiest a man could be.

One gray Saturday evening, just after Johnathon had finished his dinner, there was a ringing at the door of his small, peach colored home. “Visitors!” Johnathon thought excitedly (he didn’t have too many visitors these days). He wiped his mouth, got out of his chair, and scurried to the front door. Instead of a visitor, Johnathon found a box lying on his very clean poch. It was around the size of his head, with blue and yellow string sitting in a bow on top. “How odd…” He thought out loud. Johnathon had not ordered a package. “A mystery! I love mysteries!” Johnathon was very excited now. He grabbed the box and rushed inside, heaving the cumbersome package onto the spotless table. Johnathon thought it would be fun to leave it until tomorrow morning, just like Christmas when he was a boy. What Johnathon hadn’t noticed was the label on the package. It read: “For whomever it sees fit.”

The next morning Johnathon woke up in a delightful mood. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the dining table as though he was a child on Christmas morning. Johnathon pulled out a pair of scissors and cut all the string. Then he opened the lid. Empty. It was an empty box. “How could an empty box be so heavy?” Johnathon wondered. He picked up the box again, and it was light as a feather. ”AH HA! Another layer to an already thrilling mystery!” he said out loud to absolutely no one. “I will solve it. But first, breakfast!” Johnathon made himself a cup of coffee and scrambled two eggs. As he was sitting down, he heard the tea kettle start to whistle. There was no tea kettle in his house.

Johnathon grabbed a kitchen knife. He wasn’t excited anymore. “Wh—who’s there? If you don’t show yourself I’ll call the police!” Johnathon slowly walked forward towards his bedroom. He gripped the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white. He heard himself chuckle. A sweat bead ran down Johnathon’s forehead. The chuckle turned into a laugh. Johnathon’s lips weren’t moving. In fact there were pursed. And that’s when he knew what was in the house.

He ran outside, down the street and into the police station. “Excuse me, sir,” he panted, “someone has broken into my house.”

“How do you know?” The officer inquired.

“Well, I don’t have a tea kettle but I heard a tea kettle going off,” Johnathon explained. “Please sir, I need your help.”

“Go home,” the police officer said in a voice that sounded extremely similar to Johnathon’s. “I’m waiting for you.”

Johnathon screamed at the top of his lungs and ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the street in the opposite direction of his small, peach-colored house. But no matter how far Johnathon ran, he landed right back at his front door. He felt his head start to spin. “What is happening to me?” he sobbed. He flung open the door, only to find the person he’d least expect to meet face to face: Himself.

No one ever saw either of the two Johnathon Matthews again; and no one ever questioned his absence. Not for a year. And when the police finally checked his house in search of him, all that they found was one box. The box sat unopened on the table.

 

Zom-Be Happy

           

Part 1:

We walked through the mist, the dead leaves crunching under our feet, through the neat rows of the graveyard. My little sister’s hand was in mine, but the air was so still and there was no wind, but there was a feeling of… something. As if a living, breathing thing, with a beating heart of love and hope does not belong. I shivered, though the air was warm. I quickened my pace, reaching the old rusty gate, and opened the door that led to my family and their dead bodies. Tears pricked my eyes, and I let go of the door, leaving it  open. I tried to take a step forward, but I fell to my knees, and my little sister sat next to me. My mind seemed to go against me, replaying the scene, the flames at the end of my bed catching onto my father’s coat as he ran with me in his arms; him falling, my mother trying to save my sisters, and the flames. I remember grabbing my grandmother’s hand as she lifted my youngest little sister from the crib, then handing her to me while she fell to her knees, her eyes closed, and her body fell against the crib, and she was gone. Like the rest of them.

I felt my little sister squeeze my hand and I looked at her little brown eyes, so clear and innocent, but afraid. I stood, my feet frozen, and she shoved her thumb into her mouth, reaching out to touch my mother’s grave. I walked with her as she looked at each headstone in complete fascination. I knelt down to her level and I spoke to her as clearly as I could. “Sophie, do not be afraid. Your family loved you, and I do too.” She grabbed one of my braids, and grabbed one of her own, as if seeing a connection in her four year old mind. I slowly pried her fingers off my braid and took her hand again while slowly getting back to my feet. At that moment, I felt a breeze around us. The wind quickened, and I felt a cold, hard hand land on my shoulder. I turned to see a skeletal face, and with my sister’s hand still in mine, I fell onto my knees, and we were dragged through the low mist. I lost sight of my sister, and her hand slipped out of mine, and my stomach dropped. I struggled against the strong, cold grip of my captors, but one of them raised their fist, and the world faded away.

The next time I woke up, it was dark and cold. I sat up and rubbed my forehead on the place where I was hit. There was a rather large bump, and at first I was afraid to stand, but the thought of Sophie, maybe crouching in a little corner, or crying and fighting against the creatures was too much. I got up and looked around. I seemed to be on some type of planet like the moon, with a gloomy white powdered landscape and deep craters, but with some dead bodies lying here and there. I squinted my eyes and saw a tiny hut in the distance, and I started running toward it… I was desperate, hoping to escape. Then I smacked right into a wall. I was so dumb. How could I have thought that I would be thrown into the middle of a plain? It was just a mural. A really realistic one though. I fell to the floor, then quickly got back up, trying to find a way to get out. I looked around me another time, and my eyes spotted a small window. I ran towards it and reached up. It was just too high for me to get to. I slammed into the wall from the momentum of my speed, and I got yet another bruise on my arm. I felt panic in my throat as I ran faster and faster. I jumped, grabbing one of the bars that kept me from freedom. With much difficulty, I pulled myself on the ledge and collapsed.

I was breathing with difficulty as I pondered my ways of escape. If only I could… just… find a way… to… escape. My thoughts were getting mixed up, and my vision was getting foggy. Was it my imagination, or did the room get smaller? Was it my imagination, or did I hear… footsteps, the swish of fabric? I pulled on the bars, my panic rising once more. I jumped from the windowsill, forgetting how high I was. I landed on my feet, and my knees gave up under me. I fell to the floor, and a sharp pain shot through my legs. A door opened, and I heard someone come in. I squinted my eyelids, just enough to see, and just enough to appear dead. The creatures. They were back. I looked at a hole in the wall. An open door. A large, rotting creature walked toward me, so I shut my eyes. I felt myself being lifted, high above the air. I was ready to be put down, and I was ready to run through the open door. But my plan was completely off. I was thrown against the wall, and I opened my eyes just long enough to see the monsters drag their dirty nails across the surface of the wall, leaving a mark behind. Red, like blood. And all was gone. I had blacked out. Again.

I woke up, and this time, I had another feeling. I walked to the wall, not sure what was controlling me. Strangely, I felt rested and calm, and I wasn’t very surprised when I walked right through the wall and onto the lunar landscape. I made my way toward the hut, but as I was about to open the door, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps make their way toward me. I already knew that sound, and it filled me with dread. Pairs of hard, bony hands grabbed my arms, and I struggled around, trying to loosen their grip. But I didn’t need to. Someone was stopping them. A familiar, but masked voice was yelling my name. The zombies dropped me to the ground, and a cloud of moon dust blocked me from seeing anything. I felt vulnerable and defenseless without my vision, but something about that voice kept me still until the dust cleared. What I saw astonished me. A rotting body was walking towards me, but the closer it got, the more I recognized it. Grandma.

All Kinds of Kinds

When you are young, you will be ashamed of your culture. You will hate eating rice everyday even though you love Amu’s cooking. You will hate that she makes you wear a salwar kameez to school every Halloween so you can be a princess. But you love mehndi and raise your right hand, palm outward, so the orange paisleys are visible to your teachers and classmates. You call the brown smelly paste mehndi, not henna. Your brownness is showing. It’s the only part of your culture you don’t reject.

When you’re a little older, you will scrub your skin raw and apply the Fair & Lovely your mother gave you to lighten your skin. You will resent her for making you resent your melanin. Your dad tells you that you will always look like an immigrant and you will never be an American in a white person’s eyes. This is a truth you will never let go.

Around this time you’ll start to read books by brown people about brown people because you think that if you can’t be American, you might as well embrace your heritage. You will be outraged by the inaccuracy, thinking brown people don’t have “white people problems.” You don’t think brown people can make mistakes, not because you think they’re flawless, but because mistakes are not allowed. You’ll be skeptical of brown characters on TV shows— their brownness erased by giving them names like John, and their otherness amplified by making them terrorists named Ali.   

Your older cousin will recommend Corona by Bushra Rehman during your freshman year in high school. You have read multiple books by brown people about brown people that made you feel as though the authors didn’t really know what it meant to be brown. Still, you continue to read these books because they inspire the writer in you. Your cousin will tell you that Bushra Rehman is a Pakistani-American who grew up in a Pakistani Muslim community in Queens— she was just like you. Because, for the first time, you think you might actually see yourself in a South Asian character, you have ridiculous expectations for the book. You need Razia, the protagonist, to be just like you. But, of course, she won’t be. She leaves her family. She hitchhikes along the East Coast. She dates. She drinks alcohol. She smokes. What kind of Muslim is she? What kind of Pakistani is she? How could she be so selfish? What about her parents? You ignore the fact that you sound like the judgmental aunties you despise so much, but your brownness is showing.

In your junior year, your English class will read Into the Wild by Jon Krakaur. There’s something about the way Christopher McCandless drops everything and heads to Alaska that will intrigue you. You will try to ignore the fact that McCandless is a white man. You know that post-9/11 America will not work in favor of a wanderlust brown hijabi. Maybe it’s the fact that Chris seems invincible that’s appealing to you. Or that so many people treat him like their son and take care of him. Maybe you want to have that kind of faith in people. That they’ll help you instead of fear you or jump at the chance to hurt you. “Remember, Ma. You’re Muslim and they hate us,” your dad tells you this every day when he drops you off at the train station.

Maybe it’s the people at home who drive you away, the way Chris was unhappy with his ordinary life with his family. Without the fear of auntie gossip and the judgment of your parents, you could find the person you want to be. You will wish you could do something reckless and unpredictable because you don’t want to lead a conventional life.

You’re starting to write more this year. Your characters remind you of the ones you used to hate. Flawed, human, more similar to you than you’d like to admit. There isn’t a set of  guidelines to be a brown person, you tell yourself to justify the choices your characters make. You have some life changing epiphanies and realize that you didn’t hate those characters from the books you used to read. You envied them. You wanted to screw up as easily as they did. You craved that kind of freedom, to be someone and to do things unexpected of the little brown girl you are. You will become restless. You’re tired of your commute and vain conversations you overhear in the locker room. You’re tired of your parents guilting you into staying in New York for college. You’re tired of your family telling you that you can only be a doctor and talking about your future in terms of salaries. You don’t want the things your parents want. Your mom tells you that you might as well give up on your education if you want to be a teacher, as if educating doesn’t require education.

During the short story unit, your English teacher gives the class Pioneer Spirit by Bushra Rehman and, as always, you’re skeptical. You remember how you felt while reading Corona. Reading Razia’s story again, two years later, with the knowledge that you used to envy her vagabond nature, you find that you can’t help but admire her. She’s not your typical brown girl from a conservative family. She tries to be anything but typical. For that, you wanted to be her, to have her courage (or selfishness), to be able to harden your heart and, for once, do something of your own will.  

You know that you will never be able to harden your heart completely. You come from a family who loves you too much and respects you too little. The difference between you and Razia is that her parents kicked her out and yours would do everything to keep you at the same address in Jamaica, New York for the rest of your life.

You want to have a voice that defines itself like the characters in the books you read and the characters you create. You wish you could be selfish. You wish you weren’t afraid of losing your family by accidentally doing something for yourself.

But sometimes you let yourself think about the things you do have. You think about the tight-knit brown Muslim community in Queens that becomes Little Bangladesh the night before Eid with mehndi tables set up on every block. You go down to Hillside with your sister to eat mishtis and get intricate designs painted on your hands with the brown smelly paste, which is no longer the only part of your culture you don’t reject. Your brownness is showing. Every inch of Hillside Avenue is packed that night, the way your masjid is all throughout Ramadan, with people speaking a language that is home. Your brownness is showing. You know the next day will be ten times as busy. The field at the local high school will be filled with hundreds of Muslims praying together. You will wonder how you haven’t met some of these people, but then you will remember that this neighborhood is only home to a fraction of your identity the fraction that your parents fostered.

You will be tired of having the same fights over and over again. You know you will be the first to back down and you will give your family what they want. You start to wonder what’s more important— your sanity or your reputation. Were all these arguments worth it or should you just put on a white coat and breathe in the fumes from the MTA buses? You know your parents want what’s best for you. That is, after all, the reason they came to this country. But you can’t seem to make their version of “the best” your own. You are terrified of being miserable, but your parents laugh when you tell them. Because according to them, brown girls don’t get to be happy. Brown girls don’t get to make themselves.

So the stories you read and the characters you envy remain fiction, at least for now.

A Study of Feral Children

Imagine… the wolves howl in the night. Far away, a child howls with them. Eyes flashing, she leaps over a broken branch and runs up to a she-wolf. Her eyes meet the wolf’s, and a smile softens her fierce countenance. Now…. A child, eyes dull and unseeing, stares blankly out the window. The wolves howl again. With a shriek of agony, she falls to the floor. She howls, hoping they can hear her. There is no getting around it. The fact is, feral children should be removed from their habitat, but only if their current physical or mental condition would be improved by human contact. And the brutal reality? It doesn’t happen.

Feral children are often repeatedly abused, either intentionally or unintentionally, once returning into humankind. Marina Chapman was a feral child who lived with monkeys for several years, and then was supposedly “rescued” by hunters who actually sold her. Luckily, she managed to get connections to people who helped her gain a normal lifestyle. She became a nanny and later married and had children. But what if she hadn’t gained those essential connections? Marina Chapman could have been doomed to live a fate as a slave. The truth was, not all feral children had her luck.

The Dog Boy of Chile, called Alex, was also captured to try and rehabilitate him. During a truly and gruesomely epic chase, he attempted to jump in the water. Although he was fully aware that he was human and even knew some Spanish, he missed his dog friends intensely and suffered from severe depression. Perhaps he would have been more satisfied living with the dogs that he grew to love as a family, after he was fed and cleaned up, of course.

A trait that was shown distinctly in the Dog Boy of Chile was that he was evidently happier in his feral condition. This is another opinion that should be considered before trying to “help” a feral child, possibly in the completely wrong way. The cruelty of wrenching any child from any family that cares well for them, even if they are animals, can lead to depression, as in the case of the Dog Boy of Chile. If the child is already miserable in the company of humans, why continue to force them to integrate into society?

Baby Hospital was another feral child. She was named by an Italian missionary, a name which already shows the lack of care given to her. Who would name a girl Baby Hospital? The very name indicates cruelty, as well as lack of care for her future with an identity influenced by the ridiculous label that would follow her forever. Baby Hospital, name or not, spent much of her time crying and never really adjusted to life in a normal society.

Her story is similar to Saturday Mthiyane, who was also raised by monkeys and was still “more monkey than man” at age 17, twelve years after being rescued. His only given improvements were that he now wore clothes and took baths. Baby Hospital’s plight clearly mirrors the many other children who were rudely separated from animals they loved as a family.

There is a clear difference between a child who has a great chance of recovery from the wild, or already lives a too horrific life, and someone who is safe and happy living a solitary life as a feral child. People often, in fact, argue that there are circumstances where kids have great recovery chances, or cases where human connection is necessary due to the child’s extreme state, saying that this is why all feral children should be “rescued”. However, as stated before, there is a great deal of difference between that and a feral child that is content and well off on their own.

Some feral children experience severe isolation at the hands of their parents, but never lived with wild animals. These children live horrific lives and there is no choice but to rescue them. Danielle Crockett is a well-known example of this. She was found at age seven naked, in diapers, and unable to communicate. The girl was emaciated, malnourished, covered with sores and pocks, and apparently was never really cared for. The house was shockingly dirty, with urine, feces, roaches, and maggots everywhere. Despite that, her mother had the nerve to state,

“I’m doing the best I can.”

To which Detective Mark Holste replied, “The best you can sucks.” Today, Danielle is living contently with a loving foster family. Others, such as the wild girl of Champagne, also known as Marie Angelique Memmie le Blanc, were helped out by a variety of rich patrons and went on to live a relatively good life, even after living in the wild for many years (in Memmie’s case, ten). These children obviously had a relatively good chance of recovery, and rescuing them actually benefited them. But in cases such as the Dog Boy of Chile, or Baby Hospital, they evidently were not going to conform to society, so why not leave them be? But of course not. These people instead ripped away the only “family” they ever had. They were forced to become, essentially, more human, the attempts continuing even more tenaciously when they only succeeded in making the child more depressed.

Allowing a feral child to be abused, neglected, and depressed. Making them unable to decide their own destiny. These are cruelties that should be abhorred. Each feral child’s situation should be specifically evaluated before deciding their fate, not just ignored. The ultimate goal is to make them happy, not to make them “normal.” It’s alright to be unique sometimes. And sometimes, it’s alright to let them run, wild and free.

Beautiful Spirit

            

Chapter 1

3/18/16

As a 14 year old girl growing up on the sunny streets of California, Kylie’s main objective is to be recognized by her friends, classmates and most importantly her family. Her piercing blue eyes and raven colored hair make her different, but her shy personality is what holds her back. Kylie’s family is a group of characters, they are all outgoing and whimsical. At the age of six Kylie’s parents got divorced. Kylie lives with her mom, Catherine, in LA during the school year and with her older brother, Nathan who is sixteen years old, and younger sister, Charlotte, who is eleven. She only visits her dad, his new fiancé and their two identical twin daughters, Rayna and Sophie, during the summer time.

Writing my short story in my school journel felt so surreal. My life, I thought to myself.

As I am putting my pencils back into my backpack I hear Mr. Burke say, “The short stories I have assigned are due after spring break.” As everyone sighed he shouted out, “have a nice break, I will see you back in two weeks!”

Walking out of my class I could see in the corner of my eye my best friend, Amanda. Amanda and I have known each other since we were babies and have been best friends ever since. I see her talking to a teacher, and then stomping away towards me. As she is walking towards me I can see her face getting red with anger. I couldn’t help but laugh “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Mr. Abel told me that he won’t raise my grade because he doesn’t believe in rounding a eighty-nine point five to a ninety,” she said angrily.

As we were walking to our bikes, we started talking about spring break. She told me she was going to Mexico with her dad and brother. Her mother died in a car accident when she was ten. For a whole year she would never talk to me about it. I found out after my mom told me. I could never imagine losing my mom, my mom is my everything.

I then told her about my dad’s wedding on the beautiful coast of Hawaii, which was what I was going to be doing for my spring break. Everytime I think of the wedding I get a rushing feeling of confusion. Of course, I want my mom and dad to get back together, but my dad is happy with Laurie. Laurie is going to be my stepmom, and I am going to be Laurie’s stepdaughter. I feel that the wedding is going to make it official that my parents are not getting back together. I have always had this lingering hope that my parents will get back together but it hasn’t happened yet. I know they belong with each other and I have twelve days to to make it happen.

Chapter 2

3/19/16

Kylie’s feeling about her parents marriage continued to overwhelm her. She partially blames herself for the divorce and constantly thinks about what she could have done better as a child. Maybe she could have become a better listener and followed instructions, but as a six year old how could she have known better? Yesterday Kylie walked in on her mom talking to her friend, saying, “How can Matthew find love and I can’t?”

Twenty minutes after working on Mr. Burke’s story assignment in the library, I arrive home to my small, but cozy, yellow house. It fits all four of us, and luckily I do not have to share a room with my annoying younger sister, Charlotte.

Entering into the house I could smell the aroma of burning chicken lingering through the house, and in that moment I realized that my mother was trying to cook, which she cannot. My mom has been trying out new things: yoga, juice cleanse, coloring books, but she never commits to anything and hopefully she doesn’t commit to cooking.

“Hi mom,” I said.

“Hi sweetie! Do me a favor and call you brother and sister down. Dinner’s ready” she said. While I was walking up the stairs, I could hear my brother playing his video games, and my sister playing with her Barbies. I called them downstairs. Once everyone arrived at the dinner table my mom placed the burnt chicken right in front of us. As we ate the disgusting chicken, my mom told us that we were leaving tomorrow for Hawaii at 6 a.m., so pack your bags. I began to feel so nervous about the wedding, lots of things kept going through my mind.

After dinner, I went to my room to pack, but I could not focus because of my brother’s obnoxious video-game music. I told him to keep it down, but because he has no manners what-so-ever, he just turned the music up.

Chapter 3

3/20/16

Kylie’s mom always puts a brave face on when she’s around her three children. Kylie could never suspect she was unhappy. When she did find out, she beat herself up for not knowing. Kylie’s mom did everything for her, unlike her father who had another family in San Diego. Kylie felt that her father was somewhat to blame for her mom’s unhappiness.

“Kylie, Kylie,” Nathan shouted in my ear.

“What do you want Nathan! Can’t you see that I am busy writing!” I replied.

“Jeez! I can but I was wondering if you could pass me the water? I can’t get up because we’re in flight,” he replied.

“Yeah sure. I am sorry. I was just deep in thought,” I said.

“Who would have thought that your name means beautiful spirit and this is your personality. So sassy,” he said in a joking manner. For that comment I punched him in the arm. I feel that my name is a very important part of me because it makes me, ‘me.’ I thought to myself,  how am I going to survive sixteen hours with this imbecile?

I woke up mid-flight to my brother laying, snoring and drooling on my shoulder. Since, my brother was in the middle seat, I pushed him onto the stranger next to him, who was also sleeping. I figured that the stranger and my brother could have a surprise to wake up to.

Getting up to use the restroom, I noticed someone who looked exactly like my father. Then I realized it was my father, with his fiancee and the twins. I walked towards my father. I  wondered why he was on this plane. He was supposed to leave yesterday. “Hi dad, why are you on this plane? I thought you left yesterday?” I said in a quiet manner.

“I was supposed to, but it was too cloudy, so everyone who is a part of the wedding bought tickets for this plane. You should get back to your seat. The seat belt sign is on,” he replied. As I walked back to my seat I saw my brother waking up. I could tell that he was surprised that he was leaning on a stranger’s shoulder.

“Did I sleep on this stranger’s shoulder the whole time?” he asked.

“No, you were leaning on my shoulder, so I pushed you onto him. I don’t want your drool on my shoulder,” I said, as I smiled.

“You have gotta be kidding me! Why would you do that! You’re such an annoying little brat!” he yelled.

“Because I don’t like you,” I said while laughing.

“I can’t-” he said. He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because in that moment the plane began to fall out of the sky.

Chapter 4

3/21/16

Kylie and her siblings never got along, they always pranked each other or made trouble and would blame it on one another. She thought she would never miss them until they were gone.

“You need to get up and stop writing in that little journal the plane just crashed!” yelled the flight attendant.

“It calms me,” I replied.

“It doesn’t matter! You need to exit the plane on the slides,” she said in a rushed manner.

“What about my family? I need to find them,” I replied while trying to choke down tears.

“I’ll help you find them later but right now I need to get you off this plane!” she said pulling me by the sleeve towards an exit. I grabbed my backpack and went down the emergency slide. Once I hit the water, I could feel the cold, dark blue engulf my body. A small shiver went down my spine. As I looked around I could see that there were a lot of people in the water wounded and grieving over the ones they have lost. I could tell they were just as confused and scared as I was. I tried to swim to find any member of my family but I couldn’t. The waves began to grow after each minute. I swam as fast and as hard as I could but there was no sign of them. They couldn’t be dead, could they?

I still had the smallest shred of hope that they were still alive, so I kept swimming. Then I felt something touch my foot. I yelped in fear, thinking it was a shark, but of course it was my brother. A wave of relief and rage came over me. “Don’t ever scare me like that! Where’s mom and Charlotte,” I asked hopeful.

“Mom’s over there” he replied.

“Where’s Charlotte?” I asked while my voice shook.

“We don’t know. She isn’t the best swimmer,” he said trying to hold back tears. I immediately dove under water. I swam and swam trying to see her. Praying that she wasn’t dead. Until I saw blonde hair slowly sinking. I swam as fast as I could to her. Thinking it was Charlotte, I grabbed her and brought her to the surface. The lifeboat was a couple feet away from me. I tried to swim with another person’s body weight on top of me.

Once I finally reached the lifeboat, I screamed for help. “Someone help me! My baby sister isn’t breathing!” I screamed as her lifeless face looked back at me. People came rushing towards us. A bulky man started to performed CPR. Charlotte began to breathe again.

My mom swam over with tears in her eyes as she climbed onto the lifeboat. “Thank you, thank you.” she repeated gratefully to the man that saved my sister. She then jumped up to give him a hug.  

“It’s no problem. She’s breathing but she is not waking up. I believe she is in a coma,” he said.

My heart dropped when he said this.

On a First Date

It was creeping towards 6 p.m. on a cloudless evening in the one and only, New York City. I had been waiting there for only a few minutes at most, but it felt like the lazy sun had been shining its pale rays on me for an eternity. I stood on the corner of dusty 112th street and bustling Broadway, waiting with waning patience for a moment that I had dreamed about for at least this entire school year, maybe even longer. Ever since I had first heard of straight-A hottie Roy Diamond, I had been hopelessly in love. I hadn’t been alone, though; at least ten other girls had fought me for this moment, but somehow I was the one who won him over. And now, here I was, standing right outside Tom’s Restaurant (he had picked it –– apparently something he loved to watch was filmed there) waiting for my first date.

“Oh, when will he be here?” I wondered, almost not noticing that I was talking to myself, “Wait, why do I want him to be here now? I still don’t know what to say, or what to do. What’ll I do if he turns out not to like me?”

I had been fidgety ever since I got there, but was now more than ever. I tried to think of something that would calm me down, but I came up empty. Just as I was about to fly into a panic, I heard a faint echo of music coming from inside. A slow, calm song that faded away as soon as I had heard it. That’s it, I thought. Try to sing a song to calm yourself down.

I searched through my mind for a song that I would love to sing. When that didn’t work, my Spotify playlist. As I would when I was stressed, I scrolled really quickly to the bottom, and then really quickly back to the top. It was then that I noticed “Where are U Now” by Justin Bieber. I laughed a little. Early last summer I had liked that song for some reason or another, but now I had no idea why it was even here. My first thought was to get rid of it, but then I figured it would be funny to try and sing it, as a memento to the days when I would do so 24/7. Of course, there was the crushing shame of being the kind of girl who sang to Justin Bieber, but at least I wasn’t doing it as if I liked the song –– it was a kind of mockery of my former self. With that thought in my mind, I put in my earbuds and pressed play.

Just listening to the song gave me an interesting feeling. I remembered loving it with a burning passion, but now, I noticed so many flaws in it, and the only thing I could make of it was a cheesy, burned out fan-bait. How I had changed over the last few months. I still had the lyrics memorized –– My head for words hadn’t failed me yet –– and I started singing a bit. Ew. I got about halfway through the first verse before bursting out laughing. Sure, I was going against many things I believed in, but this sure was a better feeling than waiting for a guy who just thinking about gave me massive butterflies in my stomach and pretty much everywhere else.

I had three more laughing fits before I had to turn off the song because it was too painful to listen to. To think I used to enjoy that! As I was dusting myself off and thinking about how some of the lyrics actually kinda described me at the moment, waiting for a guy who I was crazy about, I looked up and there he was. Roy Diamond, the sassiest kid in school, the guy who won at everything, the person all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be, was standing there, watching me look completely ridiculous.

“Am I late?” he asked.

I was as flustered as a polar bear who had suddenly teleported to the Sahara. “Hi! No, you’re right on time, actually. Uh, how are you doing?” I managed to stutter out.

“I’m ok. You have a beautiful voice, by the way,” he replied, smiling.

When I realized he had heard me singing, the gargantuan butterflies that had been propagating in my stomach turned into demons. “Oh! Well – you see – um… Thank you. How much did you hear?” I had no idea what to do at this point. If he thought of me as a girl who sang Justin Bieber, he would almost definitely drop me like a white-hot potato. I steeled myself for utter despair.

“I actually heard most of it. You sing it a lot better than Justin Beaver does, if I do say so myself. You know, Skrillex worked on that song, and he’s one of my favorite artists. I like your taste,” he flowed through his words like cool water through a silly straw. He was still smiling and seemed genuinely happy with me. I couldn’t believe it. Roy Diamond, happy with me? The king of the school, happy with a girl who had just chanced upon him and somehow won his heart? This was the happiest day of my life.

Over the Edge

I watch as the sun slides behind the horizon, its last rays gleaming through the trees. I tap my fingers on the table as the minutes pass in what seems like seconds. I suddenly shiver involuntarily and silently reprimand myself, telling myself to stop. Begging myself to stop. I give my head a quick shake and a lock of my blonde hair slips into my shaking fingers. Noticing how the sun now struggles to shine beneath the foliage, I begrudgingly look over at the clock. I squint to read the hands, but soon realize with a pit in my stomach that it is eight in the evening. I hear my heart starting to race. It pounds. Thud, thud, thud. The world speeds up and starts to spin. Stop, stop! I almost start to cry, but luckily a six year-old girl in a white dress bangs through the door with a smile on her face.

I stand up within a second, and she runs into my arms that immediately open for her. My dark world welcomes in her universe of light. I feel blissful and free for a second, but I quickly realize that my worries still cling on to me. I sigh and let her go. “Katie,” I say. “How was your day at school? Do you want some food?” She nods quickly, still grinning.

“My day was great. I did lots of fun stuff. I climbed a tree…” She trails off into paragraphs of enthusiasm. I give her an empty smile, trying to remember how much I love this girl, the only real family I have left. Unfortunately, I fail to do this. I trudge over to the fridge and grab some food to cook on the stove. The aroma fills the room as my little sister blabbers on. It smells delicious, but somehow I don’t really enjoy it. As I cook, our dad walks through the door.

“Hi,” he says in a tone that shows he is in another world. “I picked up the dry cleaning after I got Katie.” He holds up the plastic-covered clothing and I nod.

He then heads up to his room without saying another word. I remember when he used to talk to us for hours and make us amazing food. My mind begins to trail off but Katie suddenly finishes her tale with an exclamation and my thoughts are interrupted. I tell her that it sounds like an awesome day. I immediately feel guilty about not listening, but push it aside because I have to worry about my audition tomorrow. I set her food down in front of her, give her a quick kiss on top of her head, and head up the stairs to my room.

The next morning, I lie in my soft bed listening to the birds chirp. If only I could stay here all day. A wave of exhaustion then washes over me, most likely because I was not able to sleep for the entire night. I dread lugging myself out of bed and now my hands are already starting to shake again. If I don’t make it into this play, it will be so disappointing. My mom wanted so desperately for me to be in this play, we’d been talking about if for months before her accident. I have to do this for her, I miss her so much. But Alice, this  girl that is also auditioning for the lead role, is so talented and threatens your chances. How am I going to get the part over her? I take a deep breath and get out of my bed.

As I walk through the icy winter morning, I think again about my mom and her successful Broadway career. She was so famous. She starred in so many plays that they all get blurred together in my head sometimes. I saw almost every single one of them, each one unique from the previous. I wish that I could see one more. Maybe I could be inspired for this audition. I realize though that my mom is gone.

I walk into the school auditorium with a smile on my face, remembering the advice my mom used to give me. Unfortunately, the smile soon fades and my heart is pounding again. My palms sweat. With a shaky eye, I see that the room is bustling with activity, activity I realize I don’t want to be a part of. My peers stand in groups. I see one group of girls that distracts me. They wear tight shirts, fashionable leggings, and flats. They are also wearing so much makeup that not one bit of actual skin is revealed. I think about how they chitter and chatter like the birds outside my window as I look down at my baggy shirt, old jeans, and sneakers. I sigh. At least my hair is golden.

After surveying the other groups around the room and deciding that it isn’t time to audition yet, I creep closer to the girls.

“So, you girls ready?” One with a tight, shiny bun asks the circle.

“I’m so ready. Who do you think will get the lead role?” Another chirps.

“Me, of course.” Surprised I hadn’t noticed before, I realize that this is Alice. Her dark brown hair is pulled into two tight braids. She’s short and her small eyes squint in every direction.

“Oh, um, right, uh, of course. I-I’m sorry,” the woman stammers. I smile.

“You do have some competition though,” a brave one states.

“Who could possibly beat Alice?” Bun Girl exclaims.

“Annabelle.” My mouth falls open as many of the girls in the group turn to look at me, somehow knowing where I’m standing. I turn around immediately, my mind racing as I weave through the crowds of people to the back of the decorated auditorium. Oh, no. Now Alice must really want to beat me. I feel my whole body start to shake. No, no, no, this is not happening. I try to reassure myself. If those girls think that I’m a threat, then that’s saying something. I can beat Alice, I really can. I really can.

“Okay, all actors to the seats in the front of the auditorium. I repeat, all actors to the front.” A man in a black outfit shouts this while he ushers people away from the back. “All parents, please leave now!” he adds. I watch as mothers and fathers give last hugs and touches of makeup before being sent out of the door. A chaos of colorful children parade towards the front, and I follow them. My legs don’t work very well, but I push myself into a velvet seat and try to listen to the man’s instructions. I space out instead and inspect the sea of heads in front of me, each almost identical to the next with a glossy surface and a perfect poise. They are all unfamiliar and cold. I am mad at myself for only having one friend at school, Ava. I really wish she didn’t hate acting. I realize that my hands are numb now and my legs don’t feel too good either. I hate this.

Suddenly, the sea is moving. Everyone stands up. Their feet thump up the stairs and behind the stage. Startled, I shake out my legs and get up to follow them. We walk in a messy group, everyone chittering and chattering except for me. The area backstage is small, wooden, with splotches of paint. The red curtain looms in front of us, threatening me. Patches of golden light escape through it, lying to me about the amazing world that seems to be behind the flowing wall. Everyone remains in the same groups as before, despite the fact that we are packed tight like sardines. I feel incredibly uncomfortable, my arms rubbing across others while I float between the circles. Now, my heart is racing again, except much more than it did before. The difference is that this time, I can’t seem to calm it. I’m wondering how I can get my legs to stop losing feeling when we are instructed to form a line. So, I shuffle around with everyone else until we form a messy one leading to the stage. Then, it starts. People are called out one by one to audition while the rest of us are shushed backstage by the people in black. I take a deep breath as the line wiggles and shifts. I am slowly making my way to the front.

My numb hands are shaking now. We were told not to practice for this audition, so I didn’t, but I wish that in some way I could have. I have no idea what to expect. I hear the muffled talking of a boy on the stage and think about how terrible I’m going to be. I’m shivering now and once again, I beg myself to stop. My mom would be so disappointed in me. Why can’t I pull myself together? Thud, thud, thud. I’m crying silently in the dark backstage of the theatre. The tears are slipping down my face and I’m wiping the water away as fast as I can. Nobody seems to notice. My name is called. I’m pushed forward.   

Shivering and shaking, I am now on the stage.

The light hits me with a stagnant glare. It does not slip or slide or move at all. My face crinkles and a smile escapes out of the director standing in front of me.

“Hi, Annabelle. How old are you?”

“Uh, f-f-fifteen” I stammer and croak at the same time.

“So, you’re a sophomore?” I nod yes. He smiles again. “What kind of role are you

looking for?” I realize that he speaks to me as if I’m an incapable child.

“Lead.” I speak quickly and quietly, exactly like the child this soft brown-eyed man

thinks I am. He shows a flash of shock when I say this and tries to cover it up, but mostly fails. I’m momentarily distracted from my fear as I notice this and as I see the blatant doubt on his face that remains when he nods okay. He then picks up a script and gives it to my hands that I forgot are still shaking. I slowly flip to the page he tells me to and I read each line carefully in my head. I sigh. Okay, I can do this. Why am I shaking? I can do this. Why am I shivering? I can do this. I’m thinking I can do this when the world turns black.

I wake up in a haze. I seem to be sitting in the backseat of a car, but the people in the front don’t notice me. I rub my eyes and soon recognize a man in the driver’s seat with light brown hair as my dad. His face is bright and his eyes are shining. He looks so young. I can’t figure out who he is talking to because the person in the passenger seat is wearing a hat, but then we are moving and I see a lock of blonde hair slip onto the woman’s shoulder. It’s mom. We continue to drive and drive and I suddenly realize what is about to happen. My parents chat happily, without a care in the world. The night is dark with only specks of stars and I think about how Katie must be scared when I realize that she is not in the car. My heart then starts to thud and my hands start to shake, identical to how they do on stage. I know it’s coming when we make a right turn around a corner. A large blue pickup truck is driving towards us, getting closer and closer with every second. Suddenly, I hear the sound of smashing glass and my parent’s laughs are interrupted. This time, the world turns red.

I wake up lying on the warm stage floor, the director and a couple of chaperones standing over me. Their faces are cringed with worry but surprisingly, they don’t look happy when I sit up with blinking eyes. They only look relieved.

“What just happened? How long was I out for?” I wonder, only remembering fragments of the nightmare. I hear giggles behind the curtain and almost want to cry, but I stop myself. One of the chaperones goes back there to shush the kids.

“You were just about to start reading the script when your eyes closed and you fell to the floor. You were out for about ten minutes, but you didn’t look so good. We were about to call your parents and then the hospital. You still don’t look so good — why don’t you go home?” I remember the feeling of being treated like a child by this man, even though the feeling is distant and I feel like it is from a very long time ago. I can still hear the tone in the director’s voice though. However, I can only manage to stammer.

“B-b-but what about um, the uh, the a-audition?” The nervousness in my voice is obvious, I really hope the people backstage have stopped listening.

“I’m sorry, but you fainted. You looked very nervous and if you couldn’t handle the feeling in an audition, I don’t think you would be a very good fit for the play. But, go home and practice. I’m sure you can try out for the spring musical.” He says this with a tone of finality and my brain goes into overload. It floods with thoughts of Alice, how I was an actual threat to her and how now I am going to be the laughing stock of the school. Katie comes to my mind, I think of how she was so excited to watch me in the play. My spaced-out dad. I was hoping to cheer him up, but that probably wouldn’t have worked anyway because of — well, because of mom. The thought of her is what sends me over the edge.

Without even thinking about it, I quickly jump up to my feet. I raise a hand and, watching the director’s stunned face, I slap him. The loud sound is satisfying and my sorrowful, frowned face disappears. A weight is lifted off of my shoulders as I let a smile escape from my lips. A red mark is left on the man’s face, a mark that is as bright and as beautiful as a rainbow. The clouds go away and now I’m really grinning. The faces of the director and the chaperone remain blank, which surprises me. I’d expected some kind of reaction, but I realize that I don’t really mind. I skip down the steps of the stage and run out of the auditorium. I continue to blissfully run through the hallway, heading for the door. However, I soon hear steps coming up behind me. Oh, no. What have I done?

The director catches up to me and the only word I can use to describe him is furious. My heart starts to pound, a familiar sensation. What is the director going to do with me?

“Young lady, that was absolutely unacceptable. You are coming with me to the principal’s office right now! Unfortunately for you, I am certain that she will suspend you from school and ban you from all future productions here.” He grabs me by my shoulder and leads me to the office.

Since it’s a Sunday, the school is deserted. However, lucky for the director, the principal is here today. I walk into her office and escape from the director’s grasp just long enough to sit in a chair. The fabric is puffy, plush, and comfortable. The principal’s eyes widen as she moves her gaze from the computer and turns to see me. The director gives a fairly detailed summary of what I have done, but I don’t hear any of it. I don’t think anything either; I just tap my fingers and watch the pretty principal’s expression, which seems to get worse by the second. She cocks her head and her forehead wrinkles. She frowns and runs a hand through her long, brown hair.

When the director is finished, the principal sighs and says “I am shocked Annabelle. I would never expect this from you, but you have hurt a teacher and there will be some serious repercussions. Your father will have to be here for this.” She picks up her phone with a spiral cord after looking at a large directory. She dials a number, her manicured nails tapping the buttons, and waits. A minute later, she dials a different number. And then she dials that number again.

“Okay Annabelle, your father is not responding. Nevertheless, I am just going to give you your punishment now. I am disappointed to say that I will be suspending you for five days, all of this week. I will call your father again tonight to arrange a meeting with both of you tomorrow.” She sighs. “You are dismissed now, and must leave school grounds immediately.”

I get up, wondering if this is a dream. The director gives me a surprisingly smug smile as I walk out the door with nothing but empty space in my mind.

That evening, I sit at dinner with Katie and my dad. I pick at the microwaved food I’ve warmed up, an awful feeling in my stomach. Katie however, sitting across the table from me, wears two messy braids and enthusiastically shovels food into her mouth. After swallowing two-thirds of her plate she finally takes a gulp of water and looks up to smile at me. I give a weak smile back, turning my head to look at my dad now, who for once appears to be in the same mood as me. The dreary silence drips on, the only sound being an occasional loud crunch from Katie’s mouth. My numb mind can’t think, so I just drag my fork around my already scratched plate. I then realize with a sigh that the sun is sliding again. Suddenly, the phone rings. It shatters the almost peaceful silence. Without saying anything, I shake my head no to my dad, who forces himself upwards and plods over to the phone. He picks it up on the fifth ring and answers with a grunt that has the semblance of the word hello. I hear a high-pitched voice babbling, but can’t make out any words. I start to tap my fingers on the table, worrying what this might be about. I notice that my dad’s blank expression is starting to turn into a frown and when the babbling stops, he only responds “Okay. We’ll be there,” and hangs up.

“Annabelle, that was your school. Um… they said that, uh, they said — ” he struggles to finish the sentence. “The principal said that she wants to see us tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”

“Oh, um, okay.” I don’t want to offer any more information. I try to keep my face as blank as possible while I watch my dad fidget around. My fingers are tapping — does he know what I did? He shifts from one brown loafer to the other and scratches his head. He’s trying to say something, but he’s too scared to.

“Annabelle, they told me what you did.” My eyes are fixed on him. My fingers move to tighten around my chair. They grip it so tight that they start to turn white. But how could he be mad at me? He hasn’t shown any emotion in years. “Annabelle, that was… you know, go to… no, um… you are… you know, nevermind.” Punishing me was too difficult for him to do. Wow. “Okay, we’ll leave at 7:50 a.m. sharp.” He gives me a strange smile, and then heads off to his room without eating any of his food. Great. Now I have to do all of the dishes.  

I walk through the halls with my dad, continuing our silence after the car ride. I observe all of the people around me. There’s not as many as usual, because school doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, but I recognize a few familiar faces. I see Bun Girl and Brave Girl. I see Ava with a bunch of her friends, and we wave shortly to each other across the infinite distance that seems to be separating us. I see Alice, with a different group of friends than at the audition. I wonder how she does that.

The weak, white morning light pokes through the windows. It’s climbing upwards, instead of sliding downwards. This at least gives me a smile as my dad and I walk through the principal’s door. When I step inside, the principal is sitting at her desk, her straight hair obviously curled. She gives us a slight nod with her serious face and says “Welcome. Please, take a seat.” My old sneakers screech slightly on the tiled floor as I walk over to a seat. My dad plops down next to me just as the principal begins to speak.

“So,” she says. “I want to start by saying thank you, Christopher, for coming. I think we all know what we are here to talk about. Let’s just jump right in. As Annabelle may have told you, I have suspended her for five days because she has injured an adult working in this school.” I think the principal wants my dad to say something, but he just nods and swallows so she turns to me and continues. “Now, I know that your mom passed away a few months ago. I’m assuming that times have been hard, but what you did is still unacceptable. I’d like to hear what you have to say for yourself. Tell me the story.” She finishes and fixates her attention entirely on me.

I look at my dad who shows no emotion whatsoever and then realize he isn’t going to be any help. But, my hands aren’t shaking and my heart isn’t pounding, so I just start talking.

“Okay, well so this audition was really important to me. I was doing it for my mom. We had talked about this play months ago, and – and she was so excited about it. She was going to be so proud of me and it was going to be so amazing and I just miss her so much and —” then I’m crying, the tears blurring my vision. I feel a hand on my shoulder and stiffen, but then the hand rubs my shoulder and I soften. I look up to see the principal, her face kind. I don’t realize how strange this is.

I just say “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The moment is short, because as soon as I wipe my tears away, the principal is back at her desk. My dad’s face is blank.

“Do you think you can continue the story?” The woman asks softly. I nod and take a deep breath.

“So – well, because there was so much resting on it, I was very nervous for the audition. When I got there, I remember I was freaking out backstage. On stage, the director gave me a script to read from. I remember looking through it, and then I think I fainted —”

“What do you mean you think you fainted?” The principal interrupts.

“Oh well, I just remember everything going black. I fainted though, they told me afterwards. So when I woke up, the director told me that I didn’t look so good and that I should go home. I asked him about the audition and he told me in the most annoying —” I pause for a second, expecting her to stop me, but she doesn’t. “In the most annoying tone of voice that I could try out for the spring musical. That made me really angry and that’s when I slapped him.”

“I see. What happened after?”

“I kind of just ran away” I say sheepishly. “But the director ran after me and caught me. He told me that what I did was unacceptable and that I would be punished. Then, he brought me here.”

“Okay” the principal smiles. “Thank you so much for telling me all of that. I’m still going to have to suspend you, but I think I’m going to have a talk with the director.” I’m surprised, but feel lighter. “Now, I’m going to ask you to leave so I can have a little chat with your dad. Is that okay?” I nod slowly and get up to leave. She gives me a small smile and I respond by awkwardly slipping out of the room, closing the door behind me.

As soon as I get outside I pin my my ear to the glossy but thin door. I can imagine my dad crossing his legs inside and the principal giving him a quick smile.

“So, Chris, how are you doing?” I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

“To be honest, I’m not so good.” He’s giving a weak smile, I can tell.

“Well, I’m so sorry. I’d like to give you my greatest condolences. Lily was an amazing woman and I loved speaking with her. I remember when she used to come in for Career Day and talk about working in her science lab. It was quite interesting — the kids loved her.”

“Wow, thank you. She sure was great, yeah.” He sounds like he’s really smiling.

“Do you think that Annabelle misses her a lot?” Woah, I think. Isn’t that a little too far? But my dad answers in a second.

“Yeah, I think she does actually. It’s been really hard for her and she’s gained a lot of anxiety because of it. I always see her tapping her fingers or shaking her hands.” How does he know that? He’s always in his room!

“If this is crossing the line, let me know, but I think that Annabelle feels a little — ” The principal keeps talking, but her voice lowers and I only hear mumbling for a few seconds.

Ugh. I desperately want to hear what she’s saying.

Luckily, I hear my dad respond. “Um, the thing is… well, yes, I have been a little out of it lately. I’ve been finding it hard to focus on things and I’m thinking about going to see a therapist, but I have been paying some attention to Annabelle. I just don’t think she’s noticed.” I’m shocked. This is the most I’ve heard him talk in months, how could he be paying attention to me?

“That’s interesting. Maybe —” the principal suggests very carefully, “maybe you can talk to her. Be here for her, she really needs it.”

My dad starts to talk, but someone turns on a fan in another room and his words are drowned out. I’m practically pulling my hair out by the time the fan is turned off. How is he responding to that? Unfortunately, all I hear is my dad finish. “Thank you for showing so much concern though.” It sounds like he wants to leave.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I know this must be hard. One more thing — do you think that it’s possible Annabelle will act out again?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I hope that she won’t. I am definitely going to have some sort of conversation with her.” I think that the principal is satisfied with this. I hear one more mumble from her mouth and then a chair creaks as it slides across the floor. I instantly jump back from the door and slide down to the ground, preparing to pretend that I was spaced out the whole time. My dad comes out, looking distressed. He does give me a small smile though, which is bizarre. The principal really had an effect on him, more of an effect than I ever had. “Okay, let’s go,” he says.

My dad walks briskly down the hallway.

“Wait up!” I exclaim, struggling to keep up with him. He turns his head and smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’m waiting.” He winks at me like he used to when I was a little kid.

When we get to the car, we don’t say anything, but the silence is okay. The evergreen trees seem to whiz by as my dad drives, but really we are the ones that are moving. Soon, I realize that we are going away from home.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” he says.

When we pull up in front of the building, I know exactly where we are and I am ecstatic. We haven’t been here in months. The building is small, but extremely colorful. Neon lights illuminate its exterior that is already filled with huge pictures of mouthwatering ice cream. The outside air is icy when we get out of the car, but I don’t care. I’ll have this ice cream any time of the year. My dad and I walk over, continuing to not speak. He holds open the heavy metal door for me and I step in, immediately engulfed in this other world. All of the ice cream flavors are written in messy chalk on a gigantic board that takes up almost the entire room. The servers working here bustle around behind a tall counter with smiles on their faces. A long line leads to the cash register, but I don’t mind. The room smells cool but delicious, probably because the most amazing ice cream in the world is made here. My dad and I go to the back of the line.

The wait seems quick, but it’s only because my mind is occupied with all of the bright posters that plaster the room. When we get to the front of the line, a kind girl dressed in a tie-dye shirt greets us. We order our usuals, mine being triple chocolate fudge ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and my dad’s being strawberry ice cream with hot fudge. Licking our lips, we get a corner booth. I slide into one red bench and he slides into the other. As soon as I pick my spoon up, I notice my dad’s looking at me with a small grin so I put it back into my bowl.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you smiling in months. You look just like your mother. ” My dad doesn’t seem sad when he says this, like he always is when he mentions her.  

“It’s nice to see you smile too!”

“I really shouldn’t be smiling though,” he laughs. “You hit your teacher!”

“Yeah…um…” I laugh too. We share another glance before digging into our ice cream, the sun high in the sky outside.

                                        

The Sourcery

        

Chapter 1

You’ve got a friend in me

One day a 13 year-old girl named Annabelle went to the park and she was completely unaware of what was in store for her that month. Annabelle has long, brown hair, light tan skin, and big eyes. Annabelle is an identical twin, her twin’s name is Rose. Rose always gives her a hard time with everything she does wrong. If only her sister understood her. The weird thing about her is when she is in pictures her eyes turn red.

So, one day when Annabelle decided to go to the park without her sister she met a new friend and that new friend’s name was Hannibal. Hannibal was a trapeze artist yet he was only 14 years-old. Annabelle thought that Hannibal was the coolest person she ever met. Hannibal always wears a leather jacket, black jeans and he has nice long brown-red hair. Annabelle loved hanging out with this guy. All they do while together is talk about his family, his family owns a circus and he is one of the star performers. She had lots of fun and she was now wondering if she has seen him performing before.

When she was ready to leave the park that day she decided to give Hannibal her necklace, she said. “Meet me here tomorrow, and if you don’t then I will look for you because you have my necklace,” She said as she put the necklace on him.

“When you get home and wash your face you will see the necklace and remember that you have to meet me here tomorrow.”

He told her, “I love that you would entrust me with your necklace but no need to fret I will return here tomorrow.”

He started to take off the necklace but she shook her head and walked away. Hannibal was intrigued by her mysterious ways, for she didn’t talk much about her family.

When she went home she told her parents about the kid she met in the park. Her parents wondered why she wanted to hang out with a kid that spends his time in the circus. Apparently her sister had the day to herself so she planned a pool party for June 8th because it was going to be the hottest day of the year. Knowing that today was the first of June, she had time to ask Hannibal to go with her.

Chapter 2

The stalker

The next day, Annabelle rode her bike to the park. When she got there she saw Hannibal sitting on a hedge. When she saw his bronze skin glistening in the sun she fell off her bike. That day he didn’t have his leather jacket on instead he had on a grey t-shirt that said Death Rider with black flames under it.

“What’s Death Rider,” Annabelle asked “Is it like your favorite band or something?”

“Actually, it’s my band” Hannibal said

This didn’t make sense to her, “Wait I’m confused. You are in a band? Are you the lead singer? Is it a punk or a rock band? How do you have time to be here when you’re in a band and in the circus?”

“I perform for the circus on Sundays and practice band on Tuesdays.” responded Hannibal.

“Oh” Annabelle said.

Hannibal wanted to show Annabelle his tricks on his skateboard so they rode to the skatepark. The skatepark was really cool, it was black fenced but the paint was falling off so it is partially silver. Inside there were many different sections. Some were big ramps and some were somewhat small. The one Hannibal showed her, his favorite one, was like a sunken dome, and it was huge! In it was some graffiti that said BEWARE. She sat down on a bench and watched him as he did some cool tricks on his skateboard. She turned around to look at some of the other people in the park. She saw a guy staring at her, he was tall with light skin he had beard stubble. He had piercing grey eyes. He was wearing grey jogging pants and a long black hoodie, he didn’t seem too old or too young. She turned back around shivering with fear she told Hannibal she wanted to leave.

“Why,” he asked, “do you not like my tricks?”

“I do, it’s just there is a weird guy staring at me,” she answered.

“Oh don’t worry that’s my neighbor Jonah,” he told her “ He works with my dad on special experiments together and his son does them too.”

“But you were out of his sight,” she said.

“Have you seen him before?” he asked.

“I think so, but can we leave please?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered.

When they got back to the park they sat down near the rose bushes. The roses were ruby red like the color that comes up in Rose’s eyes when she takes a picture.

“So what is your family like?” Annabelle asked.

“No, let’s talk about you for once,” he suggested.

“Ok, I’m open to any questions!” She exclaimed.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, a twin sister named Rose,” she answered.

“Cool, can I meet her?” He asked.

“Yeah, you stay here I’ll bring her here.”

Annabelle went home and asked her sister to come to the park with her to meet someone. Rose was rude at first but was convinced by her sister as long as she promised to help her bring home supplies for the party.

Chapter 3

Circus Freaks

When they got to the park they went straight to the rose bushes.

“So where is this guy you keep rambling on about,” Rose asked.

“I don’t know I guess he left,” Annabelle answered “oh there’s a note,”

Anna, I wanted to go see the experiments in my dad’s lab. Jonah has invited me for the first time so I want to take advantage of this opportunity. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your sister. Please come to the circus on Sunday, and bring your sister. You can get in for free as long as when you walk in tell the person in the front “You are the Great zizi” 3 times, bow and then say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious while hopping on one leg and you will be let in.

See you there,

Hannibal

 

Holocaust Poems

1. Mozelle Family
Opportunities revealing through time.
Processed and then paused;
The Revolutionary War.
Colonies gaining power and independence.
The Civil War.
People fighting for compassion
and for rights.
Life continued and then broken;
Death affecting people’s lives.
The Vietnam War.
Death making people
Notice complications and have pity.
Moments in time,
One moment;
Hard concrete pressed against sorrow filled faces
of children, adults.
Breathless humans hurtled and thrown into dark cells.
Swastika and Nazi flags everywhere.
A breakthrough.
An opportunity to get away from inhumane acts of disgrace
from soldiers giving up on what is right.
One family after another
guided into the new world
to a better life and opportunity.
Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters
all wanting the new beginning
of forgetting their terrible
lives in Europe.
The invasions,
Concentration camps,
ghettos.
Children knowing that their nightmares have been real
and their unforgettable past following them wherever they go.
Through forests, across bridges
to the supposedly enchanted world,
the family follows trust and instinct
to their new life, wanting it to come faster.
Their only vision of home in Austria,
the mountains and lakes.
The ambrosial food,
the familiar scenery.
No new world will ever be like it.
One family,
Breaking away
from horrid monsters,
Nazis.
Traveling
on the wrong rollercoaster,
bumping up and down,
upside down.
2. Father
One step out of there,
the sound of breaking glass
and marching of soldiers boots
never escaping my head.
Never a night without
flashbacks of this horrible past.
Leader of the house,
that’s what I am.
Protect mother,
protect daughter,
protect son.
Who is supposed to protect me?
Live in Austria.
Live in the New World.
What’s the difference?
I pave the path towards
our superior landing.
The New World will be
full of opportunities for work.
It will be an easier life
with less pain and loss.
But it will involve a lot of sacrifice like in Austria.
I don’t know if I am ready for that.
3. Mother
March 12, 1938.
That day seems almost fictitious.
Troops barging in, invading
searching homes,
and kicking people out.
Before, life was at ease.
Care for my children,
Now, life is morbid.
Save my children.
One deep breath
and we’re out.
But no,
no we can’t be.
If the Nazis did all of this to us,
why aren’t we dead?
We fought and fought,
sacrificed and agonized.
All this pressure and pain
for a mother?
It can’t end like this.
I need to wake up
from this nightmare.
I need to be
in the New World.
Now.
4. Daughter
Those small yellow stars.
Forced onto my collar.
Just eleven years old.
Why did we have to wear them?
Discrimination?
Identity clarity?
Kicked out of school.
No more fun.
Just empty breathing,
cramped in small rooms.
Daydreaming of life before.
Happily helping Mother do laundry.
Family Shabbat on Friday night.
The way Father would pick me up and spin me around.
The way Mother would bake delicious palatschinken with sprinkled sugar.
The way Brother would play jump rope with me.
But now,
Father just paces around.
Mother is too tired to cook.
Brother isn’t allowed to play jump rope with me
5. Brother
Jewish.
What does that even mean?
Does it mean
going to Hebrew School every week?
Does it mean
saying prayers?
Now,
It means wearing the yellow stars
and being discriminated,
thrown in pits or cells
like animals.
Trapped in a small room,
a sob,
a cry for help.
Then silence.
And more silence.
Who am I supposed to be?
A son to Mother and Father.
A brother to Sister.
A Jew.
A human.
I read books where characters
Get to travel the world,
Going to places like Australia or Peru.
I don’t have to be just Jewish,
I can travel the world without being so discriminated.
I am so much more than just Jewish
So then why aren’t I treated like that?
6. Flashback
Before the Nazis,
before antisemitism.
A happy Austrian family.
Mother, Father, Daughter, Son,
nescient to what shall come their way.
Children with education
Parents with occupations like teachers or journalists,
oblivious,
pompous towards their life.
Schools, cinemas, pools.
Jump Rope, ball games, Math.
No violent hate.
No bias.
Just life wrapped inside of itself,
with no understanding how to act bad or wrong,
How to treat people without compassion.
A simple life with no genocide.
7. Nazi Soldier
Force.
Orders.
Demands.
Throw them in a pit!
Shoot a mother!
The life is horrible.
I don’t want to kill people.
I just have to obey my father,
the captain of our Nazi Youth Group.
Before joining the Youth Group,
I wanted to be a teacher
Giving children more opportunities
To get out of Austria while they can,
Just as I always hoped to do.
I read books and watched films
About America.
The business and chances to become a better person.
So different from the world I live in now.
Each morning the same thing.
Gratify Hitler,
go kill Jews.
I’m tired of all of this genocide,
the killings,
the camps.
Losing sleep over how
Much pain these jews must be going through
Just because they have different beliefs.
When will it be over?
I don’t hate Jews.
I am going to keep this guilt
inside of me
forever.
This aching inside of my head
reminding me of how horrible I am.
I feel trapped inside this bubble
of killing repetition.
8. Mozelle Family
Opportunities revealing through time.
Processed and then paused,
continued and then broken.
Moments in time, one moment;
A new beginning
for those who have suffered.
The family traveled
Alongside their own stories
of their past.
Painful moments, less painful moments.
Breaking trusts and
folding up sheets of memories
to be kept safely away
where no one will find them.
But now a new life has begun.
The New World full of immigrants
and people longing for their opportunity.
Families who have traveled
through forests, across bridges
to the supposedly enchanted world.
They have arrived
to create a new life.
Father is a milkman.
Mother is a seamstress.
Son is a construction worker.
Daughter goes to school.
Missing Austria,
they are barely living with the past.
Every night
They fall asleep hoping
Hitler won’t find them
and come running.

Uncontrolled Control

The spoken world is only a fraction of what the real world is. Words do not make the world, and the world is not ruled with fair words.

I started noticing things when I was a kid. My friends would always listen to me. I remember a specific time growing up when my parents promised to discipline me after I hid their keys. I was around six at that time. It was nothing major, just simply an act of instinctive and rebellious freedom. Being the kid I was, a rush of fear and regret swept over me. With all of my heart, I wanted anything in the world other than to receive a scolding from my parents. I knew the good and bright side to them, but they also exhibited a very mean side just as extreme. My mom’s face was turning shades of scarlet when she found out. I knew that my parents showed very extreme emotions to me, yet their emotions were always very simple: they were either very happy, cheerful and joyful, or angry, cross, and quick tempered. It was never anything sophisticated or deep that lasted for a while. I was still a young kid at the time, yet I knew they were hiding something from me because of my age. I was brought up to be righteous and moral always doing the “right thing.”  As I was dreading the moment of humiliation from my mom I was imagining a million different ways she could punish me she suddenly became very calm, the violent red seeping out of her face as fast as it had come. Strange, I thought. It seemed so unnatural of anyone I had never seen it happen before. Her emotions had been sapped out from her, and her face became a blank canvas unnaturally white. She was confused and dazed, and instantly dropped the improvised kitchen spoon that she was willingly using to hit me just seconds before.
“Forget it, Jacob,” my mom whispered to herself with a disconcerting and detached tone. Hearing her monotonous voice started a feeling deep down inside of me, a feeling of guilt. I didn’t quite know where it arose from, but I knew it had something to do with the sudden, occasional, and seemingly irrational changes of her behavior. I realized I had a special telepathic ability, but I never told anyone. I could change the intentions of people, but they were very subtle changes. I made people feel like they were undergoing mood swings by themselves.
Having experienced the unsettling influence that I had exerted over people, I needed a relief from my uncontrolled control. I started running. I just felt like it. It’s the first thing someone does to get rid of stress. It’s the first thing someone does when they’re afraid. It’s the first thing someone does when they need to find new control. Just a mile at first. Then two. Then three. I trained myself with a structured and ordered mindset. It began with sneaking out of the house. Then making excuses, then eventually joining the track team when I was able to at my school. I seemed to have never been caught while making my expeditions, yet I had a feeling my parents knew. I would sometimes see the silhouette of a person through the yellow and old curtains of our attic window.
My school stood on the top of a hill. A shabby, old brick facility that lay on the other side of town. That’s what I pictured in my mind, along with some grey, sad clouds dangling from above. During my years, I managed to control my ability. Yet, sometimes, I used it to my advantage, occasionally in ways that made me feel the same old guilt that stabbed me in the stomach and heart whenever I did something out of my righteous boundaries.

One instance I remember clearly. Our history teacher, a severe woman who always wore a tight business suit to school, would find joy in slowly and painfully calling out our grades after each test. I remember vividly after one test in particular I felt like the world was against me. I was dreading the next class, even considering the idea of calling in sick. The day arrived. I came to school. Coming into class, I looked down. The old, rusty-hinged baby blue doors once coated with a layer of vibrant deep sea blue paint ruined my attempts of an unnoticeable entrance to class. I nervously stumbled in, hands shaking while clutching my notebook. I peeled my hands off only to reveal ink sticking onto them. My mind broke loose from its calm and collected mode. I made no eye contact with the old lady, yet I felt her eyes staring into me like two lasers. I shuffled my way to the back corner of the classroom directly under the window with the gaping hole The story goes that it was created by a baseball from the field a couple of blocks down and looked down silently at my dirty blue skate shoes. The teacher was calling out attendance, her raspy voice finishing up the list. A loud silence ensued another one of her painful mind games.
She commenced reading off her grade book with her same unforgiving, icy voice. Halfway through the list I envisioned my name another three spots down. With all my heart, I was begging for her not to call out my name. A 70% would probably have been the best grade that I got. The person alphabetically before me in the list 81%. I envisioned the moment that was seconds away, like I was tied to a track and the train of humility was about to run me over. I played through my mind the scenario. Congrats, you did so well at failing.
Suddenly, she paused for a second. She got up and started coughing. Hobbling over to the door, she looked back at us.
“Stay put and if I catch you or hear reports of you messing around,” she didn’t even have to finish, we were all terrified of her. Moments went by. We saw the cold, squeaky door handles turn. The silhouette of the petite woman. She sat herself back down in the squeaky front desk chair.
“Alright, where did I leave off?” My hands and feet were shaking uncontrollably anticipating the mortifying moment yet to come. The next name she called wasn’t me; however, it was the person right after me on the list. I knew this because I had remembered the list and took it to my heart to do so. I was shocked and confused. I incredulously sighed under my breath. How had it happened? I was relieved at first but hit with a subtle and more gradual anger once I realized that I had used my telepathic abilities once again. I was never called on.
Behind the school, there was a faded red, 200 meter rubber track that had seen better years. I was the second best on track. Weeds and other vegetation were slowly encroaching onto the rubber ground. Paint was slowly eroding and chipping away on the side bars. Track was my strength, and I remember my first practice in particular stuck out to me. The first day was another hot and sizzling summer day. My sweat started to simmer on the red tracks.
“Good luck,” I heard halfheartedly mumbled. Many unconfident stares were exchanged across the starting line. Our coach, an old man of around sixty years old, stared at his stopwatch, fiddling with it like it was some sort of futuristic device. Eventually, after many curses under his breath, coach looked up.
“On your marks.” Even though I hadn’t started running yet, the butterflies in the cage of my stomach had been released. “GO!” The words rang loud and sharp in my ears. I lunged forward at a full, paced speed. First lap down, second lap, third. Nearing the eighth and final lap I was first. A sudden movement to my right caught my attention.
A blur of green and blue, and a sharp red pain to my right ankle. I had been spiked. I looked to see who had whizzed by me. Another kid from our grade had managed to bypass me during the last lap. I looked down at his feet as I wearily threw myself across the finish line, coming in 3rd. He was wearing neon blue spikes, and wore a confident smile on his face. Coach began ordering us and grouping us into different ability level groups. The first guy never returned a glance at me and I did not catch his name throughout the rest of practice.
During my climb up the middle school ladder, meets occurred occasionally, then monthly, then every two weeks, until when I reached eighth grade, they were a weekly occurrence that were just called “practices” with extra hype attached. My weekly appointments with the finish line were expected. I would always qualify for the next race, week after week. Yet, I was never satisfied. Each time I would see the black and white checkered line demarcation and flag, the crowds in the stand cheering with routine enthusiasm, and the kid with the blue spikes in front of me. I was never first.
Our grade was huge, around 300 people. I only knew about a sixth of my whole grade. Everyone knew a handful of people by name. The rest, you would just recognize walking by them in the hallways of school. Then there was the kid with blue spikes. I didn’t know him by name. Every time he passed me by on the track, I could always swear he was wearing a smirk on his face. He was one of those recurring nightmares that you could never remember waking up, but always dread encountering again. Coach was never a help. By some miracle, he was put in charge of running our team. Our team had around twenty people. Around half were actually good. Every practice, coach would only count the first couple, giving up hope on the rest as they slowly finished their 400 meters.
“Remember your times,” coach would always yell as we were ending our sets, “Fifty-nine seconds, one minute one second, one minute two seconds, one minute six seconds, one minute twelve seconds, and the rest of you can ask me after you’re done.” In the end, he would never tell the other times, claiming that he would always forget to keep track. I was always second, the kid was always first. I was losing control of my mind. The kid was faster than me, but every time he turned around after he crossed the finish line to look at the line ahead, at me, I could see a sneer manifest itself on his face and creep away as slowly as it came. I tried to find his intentions, using my secret ability once again. I hostilely glanced at him every time he celebrated under the nose of our coach. I couldn’t seem to get inside his mind. I usually could sense the clockwork gears churning and sparking in someone’s mind. I could find nothing, his mind was locked. I never made my disbelief apparent. Did he possess a counter ability? I never found out. His secretive smug look gave me the feeling that he knew what was happening.
       Trying to pry open my enemy’s mind, I began to notice physical setbacks from my mental toil. One day, I was second. The next I was third. Fourth, fifth, until I was barely above the cut for a bright future in high school track. I even tried to brainwash and convince myself that I was not trying hard enough. I felt like I was loosing connection with my own powers, beginning to feel paranoid about whether or not my abilities were really mine or was it fate’s master plan to steal my confidence away when I needed them the most. Fate, I thought to myself, it is uncontrollable for it controls us. Borderline sixth to seventh place in my track team sequence, I told myself that the abilities I had owned most of my life were genuinely mine. Yet it became a lost cause. If they were mine, and if I was a unique anomaly, then why did my powers not work on some people? A war between my sense of righteousness and sportsmanship was beginning. Moral and practical barriers were being broken. I was channeling every last ounce of strength to manipulate the minds of my own teammates who had managed to climb the ladder while I descended it. I was draining up the already dried up reservoir of my mind. A deep feeling that I knew I wasn’t supposed to have grew inside me I was going to cheat. I began putting in after hours, desperately clinging onto sanity, on the verge of surrendering to its dark, perpetual, and unceasing opposite unforgiving anarchy. The faded red of the track behind school became the flaming fires of untapped, uncontrollable rage that made me want to do one thing: win. I want to succeed, I would say to myself over and over again, not sure if running endlessly was helping me get better or launching me further into sheer madness.
       A week before the race. Daytime swallowed up by its counterpart pitch blackness. Sweat. Another sleepless night amid the blazing and burning lights that illuminate the track below. No one was in sight. The only sound was the fast pitter-patter of rubber against rubber. I had lost track of my distance. A feeling swept over me, I was being watched. I jerked my head around. For a brief moment, I thought I saw staring someone directly at me, perched on one of the stands on the opposite side of the field. A silhouette of someone. Neon blue caught my eye. I blinked. No one. Was it my mind? My very own conscience turning against me? My mind was torn apart. I had the ability that no one else had winning seemed so easy. Yet, it all fell out of my hands because of my rage. Finding myself halfway down the straightaway to the finish line and halfway in between the different battling sides of my mind, I started running. It became a stride, running at full force, nearing the finish line. Ten meters away. Five meters. Three meters. Then I sprung forward, rolling over the finish, tumbling into a ball and standing back up. It felt good to break the rules. I felt in control of something new. Not a power that I had, but a sense of rebellious freedom that from deep down inside I knew I had before. I felt satisfied. I felt confident. I felt a revival of my secret ability.
       The day of the race. Packed onto the starting line. Fog hung in the air, clinging onto anything and everything. In the distance, I saw a man with the starting gun. A deep breath.
“On your marks… ” the same giddy and jittery feeling. The gunshot ringing in my ears. A split second for my legs to catch up and start moving. The moments following were complete chaos, and then, out in the open. I found myself around tenth. I saw the kid with neon blue spikes ahead of me at first. A series of turns and twists. Shoving people left and right, making my way up the horde. Second place, the pitter patter, blue rubber against the red rubber of the track in front of me, my new found energy flowing through me like a violent torrent, mighty yet uncontrollable. The blue now was accompanied by checkered white and black, and we were blasting through the long straightaway. A force that seemed to come from out of nowhere swept me off my feet, making me sprint uncontrollably. I wanted revenge, and an instinct that seemed so foreign, yet wanted to me. I was still in my trance running faster than I ever had before. For the first time, I was eye to eye with the kid in the blue spikes. We were 200 meters from the finish. We locked eyes. A silent war turned into an ironically timed staring contest only, I didn’t really know who my opponent was. 150 meters away, my brain not only split in half morally, but also divided by the physical demand at hand. I tried using my power again. Neck to neck, running to the finish line. The wind was materializing into thick, sticky sheets layering onto our face. Blue and I came into the first two places. People kept on tumbling into us. It was chaos. I saw the tag collector as he accepted my tag second.

Then, I got an idea. I focused really hard to get the collector to switch our tags, mine first. Immediately, I was knocked down by the impatiently violent crowd surging behind me. I saw the collector stutter for a second, an incredulous and worried look creeping over his face, lift the tags, delicately switch them, then put them back, stacked, mine first. A deep breath of relief. A cold, dull medal was shoved into my face.

I walked over to the stands. Gingerly looking up at the leaderboards. First. Mixed feelings in my heart flooded me like the butterflies I had experienced at the starting line. I was euphoric yet confused. I looked back at the crowds, and saw one face in particular stare back at me in a haunting way. I looked back at the ground, at the dirty medal in my hand. I hurled it at the ground, with a satisfying and ear piercing cling.

Apocalypse

Day 1

Walking through the bustling streets, I slip into one of the side alleys in order to avoid the daily inspection checks and constant battles between the Chaotics and the Dynasties. The subtle creaking from behind indicates another presence as I slowly reveal a dagger from beneath my robe. I continue walking at the same pace as a second follows. From a muddy puddle ahead, I barely make out a hooded figure picking up his pace as he approaches. My hands turn white as I grip the dagger tighter. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and turns me around. I’m about to stab him when I realize he’s a she and she’s my girlfriend. I push her into a building so that no one sees us. Any kind of contact between two persons of opposite sex is prohibited because of the war going on and the opposing roles of each gender interfering with one another. I kiss her quickly and tell her to leave before someone notices but she doesn’t budge. I ask her again, this time more insistently but she just stares mindlessly at me.

“Techa, I’m leaving tomorrow. The Chaotics have decided to ship me to the Wastelands for Commencement Day.” She said. My eyes turn red, as my conflicting emotions make it hard to respond. She hugs me as she cries yet I still have no words. Speechless, I wrap my feet around hers and interlock her hands in mine like we used to. My heart rapidly beats as she walks away.

“Remember, Peace, September eighth,” I mutter and she nods with her head down.

Days 2 – 99

The days go by slowly as we push the Dynasties back to the Relic Grounds and Commencement Day nears. It’s ninety-two days after fighting on the front line, and Commander H finally transfers me to the Alpha Team where I’ll lead half of the army into direct hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. One day later, the President personally drafts a letter handpicking me to attend the Annual Chaties Meeting where the most powerful leaders from both sides meet to discuss treaties and official business. I gaze in awe for an awfully long time until I remember every word by heart like a child picking up a book for the first time.

Putting on the formal leather robe I was sent, I tuck my half heart necklace underneath the collar and hope that Peace still has hers, wherever she is now. Opening the door, I am welcomed by a man in a suit, representing his loyalty to the Dynasties. I greet him with a Chaotic three finger touch and he offers his hand for a Dynasty handshake. Remembering all the Dynasties I’ve killed in combat, I can’t come to look him in the eye and guiltily smile as he opens the door for me. During the ten-minute ride, I learn his name is John and that he has two children who are enlisted in the Dynasty army. We share in common the thought that war is not necessary to find a silver lining. When we arrive at the looming tower, I give him a handshake and he gives me a three finger touch. I sigh and open the door. The ten hour torture begins. My heart flutters when I see President Quill standing across the room with Dynasty President Madison. I greet the other military officers and sit at my assigned seat. The president comes over to greet me as I look at pictures of Peace and me. I bow and give him a three finger touch, embarrassed.  

“Mr. Techa Krii, I have some bad news. As of today, you will become the Vice President of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Chairman of the Board of Chaotics, the Primary Heir to the President of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Leader and Commander of the Army of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Director of the World Order of Hollows and Grounds, a Knight of the Chaotics’ Guard, and lastly, the Underworld Leader of Tchao. Your new daily salary will be $1 billion effective immediately and all your expenses will be paid for including personal necessities such as clothes”

“How is this bad news…?” I try holding my glee in.

“I never said it was bad news for you.”

“Thank you so much for this opportunity. I will not let you down, sir.”

He puts down my first check and pats me on the back. I just sit there, without saying anything, realizing this means I have complete control over everything, and can just coincidentally move some random person named Peace into a job position that coincidentally coincides with my schedule perfectly. The meeting drags on for three hours about topics not even remotely related to peace treaties, meaning that neither sides were ready for the war to end.

Outside, a group of fifty Chaotic Servicers escort me to a brand new Bugatti Limousine which is driven by a Sergeant and is surrounded by three military trucks. I am then taken back to my house where I tell servants what to pack and not to pack. Then, we relocate to a castle just five minutes from the President’s Isle. Happily, I lay down on the comfy bed and fall asleep.

I am awoken not more than 265 hours later to breaking news: the President has committed suicide. The sound of an eerie alarm goes off in the distance. Mounds of rioters are seen starting fires in the distance. Soldiers create a circle around me but I tell them, “I’m not a goddamn politician — I am a soldier just like all of you, and tell you that this is not part of your job description. Alpha Team, flank right. The rest, flank left and center. Go!” I grab my titanium plated suit, an MRAD sniper rifle, and an electronic pistol from inside the weapon locker.

Suddenly, there’s an explosion inside the house and I immediately seal the door to the room. Two more soldiers join me from an underground bunker hole and we wait until the enemy comes closer. I open the camera visuals from hologram, where we see two unidentified men getting ready to arm explosives to the door. Taking out a phaser, I point it at the door, aim, and fire. The round phases through the door and hits one target in the throat, blood pouring out. The second man is killed not long after he runs in the other direction. We cautiously open the door and sprint for the main entrance where Teams Foxtrot and Charlie rendezvous for a recap.

After less than an a hundred hours, all fires are extinguished and I take the oath to become President of the Kingdom of Chaotics. An emergency meeting is called in by both sides to decide where we’ll go from here, and I immediately sign a treaty with the Dynasties in order to stop the fighting and become a united kingdom again. At the President’s funeral, no one mourns nor does anyone speak any gentle words about him. The President dying is the best thing that could’ve happened at the moment due to the underlying circumstances because there would be an excuse for revolt against tyranny and for a new government to form.

Day 100

Putting on my old soldier’s helmet and sneaking out of the President’s Isle by means of an underground tunnel, I am invisible to the public as I march in line with other soldiers right through the gate labeled “Women’s Manufacturing Factory.” I take off my uniform and hand it to a soldier who immediately recognizes me and salutes me. He leads me to Warehouse E-3 where I spot a beautiful, fair skinned girl working tirelessly at sewing together worker’s clothes for higher ranking officials. I press the emergency stop button which stops all material from moving on the assembly line, but everyone keeps making the same motions even though there is no material to work with.

Running to her, I pick her up and tell her to stop. She looks at me with this confused look as I run my hand down her hair. All the soldiers purposely turn their heads the other way as I carry her out into the open. We catch up and I learn that I had stopped Commencement Day just in time because the higher ups were planning to create a woman’s task force and fight on the front line along with everyone else. Dirt ran down the drain as we take a shower together and it seems as though everything has worked out perfectly. Suddenly, I remember Day 79 — it was a Saturday. My heart sinks as I remember the ambush, and the look in my friends’ eyes as the van tipped and hundreds of Dynasty soldiers rushed us back into the forest where half of us were killed as a message to our President. I start to cry but she wraps her feet around mine and interlock my hands in hers, whispering, “It’s my turn to take care of you,” as I think of everything we’ve been through. Suddenly, I see something in the sky, and remember it’s September eighth — “I love you, Peace. I always will.” She looks at me, holds my hand and everything goes dark.

Fin

A New Understanding

Leto walked down the stairs, into the living room. She was about to turn on the TV, when she heard her brother yelled at her mom.

“Leto, come here and tell your brother to stop being so rude!” yelled her mom. Sighing, Leto put the remote down on the couch, and walked into the dining room.

“Haul, listen to mom, okay?” she said halfheartedly.

Haul rolled his eyes.

“Get in the car, both of you. We’re meeting your dad at the French restaurant today,” her mom said, gathering her stuff on the table and putting them in her purse.

Leto grabbed a bag and shoved her wallet, a light jacket and a book into her bag, along with her phone. Haul put on his sneakers without bothering to tie the laces, and ran down the stairs to the garage. Leto heard her mom mumble, “God, nine-year-olds!”

Leto slipped her sandals on and followed her brother. When she got into the car, Haul asked her, “Leto, why do you think mom and dad are taking us to a restaurant? We never go to restaurants except the pizza place near our house.”

“That’s not really true, Haul. Remember when we went to the Thai place in the city? And the Italian restaurant near your school?” she said, thinking back to when they went out.

“Yah, but that was for my birthday, because I wanted to eat Italian food. You won that basketball game when we went to the thai restaurant,” he replied. Leto frowned, thinking about what Haul had said. If they only eat at restaurants on special occasions, then why would they eat out today? She hadn’t done anything special since the last time they ate out, and neither had Haul. So why were they going to a restaurant?

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” said her mom, interrupting her train of thought. Her mom put her purse on the seat next to her, and started the car. While putting her seatbelt on, she added, “Leto, can you open the garage? I forgot to do it.”

Leto sighed, and got out of the car. Why was she always the one who had to do everything? Why didn’t her mom do it herself, or ask her brother sometimes? Leto pressed the button, and opened the garage. She got back into the car, next to her brother.

When they got to the restaurant, her dad was waiting. Her mom got out of the car, looking nervous.

“Hey, Haul. What happened today?” asked her dad.

“Well, I got an A on my math test, and I played with Victor after lunch, and then I had to do homework,” Haul rambled excitedly.

“You have homework? Already?” his dad said, looking surprised.

“Dad, I’ve had homework for like three years now,” Haul said, looking a bit annoyed.

“What about you, Leto?” her dad asked while checking his phone.

Leto began, “Well, um… I walked to school with — ”

“She yelled at me today,” interrupted Haul.

Leto rolled her eyes. “I didn’t yell at you, I just asked you nicely if you could please listen to — ”

“Leto, don’t be mean to your brother,” interrupted her father. Leto rolled her eyes again, annoyed. Why did people keep interrupting her?

“Leto, don’t have an attitude. Stop being such a ‘teenager.’ You’re only thirteen,” her dad said sternly. As a waiter came and showed them to their seats, Haul stuck his tongue out at her. Leto wanted to do the same thing back to him, but didn’t, knowing that she would get into trouble.

After sitting down comfortably in their seats and ordering the food, Leto and Haul’s father cleared his throat. “So Haul, Leto, um… your mother is pregnant,” he began.

“Yay!” screamed Haul.

“Shut up,” Leto whispered to her brother, smiling.

“But, um, the baby is, uh…” said her father awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Is it a girl? Is it a boy?” asked Haul, not listening to anything his dad said afterwards.

Leto smiled. She loved little kids, because they were so cute and innocent. Even though she knew she would have to take care of her annoying brother more, having a little sister would be worth it. She would be able to dress her up, and give her all of her old clothes. Even if it was a boy, she would have lots of fun playing with him. Even though she was still hoping the baby was a girl….

“Guys,” said her mother, “what your father is trying to say is that the baby has Down syndrome. And even though this is going to be hard, we have decided to keep the baby.”

Everyone fell silent. Then Haul asked, “What’s that?”

“What’s what, honey,” said his mom softly.

“What Down sym-syndr-drum?” Haul asked innocently.

“Abraham?” she said quietly, asking her husband to answer.

He cleared his throat, and said, “Um, well, Haul, Down syndrome is a disability that makes people have mental and sometimes physical problems. Some people always need to be watched, while others can go to school, and live a normal life. It depends on how bad the baby’s condition is. We don’t really know that yet, but we’ll see. If we give this baby the correct treatment when its young, he or she can live normally when they grow up.”

Haul looked stunned. Leto felt like she was having a nightmare, and she would wake up, and it would all disappear.

The waitress brought the food out, but they all sat in silence. Then Haul sloppily served himself some food, and began chewing loudly.

“Haul, close your mouth! You are so embarrassing,” Leto whispered, annoyed. This was all too much. What had she done to deserve this? All she did was help, and now this? Not that she didn’t still want a baby brother or sister. In fact, if it had been anyone else’s family, she would have thought that the parents were so brave to keep the baby. But why did this baby have to get Down syndrome?

“So dad, how did the baby get the Down symdrum thing?” asked Haul, before shoving another huge bite of food into his mouth.

“Well, when women get pregnant around the age of forty-five, the chances of the baby having down syndrome is pretty high,” responded his father slowly.

“Okay, well, I’m still getting a little brother, right?” said Haul.

“It could be a girl,” his mom said.

“I’m going to get a little sister or brother! Who cares if it has a disability? I get sick sometimes, too. It’ll get better if we take the baby to a doctor. So why is everyone so gloomy?” said Haul nonchalantly.

Leto wanted to scream, cry, and smile at the same time. Haul was right, of course. But he didn’t understand what Down syndrome really was. And he wouldn’t be the one who would have to do more chores. Leto knew her parents would ask her to watch Haul more often. They would reduce her ‘privileges,’ which most people called liberties. Leto didn’t know what to think. She was tired.

When the family finished eating, and went home, Leto immediately flew to her room, bag in hand. Once her door was closed, she took out her phone, and texted Nasryn, her best friend.

Leto: My life sucks.

Nasryn responded after a few seconds.

Nasryn: what happened?

Leto sighed, and answered.

Leto: My mom is pregnant.

Nasryn: that’s great! Why are u sad?

Leto: the baby has down syndrome

Nasryn: omg

Leto: I don’t know what to do!

Nasryn: just keep calm, Leto

Leto: I am freaking out! How does my mom think that she can handle a baby with down syndrome, when she can’t even handle Haul??

Nasryn: Leto, talk to to your mom!

Leto: what would I say? Tell her all my selfish reasons why I am freaking out about this baby?

Nasryn: u seriously need to calm down

Leto: but how am I going to do ANYTHING after the baby is born? Even now, my parents r like “Leto, put your brother to bed” “Leto, do the laundry” “Leto, go buy groceries at the shop”

Nasryn: THAT is why u need to talk to your mom! Tell her u can’t do it! Stand up to her!

Leto: my mom isn’t the problem. Usually, I help her because I want to. But when I don’t help her, Haul or my mom tells my dad. Then he’s just like, “Stop the attitude, bla bla bla”

Nasryn: then go and talk to your whole family

Leto: I can’t do that! Besides, this is supposed to be about the baby, not me

Nasryn: Leto, you have to talk to your parents. Is there any other reason why u are feeling anxious about the baby?

Leto: not really. I mean, I do want a baby brother or sister. But is the baby going to be okay?

Nasryn: you and I both know that your family is going to take great care of the baby.

Leto: I hope so.

Nasryn: Now go talk to your parents.

Suddenly, her father entered her room. Either he hadn’t knocked, or Leto had been too focused on her conversation with Nasryn to hear him.

“Texting again?” he said disapprovingly, as Leto turned off her phone. Leto knew that Nasryn was right. She had to talk to her parents about this. Leto went down stairs to the living room, where Haul was sitting and drawing.

“Nice drawing, Haul,” Leto said, surprised.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Haul, can you call Mom and Dad, please?” she asked.

“Mom! Dad! Come here!” he called out, not looking up from the picture he was drawing. Her parents came to the living room, and sat down on the sofa. Leto sat next to Haul on the other sofa.

“We need to talk,” Leto said, gathering all of her courage.

“About what?” her mother asked.

Leto gulped, then began, “Well, um, I know that you’re very busy already, with Haul and — ”

“Oh yah, Haul, how was soccer practice?” her dad said, interrupting her.

“It was pretty good, except that Alex got hurt, because Jarek pushed him,” Haul said.

Leto sighed why did people always interrupt her? She cleared her throat then said, “ANYWAY, um, so I know that I should be responsible, and I like helping you guys out, but sometimes, it’s too much and — ” This time, and alarm went off, interrupting her. Leto groaned, annoyed.

“Oh, those are the chocolate croissants that I was making for tomorrow! Leto, can you go and take them out of the oven?” her mother said. Leto wanted to scream that she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t let the croissants burn.

When she went back to the living room, she started talking. She needed to let it all out without anyone or anything interrupting her. “I know that I’m the older sister, and that I should help you, Mom, and I like helping you. It’s just that I know that when the baby comes, you’ll be busy with the baby, and Dad will be at work, and you NEVER give Haul chores, and even if you do,” Leto paused to take a breath, “you only give him the easy stuff, like clean up your room or put your plate in the sink. And you don’t care if he doesn’t do it or if he says he can’t because he needs to go out and play. And usually I don’t mind helping you, Mom, but sometimes it’s too much. And — ”

“Leto, stop making the baby an excuse to not do some chores. Haul is younger than you, so he doesn’t have to do as much. He’s just a young kid, so stop comparing yourself to him. And don’t use your siblings as an excuse for having an attitude,” her dad said.

“Dad!” Haul and Leto said at the same time.

They looked at each other, surprised. Haul motioned for Leto to go first.

“Dad, every time I try to say that I can’t do this, that I want to go and play and not have to grow up too quickly, that I don’t really want to be doing housework all the time, you stop me. I need to live my life! You always say ‘stop being rude’ or ‘don’t have an attitude’ or ‘stop being such a teenager.’ You never actually listen to what I’m trying to say!” Leto said.

“And Dad, I’m not a ‘young kid’, ok? I’m nine. In two months, I’m turning ten. I can do chores, you just never tell me how! You treat me like a baby. I want to learn. I’m not going to be the baby anymore, but I’m not going to be the oldest either. Let me help Leto,” Haul said, emotionally.

“Haul, I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still my baby boy. It’s great that you want to help your sister. Clean your room, okay?” their dad answered.

“Dad, I already do that. You think I’m a baby. Look at the stupid art on the fridge. I drew that when I was five!” Haul said, clenching his fists.

“But honey, it’s so good!” his mother answered.

“No Mom. The people are stick figures, and the cat in blue! Look at what I can do now!” Haul said, showing them his drawing.

It was a beautiful drawing of a lake at sunset. The sky was pink, yellow, orange and purple. The lake had a reflection of the sky, but the image was rippled, because of the swans that were swimming in the lake.

“It’s beautiful!” gasped his mother. Haul smiled.                                                                            

“Please stop treating me like a baby, okay? Let me help Leto!” Haul said.

“And I’m not an adult yet. I don’t mind helping out, but stop making me do everything,” Leto said.

Leto’s heart was pounding. What would her parents say? Would they actually understand what she was trying to say, or would they think that she was being insolent? Would she get into trouble? Would she get Haul into trouble? What if they thought that she didn’t want the baby?

Leto cleared the depressing thoughts from her head. What happened now was completely up to her parents. She couldn’t do anything, so there was no point worrying about it. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Leto, stop — ” began her father. Leto took a deep breath.

“Abraham, stop it,” her mother interrupted suddenly. She had been silent most of the time, not really expressing her opinion. “Leto, I’m sorry we made you do so much. I never meant for you to have to be the adult already. From now on, you and Haul can decide how to split your chores. I promise I will listen to what you’re trying to say, although I can’t speak for your father. If you want to go play or something, just tell me,” her mother said.

Her father responded, “But Candace, she’s just trying to — ”

“Listen to yourself!” her mother said, interrupting him again. “Our daughter is trying to tell us that we’re not giving her a childhood, and you just choose to ignore her!” For a moment, the family sat in silence, and Abraham scratched his chin.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Leto, I’m sorry. I just thought that you were being a teenager. You’re my oldest child, and I’ve never had a teenage kid before, so I don’t really know what to do. But that shouldn’t mean that you have to be an adult. So, I’m sorry. And Haul, I guess I don’t want you to grow up so fast. I mean, it seems like just yesterday that you learned to talk! But I know that you’re not a baby anymore, and I need to let you learn and grow. “

Haul and Leto smiled at their dad, and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Then Leto looked at her mom, and said, “Thanks, Mom!”

 

EPILOGUE

One and a half months later…

“Leto, come here!” cried Nasryn. Leto walked over to where her best friend was standing, holding a sleeveless light pink fluttery dress with a dark pink ribbon.
“This is so pretty! Your little sister would look fabulous in this!” Nasryn said, as she put it into the shopping bag.

“Nasryn, she isn’t even born yet, you don’t know what she looks like. Besides, she’s going to have to wear onesies for the first few months at least,” said Leto with a smile.

Nasryn replied, “She can wear the dress when she’s allowed to.”

“Fine,” nodded Leto.

“Now come on, don’t you want to get matching t-shirts?” said Nasryn as she navigated her way through the crowd. They were at their favorite clothes shop at the nearby mall.

Leto followed her best friend. She felt light, a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Leto knew her new sister had down syndrome, but she also knew that it didn’t matter. The whole family would take care of her, and they would all love her.

Nasryn held up a wine-colored t-shirt with vines, which read “Forever Free.” “Want to get this one?” she asked. Leto nodded. Suddenly, her phone rang.

“Hello?” she said, answering it.

“Leto? Um… How do you wash dishes?” she heard Haul’s voice ask.

“Well, you rinse the dishes, and put some soap on if it’s really dirty… then you put it in the dishwasher,” Leto replied, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, okay. Come home soon, ‘cause I don’t want to do this alone. But don’t tell Mom I said that,” Haul whispered.

Leto smiled, “Okay, Haul. See you soon!”

Cream Puffs

        

“Okay everyone, get in the limousine!” Summer Jennings told her friends, quickly ushering everyone into the sleek black car.

Willow Darbee climbed in the limousine and looked in awe at her amazing surroundings. There were four separate snack bars, lounge cushions, massage chairs, fuzzy rugs, throw pillows, reclining chairs, and three TV screens. Summer had invited twelve of her friends to see a movie with her for her thirteenth-and-a-half birthday. Her real birthday was in August, so she was celebrating now in late February. Of course, they would all be travelling to the movie by limousine, Summer’s preferred form of transportation. Willow and Summer were in no way close friends, but they had a lot of mutual friends and didn’t hate each other, so Summer had invited her. As they all sat around, talking and eating, Summer started to describe the movie to her friends, saying that it was called Cream Puffs, and was about things mysteriously disappearing. Willow thought this sounded like a pretty good movie, so when they arrived at the theater she was pretty excited to watch it.

“Lucinda? Why are on earth are you getting popcorn? It’s awful for your teeth. You’re going to end up looking like an old toothless hag if you eat popcorn,” said Summer rudely as they were heading to the theater.

Lucinda rolled her eyes and walked away from Summer to talk her best friend, Molly, offering absolutely massive bags of popcorn to everyone at the party except for Summer. Lucinda and Summer had always hated each other ever since kindergarten, when they were dressing up and role playing. Summer was the queen, so she made all the decisions for who played what role. She told Lucinda she couldn’t be a princess or anyone in the royal family, but she could be a rock if she really wanted to. Lucinda was extremely aggravated by this, and she drew with markers all over Summer and Summer’s cubby. Then, when the teachers came Lucinda pretended Summer did it. That was the beginning of their enmity.

Over the years, Lucinda and Summer’s hatred for each other had grown immensely, but they had always had to invite each other to their birthday parties because their parents were friends, and they had a lot of the same friends. Pretty much everyone knew at this point that the two of them hated each other, and Lucinda and Summer were just fine with that.

Lucinda and Willow were pretty good friends, but Lucinda could be extremely rude sometimes, so they didn’t spend a whole lot of time together. Willow’s best friend was Eliza Kenter, but she attended the school Willow used to go to, Lepper Prep. Willow and all the girls at the party attended Orlan Academy, an all-girls school in Hartford, Connecticut. The girls settled themselves in their seats just as the previews were beginning, Lucinda and Summer still fuming at each other. Willow was seated between Lauren Ender, a sweet girl who was constantly losing all of her belongings, and Lindsay Pinser. Lindsay was fairly nice, but she tended to be very judgmental. One time, when Willow had sneezed, most people had said “Bless you!”, but Lindsay had stared at her and said “Okayyy….” as though she had just done something incredibly weird and unusual.

The first preview in the theater was for a documentary called Everyone Dies, in which everyone died. Willow had distinctly heard Lindsay say, “Okayyy….” when this trailer was playing. The next one was for an action movie called “Let’s Go!” where there was a lot of action. The next few were for comedies, thrillers, or coming-of-age movies. Finally, Cream Puffs began. The first scene took place at a school where all the girls were running around, skipping, laughing and getting along. Very unlike Orlan Academy, Willow thought to herself. But then, in the second scene, things started mysteriously disappearing, and everyone started getting mad at each other. That seemed more like Orlan Academy. There was someone at the school who was stealing everyone’s stuff, and whenever they took something they left a Cream Puff in its place. Willow thought this seemed pretty ridiculous, but it actually worked in the movie. All of the characters were so excited when they saw the cream puff that they ate it, and it took a while for people to realize things were missing. When they finally did, everyone started turning against each other, and falsely accusing girls of stealing their belongings. Then, all the girls were invited to a fancy party where jewels were stolen, and the thief was discovered.

It was at this time that most of the girls in the theater had started spacing out, dozing, or texting. The dialogue was so dull and the plot so strange that it was very hard to pay attention. Willow was playing chopsticks with Lauren, Lucinda and Molly were texting, and Lindsay was taking selfies. (Which was very strange, because you couldn’t even see her face in the dark, slightly creepy movie theater.)

Only Summer was still watching the movie. Poor Summer had thought that maybe this party would be a chance to redeem herself. The rock incident, the comment about Lucinda’s future life as a hag, and many other instances had made many of Summer’s “friends” think she was mean and annoying. And she definitely could be at times, but she thought maybe this would be a chance for her to start over. Now, though, no one was paying attention to Summer on her half birthday, or the movie she had chosen. Willow noticed that Summer seemed a bit upset, so after they had left and were driving back to their various houses she sat with Summer in the limousine.

“Hi Summer!” Willow said cheerfully as she sat down next to her. “Thanks so much for inviting me to your birthday party! It was so fun!”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” said Summer. “It was actually my half birthday, though. And I bet it would have been much more fun if not for that awful Lucinda.” Summer whispered this last part under her breath. “She’s just horrible! And I can’t believe she ate popcorn! I mean, how stupid can a person be? Lucinda never fails to amaze me,” said Summer. Whenever she discussed Lucinda she looked as though she had a very unpleasant smell under her nose. Summer made rude but occasionally accurate comments about Lucinda throughout the rest of the limousine ride, Willow nodding her head every once in awhile.

***

The next day at school, strange things started happening. The first odd occurrence was Lucinda’s shriek. Lucinda could be quite the drama queen sometimes, but she almost never screamed quite this loudly.

“Lucinda, what’s wrong?”

“Lucinda, can I help you?”

“Lucinda, is everything okay?”

All the girls rushed to her side to see what Lucinda was yelling about. She was standing in front of her locker with a look of horror and confusion on her face. Willow was surprised at Lucinda’s look of confusion, for she usually acted as though she knew everything and made it seem like she always understood what to do. Lucinda almost never looked confused though.

“Well,” said Lucinda, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself, “I got an olive green and white striped leather jacket last weekend, and I wore it to school today. I got a ton of compliments, by the way. Well, I was going to get it out just now, but it’s gone! All that’s there is a teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry.’ And that jacket was really expensive!”

All the girls gasped, shocked that anyone would steal something. Willow’s head was spinning. This seemed an awful lot like the movie: something goes missing and another thing is left in its place. But why would anyone do something like that, and who? It must have been someone who saw the movie, Willow thought to herself. They must have gotten the idea when they saw it. Who, though? Could it be Lucinda herself, and she was just trying to get attention or somehow blame it on Summer? No, somehow Willow didn’t think it was her; she seemed so truly upset. What about Summer? Summer had hated Lucinda since the day they met, and maybe she was trying to get revenge. It honestly didn’t seem like Summer though. What would she even do with the jacket? If she wore it, everyone would know she was the thief, so it probably wasn’t her. Willow pondered who it could be as she walked into the bathroom. She was distracted from thinking about it as she heard someone sobbing in one of the stalls! Willow was taken aback by this, and wasn’t sure whether to ask, “Are you okay?” or to pretend she couldn’t hear. She decided it was probably best to ask if they were okay. She did, and through their crying Willow managed to hear, “Yeah I’m fine, thanks for asking. Don’t worry, and please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Willow awkwardly. She decided to leave and just let the girl be. That was the end of the second strange occurrence. Willow thought the voice sounded incredibly familiar, but didn’t quite know who it was. They sounded so sad, and almost nervous, that it was hard to tell who they were. In a way they almost sounded as if they were trying to change their voice. Could they be crying because something of theirs that was very precious to them had been stolen? And could they have been trying to change their voice so Willow wouldn’t know it was them? Did they even know Willow, or that she was the one speaking? She assumed they knew her, since their voice sounded so familiar.

As Willow walked back to her classroom to get her books for her next class, she realized how badly she needed to use the bathroom. She walked up to the science classroom, put her books down in a seat, and ran to the bathroom as fast as she could. Her teacher, Mrs. Undergen, was very strict and enjoyed handing out unfair punishments if a student was late to class. Willow ran back to the science classroom after, but unfortunately Mrs. Undergen was already waiting there, shaking her head.

“Willow, I must admit I am extremely disappointed in you. You are usually such a good student, and now? You are fifty-one seconds late to class? Really? Since this is your first time being tardy, you will only have to do two extra pieces of homework.”

“I’m so sorry, thank you so much for your generosity,” said Willow, trying to sound as sincere as possible. She sat down in her seat next to Lauren and throughout the class quietly complained to her about how much she hated Mrs. Undergen, and told her about the missing jacket. Lauren seemed shocked at this and said, “But who would ever want to do that? Obviously they’d be caught, and everyone knows how strict the punishments are. Also, they’d have Lucinda as an enemy for life.”

“That’s true,” Willow whispered back, “I really don’t understand it.” Unfortunately, Willow said this last phrase rather loudly, and the whole class heard.

“You know what else you don’t understand?!” Mrs. Undergen asked, clearly extremely annoyed. “Proper etiquette. You arrive late to class, now you’re talking while I’m talking? I’m quite disappointed in you. Three extra homework assignments for tonight.”

Willow sighed. This was going to be a fun evening.

***

That afternoon, Willow went to swim practice where she got to see her friend Eliza. Willow had recently joined the swim team, which was great because she had gotten to see Eliza a lot more.

“Eliza, the craziest thing happened today at school! You know that girl Lucinda? I think I’ve told you about her. Well, today, her special leather jacket went missing, and a teddy bear holding a heart that said ‘I’m sorry’ was left in its place!”

Eliza gasped. “That’s so weird! Who do you think stole it?”

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to figure it out,” said Willow. “And the weirdest thing is that when I went to Summer’s birthday party, we saw a movie where things were being stolen, and cream puffs were left in their place!”

“It must have been someone at the party,” Eliza said decisively. “They definitely got the idea from seeing the movie.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. But, someone might have told the thief about the movie, and then they got the idea. That makes the whole thing even more complicated,” Willow said with a sigh.

Willow thought about who the thief could be throughout the whole night: before, during, and after finishing her three difficult science homework assignments, plus all the other homework.

“Yay Mrs. Undergen,” Willow grumbled when she had finished all her homework, fairly late at night.

The next day at school, something else went missing. Molly, who was usually always happy and smiling, looked very upset, so naturally everyone rushed over to her to interrogate her about what had happened. Most people assumed the mysterious teddy bear thief had struck again, and they were correct.

“My phone case was stolen!” exclaimed Molly, after everyone had asked her what had gone missing. “I keep my phone in my backpack, in my desk, and my phone is still there but the phone case is gone, and now there’s a tiny teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry’ that definitely wasn’t there before. And I got the case only a few weeks ago!”

Everyone within ten feet of Molly gasped and asked questions. Now that there had been a second theft, Willow was even more determined to discover the thief, but she didn’t want to be too obvious about her investigations. She decided to simply ask questions and do her best to notice things around her and make observations about the thefts. Willow had always been a very cautious person ever since was five years old, when she was sitting on the roof of her family’s boathouse in the country with Eliza. It seemed very safe because they were sitting just right outside the window, and their parents had approved it saying that they could stay there for a bit as long as they didn’t go any farther. Willow and Eliza were making friendship bracelets, and one of Eliza’s beads rolled down the roof, toward the very edge.

“I’ll get it for you!” Willow had said cheerfully, climbing to the bottom of the roof.

“No! Willow, we’re supposed to stay up here!” little Eliza had said, furrowing her eyebrows worriedly.

“Oh, don’t worry!” said Willow. “I’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She reached for the bead, and fell off the roof. Eliza screamed and was so scared she crawled to the bottom of the roof to see if Willow was okay. Then Eliza fell off too. Willow was so upset, and felt that she was the one who had hurt her friend. They both had to get ten stitches on their arms, and ever since then Willow has been much more cautious, and has taken an annoyingly long time to make any decision.

Willow’s next class was English, so she gathered her books and left for class, still wondering who had stolen the items. She was a bit inclined to think it was Summer, since she hated Lucinda, and Lucinda’s best friend was Molly, but she thought Summer was too smart to do something like that, since she would have realized that Lucinda and Molly would probably think it was her.

During English class, Willow sat with Lindsay, and it occurred to her that maybe it was Lindsay. She did have an obsession with phones, so it made sense that she would want it to look as nice as possible. Also, whenever anyone else got something new, Lindsay always wore an expression of deep disgust and jealousy on her face, especially since, as she had mentioned many times before, Lindsay’s parents were very strict and didn’t believe in buying her what they called “non essential products.”  

“Lindsay,” Willow whispered as quietly as she possibly could. (She didn’t want another Mrs. Undergen incident.) “What’s your favorite color?” Lindsay looked at Willow oddly. “What?”

“I said,” Willow told her exasperatedly, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Um, I don’t know,” said Lindsay. “I guess maybe blue.”

“Me too!” said Willow. “Do you like, for instance, olive green?”
Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s nasty. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, just doing a survey,” said Willow. The real reason was because she wanted to discover if Lindsay liked the olive green color on Lucinda’s stolen jacket. If she didn’t, though, why would she have stolen it? Could she have known why Willow was asking all along, and had lied on purpose? And could Lindsay have been the girl crying in the bathroom?

Willow pondered all these things in her next class, art, but she was distracted by a moment by the adorable bear Lauren was painting, and the beautiful puffin a girl named Katherine Linner was painting. Willow looked sadly at the demented looking goat she had just finished added a pink stripe of watercolor paint to. She had never been a great artist.

***

The next day at school, there was a third crime. Katherine’s beautiful painting of a puffin had gone missing! When everyone asked her about what had happened, Katherine said, “Well, I put it in my desk yesterday all wrapped up in the brown paper, but I forgot to take it home because I slipped on some newspaper and got distracted, and then I had to clean up the newspaper, and then I went to the bathroom where I heard…” Willow had stopped listening to the story, Katherine had a tendency to talk on and on and on about anything she could think of, and Willow just wanted to her to get the point. Fortunately, three minutes later, she did.

“… and now my artwork is gone, with a — ”

“Teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry,’” everyone finished for her. They all knew by now the thief’s habits.

In her next class, Math, which was conveniently also in her homeroom, Willow sat next to Lauren and said to her, “Three things have gone missing in three days! This is really getting out of hand.”

Lauren nodded her head. “I totally agree. A few people told the teachers, but they said the items had probably just been misplaced for some reason. Even though they said it was against the rules to go into someone’s desk, they said that the teddy bear was a sweet gesture, but I don’t know how they explained the ‘I’m sorry’ part.”

Lauren went back to her math worksheet and seemed very intent in adding up the numbers. Lauren’s family wasn’t able to pay their rent, and she had been trying to figure out exactly how much money she had and what houses they could afford, so she was now very concerned with becoming amazing at math.

After what seemed like a never-ending math class, Willow was about to rush to the water fountain (her infuriating teacher Mr. Quininin hadn’t let her get water) when she slipped on some newspaper. That’s funny, Willow thought to herself. Katherine had mentioned she slipped on some newspaper too.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Willow knew exactly who had been stealing.

***

Ten minutes later, during her break period, after writing and rewriting drafts of what she was going to say, Willow was ready to accuse the thief. She marched straight up to her and said, “Lauren, I know it was you. You were at the movie, so you got the idea from it, but changed it slightly. You were the girl crying in the bathroom two days ago, because you were upset about your family not being able to pay the rent, and you felt awful about stealing the jacket. You did it so you could sell it and your family would have more money. Then in science class, you acted like you didn’t know about the jacket having gone missing, but I remember now that you were there when Lucinda told everyone. Then, yesterday, you were the one who stole Molly’s phone case so you could sell it. And you kept on leaving the teddy bears because you love bears, which I figured out yesterday during art class. I’m assuming you were planning to sell your painting, but you also wanted to sell Katherine’s. Katherine mentioned she slipped on the newspaper. Your desk is right in between mine and Katherine’s and your newspaper from yesterday must have fallen off your desk onto the floor. I slipped on another one of your newspapers little while ago, and noticed it had a bunch of ads for apartments in it. You were looking for a new house for your family.”

Lauren was crying. “I feel awful. I just wanted my family to have more money. When I first heard we were going to move out, I tried to get a job but everyone said I was too young and irresponsible. Next, I went to my grandmother and grandfather’s house, and was going to tell them we were going to have to move out. They don’t speak to my parents since they hate my dad. They don’t think he’s wealthy enough. My dad’s parents are dead, so I thought maybe we could move in with them. It turns out, they had been moved to a nursing home and hadn’t told my mother. I thought stealing was our only hope. I promise I’m going to give everyone back their stuff, and own up to it, right now. I haven’t sold it yet, and I haven’t damaged it, or anything.”

Willow gave her a big hug. “It’ll all be okay Lauren, don’t worry. You were just trying to help your family.”

Lauren sniffled. She walked into the principal’s office and bravely told her everything that had happened. The principal was very nice, and understood that Lauren had good intentions. Her punishment was only to own up to and return everything to Lucinda, Molly, and Katherine, and the principal was going to send an email to her parents. If Lauren did this again, she would be suspended.

Willow went home that night relieved that almost everything was going to work out. She told her mom, dad, and younger sister Penelope everything that had happened.

“What should we do to help Lauren’s family?” Willow asked them.

“I really don’t know,” her mom said. “Maybe we should just let them figure this out on their own. I know Lauren’s parents, and they like to be very independent in what they do.”

Willow’s dad nodded his head in agreement, and so did Penelope even though she had no idea what they were talking about.

“I guess so,” said Willow. She still wished there was a way to help.

***

The next day at school, Lauren returned everything and apologized again and again. Lucinda, Molly and Katherine were all very understanding, and everything went back to normal. Lauren, who was so pleased she wasn’t in bigger trouble couldn’t help smiling all the time. It turned out, there was another reason she was so happy.

“Willow, guess what?! I sold my painting for $300! And my mom got promoted at her job, so we have enough money to pay our rent!” Lauren told Willow, clearly overjoyed.

“Lauren that’s amazing!!” exclaimed Willow.

“I know, I’m so happy!” squealed Lauren. “I’m just wondering, but how did you figure out it was me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Willow breezily. “I guess I’m just that cool.”

Magic Essay

Why do people like magic so much? Magic has been around for many many years, and people always seem to enjoy it. Over the years, magic has changed a lot. However, two things that have remained a constant attraction of magic are its accessibility, and the feeling of wonder and confusion after a magic trick is performed. People like things they can’t explain. This is even more apparent now when we are, as a society, fed answers to questions we may not even care about. However, when a trick is known, it becomes boring and overused. This is why magic has never been about explaining, and why a magician doesn’t explain the trick after it has been completed. Another reason magic is so popular is because of the entertainment value. For many years, magic has been a source of laughter and joy for anyone, regardless of wealth and social status. Especially now with the addition of the internet, magic is both accessible and fun.

People’s fascination with magic stretches from a street performance to a formal stage, and from present day all the way back to ancient Egypt. There is one thing in common between all of these times and places: magic has been performed. That is an achievement of what is thought to be impossible. There are many different approaches to achieve, or provide the illusion of what is thought to be impossible. Some of these techniques include card tricks, reading minds, and escape tricks. It is this idea of achieving the impossible that contributes to the wonder of magic and why people enjoy it so much.

A magic trick is very similar to a movie. It is a story that works its way to the climax, or the most intense portion of the story. Most people would agree that movies or books are fun when the ending is not known. However, many people would also agree that a movie and story is much less fascinating when the end is known. Imagine a horror movie. After watching it once or twice, the entire entertainment value is gone because the scares, surprises and major turns in the story are predictable. A magic trick works in the same way. When a viewer has seen the trick before and knows exactly how it is done, it becomes a lot less fun. I believe that a magician would not get the same thing out of a magic show as the average viewer. This is because a magician would not receive the same sense of wonder that is so crucial to the enjoyment of magic.

Another reason magic and magic shows are so popular is how accessible they are to the public. Magic is everywhere. People perform magic for huge crowds and just their family. Both rich and poor are welcome to the world of magic. Another way magic is so accessible is the entertainment industry and the internet. Magic is seen in many very popular movies and TV shows, the biggest and most obvious being the Harry Potter series. Editing has allowed this movie series to push the boundaries of the human imagination even further, and while the magic in this movie series is much less “real”, it still leaves viewers with the same sense of wonder. This may be a large factor in what allowed the series of both books and movies to be so popular to so many people. Other movies like Now You See Me provide a more realistic approach to magic and show characters doing magic tricks that could happen in a real magic show. Many other realistic shows of magic are found on TV or on stage. The popular magician David Blaine has his own TV show. This allows audiences to see him perform magic on the street. Some big names on stage, especially recently, are Penn and Teller. These are two very popular magicians that do shows for audiences to see. The final reason magic is so popular is how accessible it is on the internet across many social media platforms such as Youtube. Here, magicians provide the entertainment and Youtube provides the audience creating a perfect match. This results in many talented magicians uploading videos that anyone can watch for free.

Magic is always evolving and changing to entertain viewers. Tricks and routines need to change, otherwise they get boring. However, it seems important to recognize what in magic appealed to viewers. There seems to be two reasons. The first is the rare feeling of both wonder and confusion in a completely information-based society. This is special because right now people feel a need to know what is going on, but in magic confusion is respected. Another important aspect of magic is the accessibility that allows anybody to watch it almost anytime. It allows all people the opportunity to see the same show. To me, this is what makes magic special and what does and always will draw a crowd.

Lockdown

I grab my backpack, put on my shoes, and walk out the door of my apartment. It’s Friday, the day before the stress-free weekend. As I walk down the hallway, I hear the words, “Hello, Aaron.” I spin around and see my neighbor, Mr. Vasquez, leaning against one of the walls in the hallway, a sly smile spread across his face.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Vasquez.” Mr. Vasquez lives in the apartment next to us. He always seems a little odd, like he is always distracted by something in his head when I’m talking to him. He lives alone and doesn’t come out much. He never orders food to his door, and always wears black when he goes outside, even in the blazing hot summer days. To make some conversation, I ask, “Where are you going?”

He hesitates, and then says, “I have to run a few errands.”

“Oh. Okay, sounds like a fun Friday!” He laughs slowly. I’m late for my bus, so I wave goodbye and then walk out.

At school, I put my bag in my locker. I walk to homeroom and read. The bell rings, and I go to math. After math, I go to science. After science, I go to writing. A typical day. Boring, really. And to top it off, there is always mind-numbing homework to be done at home.

The bell rings for lunch. I go to the cafeteria and sit down with my friends.

“Hey Aaron,” Sammi says. Sammi and I have been friends since first grade. We could always count on each other.

“Hey,” I say as I slide into my seat. “Did you finish the social studies project for last period?”

“Yep. I even added a kite to Benjamin Franklin’s model. This diorama deserves to get an A.”

I grin. “I bet. Thanks for doing that, Sammi.” That’s when I feel a vibration in my back pocket. I take out my phone and turn it on. I get a text from an unknown caller.

“Hi.”

I figure it must be a friend from school who I don’t have the number of, so I say:

“Hi. Who are you?”

I wait. No reply. I feel a bit uneasy, but the person probably got caught up in something. I put my phone into my pocket again and open up my bag. I take out my sandwich and take a bite.

I go back to my locker after lunch to get my stuff for social studies when I feel the vibrating again. I close my locker door and take out my phone. There is another text.

“I am coming to kill you and your little friends. Your school is Aberdale Middle, right?”

I freeze. I don’t think this is another classmate anymore. I start running towards social studies, but halfway there, I am interrupted by another text.

“I’m here!”

My palms start sweating. I run faster. It could be a hoax, but just in case, I want to show it to Sammi. I enter the social studies room. Kids are in groups of two, putting the last few touches on their projects. I run over to Sammi.

“Hey, Aaron. Do you like the kite? Do you think there’s anything-”

“Sammi,” I say. I am shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Panting from running, I take out my phone and show her the texts. She stares at it for a few seconds.

“Um… Aaron, I think this guy is just trying to trick you. Maybe it’s just a kid from school.” I nodded.

All of a sudden, the intercom sounds. The principal, in an urgent tone, practically yells,

“Lockdown. Teachers, this is not a drill. Lockdown.” Everybody goes over towards the closets, which are unable to be seen by the door. Our teacher, Ms. Wilson, covers the window on the door with a piece of paper and locks it. She tries to look calm, but I can tell she is scared. There is a panicked vibe in the room. We all sit down on the cold floor edging towards the wall. Everybody is silent. We wait. Sammi sits next to me, mouthing the words, “Oh my god,” over and over again.

A minute later, I hear someone banging on the lockers. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” A familiar voice screams. “ALL OF YOU!”

A chill goes down my spine. Sammi looks at me, her eyes wide. I can’t understand why I know that voice. It comes from a grown man. A girl starts crying.

We wait, listening to the guy yell and bang the lockers. The sound of breathing in our classroom is ragged.

There’s a banging on our door, which makes everybody jump. I curse under my breath.

“I’M GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU!” The voice screams.

Another kid starts crying. And one screams, “No!” I am terrified. I am too young to die.

We all look at her alarmingly. She cries harder, her face florid, and puts her head on her hands.

I look at Sammi. Her eyes are closed, and she is rocking back and forth. I touch her arm lightly. She opens her eyes and looks at me. I give her a sad smile. She sighs.

The man is still banging on the door, screaming. I wonder how this guy even got my number.

Then I have a thought. Maybe it is my dad.

He cheated on my mother when I was nine. My mom, even though she hated him, gave him my number to talk to me. But I was so angry. I felt like he didn’t love me anymore. So I never added him in my contacts, and never, never picked up to his numerous calls. Finally, when I was around eleven, he never called again. Since then, I’ve forgotten his number and moved on in life without him.

At this moment, the banging on the door stops, and moves to the lockers. The man moves towards the other doors. I wonder how the other kids feel. I feel guilty. Guilty that I never talked to my dad, guilty that I don’t love him anymore.

It is all my fault.

I hear sirens outside. I breath a sigh of relief. Someone lets out some gas. Nobody laughs. Usually, they laugh and laugh when someone farts, but today is different.

After about thirty seconds I hear the words, “Hey! Hey! Put your hands up!” It is a cop. I guess the killer obeys the officer, because the officer doesn’t say that again. Instead, he says, “You’re coming with me.” I hear the clang of the metal handcuffs. There is no more sound.

A minute passes. Then another. There is no more banging or yelling. Everything is silent.

Finally, the intercom sounds. “The lockdown has been lifted,” says the principal. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief. The girl who started crying first, hiccups.

“Please wait until your door is unlocked. You may exit the building at three o’clock.” I look at the clock. It’s already last period. I don’t notice the bell, even though it is dead silent in our room. I am thinking about other things.

That night I watch the news in the living room with my mom. I tell my mother all about the day, but I leave out the part about dad. She doesn’t like to talk about him much. She is shocked that the school has that limited of security and decides to watch the news to find out more.

We have been staring at the TV screen for more than three hours. Finally, there’s a picture of my school on the news. The female reporter says, “At around 1:25 PM today, a murderer went into Aberdale Middle School and terrorized kids as they waited in their classrooms for the police to come. Police have identified the killer and have arrested him.” A picture pops up of a middle-aged man, walking out of the school towards a police car, his arms being held together by handcuffs. The man’s hair is short and black, slicked back by sweat. His skin is russet brown.

So if it isn’t my father, who is it?
I gasp. I know who it was.

Mr. Vasquez? Why would he do this? I am stunned. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes until I see nothing but sparkles. I take a breath and keep watching to get more information.

“This man has been on the FBI’s most wanted list for a long time now. He’s gone incognito and moved from Arizona to New York. His real name is George Nassos. He has a mental illness and has murdered many. If you have any other information on this man, please call the police.”

I cannot believe it. I was living next door to a murderer. And the way he looked at me this morning… A chill goes down my spine for the second time today.

Later that night, Mom and I call the police and tell them everything we know. We tell them about him never really coming out much, his made-up name, and his oddness around us. The police are very pleased and thank us profusely.

At around midnight, I am in bed playing Flappy Bird on my phone when an unknown number calls. Thankfully, it isn’t Mr. Vasquez’s (a.k.a., George Nassos’s). I hesitate and accept the call. “Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Aaron?” The voice says.

“Yeah…. Who is this?”

“It’s, uh…your dad.” I gulp.

“Hey.” There is an awkward pause.

“So, um. I heard about the killer in your school. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I pause. I didn’t think he cared about me anymore. After all, he cheated on my mom, moved to California, and stopped talking to me. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“That’s good. Were you scared? What happened?”

I tell him everything. The texts, the banging, the yelling. Then he tells me he misses me.

“Really? Because it seems like you don’t care anymore.”
“Squirt, of course I do. I love you to pieces.” I can actually hear the affection in his voice.

I sigh, “I miss you too, Dad. I miss you too.”

Smaller Than the Sky

When we were smaller than the sky
Rolling down a hill of chives
Staring at that big blue thing above us that followed us wherever we went
Laughing under the dark crayon sky as we played with glee
Discussing our secrets as if they were the twinkling sequins above us
Giggling when the molten sun came up and our eyes hadn’t yet closed
Holding hands when the blue thing turned grey
When tiny bits of clouds fell on us and tiny sparks of electricity threatened the earth
When baritone booms shook the ground and made our hairs stand on our arms
Biting our lips when there were birds in the sky
Flocking together and taking us with them
When our jealousy of each other took us to different parts of the sky not yet explored
Chewing my cuticles when you laughed at something the girl with the sunset hair said to you
Swallowing the cloud in my throat as I practiced asking you if we would still meet every Friday to watch the stars
Realizing, when the fog cleared, I would never ask
Throwing screams at each other when the sky turned red
When the clouds in the sky grew thicker and our fights grew fiercer
Quieting when the clouds parted and the blue returned, dissolving our shouts
Smiling wispily as we flew by each other
As the sun set and you weren’t there to cartwheel with me
As the rain poured down and the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed
And you weren’t there to hold my hand
Sighing when we realized, as the moon hung in the sky, that the magic was gone
The nights of sitting on that hill staring at the little balls of gas that flickered for so long
The sheet above us that seemed so big
When we were smaller than the sky

I Don’t Remember Her Name

       

I don’t remember her name.
She’s an eager blue of some sort, with a bewitching grin that caresses warmth and ice.
Has an adolescent need for adventure, an agonizing, piercing, angelic way with words.
A haunting, spicy, zingy, sour, strange-looking stare that never seems to fade.
A big, gigantic, bitter, brilliant flame inside of her that burns and burns and burns and burns.
An introverted extrovert, with a loud mouth and a constant, electric sense of self.
Loopy sometimes and will act as an obnoxious spaniard, though she has no specific origin.
You would think I would remember her name.
She’s sizzling, dazzling, snappy, and can put on a damn good show.
She can be impolite, rude, snobby, and horrible, but only when in need of enlightenment.
Bossy, bouncy, bubbly, and deadly are all things that she is.
She’s nutty and powerful and occasionally innocent.
She’s a pessimistic optimist and isn’t afraid of exclaiming her political views of the world.
Her silhouette constantly changes, never slowing down, it’s dashing movements grasping heaven.
Eavesdropping is a talent of her’s, mostly used when least wanted.
She is reckless and crazy and indecisive and strong and fearless.
I can’t believe I forgot her name.
Sharp, ready, headstrong, brave, remarkable, beautiful, sparkly, regal are all among her traits.
Tough, loud, loose, infinite, glorious, graceful, compassionate, awesome.
She is wise, mysterious, and perfect.
Now I remember her name.
She is soul.

Spider Story

I step forward, my eight ugly legs carrying me closer and closer to the centaur. He can’t see me yet, and I know I don’t have time to worry about dying, but I can’t help but fear the large weapon the horse-man is holding. He could easily slice me in half with that thing. I glance over at Hunter, looking for the same nervousness in his eyes. Instead, I see confidence way more than anyone should ever have in a situation like this. I don’t particularly like the man all he wants is power— but he’s my only hope. You see, he promised me that if I helped him take over this castle, he would do everything he could to turn me from a spider into a human. And that’s all that I’ve ever wanted. The question is, will he still help me once he has what he wants?

I guess there’s only one way to find out, I think, moving my focus back onto the centaur. He and Hunter are facing off in the middle of a field just outside a large castle that seems to be slowly falling apart. There are a few trees around the edges of the area, including the one I’m hiding behind. But it’s really not that nice. I wonder why Hunter wants it. I don’t think it has anything to do with the centaur. As far as I know, he’s just a guard…

Focus, Pablo, I think, forcing myself to run over our plan in my head. Once Hunter’s staring battle with the centaur is over, they’ll begin to fight, with Hunter mostly on the defensive. But the minute the centaur thinks he is winning, I’ll come from behind and hit him over the head with a rock. Or something like that. I shiver at the realization that within a few minutes, I will have murdered someone. But being human is worth it, I remind myself.

I would do anything to be human to be respected, accepted, loved. As a spider, no one ever dares to come within five feet of me, and people only ever talk to me if they wish to ridicule me, to send me deeper into a hole of loneliness. Or if they want something from me, like Hunter does.

Suddenly, I hear a loud grunt, and I realize that the fight has started. The centaur is sprinting in Hunter’s direction, weapon first. But Hunter pulls out his sword and holds him off, the metal glinting in the sunlight as their weapons meet. The centaur swings his weapon at Hunter again, but he blocks the attack. Next, he tries to hit Hunter’s head, but he ducks just in time. The next attempt slices through the sleeve of Hunter’s jacket, but he is left otherwise unharmed, so he decides to attack, but misses, and the centaur takes the opportunity to strike. His weapon nicks Hunter’s leg, who jumps out of the way to avoid major injury.

They have been fighting like this for a few minutes when I notice that Hunter is steadily moving backward on the bright green grass and that the centaur’s swipes are moving closer and closer to his body. I know this is where I come in, but for some reason I can’t get my feet to move.

Something has me cemented in place fear, maybe and I can’t seem to do anything but stand and watch uselessly as the centaur creates a deep, bloody, gash in Hunter’s chest. The human collapses onto the ground, and all my hopes collapse with him. And it’s all my fault. I guess there was no way around it I was destined to kill someone today.

Trying not to look at the bloody corpse on the ground, I slowly move from my hiding spot. What should I do now? Should I approach the centaur? Should I just leave? But before I can decide, my eyes lock with the centaur’s frightened ones. I don’t know why, but as he slowly starts to back away, I call out to him.

“Wait!”

“What are you?” he asks, clearly trying to keep his voice steady. I feel something in my stomach sink upon hearing his question, but I can’t really blame him. Giant spiders are pretty uncommon.

“I’m Pablo,” I say. I see him look around nervously, so I continue. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just need help.” He looks surprised, and a little relieved, but I can tell he’s still on edge.

“What do you want?”

I pause for a moment. “To be human.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks. “I’m sorry… what?”

“You see, I was supposed to help that man” —I look over at Hunter “kill you. He said that if I did, he would do everything in his power to turn me into a human. But I couldn’t do it, as you can tell,” I explain, slightly embarrassed.

“The man’s a liar,” he states. Interested, I snap my gaze over to meet his.

“You know him?”

“No, no, of course not,” he says, but I can tell he’s trying to cover something up, because he’s talking a little faster than normal and won’t look me in the eye. “He just… um, doesn’t seem like the type of man to be honest, if you know what I mean.”

I’m really curious now, but I don’t show it.

“I’m Gus, by the way,” the centaur informs me.

“Okay, uh, nice to meet you,” I say, feeling slightly awkward. What now? I don’t have anywhere to go my entire future was riding on this plan. “So, bye, I guess.”

I slowly walk away, feeling hopeless and alone. But I mean, what did I expect? I just told the guy that I came here to kill him, why would he help me?

“Wait didn’t you say you needed help?” Gus asks, and I turn back to face him. He clears his throat. “I mean, do you have some sort of back-up plan?”

“Not exactly,” I say, not wanting to get myself in any more trouble. “But you really don’t

He cuts me off. “Well, maybe I can help you.”

Thomas

Note to Readers: This piece is a tribute to my younger brother Thomas, who sadly passed away at the age of seven in the year 2011 due to neuroblastoma cancer.

I am Thomas. I have been in New York for two years now. I moved when I was ten, and now I’m eleven. Along with myself, my sister, mom, and dad came to New York. My sister’s name is Anna. She is thirteen. My mom is Dianne, and my dad is Phil. We moved from Canada. Yeah, that’s right. You know, that country with all the bears and beavers? Nice country, eh? I’m sure you’re wondering if I like to play hockey? Well, of course I do! I’m a better goalie than Carey Price!

I’ve always been the oldest guy on my teams, and I’m about a foot taller than everybody else. I feel like a giant. Why am I on these teams if I am better than Carey Price? It’s because of all the time I spent in the hospital back in Canada. And, maybe I’m not quite that good! But eventually, I will be. You see, I missed tons of school and most of my hockey practices. Actually, I missed out on the five years of my life when I was sick. It was all thanks to a stupid six-letter word: cancer.

When I was three, my dad took me to the doctor after I had been complaining about a sore knee for about four months. My parents thought it was just a soccer injury, so they didn’t take me in to get it checked out right away. Of course, even if it was just a soccer injury, it probably wouldn’t have hurt to take me in anyways. But no, it was not a soccer injury, it was not a hockey injury, it was something worse. Way worse. I was diagnosed with stage four neuroblastoma cancer. What that is, I can not say, I barely understand it myself. All I know is that it’s extremely rare, especially in children. I was confused. All of a sudden, I’d be going into the hospital all the time, and people would treat me way differently. I fought this cancer for two years. I practically lived in the hospital. It was my second home. I didn’t like it there. I knew I would have to get a couple shots or a scan that involved a giant machine that beeped like crazy every time I went in. But I got used to it after a while.

It’s always been irritating how everyone who knows me and my story treats me differently than they would others. I’m fine now, and yet I’m still being taken care of by everyone. That was one thing I was so excited about when I heard we were moving to New York. I knew it was going to be very difficult, and it would take some getting used to, but there were many things I was looking forward to. One of those things was meeting new people. I had always heard that New Yorkers were very passive aggressive. I soon learned that I was blinded by my very Canadian lifestyle. If someone bumps into you accidentally in the streets where I lived, you would soon be bombarded with thousands of sorries. That’s right, I said so-rry.

My sister would always make fun of me when we had to get flu shots in the fall. I would sit down and watch the nurse slowly put the needle in my arm. I would be smiling, completely calm. My uncle fainted every time he got a shot. Lots of people thought I was brave for being able to sit there and be fine with everything. But I had no choice. I knew there would be lots more to come.

The first bunch of blood tests I got really freaked me out. Who actually likes getting shots or their blood drawn? I mean, I don’t particularly like them, but when I had to go to the hospital at least once a week to get shots, I had to become okay with them. But not everything. Some things are just plain weird! Once, they had to put this weird tube inside my chest that would be hooked up to a machine so that it would be easier to get the medicine inside of me. It is called a “broviac.” I don’t really remember when I got it, which is probably a good thing. The important thing is that it was going to help me and help the doctors. And it did. It made it so much easier when I had to sit still, for what felt like forever, and have to be attached to a pole with bags of medicine hanging from it. Basically, if I wanted to go anywhere, I would have to carry this huge pole around with me.

This medicine is quite a common one. It’s called “chemo,” or “chemotherapy.” I have to say, after all I’ve been through, having to be put on chemo was one of the worst things. It makes you feel horrible. I would get so nauseous and tired. It makes you feel like you have the flu, but it never goes away. And the worst thing about it is that it causes hair loss. Every time I was put on chemo, my hair would fall out again. There was one point where I was so upset about having no hair upon my head, that my dad shaved his head to support me and show empathy. It made me feel happy that he was trying to let me know that I was not alone. But I still hated it. I became the king of hats. I had about thirty different toques.

At my school, I’d be the only one who was allowed to be wearing one. I was getting tired of people always telling me to take my hat off before the teacher saw, or something else indicating that they didn’t know about my situation. After a year or two of this, my mom decided that it might be a good idea to talk to the school and see if they could change the dress code. It was great because I was now not the only kid in the school wearing a hat!

We lived in Calgary, which is a fairly good sized city. When I say that, I mean that it was big, but not too big. It was small, but not too small. In our neighborhood, most people knew each other. My school was a public school, so in order to get in, you had to live in the district of the school. So mostly everyone at the school lived in the same neighborhood. I would see my friends on my way to school. After all, it was only two blocks away! Sometimes, I would walk to school with my friends who lived on the same street as me. “18A Street” was its name. It’s a cul de sac right in between 18th and 19th. The school was on 18th street, so seriously, it was super close.

I had a couple friends who lived on my street. Sam, Alex, Kyra, and Isabel. They were better friends with my sister, though. Sometimes in the evening after we’d eaten, my sister and I would go play outside with them. Sometimes, even Ian and Grant came out! We would run in the middle of the roads and play hockey. So much hockey. Sometimes, when it was just Alex and me, we would run around chasing each other and coming up with silly names to yell. I called him “Chicken.” I don’t even know why. One day, I just said “Hey, Chicken,” and it stuck. He called me “Donkey.” Again, no idea where that came from.

With all my visits to the hospital, I fell out of the loop at school. I was sad because I felt left out, even though people tried to include me. I was barely able to read, and my printing was almost impossible to understand. I still spoke like a toddler. All of my teachers were really good and supportive. They helped me get caught up. It just drove me crazy sometimes. My friends would all be talking about Benjamin’s sick birthday party on Saturday, that I missed thanks to an appointment where I had to lie in this futuristic-looking machine that took a bunch of x-rays and photos. Oh! I almost forgot! I also got seven shots in my right arm.  Ah, cancer is stupid!

Speaking of cancer being stupid, there was an incident with some of my friends that was really annoying. It was after school had ended one day. My friends and I were playing tag on the playground and the field. Actually, to this day, I don’t know what the game was. It was like a strange mix of tag, dodgeball crossed with a snowball fight, and European handball. I’m not exactly sure why, but my friend threw a chunk of ice at my face. Maybe he was more interested in having a snowball fight. But I’m telling you, this wasn’t snow. It was like a full-on piece of ice. And it had rocks in it. My parents had to take me to the hospital. It hit me right under my eye. He flung it towards me as if throwing a frisbee, double the force. The chemo I was on was making it very dangerous for me to do anything that could get me hurt. If I got a cut, and I was bleeding, I would have to go to the hospital right away. It’s because I had low platelet levels. Platelets are basically the red and white blood cells that require bone marrow to develop. If someone has low platelet levels, and they get a cut, it will bleed, and bleed, and bleed. You can actually die from this, so my parents were always making sure that I wasn’t playing any games that involved throwing knives, or anything of that sort. Basically, just anything that could get me injured, or even sick. Being on the chemo and developing low platelet levels made any small, mild cold, a deadly one. Chemotherapy is one of the many treatments that affect bone marrow and platelet counts. We actually had to cancel a trip to Hawaii because the doctors said it would be dangerous for me to be in an active environment. Usually in Hawaii, we just relax. Well, my parents do. My sister and I, we go swimming all day and play games with other kids we meet.

I’ve always loved our trips to Hawaii. I can tell that my sister and parents do too. Since it’s about a seven hour flight to Maui, we don’t go very often. And by not very often, I mean that we go once a year. But, because of that, we get to stay for around three or four weeks. My sister tells me that she feels like our trips to Hawaii are her favourite things to do! Our upcoming trip will be even better! It turns out we will be going at the same time that one of my best friends back at home will be there with his family.

I am also looking forward to our trip to Palm Springs. We bought a house there recently. It’s huge. It’s bigger than our place back in Canada! That place was four thousand square feet.  I loved that house. Before we moved and put our house on the market, my parents let my sister and me throw a party for all of our friends and family. I wish it would have been in the summer, though. We had a particularly nice and big backyard. It had a hot tub in it. We had a lot of fun hanging out in that backyard. Let me remind you, typical summer weather in Calgary is not very warm. Maybe 28 degrees celsius as an average daily temperature. 30 if we were lucky. Also, Calgary summers tend to be quite rainy. In the evenings of most summer days, we would get a quick thunderstorm. But anyways, back to the party.

We decided that we would have our party mainly in the basement. Our basement was a nice size. We had a great entertainment area there. There was a bar, a pool table, and a bunch of signed hockey jerseys hanging on the walls. If you walked past this, you would reach the movie theatre. No, there was not an actual theatre in our basement! But it was a huge TV. About eight feet tall, twelve feet wide. Actually, it was one of those projector ones. We had a separate room with about seven different systems for the TV. My parents would hate it if anyone went in there! But for the party, we thought we’d just order some pizza and put on a movie. Something relaxing and fun.

I wish I hadn’t remembered so clearly everything that happened. So many different medications and gross treatments. My doctors had me take this medicine that my parents would put in this weird, vial-type thing. They’d have to squirt it into my mouth. Now, let just make this clear, the stuff was revolting. I knew I had to take it, I knew it would help me, but that didn’t make me any more eager. Everyday at four, my parents would sit me down at the counter. In front of me, they would place my iPad. While my dad filled the tube with the medicine, my mom put my favourite show on. I was quite tired of it, considering how much time I spent watching it. Okay, now you’re probably wondering what it was that I could watch no matter how many times I’d seen each episode. Alright, I’ll tell you: I loved to watch Spongebob Squarepants. I actually think that the show is ridiculous and idiotic, but I find it very entertaining. It makes me laugh and makes me feel happy. So there I’d be, watching Spongebob with both of my parents standing beside me. My mom would take the tube full of cream-colored medicine and tell me to open my mouth. I’d do as told, and she would place it at the corner of my mouth. Then, she would insert the medicine into me. Every time I had to take it, I would have to resist throwing up. A couple times, probably the first few times I had to take it, I couldn’t take the horrible taste and texture. I wasn’t used to it. I had trouble swallowing it. I’d end up throwing up all over the place, forcing my parents to rush around cleaning up after me.

Unfortunately, there were many things throughout my experience of being a cancer patient that caused me to throw up. My sister often witnessed this. When she was old enough to understand what was going on with me and why I was throwing up, she developed a fear of throw up. It sounds a bit silly, I know. But it is a real fear, and I’m not one to judge. Any time we are watching a movie involving someone puking all over the stage while performing, or something of that sort, I have to warn her. She’ll close her eyes tightly and cover her ears. I feel bad because if it weren’t for me, she may not have developed this irrational fear. But honestly, if I apologized to her for that, she’d probably hit me over the head with a hockey stick.

Also, I would like to explain a bit about my diagnosis of stage four cancer. There are five stages of cancer. Stage 0 is when the cancer is in place, but hasn’t spread to nearby tissue. If one is diagnosed with stage 0 cancer, there is a good chance it is curable. Then, there is stage I, when there is a small cancer or tumor, but it has yet to spread to nearby tissue or to the lymph nodes. This stage is often called early-stage cancer. Then, there is stage II and III, which indicate that the cancer or tumor is larger and has spread to nearby tissue and lymph nodes, but not the rest of the body. Finally, there is stage IV, which is when the cancer has spread to the other parts of the body. This is the worst stage of cancer. And I was diagnosed with it. I was immediately one of the top priorities at the children’s hospital.

I remember one of the first things I had to get done after I got my broviac. It was horrible. I was on chemo, so I already felt like I had the flu. I was nauseous and exhausted. And then, I had to go in for a cat scan. Over time, my parents and I decided to call it “the doughnut,” which made it a little bit easier to talk about, I guess. Or maybe that’s just what they thought. Anyways, I had to go and lie on this table thing. Then, they would put this weird, blue dye-type medicine stuff in through my broviac. I’m not sure what it was, but what I do know is that it makes it easy to see the cancer. Actually, I don’t really have much of a clue about its purpose, but I knew that it was necessary and important. But it made me feel even worse afterwards. Often, the doctors would have my parents take me to Dairy Queen because they knew that was one of the most unpleasant procedures I would get on a regular basis.

Sometimes, I had to get blood transfusions. I hated those too. Basically, I would have to sit in the small hospital room with this giant machine right beside me. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad, and it wasn’t painful. It was just annoying and extremely boring. I literally couldn’t move. I had to lie there in a very uncomfortable bed and not move. And, after a little bit, the room started to smell horrible. You couldn’t escape the smell. My dad would always have to be there so he would sit in a chair, awkwardly watching. He always brought in a bunch of oranges that he would peel in the corner of the room. The orange peels would make the room smell a little bit better, but not much.

Like I said earlier, I was diagnosed at the age of three. It was in my knee. I fought the cancer for two years until I was five. By then, it had gone away. I was cancer-free. I was so happy. Though I was young and didn’t understand much of what was going on, I knew it was a good thing. About a month later, my parents sat me down at our family dinner. Everyone was there. My family living in Medicine Hat even drove up to see us. After we had eaten, my mom made the announcement. She said that I was sick again. The cancer was back. At that time, I could tell what everyone was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. Was it ever gone? Why did it come back? Will it ever go away?

This time, when I was diagnosed, the tumor was found behind my left eye. It looked like I got punched in the face, for real. Actually, that’s what I told all of my friends. At first, they thought it was kind of cool — as first graders, it would make sense. But after having a black eye for over two weeks, people started to doubt that that’s what had happened. Eventually, I had to tell everyone the truth. Then, I was treated the same as I was before. People treated me as if I was unable to do things. Things that I could do completely fine. The cancer was stage IV, so it wasn’t any better in that sense.

***

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like if I hadn’t survived. My family would be devastated. Well, at least I hope they would! Whoops, I probably shouldn’t joke about this. I knew there was a possibility that I wouldn’t survive, but I tried to keep hope. I knew that hope was key for someone like me. But I also know that if I hadn’t survived, it would have been all over the news. Maybe not everywhere, but definitely Calgary and maybe some smaller towns nearby. That’s because it’s quite rare for young children to die of cancer. Especially since this type of cancer is extremely rare for children, and adults too, for that matter.

But all of these weird procedures and being on chemotherapy, well, they worked! I survived. I surprised so many people. The doctors, my friends, my family, everyone who knew me, actually. But most importantly, I surprised myself. I didn’t know what was going to happen. No one ever talked to me about the bad stuff. Only the good. I guess they thought they would be helping me in some way, I’m not sure. But that just left me curious. Some things I picked up from everyone being around me. When I was doing better, people would act completely different than when I was not. I could tell when something was up. My parents told me that even the doctors didn’t think I’d exceed two years. I knew I had to stay strong. I was quite young when I went through all of this, so a lot of things related to my illness were very confusing to me. I had no idea what half of the procedures actually were! I was told they were necessary and they would help, so I went with them. And in the long run, it was totally worth going through it all.

Now is the fun part. Now, I get to move on with my life. I get the chance to restart. Nobody knows my story, unless they work for my mother, who by the way, is pretty cool. She’s a CEO of this awesome digital marketing agency called “Critical Mass.” Her office is pretty cool, too. And, because of her job, my sister and I were able to get into an amazing school in Greenwich Village. It’s called “LREI.” “LR” for “Little Red School House” and “EI” for “Elisabeth Irwin High School.” It’s a private school, and it’s very progressive. I like it. I think my sister does, too. But it stresses her out a lot. She gets like three hours of homework each night. She tells me that her old school in Canada gave, like, no homework at all. She understands that going to this school is going to make it easier for her to get into a good college or university, but school is definitely not her favorite thing right now. I think it’s fun. But if I could change something about it, I’d add a hockey team.

I’ve made a lot of great friends, and I’m happier now that we’re here. They all know about my struggles in the past, but nobody really makes a big deal about it anymore. My sister told her class one day, and the next day, the entire school knew about it. Apparently, the teachers are a bit gossipy. But they’re all so nice. Overall, my life is so much better now that we’re in New York. I got to take my sick life and put it behind me. I even talked to my family about not speaking about it and treating me like it never happened. They understood. We all moved on together.

The Adventures of A Bird, Cat & Dog

         

Chapter 1 – Get that Crow

An orangey tinge fills the land, and puffy, pink clouds slowly tread across the sky. The sweet, rolling hills become hazy with a golden tinge. Sheep graze peacefully in the valley below. A gorgeous sea of trees above, it is quiet here. Nothing to bother me. Flying high above hills and valleys, I slowly and gracefully glide down to the farmland below, no one to be seen.

The shepherd and his dog tend to the sheep; the farm’s cat roams around catching mice and other pesky rodents. As for me, I am a crow. Considered an unwanted pest because my kind eats corn. So what? We have to survive somehow. I’m not going to eat a rotting mouse, that’s just gross. I’ll eat corn, thank you very much. Maybe if times are desperate enough, but for now I’ll stick with what the farm provides.

“Ey, Corn Head! Ged down from there! Yous ain’t allowed to eat dat!”

Oh no, that stupid cat noticed me. Great.

“My name is not ‘Corn Head.’ It is Will for the last time. And I am not eating your corn, Walter.”

“Don’t call me dat. Just ged off da corn,” Walter calls.

“No. I will not leave this corn.”

“Oh, I’m gonna get ‘cha Corn Head,” he sneers.

Oh no. Whoop, there he goes. Well, time to take off.

“Missed me!”

“Oof.” He crashes into the fence.

Stupid cat. Whoa! Up we go. I don’t want to fly into that tree. Oh hey, it’s Nix! Maybe he’ll get this cat off my trail.

“Nix! Excuse me! Hello, Nix!” I yell.

Nix ceases his herding.

“Oh hi, William, I didn’t see you there,” he calls back. “This is about Walter, isn’t it? I’ll take care of him.”

He appears to have read my mind. Oh thank heavens, that’s very helpful. This wears me out quite a bit. I look over my shoulder. Heh heh. Yes, get ‘em, Nix, go, go, go!

“AAAAAAAHH!!!!”

FWOOSH!

“Ugh, ow. Didn’t see that coming,” I mutter.

Aww man, I flew into a bush. I can’t believe I did that again. I almost flew right into the Dark Forest — that could’ve ended badly. I see Nix and Walter walking closer, they seem to be talking. I thought Nix was going to chase Walter away from the farm for good. I guess I thought wrong. They are muttering something about me. Why would they be? Maybe they are talking about my dashing looks. Or maybe they are talking about my amazing tricks. They’re coming closer. Oh, this doesn’t sound good. Nix looks mad, and oh, that wretched cat looks so smug. Oh geez.

“Uhh, hey guys,” I say nervously.

“William, come with me,” Nix growls.

“Eheheh, good luck, bird scum,” Walt hisses into my ear as he stalks away.

Nix and I walk deeper into the forest, as if we weren’t in far enough. Ugh, I bet this is about the corn. Nix gets very defensive about his farmer’s crops. Why? I don’t really know. Whenever he gives me this lecture, he always starts rambling about this thing called money. Money, money, money. When will Nix stop caring about human things and start caring about how hard it is for me to survive in the wild?

“Will, I don’t want to give you this lecture again. I have no idea how many times I have to tell you. Just please STAY AWAY FROM THE CROPS. You never listen. Why don’t you go scavenge or something? I think it would help my farmer stay in business if you left the crops ALONE. He needs money to keep his — ”

I cut Nix off. “Why should I care about all this money nonsense? You always go on about money this, money that. I keep eating his corn so that I can LIVE.” I sneer.

“Excuse me? Look, I care about you, Will, but please care about the man who provides your food. Without the farmer, you would have to look elsewhere, and elsewhere is probably farther away,” Nix explains.

I suddenly have this great idea. When Nix gets frustrated, he doesn’t really pay attention to detail. I could fly off into the woods and he would probably follow me, then I can teach him a lesson, show him how hard life is in the wild. Ah ha, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

“Okay Nix, fine I’ll go elsewhere to find food,” I say with a smug grin. “I’ll go forage in the Dark Forest.”

“William, don’t you dare fly off! I’m not done talking to you,” I fly farther into the woods. “Come back you filthy, flying corn stealer!”

Chapter 2 – Deeper In The Dark Forest

“Hey, you get back here! Don’t you dare run away from me, you bird scum!!” Nix is beginning to fade into the distance. We’ve been running for hours. I wait for him to catch up.

In the distance I hear, “Nix? Where’d ya go bud? Did yous chase dat jerk off? Hellooo?”

While I wait for those two to catch up, I look at my surroundings. The sun has set and leaves of gold, crimson, and auburn litter the ground. A river as dark as obsidian flows throughout the forest; it, too, is covered in golden leaves. A slight chill dances through the air. Twinkling crystals fill the wine colored sky. The trees appear to be in solemn wait, mourning the sun’s short disappearance. I hear leaves crunching — it’s Nix and Walter. They both look scared. Well, who wouldn’t be? Besides the residents of this forest, in fact, I live here. It isn’t too bad here; it really is quite fruitful.

“Where are we?” Walt asks quietly.

“We are in the Dark Forest, my home,” I reply. “Welcome.”

Walter and Nix exchange shocked looks. Nix’s expression immediately hardens.

“Let’s go,” Nix growls. “I want to find a good place to sleep.”

“I can show you a good place to sleep! I can even find some food for you,” I shout.

“No, you’ve helped enough. Come on, Walter.” Nix snarls.

“Well if I can’t help you, then I am going to tag along at least. Who knows? You might need me at some point,” I grumble.

We start to walk, leaves crunching under my feet. Wind ruffles my feathers. I look at Nix: his long, black and white fur flits in the wind. His ears are pricked and alert, his fluffy, black tail stiff. I have a feeling he’s worrying about being stuck in this place. He’s a brave soul, very confident in his actions. He is totally out of it right now.

Nix and I go way back. We’ve known each other for three years so far. I was a tiny chick when I met him, I was still learning how to fly. Later, I was flying with my murder, and something happened. I don’t remember what occurred, but I do remember being knocked down by a dead crow. I was trapped under its wing, both in the air and on the ground. Since I couldn’t move or wriggle out, I squealed and chirped for help. Nix had come and pulled the dead bird off me. He nursed me back to health and brought me back to his farm, and from then on, Nix and I had hung out quite a bit. I love Nix. I really hope he’ll forgive me for snapping at him…

I look over at Walter; his tail is tucked between his legs. His ears are plastered to his head. His striped, orange fur is puffed out. His green eyes are wide, and his pupils are huge. He is definitely not in his zone, jumping at every sound. Occasionally, he gives a small squeak. Walt is not exactly the most confident guy. He tries so very hard to act confident, but I don’t think anyone really buys the act.

I met Walter after I met Nix, we met in the field where the sheep graze. He was cold, wet, and hungry. No signs of living with a human, no collar, no nothing. We took him to the barn, and Nix brought him some food. I don’t really understand why he hates me even though he’s known me for a year. He is truly a good cat at heart, I know that. It’s just hard not to hate him. I guess it must have to do with his predatory instincts or something like that.

We walk farther into the forest in silence. There is a lot of tension in the air, and fear. Fear is emitting from the two farm dwellers, tons of it.

“Guys, what are we doin’ here?” Walter mumbles.

“Looking for a place to sleep. And maybe something to eat,” Nix says.

“Are we stayin’ long? I really hope not, this place is givin’ me the creeps,” Walt enquires.

“I agree, Walt. This place is also creeping me out,” Nix responds. “I don’t think we’ll stay long.”

The trees begin to thin out; silver streams of light slide through the gaps. The light brightens as we walk farther. The shining stars appear to shine brighter as the trees come to a complete stop, as if they are happy to have us among them. I stare in awe at the moon who provides the most mystifying light.

Nix walks to the middle of the clearing and stares at the beautiful painting that is the sky. Walter slowly pads over, staring at the sky as well. This is one of the reasons the forest is fruitful: it is full of life, berries, food, and gorgeous scenery.  Here in this clearing, the obsidian river thins into a creek and flows like silver silk. Stunning.

I stay at the edge of the forest, watching. I fly over to my friends and perch on a nearby rock. We sit together, staring, amazed by this scene.

I’m the first to break the silence. “It’s quite a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yea, it is, ain’t it?” Walter whispers. “Why are we here? Dat’s one thing dat sticks out to me, though. It kind of feels like ‘oh here we go, let’s go run inta da forest and never go back to da farm.’ Is that why we’re here? Are we runnin’ away?”

No one answers. Nix and I exchange a look. I turn away — I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t really feel that bad, but I feel stupid now. I wanted to make Nix pay, but what am I really doing? I’m just leading my friends into danger. Soon, it will be winter, which is in a few days. I need to get them back. I shouldn’t have done this without thinking. This is my fault, and I have to fix it now. Let’s just hope I can get them out before it snows. I don’t really want to say anything yet, I think I’ll just go and suggest that we get some rest. I think we could use it. We have a long way to go.

Chapter 3 – The First Frost

I wake up and stretch my wings. I peer around, and my eyes become wide with shock. The leaves, the grass, everything is edged with sparkling crystals. Cold crystals. The chill is stronger. I fly over to the creek; it’s ice cold. I hop over to my friends. Their whiskers are covered in tiny crystals.

“Guys, wake up.” I nudge Nix’s shoulder. “Come on, you big, sleepy doofus!”

“Huh, waz happenin’?” Unsurprisingly, Walter is the second to wake up. He likes to wake up early.

“Nix won’t wake up,” I complain.

“‘Course dat big ol’ bozo won’t wake up,” grunted Walt.

“Wha?” Nix babbles. His head is in the air, but his eyes are still closed.

“Mornin’ sunshine. William here says yous wouldn’t wake up,” Walter snickers. “Ya look like a giant fluffball.”

It’s true though, his fur is all untidy. Grass bits and leaf litter are stuck in his long coat. His eyes are still closed. He’s not a morning dog.

“I’m hungry, where can we find things to eat?” rasps Nix.

I think about Nix’s question. We’re still in a part of the forest I know, so if I’m correct, there should be some edibles around. I can find nuts, berries, and practically anything for myself, and a good hunting ground for Nix and Walter. Let’s just hope we can at least get a little food. I think the frost has killed most plants, and most prey have hidden.

“Walter, you’re obviously fine with eating mice and rabbits, correct?” I question Walt.

“Ya know it!” Walter agrees.

“Nix, what about you? Would you hunt down, kill, then eat what you just killed?” I ask, addressing Nix this time.

“I suppose, I mean, I kind of have to. I can’t eat fruit or anything like that, I’m a carnivore,” Nix explains.

“Okay, so now that you two have confirmed that, I’ll lead you to a hunting ground. If I can find it,” I respond.

I fly low to the ground. We exit the clearing we had slept in. As we enter the forest, the chill becomes even frostier. I fly around trees and bushes; it gets warmer after a little. We near the hunting ground. Trees begin to thin yet again, but they are not cut short. The growth of bushes has stopped. Crimson, auburn, and gold flutter all around the area, the green grass is completely covered.

Walter takes a deep breath in.

“Smells like most of da prey scattered,” he comments. “I don’t know if we gonna have much luck, but we betta get to it. Whateva’s left is probably not dat big.”

“Walt’s right. I’m not sure if I’ll actually catch anything, due to my lousy hunting skills, but it’s worth a try,” Nix states.

“Okay, so the both of you are set. I’m not going to be staying to hunt, even though I can basically eat everything. I’m going to be foraging. I won’t be too far off. I’ll be at the edge of the hunting grounds, call me if you need anything,” I explain.

“Bye, Will!” Nix and Walt holler as I fly off.

“We will call you if we need anything!” shouts Nix.

I don’t have to fly very far, as I said. Berry bushes and walnut trees begin to appear as the trees become denser. I land close to a wild blueberry bush. I poke around it, scanning for any ripe berries. Most of them are shriveled up, another act of the wicked frost. I find about three good blueberries. I leave the berries in a small nook in a rock. I fly a little farther away from the hunting ground. Soon, I spot a clump of raspberry bushes. A majority of these leaves are as black as death. No plant is safe at the hands of the vile frost. I find only a few berries from the huge clump of bushes, maybe five or six. I bring them back to the rock. I continue my search, looking for nuts this time. I recall seeing a walnut tree before. I fly above the trees and look for the long leaves, long spindly stems, the huge branches, and of course, the clumps of walnuts.

I soon spot the walnut tree—this bears the most food so far. I search the floor for the small, brown nutshells. There are plenty of green fruits, they fill the air with a citrusy smell. Only very few fully matured nuts are on the ground. I pick up two of the large nuts in my beak and fly back to the rock to drop them off. I spread my wings and prepare to take off again when I hear the crunching of leaves under foot.

I turn around to see Nix and Walter. Their pickings are way slimmer than mine. They have only managed to catch a small vole and a boney-looking rabbit.

“Wow, that is way less than I expected!” I exclaim.

“I know, right,” Nix says putting down his vole. “I thought we’d get at least more than two scrawny critters.”

“Well, I told ya, whateva would be left wouldn’t be much.” Walt shrugs.

“Enough talking about our small catch. What’d you get, William?” inquires Nix.

“Yea, what did ya collect?” Walt asks, curious.

I look down at what I have. It’s not much, but it will keep me going for a little while.

“I have three blueberries, six raspberries, and two walnuts. It’s not much, and no offense to you two, but I have way more than you do,” I report.

“Oh, I’m not offended, it is easier to find plants and whatever it is you eat,” Nix agrees.

“I can safely say dat it would be easier to forage,” Walter comments.

“Let’s eat. We don’t have very much time left. The sun is already beginning to set. We’re going to have to find somewhere to sleep soon,” I announce.

Chapter 4 -The Badger

We are now starting to look for shelter. We have finished our puny meals. We walk and walk and walk. My feet begin to hurt. After three hours of walking, I start flying. The sun and moon battle for control of the sky. The moon slowly takes over the sun. The sky slowly begins to darken, from a beautiful, honey orange to a harsh, plum purple. We trot under the painted sky and sturdy, waiting trees. Leaf litter under foot gives off a strange, musty smell. The shining orb in the sky provides us with an enchanting light; it makes the spooky forest seem more magical.

“Hey Nix, come check this out,” I yell over my shoulder.

Nix pads over to me, Walt following. I have found a large hole. I don’t know if we can all fit inside, though.

“Um, I think that’s way too small,” Nix squeezes into the hole. “Walt, try wriggling in next to me.”

Walt doesn’t speak a word, he just attempts to shove himself into the hole. Walt slides in — it’s surprising that he fits. I slide in easily, but it’s a tight fit. I really don’t think this would be a sufficient sleeping place. I bet we look super squished right now. I’m not even on the floor, I’m on top of Walter.

“Dis is weird, man,” Walter hisses.

“Yeah, no kidding, my butt is so squished,” Nix grumbles.

“An’ poor Will isn’t even on da floor,” Walt adds.

“I do not think this is a good spot at all,” I admit.

“Okay, everyone out. This is really uncomfortable,” Nix sniffs.

We all try to scramble out at once, but we get stuck, and even more uncomfortable.

“This is not good at all,” I squeak.

“I can’t move,” Walter sputters.

“Okay, I’m going to get out first, I take up the most room. It’ll be easier when I get out,” Nix claims.

Walter and I wait as Nix scrapes himself out of the hole. It takes him a while, but soon enough, he scrambles out. Walter and I have tons of space to move around. Nix is one big dog. I flit off of Walt and let him crawl out. Then, I strut into the open.

“Well, that didn’t go very well. We should keep looking,” I comment.

No one objects. We continue to search.

***

“Huff puff huff… Can… we… please… stop walkin’…?” Walter breathes.

“Fine, we can stop for a second,” Nix sighs.

We have been following the creek for two hours now. Walter drags himself to the creek and takes huge gulps of ice cold water. Nix sits down and licks his sore paws. I decide to explore the area — I’ve never seen this place before. I hope we don’t get lost; I know most of the forest. I probably know this place in the daytime, but right now I have no idea. I think a nice badger lives somewhere around here; I’m really not sure though. I look around some more. I find an area that seems to elevate like a little hill. Near the base of the hill, there is a cave or hole of some sort.

I flap over to Nix, who is still licking his paws.

“Nix! Nix. I found a big hole or cave, it’s something like that, anyway. Back to my point, I think we could all fit in it,” I squawk.

“Show me.” Nix ceases licking his paws and stands up.

I lead him over to the big, open hole-cave thing. I look up at Nix. He looks shocked. This is the biggest shelter we’ve seen so far.

“Hey Walter, come look at this,” Nix says, eyes still on the opening.

“Why!?” Walter snaps.

“Because you should,” Nix retorts.

“Fine!” Walter shouts.

“Why are you so cranky?” I inquire.

“‘Cause I am, deal wif it,” Walt hisses.

“Just come over here,” Nix snarls, beginning to get frustrated.

Walter drags his paws as he sulks over.

“Look at what William found,” Nix says.

“Why should- oh, whoa,” Walt murmurs.

“I think it’s big enough for all of us!” I exclaim.

Nix pops in first. “There’s room for all of us!” he cries.

I flutter into the hole, then look up at Walter. He gives a small grunt and forces

himself in the hole. We all have plenty of space.

“It smells weird in here,” Walter mumbles.

Nix glares at him.

“But, we can sleep here,” Walt says, frightened.

Nix puts his head down on his paws and falls asleep. Walter turns away from Nix towards me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “This trip has just been so exhaustin’, I really hope we can ged home. I bet Nix does too, don’t ‘cha think?”

“I do, I mean he’s a been a great leader helping us through this trip. I agree, I hope we can get back to the farm,” I reply.

“Winter’s comin’. I can smell it. I don’t think wes gonna make it before it snows. So, I don’t know bud,” Walt whispers.

“Yeah…” I mumble.

“‘Night lil’ bird,” breathes Walter.

“Good night,” I murmur.

***

Rustle, rustle.

I wake up startled. I hear a strange, rustling sound. No one else seems to notice it. The sun isn’t even fully up in the sky yet. Not very much light filters into the hole.

Rustle, crunch.

“Walter. Walter! WALTER! WAKE UP!” I shout.

I end up waking up Nix and Walt. Nix falls back asleep right away.

“What?” Walter murmurs.

“Do you not hear that?” I whisper frantically.

“Hear what?” Walter asks.

Rustle rustle.

“Oh dat, it’s probably Nix. Guy fidgets a lot in his sleep.” Walter looks over at Nix.

I also stare at Nix.

Crunch, snuff.

Nix isn’t moving, he’s as still as a stone.

“Yeah okay, if dat’s not Nix,” Walter turns to face me, eyes wide. “Then who or what is dat?”

The rustling sounds begin to grow louder.

Snuff, grunt.

I feel air blow on my back; Walt seems to have felt it too. A low growl comes from behind us. Walter and I turn around slowly.

A monstrous creature, much bigger than Nix, stands in front of us. It is way taller on its powerful hind legs. Tiny ears, rounded, pointed and alert. Yellowish, deadly fangs, drool dripping from its huge mouth. Its face is scrunched up in a snarl, a white stripe down the middle of its face and small beady eyes.

“GRRROWL!” the creature roars.

Nix is suddenly wide awake. The huge animal lunges towards him. Nix scrambles away from it and hides behind Walter and I. This can’t be the end.

The Nightmare After My 16th Birthday

 

            

“Ouch,” I said as I bumped my head on the corner of my nightstand.

The clock read 6:00 a.m., and the sun was ever so slightly peeking out from the sky. I loved days like this when I woke up early and got to see the sunrise right out my bedroom window. It was summer, the best time of the year: no school, no rules, just my favorite thing in the world: softball.

[Pause.]

Hello world, my name is Autumn, and this is the story of something that happened in my life that changed it forever. I was just a normal teenager, living her life like a normal teenager would do, when all of a sudden, my life changed drastically. I don’t want to give too many spoilers, but let me just say that I never ever would have seen this coming. I live in Los Angeles with my mom, dad, and brother. And this tragedy happened a week after my sixteenth birthday.

[And back to the story.]

Buzzzz, buzzzz, my phone rang. It was my dad.

“Hello… Bailey?”

“Uhm, this is Autumn.”

“Hi Autumn, this is Brad. Can I please speak to your mother?”

“Yeah, is there something wrong… Where’s my dad?”

“Can you please put your mother on the phone?”

His voice sounded angry, but delicate at the same time. Like he just found out a shocking secret that he wasn’t suppose to know. Brad, my dad’s best friend slash colleague. Why would he call me on my dad’s phone asking for my mom? I sat, thinking about what could have possibly happened. They were both supposed to be gone the whole week on a business trip, but Brad would never call me just to ask to talk to my mom. I handed the phone to my mom, and as soon as she heard Brad and the light tone in his voice, she told me to go away.

I walked back to my room, stressed, scared, worried. I tried not to worry about it that much, but the thought in my head kept coming back. I got ready to go hang out at the mall with my best friend because I realized that I couldn’t wrap my head around this all day. Her name was Violet, and we’d been friends since kindergarten… Eleven years, holy cow. She was my other half and always had been. We did everything together, literally everything. Except, well, she got her license before me. Uhhh… I kind of failed my first test, so I was praying I’d be able to pass the next week.

By the time I was out my bedroom door, my mom was off the phone. I was so curious to know what the phone call was all about, but I was certain it’s none of my business. My brother, Noah, finally woke up and something about him seemed off too, but was he ever not off? I didn’t know what was going on with everybody that day but as of that moment, I really didn’t care anymore. I was out the door, ready to forget my horrible morning.

“Hey,” said Violet.

“Hey,” I said in a grouchy way.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing much… It’s no big deal.”

“Come on, It’s no big deal. You only say that when it is a big deal. ”

“Okay… my dad’s best friend called me this morning, and he seemed off. He called just to ask me to put my mother on the phone. It sounded like something serious happened.”

“I think I might know what that’s about. Last night, your mom called my mom. I overheard them talking, and when my mom hung up, she told me that your dad was in a deadly car accident and sent to hospital. I was going to call you, but my mom said that you didn’t know yet, and she told me not to tell you. I’m so sorry, Autumn.”

At first, I couldn’t believe what she had just told me, but I knew that she would never lie to me. Although, something about it didn’t add up in my head. Why wouldn’t my mom or brother tell me something this big? I felt hurt that my mom would tell her “best friend” before she would tell me, but I was even more scared of finding out the truth.

I hopped out of the car and stormed into my house. I slammed the door behind me as hard as I could to make sure my mom and brother heard me coming in.

“MOM!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

No answer. I started running around the house looking for her.

“MOOOOM!” I shouted again.

“Dude, stop yelling,” said my brother. “She’s upstairs.”

I ran upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. She wasn’t in her bed nor in her closet getting dressed. The last noticeable place I looked was the bathroom. I crept in, thinking she would be there and, to my favor, she was. There she was, sitting on the bathroom floor. Her eyes looked watery and red, and she had the most depressed look on her face. I sat down next to her.

“I want to know why Brad called this morning asking for you on dad’s phone,” I blurted out.

“Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, but I didn’t know how.” She started sobbing.

She took a deep breath and continued.

“Last night your dad was in a really bad car accident. They took him to the hospital with broken bones and blood all over his body. They did everything they could to save him, but…”

Her body began trembling and her voice started trailing off. Tears rolled down her face, and I could now see that this rumor was true. I couldn’t believe it. My dad was dead.

I thought about this for a moment and wondered how this could even be true. I just talked to my dad yesterday morning and he seemed fine, but now all of a sudden he was dead. I didn’t really know what to do, how to act, what to say. And then it hit me, and it hit me hard. Tears rushed down my face faster than I had ever known they could. I just kept crying and I couldn’t stop. At that moment I had just realized that I would never be able to see the best man I knew talk or walk or dance ever again. Memories of us going to baseball games together and riding our bikes around town flashed through my head. I remembered when I was little, my dad would always go on bike rides in the morning, and one day I said I wanted to go with him and so he taught me how to ride a bike. And I remember trying out for a competitive softball team and I was so nervous and he told me I could do it and in the end I actually made the team. My dad was basically my best friend. Besides Violet, he was the only other person who always listened to what I had to say and always had my back. He never kept any secrets from me like my mom always does, and he took care of me like a dad should. I never got the chance to even tell him that and now I really hated myself for not doing so.

***

Doors opened and closed, and I could smell the scent of hand sanitizer all around. There were loud sirens in the parking lot and a quiet waiting room filled with frantic people. I did not like that; heck, I didn’t even want to be there. The only reason I even came was to officially say goodbye to my dad before we buried him. There was no point in even trying to talk to him when I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was gone, and he was gone forever.

“The Spencer Family?”

We all stood up and followed her. I hesitated because I was not sure if I was ready to witness what would come. But I guessed I was as ready as I could’ve ever been. We walked down a long, narrow hall. It was very quiet and there weren’t many nurses around. I guessed that was where they put people who didn’t make it, for their family. We stopped at the end of the hall and the nurse turned the knob to a white door. My mom and brother rushed in, but I decided to wait outside for a moment. I took a deep breath in then out, and I followed behind, closing the door after me.

I saw Brad sleeping in the corner, waiting for us to arrive. I turned my head slightly to the right and there he was, laying there as if he was sleeping. My mom and brother huddled around him crying their eyes out. I slowing got closer and closer until I could see his face: his emotionless, pale face. I started breathing faster and faster, heart racing. I could feel water build up in my eyes. I took one more step closer and held up my dad’s hand. I tangled his fingers with mine so that I was holding on and couldn’t let go.

“Autumn,” Brad said.

I turned around and he pulled out something. He handed me a bracelet, one that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was my dad’s; he only ever wore it when he was away from home. It said, “You will never be alone, never.” At that moment I started balling my eyes out but only because I knew that I would be alright.

         

A New Perspective

This story is about race. Well, actually, it’s about me, but it’s also about race. You see, race was not a real issue in my house. We never talked about it at the dinner table, and when it would come up on the news, we would simply ignore it. It never came up at school either. I lived with my dad and my sister, so we were a pretty small family unit and mostly had the same conversations about the stock market, politics, and school. Most of the time, my dad wasn’t even home because he had to work. He always had to work because he ran one of the biggest hedge funds in the country. Every time he planned something for the three of us, I would get a call, and he would say, “Honey, I have to work. You understand, right?” It was a bit disappointing, but my sister Blake’s lively personality more than made up for his absence. She’s the best performer at school and has a small acting gig outside of school too. She would regale me with over-exaggerated stories about her day and act out almost every single action.

At school, I was just another white girl, and I was treated normally. This brings me back to race. Sure, we had the occasional conversation about the Civil Rights Movement on Martin Luther King Day, but it’s not like any of us were paying attention. I went to a pretty small school occupied by mostly white people except for one Asian teacher. Everyone knew each other, and we were all friends. There was no need to ask those awkward first-time questions because we had all been at the school since kindergarten.

My life was perfect until my dad told me that I would have to switch schools for high school. He wanted me to have new experiences before college. So I began my freshman year at a local private school named Emerson. I was not too happy that I would have to spend the entire year with my head glued to a desk, trying to catch up.

When I walked in, I took a name tag and was immediately swept up in a large crowd of people. I had never seen such a mix of people. There were black people, Indian people, Latinos, and Chinese. They were all speaking in multiple languages fluently and seemed to be star athletes, judging by their muscles. I was amazed by the bright lobby and the nonstop flow of kids just walking in as if they were stars. There was a big television screen at the far end of the room that displayed a live video feed of all the kids walking into the building. I was so overwhelmed by the school, I ran up the stairs to my homeroom. It was on the fifth floor, next to a shiny row of lockers. I chose one and then entered the room. It was big for my standards and had a nicely sized whiteboard and projector. A tall man walked up to me and shook my hand.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Kravis, and you must be Sara. You can go to the back and introduce yourself.”

Before I could answer, he walked past me and hugged the student behind me. I went to the back of the room and immediately saw that the kids had racially grouped themselves. The white girls were sitting at one corner, and the black girls at another. There was a small group of Chinese kids sitting in the middle and a few Latinas next to them. They all had very exclusive looks on their faces. I naturally walked over to the white girls and sat down.

The girls laughed before one asked me, “What’s your name?” I told them my name was Sara. Another asked, “You are so pretty, what are you?” I told them I was white, but for some reason, they did not believe me. They simply laughed and walked away.

So maybe I lied a bit. I mean, it’s not something I really talk about. My dad is white, I’ve grown up around a completely white family, but there is one dirty little secret that we don’t talk about. When my dad was young, he met a beautiful Tunisian woman on his travels to Paris. They fell in love, and he brought her back to the states. But his family did not approve and forbade him from seeing her again. They would sneak around and have dates for years. She had two children (me and my sister) before she died from a terrible accident. We don’t talk about her because my dad is still embarrassed, and his family acts like it never happened. From time to time, I feel badly that my dad does not recognize my mother and therefore does not see a certain side of me. I’ve only seen one picture of her. So sure, one could say I am black, but I don’t consider myself black. I mean, I hardly interact with them, and their problems have never affected me. I am just not black. Plain and simple.

When I got home, I checked the mail and saw a letter from the Students of Color League. I was infuriated! “I am not black,” I shouted out loud.

My sister, who happened to be in the room, started engaging me. “What do you mean, you are not black?”

“I’m just not, I… no… yuck… no!” I was surprised with my sister’s question.

“You know what, I think you should go because I think it will honestly open your eyes.” My sister was totally being an adult right now.

“Since when do you identify as black?” I had honestly never heard my sister speak like this.

“I’m not saying I identify as black, I’m just saying that I have come to acknowledge that being black is a part of who I am, and I can’t just ignore it.”

My sister was getting really persistent and kind of annoying. But she made a convincing argument, so I went to my room and asked my magic eight ball if I should go. The magic eight ball said yes, so I decided that the next day I would go.

That night, I dug out the picture of my mom and stared at it long and hard. She was really pretty and had some of the most delicate features I had ever seen. She had honey brown skin and big, red lips that seemed to be perfect. Her hair was short and frizzy, kind of like mine. Sure, I look like my dad, but I am almost my mother’s twin when it comes to facial features. Except for my fair skin, it felt like I was looking into a mirror. I took the picture into my room and fell asleep with it resting on my heart. It was a deep yearning to know my mother and a certain part of me.

The next day, I walked into the room where the meeting was held and waited for the other members to come. They were really welcoming and really had an inspiring goal. They wanted to create racial equity and diversity within the school. I thought that was pretty cool, so I decided to stay longer than I had planned. We passed around a beanbag and gave a brief description of our background and why we wanted to join. When it came time for me, I paused before I started speaking.

“Well… I really don’t know what I am, you know? I mean, I was raised by all white people, but my mom was black, so I really don’t know. I came here to learn about myself and experience the real black experience.”

The rest of the kids looked at me as if I had said something wrong. The leader of the club broke the silence and addressed me.

“There is no one black experience. I mean, look around the room. Alicia is half-Vietnamese and was born in St. Lucia. She speaks Vietnamese, French, and English. She can make the best Caribbean roti you will ever taste and the best Vietnamese noodles, too. What about Graciela? Her mom is from Peru, and her dad is African-American. She grew up eating traditional Peruvian food as well as hot dogs from Gray’s Papaya. Look, we all have unique experiences, but we are all equally black. You should be proud of all the different experiences you have had and the ones that you will encounter in the future.”

I was awestruck. I had never met so many different people who were so proud of their many different heritages. We delved into a beginner conversation on the recent events that had been happening throughout the country. Several innocent black men had been shot by the police, and the Black Lives Matter movement was speaking out. They were outraged about the police brutality that had been going on. Many of the kids in the room shared their own personal stories about being wrongfully stopped by the police and racial bias or microaggressions that they had experienced. I felt like the odd one out because I did not have a story, so I just listened intently and tried to form my own opinions. When I got out of the meeting, it was as if a white cloth had been lifted from my face, and I had finally connected with my black side.

When I went home later that day, my dad was surprisingly there. He wanted to take my sister and me out for dinner, and we happily obliged. We went to Ristorante Morini on Madison Avenue near our house. It was as soon as we sat down that I remembered all that I had learned today.

I was so excited, I didn’t even think before I opened my mouth and blurted out, “What do think about the Black Lives Matter movement?”

My dad seemed stunned. He almost choked on his pinot noir. “Well… I… um… I beg your pardon?” He seemed to be totally caught off guard.

“I said, what do you think about the Black Lives Matter?” I was sure he knew what I said, and I waited patiently for an answer.

“I think they are a bunch of crazy, black extremists that resemble the likes of the Black Panther Party that was devised from the hatred of white people. It is an anarchy that wants to destroy the very foundation that this great nation was founded on.”

I was surprised by his harsh response. “But this great nation was founded by men who had slaves, slaves who suffered for over two hundred years.” I thought it was a pretty insightful retort.

“Yes, but does that mean they need to destroy everything that we have done, reverse the progress we made?” His face was getting red, and his palms were getting sweaty.

“But what if that progress was totally against us?” I was getting angry.

“Who is us?” My dad seemed shocked that I had referred to myself and Blake as black.

“I just thought you would be more sensitive to these things considering you have two daughters who are black.” I genuinely thought my dad was more open minded than this.

“I do not have two black daughters. I have two white daughters and I will not have you insult our family by suggesting anything else. I am not black, and no one I identify myself with is black! I want nothing to do with them, and I don’t want to hear another word about this Black Lives Matter nonsense!”

For the rest of the dinner, we sat in silence. I ate a plate of pasta that tasted like disappointment in my father. Disappointment that he is racist and refuses to accept his past and our future.

After the events of dinner with my father, I decided I needed to immerse myself in the league. I started having more in-depth conversations with fellow members and writing my feelings in a small notebook I bought from Papyrus. I wrote down my frustration with my father and his lack of empathy. As I continued writing, it turned into poetry. The poetry let me enter a different world, where I was in control, and I understood exactly who I was. As well as self improvement, I also wrote about current events and all of the opinions the league held on our nation today. I used my poems to inspire young children of color to speak out against the racism of the world and the horrible violence committed against them. The poems healed me, and I was eager to share them with my peers. So one day during a meeting, I got up in front of them and just started reciting lines.

“I feel black in my bones. I feel black in my heart. I feel black in my soul. Why should I be ashamed? Why should I hide? As the black drips off of me like fresh paint, I think about my new color. Does it fit? Is this really how I want to spend the rest of my life? Yes!”  

Some of the other kids were so inspired, that they asked if they could join me in making poetry speaking to the racism in this country. I was delighted and decided to make a project of it. I asked the head of high school if we could present them at a student assembly. I was so proud that I had truly found myself, I wanted to share it with the world. I wanted to get at the forefront of black power and the improvement of the perception of black people. Secretly, I wanted my dad to come and accept me. I thought that if he heard the beautiful art I was making with a pencil, he would change his mind about black people. I knew it was going to be hard to accomplish, but I was ready to climb this very tall mountain. The headmistress was delighted by the idea and jumped at the prospect of talking about politics with the students. My friends and I started practicing most days after school, while trying various types of iced tea at Starbucks and treats from Le Pain Quotidien. It was really fun, and at the same time, I was really getting to know myself and what being black meant to me, which was my first poem. It was really short, but it definitely opened my eyes.

“What does black mean to me? It means hope. It means power. It means never giving up. And most of all, it means me.”

As the weekend approached, I thought it would be fun to throw together a family dinner with my grandparents, aunt, and uncle. I would also invite my friends so we could give them a backstage tour and preview to our upcoming show that we had named Fierce. For the dinner, I hired a chef to come over and cook a simple, yet elegant meal. She made a carrot soup, a beet salad, a pappardelle, crispy French duck breast with mashed potatoes and swiss chard, and a vanilla cake. My family arrived first, baring lavish gifts and wine.

My grandmother glided into the room.“Sara! Oh honey, it’s so good to see you! You look great! How are you?” She had this kind of fake and proper voice that made me want to barf sometimes. It was almost like a mixture of Queen Elizabeth and Kim Kardashian. We hugged, and she presented me with a mink jacket from Dolce and Gabbana. I was not much of a high-end fashion person, but I graciously accepted the gift.

“Thank you so much Grandma Muffin. It’s gorgeous.” I tried to hide my sarcasm.

After some light chatter about flowers and debutante balls, my friends came.

“Hey girl,” said Sam, Jenaveve, and Ebony.

I was so excited that I was going to have some people with real personalities at dinner. My grandparents did not engage my friends one bit. They simply said “Hello,” and stared at them the entire cocktail hour, with their faces hiding behind wine glasses as if they were better than my friends.

When we finally sat down for dinner, the chef brought out drinks first. My grandmother was really chugging down the martinis. My aunt made sure to ask for the most expensive bottle of wine we owned, and when my friends all asked for soda, my aunt looked at them like they had just flashed her.

“Don’t you want something fancier?” my aunt asked Sam.

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m good with a Sprite.”

My aunt would not take no for an answer though. She just kept pushing. “Well, if you don’t know the names, or you can’t pronounce them, I can help you.”

Sam’s face suddenly looked as though a dark cloud was blocking the usually sunny face. “I just wanted soda, ma’am.”

I wanted to stick up for her, but I just couldn’t. My family wields a lot of power in this city. They’re rich, and if they don’t get their way, bad things happen. When my dad was little, he got a B- on a final Spanish exam, so they sent him to the war-stricken Nicaragua where he was forced to take care of a large farm for sixteen hours a day. With the hot sun beating down on him, he got heat stroke and had to be hospitalized, but his parents still made him stay for another month. So if I say anything to my aunt about the blatant racism she displays, I might end up on some war base in Syria, fighting for my life.

As the soup came out, my grandmother ordered even more vodka and started totally interrogating Ebony. “So Ebony, you’re such an exotic girl! Does your name mean something exotic in your country?” My grandmother was speaking very loudly and slowly, as if Ebony was stupid or something.

“Hey Grandma, chill!” I was embarrassed and trying to keep her from going overboard.

“Actually, I’m from New York, and my parents are too. They just liked the name because it sounded pretty.”

I could tell that Ebony was really trying to have a positive attitude. My grandmother, on the other hand, seemed really disappointed. She reached across the table and touched Jenaveve’s hand.

“Excuse me, young lady, do your parents work at our granddaughter’s school?”

“Shut up, Grandma!” I whispered to her and then kicked her leg under the table.

Jenaveve, who was talking to my sister, looked at my grandmother. “My parents do not work at Emerson, but I do know some kids whose parents are teachers.”

My grandmother looked puzzled, so she kept prying. “So how did you get into Emerson?”

Jenaveve looked astonished that anyone would ask that question, but she kept her cool and answered thoughtfully. “I filled out an application and went to an interview like everyone else.” She smiled at my grandmother.

“But how? I mean, was there some connection or assistance that you got? I mean you must have gotten something special.”

Jenaveve looked utterly stunned and quite embarrassed.

“I mean, let’s just be honest.” My grandmother looked around for agreement. “It’s just not possible to have these colored people get into such a prestigious school like Emerson. All they know is violence in the ghetto. It was the same with your mother!” My grandmother pointed to me and my sister. “She acted all sweet, but what she really was, was a gold-digging piece of trash that your father picked up from the street. When he first brought her home, I knew that we could not have that nonsense in the family. So I told him to toss her out, but he would not listen. Soon, she gave birth to you, and he finally got some sense and tossed her out like the trash she was.”

“That’s enough, Grandma!” I said to Grandmother. There were tears streaming down my face.

“Why don’t we get the main course going!” my uncle said, as if he just wanted to forget this whole conversation.

“No!” I said. “I will not stand by and allow you to speak to me like this. Just because you’re rich and white does not mean you can treat everyone else like garbage. You have done nothing in your life but tell everyone else how they should live theirs. The only reason why you’re rich is because your dad made a lot of money in the Gilded Age. You judge people and you don’t even know them. Jenaveve’s parents are amazing civil rights attorneys who argued for gay marriage in the Supreme Court! That’s more than you have ever done. It doesn’t matter if a person is black or if you have more money than they do. What matters is what kind of person you are, and you are a horrible person! You are a racist, homophobic, xenophobic woman whose name is Muffin! Your name is legit Muffin! I am just disappointed in you and all of our family for behaving like this tonight.”

As soon as I had given that speech, I felt lighter. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had finally said what I needed to say to my family. Although I stood up to them, they did not apologize. They simply left. Altogether, they filed out of our penthouse, tight-lipped, not saying a single word. Then, my friends thanked me for the food and left as well.

My father sat in the armchair at the head of the table with a look of disbelief and shock on his face. He looked like he had seen a ghost. When I tried to speak, he simply raised his hand as if to shun me. “Don’t say a damn thing! Just keep your mouth shut, and give me a minute!”

So I stood there, staring at him for a while until he got up. With one swift move, he grabbed my poems from the table and threw them into the fire. I instinctively ran towards the fire, but he grabbed me and threw me on the floor.

“I have never hit a woman, but I might break that streak if you continue to test me! Go upstairs and go to bed now!”

I could not stop crying that night. I stayed up all night watching Grey’s Anatomy and trying to get over the horrors of last night. Fierce was in two days, and my poems were gone.  So I decided to sleep. I was so stressed, I just slept. I slept for two whole days. I was so emotionally drained, I couldn’t move.

When I finally came to, I realized it was the day for my performance. I threw on some random clothes and ran downstairs to grab an apple. I nearly knocked down my sister as I ran out the door. I hopped onto the bus and rode it up to Emerson. It was pretty hard to relax because I had to perform in front of hundreds of people. I started reciting my poems on the bus so that I couldn’t forget them. I honestly wanted to run for the hills, but I knew that I had to do this and that it would pay off in the end. My stomach was flipping up and down so much, that when I got off the bus, I threw up on the side of the street. Through the retching and heaving, I could hear the poems vibrating through my body. A voice inside my head told me that everything was going to be fine. So I took a swig of water, pulled my hair back, and confidently marched into the school. As I walked in, everyone went quiet and let me pass. I calmly walked into the theater and waited to be introduced.

Mr. Kravis introduced Fierce and we walked up onto the stage, slowly but surely. The tech crew had positioned three microphones in the middle of the stage, and we hesitantly walked towards them. We held each other’s hands and gave each other encouraging looks. As we stepped forward, blinding rays of light hit us, and we became the complete center of attention in the theater. When I got up to the microphone, all of my nerves seemed to melt away, and I started reciting.

“They call me white. They call me black. They call me mixed. But what am I? Am I not just a person that deserves recognition for being great? Am I not just a normal girl that deserves to be treated with respect? Am I not just a person that wants to be free from stereotypes and biases? So who am I?”

I finished so strong, that the entire crowd stood up and clapped. They whooped and hollered at me. I was so happy and proud of myself. As I scanned the room, I saw my father in the back. He was smiling and clapping for me. I couldn’t believe it. In that moment, I knew I was going to be okay. I knew that I was going to be able to work everything out with my family because we’re family, and family always comes around.           

Imaginationland

Finals. Hudson had stayed up all night studying for his chemistry test. Hours and hours on end, he had tried to memorize all he could to complete his goal of becoming the valedictorian. However, Hudson could not focus; all he could think about were the characters from his favorite books and movies. He pictured himself fighting alongside Luke Skywalker to defeat Vader, and going on all of the journeys with all the superheroes to help save the civilians. But no. Instead, he had to study for his final for hours and hours on end as he thought about boring formulas and useless equations that he would never use in his life.

Sunday, June 12, 2016. Hudson was extremely nervous. He knew he needed to ace his final if he wanted to be the student with the highest honor. Then, he received a text message that turned his life around.

Lauren: Hudson I’m sorry this is not going to work out. You never talk to me. All you ever do is play stupid video games and read books about fictional characters. You are just too childish.

Thoughts swirled around his head. Hudson felt trapped. He began to think about being in a world on his own with nobody around him.  He tried to distract himself from the message by grabbing his notes, but he could not think straight. He picked up the phone, but realized he had no other friends to talk to because his only friends were in his mind. Hudson ran to his bed and put his face into the pillow and cried. He knew it was time to make real friends and to start growing up. He ran to his desk and grabbed his laptop. He turned on the first documentary he could find and tried to start acting like the other kids around him.

Before watching, Hudson lay down on his bed, and he began to stare aimlessly at the ceiling as he realized that it was time to become an adult. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door opening. Hudson’s eyes darted to the location of the sound, and he glared at the dark, mysterious door with the sound of wind howling through the cracks. He began to think that he had gone crazy, as he had just seen a door pop out of nowhere. He closed his eyes for the next ten seconds, then opened them again, and he still saw this mysterious door. Too afraid to call his parents, he stood up and slowly headed for the door. Hudson then cautiously turned the knob, and inside, all he saw was empty space with a very narrow, white walkway that seemed to never end. He looked back at his bed and saw the documentary, causing him to picture himself all grown up and having his girlfriend back. But he shook his head and realized that he would be miserable not being the person he really was, so he decided to take a step onto the never-ending walkway.

Hudson was extremely nervous. He looked around and saw nothing but empty space and a narrow walkway leading nowhere. He believed he was walking toward his destiny, or maybe even a path to his past. He walked for miles and miles on end, then sat down and looked straight up. He heard a sound and jumped up and saw what looked to be a godly figure. Hudson cringed in fear as he saw this large man with a white beard and a staff that seemed to look like a lightening bolt. He walked closer to the man to a point where they were only a few feet apart from each other.

Hudson looked at this person, who seemed to look like Zeus, the Greek god. He was in shock. He wanted to ask him who he was, but was afraid to talk to this muscular, tall, and powerful-looking figure.

After staring into his eyes for a few seconds, the man said, “Welcome to Imaginationland.”

Hudson questioned himself for a second and thought that this man was crazy; he knew that there was no such place as “Imaginationland”. Hudson now looked away from him and realized he was walking on a pathway leading nowhere. He began to consider the idea that he was in a different world.

Hudson slowly moved his head back toward the man and shyly asked, “Are you Zeus?” Hudson was scared that this man may have gotten offended, but as the godly creature began to move closer to him, he saw a grin on the man’s face as he said one word.

“Yes.”

Hudson’s fear became joy as he realized he was in a new world with a character from his dreams. Zeus asked Hudson to follow him to the world where all the characters from his imagination lived. Hudson looked at Zeus and his joyful face turned to one of doubt. He began to think to himself that he was probably just dreaming, and that his mind was just playing games on him. He thought back to all the moments where he got teased for not acting his age, and to the time when his girlfriend dumped him over text, leading to him feeling depressed.

However, Zeus realized his doubt and anguish. Without realizing it, Hudson was in Zeus’s arms, causing him to snap out of his hesitation as Zeus exclaimed, “Let’s go!”

Zeus jumped off the pathway with Hudson in his arms, and they began to fly over the dark, bland, empty space. After flying for what seemed to only be a few minutes, but hundreds of miles, Hudson looked below him and all he could see was darkness, causing him to fear that he was travelling to a dark location. But then, he approached the largest gate Hudson had ever seen. He was amazed. He looked at the gate and saw his reflection in the pure gold layering, which towered 100 feet over his head. Glamoured by its beauty, Hudson went to touch it. At first, nothing happened, but then the gate shook; it felt like an earthquake, causing the gate to begin to open. Hudson saw a bright light, so he looked away as he was blinded by the brightness. Slowly, he turned his head back toward the gate and he saw all the friendly faces he pictured in his dreams. Hudson rubbed his eyes and noticed that in front of him were the friendly faces of all his favorite characters, such as Aslan the Lion, Gandalf the Gray, and Captain America. He ran into the world that seemed to be held up by white, powdery clouds and stood alongside his idols with a smile larger than his face. He looked around, and he saw a village which seemed to have been made out of golden bricks. Hudson felt free; he finally felt comfortable being himself. His favorite character was Captain America, so he asked him about all of his adventures and how his shield was designed. Then, he ran to Aslan. At first, Hudson felt dismay because he was standing a foot away from a sharp-toothed lion. But Hudson remembered that Aslan would never want to hurt him, so he ran up and greeted the lion.

Hudson met all the characters of his dreams and asked them more questions than they could even handle. He toured the land and noticed that all the people were living in harmony and joy, causing him to forget the problems he had at home. After journeying across their land, he was brought to a room. This was a dark room with no windows and room for only around two people. Then, walked in the king of the land, Aslan. Hudson looked into his eyes and saw fear.

Aslan said with a powerful voice, “We are under attack!”

Hudson dropped back in his seat as this was the first time he ever felt nervous while on the new land. He thought that everything would be adventurous and exciting, but he heard this horrific news and put his head in his hands and frowned.

Hudson then yelled, “Who is attacking us, and why?”

Aslan sternly replied, “These large, beast-like mammals that outnumber our population two to one!”

He then beamed his eyes toward the lion and cried, “Why was I brought to this land?”

Slowly, Aslan whispered, “You are the one who controls us. You created me and everyone else in my kingdom. Now, we call on you to come save us.”

Hudson felt powerful. He believed that he could now fight off the fact that he had to become an adult, and that he could live with the people he was surrounded by in Imaginationland. Aslan took Hudson to the highest point of the castle, but left him alone. It was up to Hudson to save the kingdom because he had the power in his mind to control the outcome of the battle. However, he could not focus; there was so much pressure coming from the people of the village that he could not think straight. Hudson peered over the walls, and he noticed the beasts crashing through the walls and attacking the homes of Harry Potter, Hawkeye, and Donald Duck. Hudson now felt angered, but determined. He cleared his mind and pictured Captain America ferociously attacking the beasts. Therefore, Captain America ran towards the invaders and fought off the creatures for as long as he could. Now, Hudson realized how powerful he was, so he sent everybody to fight the beasts, not realizing that he could not control all of his imagination at once.

Then, the beasts demolished every character that came in their way until they surrounded Hudson, as it was now only him left. He was frightened because Hudson thought he would be attacked any minute now. Then, the largest beast of them grabbed Hudson by his claws and held him up above his head. Hudson’s face was white, but he shook his head and remembered that he was in his imagination, so he could control himself. He broke free, causing the beasts to cry in fear because Hudson gave himself superhuman powers. Subsequently, all the vicious creatures retreated, so it was only Hudson in his own imagination. After protecting Imaginationland, Hudson sat down and pictured all of the creatures in his dreams coming back, and sure enough, Hudson was surrounded by all the heroes he loved.

Chants roared from the crowd as Hudson was congratulated for his bold and heroic accomplishments. Hudson then saw Aslan pushing his way through the crowd of people. With a sense of urgency, Aslan pulled Hudson aside and told him that it was time for him to return home. Without saying goodbye, Aslan and the other creatures walked off. Hudson was in despair; he did not want to leave. He knew that only here could he be his true self without getting judged. He cried in despair because he did not want to be set free from the teenage life that he had now become a part of. Then, Hudson saw a flash, and a door appeared, but this one was special. This door was white, and it shined brighter than a star. He walked towards the door in doubt, until he saw a message carved into the marble, reading, “Always hold on to what you love.” Hudson looked at the message for hours, trying to comprehend the meaning of the words carved on to the door. Frustrated, Hudson gave up and decided to just walk through the door and forget about what just happened. Anticipating that it would take him back to the opening gate, he took a step through the door. But this time, he ended up exactly where he started, in his room lying down on his bed.

***

Now, school was finally out, and Hudson had the whole summer to become an adult. He went, grabbed his laptop, and reopened the documentary that he thought he should have started a long time ago. Right before he hit the play button, he thought about the message he saw carved on the door that led back to his room. Hudson thought back to when the beast-like creatures were attacking his imagination and came to the conclusion that the beasts were the signs of adulthood that were bound to come. He thought for a second, then realized that he always had to hold on to his love of his imagination, and that he could not forget about what made him happy. However, he also came to understand that he was growing up and must become an adult. Hudson felt happy to finally expand his horizons while not forgetting about his love of his imagination. Finally, Hudson felt pride in being his true self.

Shattered Coloration

         

ianthine wood

the moon has sunken into an aubergine pelt

the barren, lustful trees are noiseless

the night breathes as he does

soft and cavernous

into the surrounding yet choking air

I’m here to tell you I don’t love you

blurred and glowing,

[it truly was how I saw you]

gleaming dusk of cashmere and chastity

rally against Her dark influence

a moonlight divinity without vacancy,

you are a love unlike yesterday’s

gathering your philosophies,

ungiven shards of twisted memories

a serotonin charge,

tears of the clouds

insanity through clarity

susceptible to supernatural activity

but sanity is knowing,

and there is no such thing

relapsed

bullet holes and

fashion magazines line the walls

but we were the ones in smoked rooms,

the ones you were warned about

now doomed to arranging walk-in-closets

like catacombs

hiding in testosterone

wearing bottle-blue dreams

girl that you love

dark cars, darkest rise

allegories of the blushing light

they let me do this to myself

burlesque neon light

and the seldom

girl that you love

until the dawn strikes again

we will forever reign the weekend

disconsolate apology

noiseless nights

dripped over ice

always time for second guesses

a shattered, twisted, analogy

but reflect astrological intervention

our cynical minds would prevail divinity

which never could control me

daybreak

hair, voluminous of sleeping in

play of the angels

umber eyes have been smudged gray with sleep underneath

the sweater is one of ripped holes and seams,

and I watch the soft, tawny sunlight grace your neck

to assure that I or the universe did not simply dream you into being

{Theo}

dark eyed

dark haired

summer recollection

bittersweet, sly, uncontrollable creature

her empty moon eyes

not unlike those of a salem sorceress

lips now lined intricately with silver

I shiver,

the knowledge that her soul is no different than that of

a volatile cat

pricks at me,

though not deflating longing

seeing my lovat eyes pierce into the cracked glass of her mirror

she inquires if she looks alright

The Silver Seraph

The king stood atop the crest of the hill. The king, Sentryil, was tired of the matter at hand. Goblins were, more frequently than ever, raiding the old kingdom. His kingdom. He was 578 years old and had been on the old kingdom’s throne for many years. The goblins meant to take it from him, and he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

A dozen spellcasters stood on the ridge next to him. In front of them, 120 elven soldiers were arrayed for battle: 70 infantry, 40 cavalry, and ten archers. Sentryil was worried that they had too few archers, but his second-in-command, Natrelig, had assured him it was enough. Natrelig, who had been organising the troops, ascended the hill and addressed the king.

“Your majesty, the troops are positioned as ordered. Are there any other things we need?”

Sentryil responded, “I still think we need more archers. Archers are the key to an elven victory. Just five more will do.”

“We have enough,” his second-in-command assured him.

“I hope you’re right” replied the king.

Sentryil entered his leaf-green tent. He needed to do one thing before the battle began. He sat at his table and placed his scrying bowl in front of him. He knew it took a lot of effort to see into the future, but he needed to see this.

He spoke to the pure spring water. “Show me my son after the battle.”

The water swirled around and then solidified itself into an image. A young elf was dressed in an inky black robe. His head was lowered as if praying. Satisfied, Sentryil dispelled the image and walked over to his bed. He picked up his sword off the blanket and clipped it to his worg leather belt. He draped a shirt of silver chain over him. Lastly, he put his sheathed hunting knife onto his belt. Then, he walked out of his tent, ready for battle.

The king stood on the ridge once more, looking at the approaching goblin host. His dozen spellcasters were arrayed in a spearhead formation, with him at the tip. Sentryil drew his sword, which had a crescent moon imbedded in it below the tip, almost like a trident.

He pointed it at the goblins and cried, “CHARGE!”

The king’s sword stabbed a goblin through the ribs, staining his sword in black blood. The elven army plowed through the fray, cutting down many of the 250 goblins. The ten archers fired three rounds of deadly shafts into the goblin army. Sentryil hacked and slashed with his crescented sword, but then a goblin bruiser with a mace leapt in front of him.

The goblin wore leather armor the color of beige. He hefted his mace and swung, screaming, “Blood!” Sentryil parried and blocked, and then with one swift, graceful movement, he lopped off the goblin’s hand. The goblin screamed and wailed in pain, and Sentryil thrust his sword through his heart.

The king picked up the mace in his left hand, and caved in a goblin’s skull while stabbing another one with his sword. Around him, his spellcasters lay waste to the goblin ranks with magic blasts of ice, fire, energy, and lightning. One threw a stone inscribed with the symbol beneath a large goblin, and said goblin spontaneously combusted. One of the twelve spellcasters had already fallen to a goblin scimitar, and the rest were plowing through the goblins, but some were being separated from the group. Suddenly, an arrow flew into of the fray and struck the king on the left forearm.

The king uttered a short “OW!” but he staggered onward through the battle. Soon, the goblin commander was visible. He was a 5’8” goblin wearing a muddy, chainmail hauberk, and he carried a serrated shortsword. He also carried a longspear that glistened with a strange light. Sentryil gasped as he recognised the lance. It had come from the fallen city of Gondolin and had many magical abilities, the least of which was that it turned red-hot when it came into contact with goblin blood.

The royal magician’s guard had been largely separated from the king, but three of them still remained by his side. The goblin commander thrust the spear into one of the magicians, leaving him mortally wounded upon the bloodied ground. Then, he and another two goblins slashed at the king. Sentryil stabbed one of them dead, but the other two struck him. The half-elf screamed, but his mind was thinking something else: I really should have worn a shield. Blood trailed from his left forearm and ribs, where the goblins had struck him. Around them, the magicians held off the goblins, but were unable to reach their king.

The lead goblin laughed, “You are weak, and a sorry excuse for a king. I will enjoy purging this kingdom of you.”

Then, without warning, Sentryil struck. He swung his sword, but his wounds made him miss the lead goblin. His sword shattered the lead goblin’s sword, and the momentum carried it through the other goblin’s skull. The lead goblin took advantage of the opening in the king’s defenses and thrust the spear into the king’s heart.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” screamed Sentryil’s son Erevant.

Erevant had picked his weapons up from the armory and was heading to the battle. With him, he had thirty reinforcements: fifteen infantry and fifteen archers. He could see little through the tangled fray, elven cavalry leaping over goblins, archers shooting shafts into the fray, and he rushed to his father as he battled the goblin commander. And he saw his father fall. The king’s crescented sword and flanged mace struck the bloodied ground. As the goblins saw the king fall, they swarmed over his corpse, eager to loot him of his valuables. Erevant rushed the goblins, slashing them off his father’s corpse, and looked at his father’s fallen form. The king’s mail was rent over his heart and on the right side of his ribs. His mace and hunting knife had already been carried off by goblin looters, but his crescented sword was still clutched in his limp grasp.

Erevant picked up his father’s sword and addressed two of his men: “Take the king back to the castle and prepare him for burial.” As they carried of his father’s body, he shouted to the elves, “To me, spellcasters! Soldiers, charge! Avenge our king!” And with that, 110 elven warriors charged as one through the goblin enemies.

The battle was turned with Prince Erevant’s arrival. Twenty minutes later, less than thirty goblins still remained. The spellcasters had expended all their energy protecting the king from the goblin hordes, so they were of little more use in the battle. The goblins were fleeing from the elves’ wrath, but their leader wasn’t.

“Get back here, ya lily-livered, yellow-bellied cowards! We kill elves, not run from them!” he shouted at them.

Suddenly, a voice behind him said, “Well, you’re the one getting killed today.”

The goblin commander turned around to see Erevant standing atop a pile of goblin corpses. Erevant gazed coldly at the goblin who had murdered his father and leapt at him. They exchanged a few blows, stabbing, slashing, parrying, and twirling their weapons. Then, Erevant kicked the goblin in the stomach, knocking him off balance. With that, Erevant brought the crescent of his sword down on the goblin’s hand that held the spear.

There was a sharp KRAK! as the goblin’s hand broke.

“Ghahh!” he screamed as he cradled his shattered wrist.

Erevant picked up the goblin’s spear. He plunged the spear into the goblin’s chest as his father’s sword decapitated the goblin. The goblin’s headless body slumped on the spear, while the head rolled on the bloodstained ground. Erevant pulled the spear from the corpse and walked back to the castle. With his father dead, Everant was now the king of the old kingdom. He had a lot of work to do.

Erevant walked toward the birchbark burial site. All of those who fell in the battle, save for the goblins, were to be buried there. Elf after elf was lowered into the ground in caskets made of assorted wood: oak, alder, elm, but mostly yew, the wood of life and death. Finally, they reached the final elf to be buried that day: King Sentryil.

Erevant had dressed in an inky black, silk robe for the funeral. The king’s hair was bound in a silver circlet, and his sword lay across his chest. Coins, runestones, and jewelry lay beside him. Erevant bowed his head before his father’s grave. He knelt before the coffin and laid a medallion of a crescent moon on his father’s chest. The top was laid over the birch coffin, and was thus lowered into the grave.

With that, the priest recited the final verse of the funeral: “And as we all rise from the earth, we now commend the dead to the earth.”

Erevant began to walk back to the castle, and he looked up to the sky. He wondered, Where is my father now?

King Sentryil sat up with a start. Where was he? It was really bright. What had happened? He remembered the goblin’s spear, the instant of pain, and then everything went dark. He remembered a light in the darkness, and the brief image of the beautiful, moonlit forest. Then, he heard a voice speak to him through the blinding light.

“WELCOME.”

Two figures emerged before him — 9’ tall elves wearing robes of divine craftsmanship. Sentryil immediately recognised them and knelt.

“Corellon Larethian, Frond. I am honored,” spoke Sentryil.

Corellon Larethian was the god of the elves, and Frond had been the first elven king. The legend was that Frond had been raised to godhood by the elf pantheon. The spirits of the fallen kings and heros had been inducted into Frond’s halls if they were deemed worthy.

“It is rare for a hero or king to die in battle in the last life. I welcome you to my halls. You will be able to see into the mortal world, so your son will always have a guiding light,” responded Frond. “You will also fight alongside the gods and heros of this realm. We shall combat the gods of evil and monsters in glorious battle. This life is better than the last.”

“Well then,” replied Sentryil. “Let’s get started.”

THE END  

The Great Anglo-Viking War of 987

Chapter One

A fleet of ships slid to a stop along the Ivory Coast. Viking warriors popped out of every hole and poured over the side in canoes that they used to row to the shore. They poured out of the boats and onto the shore and slaughtered the natives that ran toward their ever-twirling spears. “Það er það, menn, að búa til slóð og við munum mylja þessar sorglegt fíflum!”

The Viking army swarmed forward, like so many ants converging on a piece of bread. The grass-skirted natives ran before them, and the giant crossbows on the ships roared out in cacophony.

The war chief of the Igbo-Maszlek people sat in his treehouse. He enjoyed a cup of tea while observing the carnage below. He had known that this invasion would come for months, ever since his canoe scouts in the great seaworthy canoes had reported that superior ships were approaching the barrier islands, the last outpost of his people, before heading to the mainland. His outpost and cities in the barrier islands had been destroyed, and now the Vikings were coming to systematically mow down the Igbo-Maszlek capital. They would destroy all the buildings and kill every last man except for the war chief and the central chief.

A servant came by with a narcotic pipe, and the war chief prepared to take the herbs to see a vision from the Holy One. He descended to the stone temple, the only such stone building in a 1000-mile radius, and waved aside his acolytes at the door. He sat in the center of the heavily carpeted room, and the door was sealed. Narcotic smoke now filled the room, and soon he would see visions induced by the herbs of gods and kings of yore. With a deep breath, he set the incense and descended into the world of mind-altering. He met the bird-headed god Narasho, and Narasho told him to draw his people back. The Viking invaders were equipped with far more advanced Iron Age weapons, whilst his people were still stuck in the Bronze Age, and most of their weapons were made of wood. His people might be exterminated completely today, but they would rise again, be it in a year or a thousand.

He withdrew his people and had them surrender. Only his elite guards, armed with bronze swords, remained fighting. The Vikings’ least trained soldiers mowed down the Igbo-Maszlek elites with ease. Soon, only the war chief remained, and he alone had an iron sword. He fought off the Viking soldiers with ease and settled in for a long fight. It was only when the captain of the invasion force arrived that the Igbo-Maszlek war chief fell. All of his people were completely wiped out and thrown in the river.

The Vikings surged forward, crossing Africa in less than a year. The empire was rapidly expanding, and there was no hope for the European world. England was preparing to fall.

Growing Pains

Growing Pains

I see her standing there, waiting outside my window. I know I shouldn’t go running to her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in real life — as opposed to through a series of angry text messages — in weeks.

I look at myself in the mirror. My face, just beginning to age, stares back at me. Is that a gray hair? I sigh and release the strand of hair. When did I get so old? College is already a distant memory, and I’m just living day to day. My job is boring, even though it keeps me steady. I wish I could live without it, but there’s nowhere to go. I thought I would have an important job, making change in the world. Instead, I work a dull, entry-level job. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be mature when all I want to do is run and hide?

I don’t know what I want from Tara now. I don’t know what she could possibly give me, after betraying me like that. After not telling me — her girlfriend of almost a year — that she was married. Was it my fault? I feel like I should’ve been able to guess, but it was her who made the choice to cheat.

How can I face the pain I accidentally caused Joy?

I start heading for the stairs to talk to Tara. Three weeks ago, she would’ve come in herself with her key. Instead, she lied. Now, I’m opening my door, and there she is. I have to stand my ground with this conversation. If she cheated on Joy, then she’ll cheat on me.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell her.

Tara stands in front of me, her long hair waving back and forth like a willow tree. She’s Caucasian, while I’m Japanese. Her body is slender. Her neck is skinny too, in comparison to my fat body. I don’t say it negatively, just as an aspect of my body. Either way, I can’t help envying her, despite my outwardly body positive attitude. She always seemed too perfect. And now I know she’s not, because a perfect person would have never hurt me that way.

“It wasn’t even me. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known because you lied to me,” I say.

She blinks, almost surprised by my brutality. How could I be anything but angry, with what she did to me and Joy? She’s beautiful, at least by standards of society. Of course her flawless exterior that made me so jealous every time I looked at her, would hide a rotten inner core.

“I hate thinking about that day,” I say. That day, of course, being Christmas Eve, when I found out that the beautiful girl I’d fallen for and was dating, was married. I’d gone to her place with a surprise gift, even though she’d told me she was spending it by herself. She’d lied, of course.

“Me too,” she tries to offer up. Tara, playing her mind games, twisting a lock of perfect, hazelnut hair. Like she didn’t know perfectly well about Joy. About her wife. About that ring on her finger, hidden in a pocket every time we kissed. I’m so betrayed, but at the same time, I want to go running back to her. Nobody ever told me that adult life could be so complicated.

“It’s not the same for you!” I snap. “Tara, I loved you. I did. We could’ve been happy together. I still want you,” I confess. She looks so pathetic in the cold, winter air. She’s only wearing a hoodie, and she leans into herself. She stares at the ground, her eyes hollow. I think she’s been crying too.

“Then take me back! I never loved Joy, and now she’s filling for a divorce just because of one mistake.” She tries to reach out for me, but I pull back. I turn to the side. I can’t let her know I want to take her back so much. I try to keep my head up, but I just want to go to her. I want to comfort her. I almost step forward, but I turn it into a step backwards.

“You lied to me, Tara. I can’t accept that.” It’s the first time I’ve talked to her since it happened, and now we’re already getting into a public fight. “I don’t want to be the other woman in your divorce. You can’t come running to me now that you’ve ended things with your wife.” I have to stand my ground, I try to remind myself.

“We got married too early, I’m only twenty-seven. Kat, I’ll do better. I swear.” Now, she’s crying, and I feel bad, but I have to stand my ground.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her. “Please go.”

“I can’t leave you. Then, I’ll be alone. I don’t have anywhere to go — Joy kicked me out of our apartment.”

“You told me she was a roommate, not your wife. Which is why we always, always, always went to my place. Fuck you, Tara. Go back to your parents’ couch.” I am just trying to getting out all of the hurt and the betrayal of the last few weeks, but I never want to hurt Tara.

Because I never like hurting someone I love.

Shouldn’t she feel that too? Shouldn’t she understand how disgusted I feel with myself? Shouldn’t she understand that I feel like I’m the one who ruined their relationship, as opposed to Tara?

The way Joy looked at me, as if it were my fault that her marriage was fractured, hurt. A lot. I mean, I didn’t know. I would never, ever, want to do that to someone, wittingly. Not after my first girlfriend did the same to me.

Am I just terrible at attracting people? Do I want to have people who want to hurt me pretend to love me? Because that’s what it feels like. All I want is someone to love me and to keep me safe.

“I’m sorry.” I want to forgive her. But I know I can’t. “You made a choice,” I tell her and turn back. I slam the door behind me, trying to conceal the tears in my eyes. She tries to stop the door from closing, but I don’t let her. When I get into my apartment, I drop my keys on the bedside table and curl up to sob.

The End

The Wizard (Part One: The Mage)

Chapter One: Meditate

Once upon a time, in a world that is neither yours nor mine, there was a young boy who wanted to be a wizard. His name was Salocin, but he had no last name. He was an orphan, for he had no parents. He lived in the orphanage and was not happy there. He had no friends, nor did he have siblings. He was alone and unhappy.

One day, he became determined to escape. He made a plan to leave at midnight on the 20th night of autumn. He was to leave out the window by using his bedsheets. He tied all three of the thin, white sheets together at midnight and then tied them to his redwood bedpost. This is how he made his way out.

He made his way down the bedsheets and found that they were not long enough. He only had about six meters of sheets, and he was on the third floor. The building was quite tall, the third tallest one in the small village of Jaber (pronounced Jja-bahrr). It was at the edge of the forest, which was perfect for Salocin’s plan.

He risked it and jumped. He fell down, down into a brier patch. He got so hurt and covered with scratches, scrapes, stings, and bruises, that he was afraid to proceed into the dark, black, uncanny, and very large forest. For a while, he lay there, considering his options.

Finally, he chose to leave his spot and go into the pitch black woods. The trees were not bending in any helpful way, but this was no trouble for Salocin, for he was a very dextrous child.

He was going to see a wizard, an old master of the arts of magic. He knew of one wizard, and the wizard went by the name of Egraw. Egraw had learned his magic from Colen, who had learned from Hazrah himself, the father of wizardry. Salocin was sure Egraw was in the forest he was escaping into.  

He walked throughout the night and into the day. He had not slept for two days, and one night, he finally reached a tree with a door in the side. By this time, he was famished and unquenched. The tree was very large and very thick. The door was in the shape of a heptagon and was made out of the tree. It looked exceedingly hard to notice, and Salocin was very proud to notice it. The door was so small that only a gnome would have no trouble walking through it. The door had engravings on it that looked like Elven runes, but he had no idea what they said, for he did not speak Elven. And yet… He knocked on the door, expecting Egraw to answer. The door opened quite suddenly after about twenty five seconds of waiting.

A short, old man opened the door. He was short enough to be able to have no trouble getting through the door. Based on the sound, Salocin inferred that the door had not been oiled for many years. He couldn’t help but notice the old man had wings — like that of a bird. They were as white as a dove’s, but had the texture of a bald eagle’s. He was not bald, however. Instead, he had long, white hair that matched his wings in color, but not texture. He had a long, white beard that extended to his chest and down to where his wings started. His clothes looked like those of a commoner, not like the flowing, blue robes that Sealocin had anticipated.

“Who are you, young boy?” asked the man, “Tell me of your name and what you want at old Egraw’s house.”

Salocin did not hesitate to reply. “My name is Salocin, and I would like to learn magic from you! Are you really the great wizard, Egraw?”

“Great? Tell me, child, do they tell stories of me? Am I famous?”

Salocin was confused. He thought that Egraw knew of his fame! He raised an eyebrow. “You know not your fame? You discovered the cure to season fever!”

Egraw was stumped and did not know what to say. He thought of himself as a poor, old hermit who lived in the woods.

“And made the potion of kingship! And told Aria how to make the tree of life grow! And…”

If it was true that all of this had brought him fame, and this kid was like any other, then Egraw could be famous! No, he was famous!

“… decipher the Elven runes! Where did you get your wings?”

Egraw’s heart was palpitating! This is natural for someone who suddenly finds out he is famous. He gave no thought to the question that Salocin had asked him. He was thinking about signing autographs, kissing babies, speaking in public —

“Excuse me, sir, where did you get your wings?”

— And people would go crazy over him… and then it hit him. The young boy was asking him how he got his wings!

“I was born with wings!”

… and he would be more famous than the famous bards…

“Egraw? Will you teach me magic?”

Egraw pondered the situation. Finally, he consented. “Yes, I will teach you magic!” He said this with a smile that could shine brighter than a thousand suns.

Egraw welcomed Salocin into his house. A winding staircase twisted both down and up, and went quite low. This was not surprising because after all, the tree was very tall. Egraw led Salocin down the stairs. Egraw was quite extraordinarily fast for an old man. Finally, they got to a dark, quiet room after twisting stairways in the roots.

“This is where we meditate,” explained Egraw.

“Meditate?” whined Salocin.

“Yes,” Egraw said.

Egraw sat down in the center of the room. His wings disappeared as soon as Salocin sat down.

“You see the power of meditation. The wings were fake. I used an ancient technique to fool you.”

Salocin sat down next to Egraw and held his breath.

He knew that that was how to meditate.

“Do not hold your breath!” warned Egraw.

Salocin stopped holding his breath and asked how to meditate. He received no answer, so he relaxed and stared off into space while he waited for an answer. He lost track of time, for the room was dark. Egraw knew the time well, for he had something similar to perfect pitch, just with time. He knew that they had been there for a full twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds. That is when he left. Salocin did not notice. He only stopped when a bright white cat licked his hand with her foggy white and pink tongue. She was very small, about one foot long and not too chubby.

“What happened?” He questioned, for he was exhausted and famished. The answer he expected was from Egraw, but when he got his answer, he was surprised.

“You were staring off into space for twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds,” stated the cat smugly. It licked its furry paw and cleaned its head with it. It seemed not to care whether or not the boy was goggling at it. “I’m a girl, by the way. You can call me whatever you want, for I have no name. Actually, I see you are a good person. I will tell you my name. I go by Snowflake, Fluffy, Ghost, Cloud, but I prefer Pickles. And don’t call me ‘Hey, you!’ My name isn’t ‘Hey, you!’ Hey is for horses, not people. Or cats for that matter. And don’t call me ‘Cat.’ I belong to the wizard Egraw, and he takes care of me promptly. Oh, have I been rambling on for too long? Let me give you a chance to speak! What is your name, Salocin?”

Salocin was dumbfounded. A talking cat that knew his name! And quite verbose too! He decided to mock the cat.

“My name? Oh, well, first off, my name is not Salocin. Salocins are for horses, not cats! Or humans, for that matter.” Then, he realized that he had been very rude and felt horrible. “I’m sorry for making fun of you,” he apologized. “But I know you know my name.”

“Apology accepted! I wasn’t even hurt in the first place. In fact, you’re right. I should stop being so mystical and be more humble like Egraw.”

Salocin thought that the cat was not that smug after all, having realized her mistakes — a rare and extravagant talent.

“Snowflake, do you know where Egraw is?” asked Salocin.

Snowflake was not so sure. “Upstairs?”

 

Chapter Two: Illusion

They crept up the twisty, windy stairways. Egraw was making lunch. He was making a pot of beef stew. Salocin knew this because of the smell. He was so starved that he could have drunk that whole pot down. He asked for a large helping and got a very large helping. He gobbled it down in mere seconds and was still hungry. So he ate more and more and more, until he was stuffed. He had only had corn, rice, and other things with little taste at the orphanage.

“Egraw, will you teach me how to make it look like I have wings?” Salocin pleaded.

He got his answer. “I use a technique called wind shifting,” Egraw explained. “I create vibrations in the air that hit you in certain ways. You don’t feel the wind, but you see wings. For example, Cthulhu is behind me,”

This was very true. A towering beast was above them both.

“I can’t see a kah-thoo-loo,” complained Snowflake. “What even is a kah-thoo-loo?”

The wizard laughed his head off. “It only works on the people I want it to work on. And it only works on humans,”

Cthulhu vanished. The wizard took a bow. Salocin clapped loudly.

“It also does not work on people who are meditating,” said Egraw. “Now, it is time for bed.”

Salocin climbed into a bed that looked like the bed he had at the orphanage, save for this one had engravings on it. It looked as if his room was all hollowed out and the bed was part of the tree. It made Salocin respect the wizard’s talent more.

 

Chapter Three: Light

Salocin woke up the next morning. Light shone through the window. It tickled his neck and his face. Or was it Snowflake’s tongue that tickled his neck and face? It was warm in the tree, and the windows were not made of glass. In fact, there were no windows, just hollowed out holes in the side of the tree. There were engravings everywhere — and not just Elven runes. There were runes that were written in the tongue of man. He started reading them until he noticed a very small, peculiar hole in the wall, which let through a narrow beam of sunlight that followed a path engraved into a tree. The beam of light was slowly, but noticeably, moving down the path and to a hole in the floor. Salocin wanted to get some more sleep, so he tried to fall back asleep.

He awoke once more to light shining in his eyes and found that all of the runes in the room were glowing with light. The small, narrow beam of light had reached the hole and had somehow lit up the whole room. He blocked the narrow beam of light with his hand, and the light crept out of the runes quickly. It looked like the light had been reflected from the tiny hole to all the runes on the wall and into his eyes to wake him up. The wizard was good at detailed work.

Salocin jumped down the stairs, skipping steps as he went. When he got down, he noticed that the whole building was covered with engravings. All of the engravings were glowing with yellow light.

The wizard was preparing breakfast and humming a happy tune. “Happy Light Day, at 9:47:38!” sang Egraw.

Salocin was puzzled. “Why is the light shining in the runes?”

Egraw thought he could teach something to Salocin. “I will tell you why we celebrate Light Day. Once upon a time, there was a spirit of light. His name was Shine. He lived in the sun. Every day, he would make the eight minute and twenty second journey back and forth to bring light to the people on earth. But people had no light during the night. Shine had a friend Bright, and they wanted to give the people of earth light during the night.

“One day, Bright said to Shine, ‘Let us bring the people of earth light during the night!’

“Shine agreed. So Shine became the moon, and Bright became fire. Every year, for one day, they follow the paths of light (if they find any) and grant the person who carved them one wish. I wish for a new hat!”

A bright red hat appeared on Egraw’s head. It had a blue pom-pom on top and shone with light for a few seconds. Salocin sat down and started to meditate to see if the hat was just an illusion. It was not an illusion. Salocin looked up. The glowing light in the “paths of light” were undoing themselves at a moderate pace. He raced up into his room and watched as the last of the light undid itself into the small hole in the ground in his room.

 

Chapter Four: Water

It was time for lunch. Salocin made his way downstairs for lunch, but the room was changed. The cauldron was in the middle of the room and was boiling by itself.

Salocin investigated. “What’s happening?”

“I am making a potion,” responded Egraw. He was stirring plain water over the fire.

Salocin only saw a pot of water. He meditated to see if this was another illusion — he was getting quite good at meditating. It simply stilled. It stopped boiling.

“Salocin, if you wanted to know anything, what would you want to know? The current location of the best hand-knitted sweater is what I first wanted to know,” proposed Egraw.

Salocin speculated his decision. Finally, all parts of his mind came to a decision. “Where are my parents, and all of my family members?”

“Salocin! You will get your answer! Your family is dead. Time for lunch!” Egraw was just cooking pasta.

“Will you teach me some magic? You said you were making a potion!” Salocin was very confused.

“I was pulling your leg! But I know your parents are dead, for I knew them myself,” confessed Egraw. “They were wonderful people, and they were my students. Not only were they studying magic, but they were blood mages. That means you were born with magic abilities, great magic potential, or have the blood of some sort of magic beast flowing through your veins,” he continued. “Your father’s name was Baelard Coffern, and your mother’s name was Ederna Ractect. They gave their lives to save you. When you were born, there was a prophesy. You were to grow up to kill your family and all people on the planet including yourself, if you were able to first kill your family. They gave their lives for you.” Egraw sniffled as he said this, and Salocin meditated to see if he was lying. “They drowned. In water. All for you.”

Salocin never knew his mother or father, but this raised a question in his mind. “What if I’m a blood mage too? Like, if my parents were blood mages, wouldn’t I be a blood mage too?”

Egraw thought, and spoke. “Yes, you are a blood mage with the blood of a phoenix and the blood of a dragon. And a unicorn. You are good with fire because of the phoenix blood. You will be good at flying because of the dragon blood (and the phoenix blood). You will also be good at seeing things, and you will be able to talk to animals and spirits when you are meditating (a gift from all three, mostly the unicorn and least the phoenix.)”

Salocin was still held by one question, for with each answer, more questions arose. “Are you a blood mage?”

Egraw could not say he was. “No, I am not. But Snowflake is.”

“I thought that Snowflake was a cat!”

“Well, she is not a human, but blood mages in animals have magic beast and wizard blood. She has both human blood and elf blood. She can read the Elven runes.”

“Can I learn Elven?”

Egraw thought that he was not to teach Salocin writing, but only magic. “Snowflake? Will you teach Salocin Elven?”

Snowflake had a crush on Salocin and would do anything for him. “Yes, master. But where should I start? Should I start with the basics? Maybe we could use the uncarved room! Or just use a blackboard. But the uncarved room would be where he could be tested. Yes, he would be tested in the uncarved room. Egraw, stop looking at me like that! Salocin would love to use it! Or maybe you want to use it for some kind of incantation, or spell, or add to the pathways of light! What’s for dinner, pasta? Ravioli? Do I smell a nice sauteed pumpkin filling and tomato sauce? What about the milk! I love milk. Can we have milk! Can we have milk? Good! Can we have more milk? I’ll go milk the cow! Yes! Milk! Milk tastes like nice, cool, or hot milk, depending on how you like it!”

Egraw had already prepared a bowl of milk. “Today, you may have a bowl of milk. Tomorrow, you will begin lessons on Elven. You know quite well that milk is like poison (at least the very mild kind) to cats.”

 

Chapter Five: Spirits I

“Salocin, what did I tell you about spirits?” Egraw stood over Salocin and smiled brightly.

“If you are nice to the spirits, they will be nice to you,” replied Salocin.

“Good. You may now begin,” offered Egraw.

Salocin meditated in the uncarved room. Nothing happened.

“Oh, I almost forgot the most important part! Carving!” Egraw had done this because he thought it would be fun to let Salocin carve the room.

They started carving. They carved patterns and more patterns, and then, Egraw told Salocin to do the trickiest part. The well of light. He carved a hole in the wall and let the light shine through. Salocin sat in meditation formation. Then, he used a special tool to carve little nooks and niches where the light fell that would make the whole room only light up if he was sitting down. And the room was filled with light when he sat down, and the wizard stepped out. The light started to move around in the small hole, and the patterns of light changed. It stopped, and Salocin started to glow. I will tell you how this worked. The light reflected in the certain patterns until finally it reached Salocin.  It reflected off of him and into the onlookers eyes. The light in the hole moved because the sun was moving in the sky, and the angle at which the light was entering in the hole was changing. This environment was needed for entering the realm of spirits.

It took them about one season to finish the carvings. As you may expect, some things happened in this time. Salocin turned thirteen, and they made sure they completed the ceremony of passing. Snowflake became bigger, now about one half more than her original size. A few other holidays also happened, such as the Fire Festival.

When Salocin finished the carvings, it was time to enter the realm of spirits. He sat down in position. He started to glow. The carvings that were dyed blue had water in them. The black ones had earth in them. Torches lined the walls in small capsules were meant for only letting out small strings of light. And there were lots of holes everywhere to stop the fire from going out. And Salocin sat there meditating, waiting, and remaining patient. In the night, his glow ceased because there was no light from outside, but he maintained meditating. Finally, he opened his eyes. He was no longer in the room he elaborately carved.

 

Chapter Six: Spirits II

Salocin looked around. He was alone in a green field, rivers running everywhere. It was a clearing in a forest. The sky was blue, and all was peaceful. Then, suddenly, clouds — dark, scary clouds — were coming in from all sides, and a head with five faces appeared in the center. It laughed and laughed and inflicted fear into Salocin’s heart. Then, strong hands picked Salocin up. Salocin fell unconscious

“Hello? Wake up!”

A boy was standing over Salocin with a perplexed look on his face. Salocin knew he was meditating, so illusions would not work on him. But this time, the boy standing over him had wings.

Salocin was curious. “Where am I? Am I in the spirit realm?”

The boy answered eagerly, “Yeah! My name’s Denartolasesgartoyeten!erlreoscoendfaresconder’dkefdert!ieskerdam, but you can call me Denarto for short.”

“Are you a spirit?” Salocin asked.

“Yes, I am a spirit. I saved you from Gretyongertoothesyenten!ertoteryunaweyerdfebezexerty’termeyhemhertyservecesrdyetheyemo, who is an evil cloud spirit. He wanted to kill you. Do you come from the true world? Are you a spirit?”

“I come from the true world, if that’s what you call it, and I am a wizard in training,” replied Salocin to all of the questions that Denarto asked him. “How old are you?”

“I’m 358 years old! I know, I’m very young.”

“I’m only thirteen. How is 358 years old, young?” Then, Salocin remembered that Egraw had told him that spirits are very old. And they live forever unless a good enough wizard teams up with a good enough spirit and they give up parts of their souls. Yeah, it’s very hard.

“Wow! You’re young! Can I come back with you? I’ve always wanted to see the true world!” pleaded Dentarto.

“That’s a thing? You can leave the spirit realm?”

“Probably in the same way you came here. Maybe I should meditate.” Denarto sat down on the grass and meditated without waiting for Salocin’s opinion. He blinked out of existence.

Salocin followed and meditated. It took him a little while longer than Dentarto, but he reached the place where he was meditating. He looked around. Dentarto was standing up straight, but the light was shining through him. Dentarto was not affecting the system.

“Egraw? Egraw! Come look at this!”

 

Chapter Seven: Wood

Salocin was practicing his meditation when he was rudely disturbed by a chopping noise. Salocin wandered downstairs. Egraw was carving wood.

“Egraw? Do you hear a chopping noise?” asked Salocin.

The chopping noise got louder. Salocin hopped out the door. He perceived a large pile of wood and several tired woodsman chopping down the forest. They all looked stronger than Salocin.

Salocin looked and found that there were stumps in all directions.

Denarto was nowhere to be found. Salocin called his name. He received no answer.

Salocin decided to talk to the men. He went outside. “What are you doing?” He asked them.

“We are cutting down trees for the king,” they answered.

Salocin told Egraw of the choppers.

“This is not good. Salocin, do you love this house?” Egraw asked.

“Yes, it is the only house I love,” replied Salocin.

“Then, I am sorry. We must leave. They will soon cut it down. Follow me.”

Salocin followed Egraw down a pathway into the roots he had never seen before. He thought that he knew every pathway in the tree. Snowflake was trotting at his side. It led to a door. The door was glowing with light, but Salocin meditated and knew it was a pathway of light effect. Egraw tapped the door with his finger in the center. It opened, and behind it, lay a small cave. On the other side of the cave was another door. Egraw entered it and climbed up a spiral stairway.

“This is as new to me as it’s new to you, Salocin,” pitched Snowflake.

Egraw beckoned for them to follow. “Salocin, listen to the dragon inside of you. It will tell you what you need to know that I can no longer teach you. Snowflake will be your humble guide. The phoenix within you will tell you about your parents. The unicorn in you will aid you with your magic. Take care, and you will learn.”

This was the last that Salocin saw of Egraw, at least for now. This is when Egraw started to glow. Salocin was forced to blink at the light, and when he stopped blinking, Egraw had vanished. Snowflake licked his hand and rubbed her head hard on Salocin’s thin leg. Salocin’s bright blue eyes filled with silver tears that ran down his pale face. It was a sad moment.

Salocin and Snowflake continued up the spiral stairway and reached the top. It led to a another door. Snowflake pressed her head against the door and forced it open. Salocin followed. “It was not the house I loved,” Salocin murmured to himself, “but Egraw himself.” That is when Salocin collapsed.

 

Impossible Reality

            

Impossible Reality

The breeze lifts my hair to the sky,

to the sun,

to the curve of my right ear.

He takes a large stride,

pauses when my face contorts,

tilts his head,

and steps back.

I can hear his mind’s voice

melting into my ear,

whispering,

desperate,

questioning.

My heart beats a mile a minute,

my thoughts blurred by

the brushstrokes of his hurt voice.

I reach out my hand to his,

but he pulls back.

His eyes glisten.

He starts to turn.

I feel half of me drift away

like a soul that leaves its body

in a horror movie.

Every stride he takes

makes me wonder

how I long for him

and still feel nothing.

How does a man love his child

but never hug her?

How does a cat feel content

but never purr?

How does a dog play fetch

but never wag her tail?

How do I let him walk away

and still not kiss him?

His feet step forward:

one on the white lines,

one on my chest.

The last of my hope shatters

as he curves around the bend

and disappears into the blinding sun.

A Moment In Thoughts

I hear them crying outside my room.

They think the walls are soundproof.

They’re not.

There are just a few seconds before I have no presence.

It’s like a blank before I faint.

This blank is forever.

I’m going blind.

I’m going deaf.

I can’t smell.

I can’t taste.

I can’t feel.

I won’t think.

I won’t love.

I won’t remember.

I won’t hope.

I will leave everyone behind.

They will keep remnants of me.

My will.

My grave.

My tombstone.

The bracelet I gave my daughter when she graduated.

The suit I gave my brother when he got married.

I will have nothing of them.

I will leave it all behind.

Slowly…

I am…

Gone…

The Master

Eep… I fell again…

Right foot forward.

Left foot forward…

And… I fall again…

Daddy, stop!

Stop laughing!

Sissy walks to me.

I am annoyed.

How does she walk?

How do humans do this?

I take another step and fall.

Mommy runs and picks me up.

I swing my legs.

I whine.

She puts me back down.

I try to run like her.

Oof… And I’m down again.

No fair!

Sissy can walk.

Mommy can run.

Daddy can run.

I just fall.

Sissy takes my doll.

She walks to her room.

I growl and scream.

That’s it.

I’m getting my doll.

I walk.

Right foot forward.

Left foot forward.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right.

Left.

I see sissy.

I take the doll.

She claps.

She hugs me.

Daddy and Mommy clap.

I smile. I did it!

I walked!

I didn’t fall!

I am the master.

 

Back of the Class

I can’t see the writing on the board

or what my teacher is holding up

or the gestures she is making.

 

I can’t hear the videos on the screen

or when the quiet student asks a question

or what my teacher says.

 

I turn off my phone before class.

I take notes the best I can.

I never eat in the room.

 

I try my best to pass.

I do nothing wrong.

I love to learn.

 

People think I sit in the back to use my phone,

that I sneak out the back door to cut class,

that I pass notes to my neighbors under the table.

 

They don’t know that I sit in the back to hide my face,

that I sneak out the back door so I don’t panic,

that I hold a stress ball under the table.

 

They don’t know my name.

 

They Think I’m a Typical Jock

The stick hits the ball.

My hand shoots the ball.

The bat strikes the ball.

Anything with moving a ball:

You name it,

I’ve done it.

You name it,

I’ve also hated it.

But it’s better that I hit a ball

than that I get hit.

When you never do anything

at school,

before school,

or after school,

people ask questions.

No one questions a jock.

So I hit, shoot and strike balls.

If anyone asks,

my bruises are sports injuries.

I wish they were from sports.

I must have been an awful baby,

because my family hates me.

My mom starves me for a week

if I don’t do the laundry,

and my dad throws me against the wall

if I don’t make dinner for the five of us.

My older sister stops talking to me for a year

if I don’t get her a dress for her birthday,

and my older brother rapes me at night

if I don’t tutor him one day.

So I hit, shoot and strike balls.

Anything is better than being at home.

 

If My Mind Went on Strike

The pen is in my hand.

The story is in my mind.

There’s no such thing as not thinking.

I’m always thinking.

Always getting new ideas,

always mentally writing my next poem.

Always storing new quotes,

always planning a new plot line.

I don’t know what I would be thinking

if I wasn’t constantly creating.

Maybe I would be pondering

what sandwich tastes the best,

or what my favorite color is,

or what shirt I want for my birthday.

Would my mind be blank?

Void of thoughts,

of stories,

of ideas?

Would I then be able

to carry a conversation

with the teenager next door?

Or would I just lose myself?

Would I suffer eternal depression

if my mind went on strike?

If being creative makes me different,

I don’t want to be the same.

 

Erik’s Curse

Life is like a movie based on a book: horrible.

My name is Erik. I’m 4279 days and 11 hours and 23 minutes old (at least in World of Warcraft), and 7201 days, six hours, and 54 minutes old otherwise, a purebred 90’s kid who was only in the 90’s for four years, but it still somewhat counts. I live in the deep, dark lair of my parents’ basement, trapped until I find a job.

Unfortunately, my job search has been hopeless since apparently, college degrees and less hostility are required for most of them. They always tell you, “Oh, we won’t hire anyone who yells at our customers for buying Star Wars Episode I on DVD,” or something along those lines, even though it’s only second nature to me. Some people just don’t understand that everybody’s special, and that I deserve to be hired for that. Unlike those corporate stooges who decide to ruin childhoods by rebooting old franchises, trying to make them hip and edgy for those who are, well, how do I put this lightly… unfortunate enough to have been born in the 2000’s and later.

After a while of things like this and trying out three different jobs about a year ago,  I decided that a basement wasn’t so bad, and I’d rather like to be trapped there. Anything I needed, my mother would get for me. That is, until a few weeks ago.

***

My family was what I’d consider perfect. My mom let me do what I wanted. I didn’t have a dad, and yet, I never needed one. Mom always told me he left after a big fight before I was born. So I was always very close to my mother. She’d buy things for me, drive me everywhere, and get me anything I ever needed.

Unfortunately, she’d been acting strange lately. She started forgetting my name; she lost her car keys, and they ended up in the freezer; she got lost a block away from me… so I decided to venture into the outside and find out what was happening with her. We went to the doctor, and after a depressing 40 minutes, the doctor came to me with a depressing look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “But your mother has Alzheimer’s.”

I was just speechless. I’d seen a lot of TV where people would get down on their knees and scream, “Noooooooo!!!” when something as tragic as this happened, but I didn’t feel like that was the appropriate response. I just turned away and sat back down in the waiting area to think. The doctor told me what to do and how to take care of her, but I didn’t listen. I was just thinking about all the things she’d done for me, and how she loved me, and now it was all gone.

She’ll probably forget about me eventually, and I’ll have to take care of her.

I finally snapped out of it when the doctor asked me, “Do you have a job?”

“No, I don’t,” I replied.

The doctor had a somewhat surprised look, but he tried to hide it from me. Most people are surprised when they find out my mother has been working to support both herself and me into her late 60’s even though I’m an adult. I’ve become used to it, though I don’t really care what they think anyway. They don’t live my life!

“I recommend you find a job soon, then,” the doctor remarked. “I don’t think your mother can work in her condition anymore. After all, somebody needs to pay the bills.”

Paying the bills — that frightened me. It seemed so complicated, so many deductions and adding things and expenses. I had no idea what to do. I’d already tried and failed at being a clerk, I got through a month of law school before I dropped out, and apparently, being extremely opinionated doesn’t make you a registered critic. I could never find a job, let alone pay bills. I was stumped on that. Eventually, Mom finally came out of the doctor’s office, and we walked home slowly while I thought about my options. What could I do for her?

The doctor gave me a prescription and told me to get her meds from a pharmacy once a week. I had no idea where a pharmacy was, so I decided first on my list was to get her to a pharmacy. I used my phone to look for some nearby, but all of them had four and a half out of five stars or less. I knew from experience that anything in media under five stars was horrible trash, so, using my best judgement, I found a five-star one, ten towns over in Springfield. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to drive.

“Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Can I borrow your car keys?”

“Who are you, and why do you want them?”  she replied with fear in her eyes.

What could I tell her? She forgot all about me. She was scared of me. I’d never felt like this before; my own mother had forgotten me. Maybe she’d forgotten my name before, but never my entire existence!

I tried to explain to her, “I’m your son!”

But she kept saying she didn’t have a son. Every time, she wouldn’t even let me finish saying anything. She just kept accusing me of being a criminal and a liar. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I slapped her.

At that moment, it was like everything went silent. Every human, animal, and even inanimate object felt like it was watching us in shock and fear. That man just slapped an old lady! Probably his own mother! What a monster! I didn’t even know what I was doing, but all the rage and anger I had been building up since finding out that my mother had Alzheimer’s, and now I had to pay bills and take responsibility for once in my life, and work, and be an adult… It all just came out horribly, and I released it on my own mother. My only family.

“I – I’m sorry, Mom.”

She just looked at me, innocently.

“I remember you now, Erik,” She said. “But you’re not my son.” She sighed.

She walked away. I didn’t know what to say to her or what to do. Should I walk with her? Should I go away for a while? I didn’t know. But I did know I needed to take care of her.

I went to the bus stop and waited for the bus to Springfield to arrive. Maybe she’d forget about this. I mean, if she forgot about me, she could definitely forget about the incident. I could even surprise her with her meds when I got home. The bus finally came, and I got on. After two hours, I was finally in Springfield. I asked around for directions and eventually, after an hour of searching (though 45 minutes of that was eating dinner in a cheap restaurant), I finally found it. I went in and was astonished to see that so many items not related to medicine were in a medicine store!

“I have to come here more often,” I said to myself.

But with Mother on the mind, I tried to ignore the figures of Star Wars characters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle plushies to get to the medicine area.

“Hey, I  need Alzheimer’s meds. Here’s a prescription. I need them now, please!” I told the pharmacist.

“I’m sorry,” the Pharmacist replied. “But you need to put in an order first, sir.”

I started to get angry. “What?!” I said, gritting my teeth. “I spent three hours trying to get here and find your stupid freaking pharmacy, and I can’t even get meds?!”

The pharmacist just looked at me in shock. “Please leave, or I’m calling the cops,” she ordered.

I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I left after that.

***

After delays on the bus ride, I got back at midnight, expecting to see Mom. I needed to apologize to her, but when I got there, she was gone. I looked all around the house for her, but she wasn’t there. Just emptiness. I ran outside only to see her at the end of the road by our house, sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean. I walked over to her. She was staring vacantly into the sky.

“Are you lost, Mom?” I asked.

“No, I just needed to come here and think, sir.” It was horrible! Hearing my only parent, one who had taken care of me for my entire life, refer to me as sir! Like she didn’t know me!

“Listen, Mom, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I was under shock, and I overreacted and hit you. I’ve never had to take care of anyone before, and now, out of the blue, I have to suddenly get a job and become an adult. But I promise I will take good care of you and learn how to support you. I’ll build a resumé, I’ll try every job I can think of, and I’ll make you proud, Mom!” I proudly stated. “But first, can I ask for your forgiveness for all these years of having to take care of me?”

She stared into the ocean, the waves slowly rolling in and out while she thought. I was praying she’d forget the slap, that we could start all over again fresh, that we could have that happy ending.

Then, she spoke. “Of course I forgive you, you’re my son! But why do you want forgiveness? You never did anything.”

I was shocked. I thought it would be great to not deal with that, but I realized that a part of her was gone; part of her life was completely gone! I started to cry. I hugged her lightly, and we stared out into the sky, awaiting the dawn of a new day.

 

A Matter of Time

It was a beautiful place, the bookstore.

Some might even call it phenomenal. Inspiring. Life-changing. Hannah wasn’t sure what she expected the first time she saw it. It seemed out of place in the dark alley with just one other shop, an old newsstand that only sold moldy chips and cheap soda. The sun seemed to shine only on the bookstore, lighting up the street with an otherworldly light. Outside the bookshop, a pot of hot chocolate stood bearing the sign “Free. Take Some.” with a pile of paper cups at its side. Books stacked in orderly piles: everything from pocket sized editions of The Odyssey to the latest comics for six and seven-year-olds.

Hannah poured herself a cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. Frothy deliciousness met her tastebuds, an explosion of flavor that made her smile in delight. Hannah walked into the bookshop, still smiling, and breathed in the musty, comforting smell of old and new books. Time seemed to be irrelevant here. Tattered, leather-bound books dating back centuries stood next to the latest novels, crisp and pristine. She headed to the back of the shop where a pile of plush pillows and napping cats lay, and colored light flooded through the stained glass window. Hannah took a few volumes off the shelves and snuggled up with her books and hot chocolate. She felt that everything she loved was in in her hands: adventure, happiness, friends, mystery, animals, battles, daring missions, and magic, all in arm’s reach. Maybe, one day, she would be providing the adventure, happiness, battles, magic and friends for someone else. Maybe, one day, her books would stand on these shelves for a new generation. As she left the shop that day, newly purchased books in tow, she knew she would be back tens, hundreds, thousands of times. It was only a matter of time.

***

Thirty Years Later

The bell over the top of the door jingled softly, announcing the arrival of a shopper. Hannah had been working at the shop for over 20 years, but she didn’t think she would ever get over the shop’s understated beauty and the wonderful, woody smell of books and their history. A small girl entered the bookstore, startling Hannah and extracting her from her thoughts. The girl’s round, bright blue eyes twinkled merrily at the sight of so many books. A mound of brown curls surrounded her head and neck. She scanned the shelves.

“Do you have any books by Hannah McKinley?”

“Yes, dear. They’re over there on the third shelf to the left.” The girl’s face was etched with determination and excitement. Grinning, she pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through it, entranced. Then, she abruptly stopped. Her jaw dropped.

“No way!” she breathed. “You’re Hannah McKinley!” She looked from the photo of the author to the woman who had helped her find her book.

Hannah smiled. “That’s me.” The little girl looked at Hannah with so much wonder, awe, and bewilderment in her eyes, that Hannah felt her heart melt.

“I love your books. They’re just so… so real. They make me feel like I’m the luckiest person on earth, with the best gifts in the world: adventure, happiness, battles, magic, and friends.”

“I know exactly how that feels,” Hannah said.

“Lilly!!! We have to go now, sweetie!”

“I should go,” said the girl. “But I’ll be back.”

“I know you will,” said Hannah. “It’s only a matter of time.”

 

Chess

It was an average Saturday morning. The two brothers, Jamie and James, stared out of their window in the wealthy suburb of Pleasantville, Chicago. They could hear the birds chirping and flying gracefully from tree to tree. They could see their massive lawn and the sprinklers shooting water.

“Jamie,” the older brother at age twelve said, “come on, James, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast.”

Jamie looked old. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and he had a faint caterpillar esque mustache and a small nose. He was rather tall for his age, around 5 10” and very skinny.

James who was Jamie’s complaisant nine year-old brother, replied, “Okay Jamie.”

James was tall like Jamie, but he didn’t look or seem older. He had a very high pitched voice with chubby cheeks, and he was always around his mom. All of the kids at Chicago Academy Private School for Extremely Gifted and Talented Students would make fun of James and call him a “momma’s boy.”

Unlike James, who was often the butt of the jokes among his group of friends, Jamie was incredibly popular. Though he was just in seventh grade, he was invited to most high school parties. Everyone knew Jamie Jenkins at C.A.P.S.E.G.T.S.

The two brothers went downstairs to the kitchen. Both boys look very confused. It was 9:07 a.m. and usually their mom, Julia, was downstairs at 6:15 a.m. on weekdays and 8:00 a.m. on weekends making a suitable meal for the two hungry boys and their father Clyde.

Julia Jenkins was only thirty seven years-old. She had dirty-blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was about average sized. She looked much younger than her age. She was very beautiful. Julia was from a small town in Oklahoma. She never went to college and instead became a housewife when she was just twenty three years-old.

Clyde Jenkins was the son of a wealthy businessman from Chicago. Clyde was fifty seven years-old and he owned part of Coca-Cola as well as a part of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. He worked very hard for his family and was rarely home at night. When he was home he was usually sleeping. His own kids barely knew him.

The boys were slightly disappointed that there was no breakfast, but they were more worried, where was their mom? They ran back up the steps and into their parents room. Usually Clyde got annoyed whenever his kids went into his room, but this was a slight emergency. Jamie pulled the large brass handle and hesitantly opened the door. The boys looked in and saw their father and mother engaging in some strange activity chess. Not once had either of them seen their parents up playing chess.

“Good morning boys,” Clyde said as he moved a pawn.

Each boy responded, “Hi, Dad.”

“Boys, I just purchased this new chess board from some antique store,” Clyde said in his Chicago businessman accent, “draw.” Clyde said.

Jamie and James looked down at the chess board and saw that sure enough, two kings were left sitting on the board. Suddenly, a bright light from the board shone around their parents.

“What’s happening?” screamed Julia.

Both of them flattened out and were sucked into the chessboard in a matter of seconds. The brothers could hear them screaming in the distance and then they were gone. Silence. At first the boys looked plain confused. They knew not of what had happened, why it had happened or how it had happened.

Then after about three minutes of silence, James said in a sad yet puzzled tone, “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“I have no darn clue.” James said.

“James, we’re going to find where this board was made, how it works, and how we get Mom and Dad back.” Jamie said.

James looked very frightened of the chessboard. He stood close to the door while Jamie moved the two kings off of the board and on to his parents bed along with the rest of the pieces. Then, Jamie picked up the board.

As he picked it up Jamie grunted. The board was unexpectedly heavy considering it wasn’t particularly big in size. It had a very nice finish on the sides where there were two handles carved that looked like dragons. On the top of the chessboard, where the actual game was played, Jamie could see that each square was made of a very fine marble 32 black and 32 white squares. He turned the chessboard over to see the bottom and on the bottom there was a sticker that read, “Agnes’ Antiques.

“Bingo,” Jamie said.

“What?” Replied James.

“I found the place that sold this thing to Dad. We should go there and ask the shopkeeper about this thing,” Jamie said in an impatient tone.

“I mean, are you sure? We’re just two kids…alone,” James said.

“James, shut up,” said Jamie, “we are going to this antique store.”

Jamie said, “Put your shoes on.”

“Okay Jamie,” James replied obediently.

James laced up his checkered Vans, a Christmas present from his father. He could not stop thinking about his parents. Would he ever see them again?

Then, James started to cry.

While James was crying, Jamie carefully packed each chess set. He put the pieces in a shoebox of his new Kobe’s. Jamie never threw shoe boxes out because they always could be put to good use for something. He put the chess board in a Trader Joe’s bag. Then he double bagged it, and then he triple bagged it. The board was very heavy and he did not want it to break. This chess board had just taken his parents INSIDE of it and he did not know what else it could or would do. Jamie wasn’t about to be taking chances with something he knew so little about.  

As he walked down the stairs and into the family mudroom, Jamie could see James crying. “James, I know it’s hard, but there is a chance that we CAN get Mom and Dad back. But, only if we learn more about this chess board at the antique store,” Jamie said.

Jamie was really good at comforting James. James felt that Jamie was the only one around his age who could empathize with him.

“Now, make yourself useful and carry the pieces,” Jamie said playfully as he handed him the shoe box.

“Okay,” James said. He stopped crying and took the shoebox from Jamie.

James was the type of kid to cry or get mad and then stop, forget about it and go back to his normal self about three minutes later.

The two brothers walked outside of their large house. A couple rain droplets trickled on each of the boys’ heads.

“Look, James, a squirrel,” Jamie said.

“Where? Where?”James asked and panicked. He was afraid of squirrels ever since one bit him when he was six.

“Made you look,” laughed Jamie.

“That’s not funny,” James said as he punched Jamie on the arm.

Though it didn’t hurt, Jamie started grabbing his arm and said,”oww, James, I’m gonna sue you.”

The brothers walked down a small stone staircase and into their driveway. There were two empty cars sitting outside of the garage, the Land Rover and the Audi. They walked on to the street.

Jamie paused. “Hold up James, I have no idea where Agnes Antiques is, I need to google maps it.” said Jamie.

James placed the chess pieces in the shoebox down extremely carefully. “I found the route, it’s a twenty minute walk. I can get our rain coats from inside,” said James, “I think that it might rain harder as time progresses.”

James ran inside and picked up the two raincoats, Jamie’s was blue and James’ was orange with green polka-dots.

“Thanks James,” Jamie said as he grabbed his raincoat.

Each of the brothers picked up their stuff, James the pieces and Jamie the board. They walked through Pleasantville. On their block there were just large suburban homes. They crossed street after street, and avenue after avenue. The boys got lost for some time, but they found their way back. They eventually ended up in Agnes’ Antiques, though it was not a twenty minute walk.

They entered the shop, and it was quite cramped and dusty with old books on the shelves. There were old plates, coffee mugs, and utensils. Anything old one could find in this store.

“Agnes Antiques, how can I help you boys,” a man said.

James started to back away from the man while Jamie did the talking.

“Hello sir, our father recently purchased this chess board from your store,” Jamie pulled the chess board out and pointed at it, “ it sucked our parents into it, could you tell us a little more about it?”

“Ahh yes,” the man said.

He was average size and looked rather old with spectacles and a white mustache.

“Well this here chessboard has a lot of history,” said the man, “back in the Eleventh Century, this chess board was made for King Richard the IV. He loved chess. He loved playing with this chess board so much that he wouldn’t do anything else. His wife didn’t like this. So, to punish him, she told a sorcerer to cast a spell on Richard. The sorcerer did, he wasn’t too fond of the king either. King Richard was transported into the game. He was playing as white in his last game of chess, so he became the white king in the game. Nobody in the real world knew where he went. However, the sorcerer didn’t just curse the king, he cursed the chessboard. Anyone who played with this board and won or drew was transported into the game to fight in the war between the white knights and the black nights,” the man said.

“Why didn’t you tell my father of this?” Jamie yelled in rage.

“Good question. I did tell him this, however he said that it was complete nonsense. Look what happened,” the man replied.

Jamie was mad and James was scared. How could this man sell this knowing that it could trap people in it’s own world?

“Can we get them back?” asked Jamie.

“The game is complex. To start the war, each team needs an equal number of knights, and right now it seems that there are two spots left to fill on white,” the man said.

“Well,” Jamie said, “We can do this, I’ll play James and he’ll be trying to lose, and you’ll play James and purposely lose to him.”

“Sounds perfectly fine,” said the old man. He was a pretty nice guy and he wanted to help these kids get their parents back, even though the father was so rude to him.

“I have one question though,” said Jamie, “what will happen when the war is over?”

“Nobody knows for sure, but I have a strong belief that every survivor is transported back to the real world. Can you imagine? People have waited a little over 1,000 years to get out of there. You two have the ability to do this,” the man said.

Game one began: Jamie black vs. James white. James, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, was scared of the old man and of the board. Jamie started off by moving his pawns and having James capture them, it was working. Then James got his Rooks, then his Knights, Bishops, Queens, and then Jamie was left to just his King. James had nearly all of his pieces. Then, he took the King with his Rook. Any second now, the game was over and James braced himself for the worst feeling in the world. Nothing happened. He looked around the room in a confused state. Then, suddenly, the light came. It flattened James out to a pancake and sucked him in. Jamie and the man could hear his screams and it gave Jamie goosebumps down his spine.

The man slowly walked over to the table in which they had been playing. It was an old table made of wood and had red decorations around the edges. He sat down and wished Jamie the best of luck. He was even more scared than when he saw James going into the world. Jamie was white and the old man was black. Jamie easily won in about four minutes he used to play for his school chess team. Then, unlike James who waited about thirty seconds to be transported, Jamie was taken right away, flattened out and sucked into the board. The old man covered his eyes and Jamie was gone.

He knew now not to make the mistake of putting this out for sale. Even if he labeled it “cursed chessboard,” people would still buy it. He put the chess board in the back, he took the delicate pieces and smashed them with a nearby hammer. Now nobody could be trapped in the game because the ordinary pieces wouldn’t work. Also, those in the game who survived could get out because the board was still there.                       

END OF PART I

The Boy and the Dog

A boy has a birthday and turns thirteen. His parents tell him he needs to grow up and start making smart decisions and that he will be treated more like an adult from now on. He went to summer camp at the YMCA and comes home and the lights are off. When he walks in, a bunch of people pop out from behind the door, out from the back room, and from under the table. They all yell “Surprise!” After he realizes what happened, he asks if he has gifts or food. He finds out he has just one. They go to the back and bring out a big box with his name on it. He walks over and looks at it as if there is something curious about it, so he opens it. He reaches inside and pulls out a fuzzy creature and it turns out to be a small dog, a puppy.

He says, “Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing?” Then he turns to his parents and asks if it’s a boy or a girl and his mother says it’s a boy.

After a few weeks of having his now grown puppy, he has grown accustomed to feeding, walking, and cleaning it. They grow to be companions. That has helped with the little problems that he has had in past because he used to steal from peoplepick-pocketing.

But he knows that he needs to be a new boy when his mother says, “You need to grow up.” He knows that means he has to start making smarter decisions so he has more options than stealing.

After he wakes up on a cloudy Sunday he eats two waffles from his toaster and his puppy walks up to his chair. “Oh boy, you wanna go out for a little walk?” he says.

So they go outside and walk a few blocks down to the subway station. They walk down planning on filling his MetroCard, but the boy gets sidetracked by someone who is very unorganized and suddenly he has an urge. It is an urge he hasn’t felt in a while after he got his friend. He looks at his dog, but it isn’t enough. He follows the person a little bit behind and ends up getting on the train not looking at the entire situation he was in.

Meanwhile, up above the station he just left, there is a street vendor with hot dogs and other meats with a smell that you can sense a mile away. The dog quickly perks up looking in that exact direction. He pulls but his leash is tied to the metro station pole. It doesn’t budge, so he turns and starts chewing. But it starts to rip at the biting point so the dog pulls harder and it gets close to breaking so he bites and pulls and at one second it snaps and the jolt mixed with the force of him pulling sends him straight into the legs of people. He quickly turns and goes straight up the stairs and starts barking at the food. He realizes he can’t get any and he gets sidetracked by all the cars, people, and noises. He just runs, luckily not in the road, down the sidewalk past all the new people.

The boy does not get to the person in time so he walks back to the subway where he left. But when he gets back, he is surprised to see the half-chewed up leash and he immediately looks down the whole subway thinking the worst, that the small dog had fallen down in the tracks and couldn’t get up.

But, he gives a sigh of relief to see that there was no sign of a dog in the tracks so he goes to the closest stranger, a man in a black business suit and asks, “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but my dog chewed through his leash not to long ago. Did you happen to see him?”

The man thinks for a second and says, “When I was walking down the right side of the stairs, and a small dog with a small gold coat of fur ran up the stairs.”

***

When he comes back home, his mom is waiting. “Where have you been?” she asks.

“I was out walking the dog,” he says.

His mom asks where the dog was and the boy says he left him out in backyard because he was still using the bathroom. He goes to bed, but he does not sleep at all knowing that the dog could be dead or worse. This is the worst feeling in the world.

First thing in the morning, he wakes up to start the search of his missing dog which meant he goes back to the subway. He sees people. He asks them, “Have you seen my dog? The dog is gold and small.”

“No,” says the people.

He goes home.

“Where is the dog?” says his mom.

“He is in his room,” says the boy.

The boy makes fliers with the dog’s picture on it. He takes them out the next day and puts them on the walls. He put his phone number on the flier.

The boy goes home and waits for someone to call him. No one calls him for a while. He looks for the dog again on the sidewalk and on the street.

The boy goes back home and finds dog hair in his house. He looks at the hair and tries to find where the hair is going. The hair is going down to his basement. He walks downstairs and it smells like dog. He has an unfinished basement. It’s just concrete and there is no furniture, just storage space.

He sees the boiler room and there is another door. He looks in it. His dog is inside of it.

“Jason,” says the boy. He pets his dog. He is embarrassed because he knows he has been telling his mom that he knew where his dog was while the whole time she knew where it was.

Later in the day, his mom says, “Your dog found his way home.”

  

Shells

Sometimes I wonder if I live in a world of shells.

 

Chapter 1

Where is the soul? How can it be found? What if… it isn’t there?

There are soulless people all around me. Look around and you will find them, too. Like my best friend, Bianca. She’s nice. If you cry, she’ll come over and hug you, and if you get a better grade on a test than her, she’ll still congratulate you. She’s funny, and cracks jokes whenever I’m feeling down. She likes songs, but isn’t the kind of prissy girl who loves makeup and boy bands.

But she doesn’t really understand me if I ask her to define what love means to her, or if I try to explain to her why it would be natural for someone in war to truly want to die for others. She just doesn’t comprehend.

Even if I try talking about these serious matters with my teacher, she doesn’t really understand. These people lack something in them, it seems, something that would enable them to discuss with me what’s really going on in the world, and what life really is about. They just want to talk with me about the latest song that came out, or the importance of knowing what happened on the Lewis and Clark expedition.

 

Chapter 2

We each have an inner self and an outer self.

I think everyone has an outer self that hides their true thoughts and feelings. At least I do. The outer self protects the soul so that the misty dreams and hopes inside a person can be shielded from reality. My soul contains my deepest thoughts, hopes, memories; it is where I philosophize about the world.

My friends don’t hide their true feelings and thoughts from me. They come and ask me for advice, and we cry and laugh together. But somehow I sense that it’s only their outer self I see.

Bianca’s deepest worry at the moment could be an upcoming test in math. She’s completely hopeless at it. My teacher’s deepest worries could probably be more relevant. Maybe it is war in the Middle East, police shootings, or a loved one dying. But neither of them ever show a hint of their inner self, no matter how close I may be to them. Their thoughts, and worries, and feelings consist of what is related to their lifestyle. They don’t question and organize everyday things that happen in the cycle of life; they just take it for granted. None of them care why someone would want to start shooting someone else, they only want to stop it. People are too obsessed with business and their lifestyles to think about the broader and yet more important subjects in this world.

 

Chapter 3

2+2=4.

But the more I reveal my true self to them, the more confusing they become.

At lunch today I asked Bianca, “What do you think your soul looks like?”

She laughed and told me she doesn’t believe in that nonsense. Then she hugged me and changed the subject to the math test and asked me to tutor her. I sighed, and began to drill her on percentages. But was math really more important than trying to understand what the soul is at that very moment? It’s as if she doesn’t have a soul, or an inner self. It’s as if she is just a shell.

 

Chapter 4

The worst feeling is the feeling of being alone.

I am running, chasing Bianca. She is gaining more and more distance on me. “Wait!” I shout.

“No,” she yells back. “Wierdo!”

I feel a sharp pang in my heart and my vision blurs as tears fall fast on the ground.

My room swirls into view as I open my eyes and realize it was all a dream. My eyes are wet, and I am drenched in sweat. A bird chirps outside, and my heart stops beating so fast. But I am still troubled. I remember my conversation with Bianca yesterday. Does she think I’m weird? No, I think, but I am still trembling.

 

Chapter 5

Different is a crime.

Normally, English prompts are fun and easy, something I can analyze and maybe show some of my inner self in. But this time, it’s hard. I stare at the prompt: Who are you?

It is a good question, but a question that is difficult to answer. I remember what Bianca had said only yesterday. “I wish I could be you. You’re smart and nice and generous, and just plain awesome.” I had thanked her. Should I trust her judgment?

Another memory penetrates my mind. Bianca and I were in a project group with a group of boys. They were playing with cards instead of working.

“Give them to me,” I thundered, holding out my hand. “NOW,” using my best “don’t mess with me” voice, and flipping my hair back sophisticatedly. My eyes flashed as the boys cowered under my unending gaze.

I remember Bianca was so surprised. “Whoa,” she had told me, eyes large like two suns. “I didn’t know you could be so… mad and… mean, but not in a bad way,” she added quickly.

“Yeah, I can be like that.” I told her nonchalantly.

She gave me a startled look. “Weird,” she muttered.

Weird. Bianca thought I was weird. And come to think of it, I’ve seen that startled look before. Like when I fight, but not with fists. With words. I’m mean. Sarcastic. Mockingly polite. No one can get in trouble for saying nice things, because you can say you weren’t being sarcastic.

That look on Bianca’s face. That muttered, “weird.” And when she and I volunteered to help the teacher during lunch, I was quiet. So quiet. I didn’t even smile. I just did what I was told and left.

Bianca asked, “How are you so quiet? You’re never quiet.” I just smiled. That look. The mutter. She didn’t understand. I can be bossy. Or lenient. Or kind. Or horrible. I can be moody and shy. I can be loud and outgoing. I can be brilliant. I can be naive. I can be a perfect little girl. I can be mischievous. It all depends on who I’m with. Is that wrong?

 

Chapter 6

Is that wrong? What, then, is right?

I act differently among different people. Is that wrong? I don’t want to be mean, I just want to do what has to be done. Is that wrong? I used to be like Bianca when I was little. One personality. One way I’m supposed to act, one way I’m supposed to think, one way people think of me as. But that doesn’t work. People judge me no matter how well I try to shape my outer self.

So I made my outer self a combination of everything, acting differently depending on the situation. Is that wrong? It was fine, but now people are starting to notice, and they say it’s weird. Every time Bianca mutters that cursed word, I feel that sharp pang in my heart like in my dream, as if she is stabbing my heart to pieces. It’s just a matter of how long my heart will last her stabbing knives.

 

Chapter 7

A perfect world is not perfect.

I’m starving by the time it’s lunch time. Bianca and I grab our lunch boxes and race to our table. Rushing to eat, we both slam down on the bench at the same time with a loud crash. I look over to her. I can tell she is holding back giggles. So am I. I smile. She smiles. Then we are laughing so hard, our stomachs hurt. That sets the rest of the table laughing even though they don’t know what’s so funny.  Recess in summer is usually way too hot. Today is not an exception. Bianca asks me if I want to play tag.

“Nah,” I reply. “Too hot.”

She runs off and I’m left looking at the clouds. I think, Wow, those clouds can teach us a lesson. It looks like they’re still, but they are moving ever so slowly. But soon,  I’m pulled out of my reverie. It’s time to go back in for seventh period. Social Studies Project. We are choosing which image of King Tut to use for a player in our board game.

“Do the cute one!” begs Bianca.

I grin. “Yeah. So then people will want to be him. This needs to be appealing to the boys.”

Bianca whispers, “Especially, Ben.”

The cute cartoon image of King Tut kind of looks like Ben. I giggle. We finish the project. We are the first ones to finish, so we just talk and play.

Going home, I tell my mom how much fun I had at school. I run into my room and look at my wall. It has photos of all my friends from school. I touch Bianca’s face. Then I rip them all down and burst into tears.

 

Chapter 8

Before I cry, my heart cries.

My mom is trying to comfort me, trying to find out what’s wrong. I’m ignoring her. She says I can tell her.

“It’s okay,” she says. But it’s not. “I’ll understand,” she insists. She won’t. My heart is shattering under those knives. I can feel the blood pulsing, a force. Something is pushing tears to my eyes, drawn from hidden wells. I close my eyes, resisting the force. A sob creeps up my throat and bursts out of my unwilling mouth. I taste the salt of my tears.

“But you were so happy today,” my mom says, confused. “Today was like your perfect day.”

I tell her they talk with me, but it isn’t real.

“Of course it’s real,” Mom reassures me, more puzzled than ever.

“NO,” I sob into her shoulder, half-crying, half-stuttering. “Th-that’s not what I meant. Everyone t-talks about projects with e-everyone!”

I hiccup and fall silent as Mom, bewildered, asks, “What do you want to talk about then, honey?”

There is no way to explain to her that I want to share with my friends my deepest thoughts, my soul, without having to mold myself into someone they would appreciate. I am desperate for another soul who will love who I really am, unconditionally. Someone who I can pour out my heart to.

“Honey?” Mom prompts.

I look out the window. “Clouds,” I tell her. “I want to talk about clouds.” Mom wants me to talk to her about clouds. I run to the bathroom, away from the world that will always hurt me no matter how kind they seem to think they are.

 

Chapter 9

Tears reveal the hidden wounds.
I huddle on the white tiled bathroom floor, crying uncontrollably. I grab my shirt in clenched fists and pull them towards my face. My face is red, but I am cold. I tuck my knees into my chest. What was wrong with me? I have shaped my outer self into a person whom everyone can like and work with. Yet, Bianca doesn’t like me as a person with many personalities. It is like my shell is cracking, but I don’t know how to rebuild it. I have pretended and acted for so long, I don’t know who I really am.

Which personality should I become? What if I regret my choice? I watch those clouds moving ever so slowly, wondering. I want to show part of my inner self to the world, reflect it in my shell, so that people can see who I am. But will they like it? I wish I could be like the rest of them – soulless, innocent, happy, carefree. I can feel my tears pushing behind my eyelashes, and I give myself up to their power.

I feel Mom lifting me up and carrying me to my bed. My tears stream and pool in my ears as I cry myself to sleep.

 

Chapter 10

Sometimes the best comforts are wordless.

I do not go to school the next day. Nor the next. Nor the next. Bianca calls me every night, asking how I am feeling. I tell her I am sick and hang up. It is not a lie. I am sick – sick of being misunderstood, sick of pretending, sick of the people who thought they were helping me. I am sick – sick of the world, sick of life, sick of having a soul, sick of wanting others to have a soul. My skin is warm, but I feel cold, as if those wells of my tears have frozen inside me and the cold is spreading to the very edges of my finger tips. But people are trying so hard to make me feel better. I can see the pain in my mom’s eyes as I refuse her comfort. I can hear the worry in Bianca’s voice each time she calls.

My mother comes in the room. She is holding the phone. I pick up. It is Bianca. “Today is Bring-A-Friend-To-Class Day at my dance school,” she tells me. “I know you’re not feeling up to it, but can you come? I think it might help.” She pauses. I am silent. “Please? For our friendship.” I am already lost among the people in this world. If I lose Bianca, I know I will never get up from the bed I am laying in. I hang up. I grab a duffel bag. I put in an apple, a bottle of water, and a dress to wear over my leotard. I slump out the door, my mother looking at me as though I am a ghost of a dead person.

There are girls in the dressing room who are as shocked and nervous and shy as I feel. But my heart lightens slightly at the sight of Bianca’s smile. She is so happy that I came.

I put on the tights and leotard they give me, and follow Bianca to a large, bright dance studio with a mirror covering one whole wall. The instructor is slim and pretty, sparkling brown eyes complimenting her black hair. I listen to the class’ conversations. They are all of different ages, different ethnicities, different strengths, different weaknesses, but they are all unified through this class. I watch in wonder.

The instructor tells me I’m naturally flexible. She wants to see my limits. I do not answer her. We are supposed to be following her, learning the short dance routine she is showing us. I feel a soft hand in mine. I can tell it is Bianca without looking. I try hard. For her. The teacher yells,  “Tendu, arabesque, jete, pirouette. Dance your heart out, my swans, dance!” And suddenly I am.

I think I am flying, flying to heaven. One moment I am tendu-ing, trying my best to point my toes. The next moment I am spreading my arms, lifting my leg, lifting my chest, and a thrill shoots through my heart. Even my heart is soaring in my chest. A smile breaks out on my face, for the first time in ages. And suddenly, I am spinning away from the group, leaping, flying, as they watch, dumbfounded. It is as if some bizzare, joyful spirit has overtaken me as I dance, not knowing the moves, but still dancing all the same.

The feeling of flight shoots through me again, and I feel as though all the stress and worries of the past are draining out of me, replaced by endless joy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the teacher smiling happily at me. It seems like it will never end, but it does. I stand in the middle of the room, trembling with excitement, smiling and eyes sparkling.

Bianca stands open-mouthed with awe. “Wow,” she whispers. “You’re good.”

I am jumping and running and skipping home with Bianca, the instructor’s words echoing in my ears. “You are a natural at ballet. You breathe through the moves. I’m impressed.” In my hand is a note that the teacher wrote to my mother, asking if I could attend the school. Bianca is hugging me so hard I can hardly breathe. But I’m smiling through it all.

 

Chapter 11

Everyone recognizes beauty in some way. I do through ballet.

Mom is kissing me all over. She and Bianca are thrilled, almost as much as me. She is going out to buy me dance attire right now. Bianca is going home to tell everyone how good I am.

I expect to feel the weight of my sorrows crashing down on me again, but I am no longer frustrated with life. I have found something that I can use to let out my feelings: ballet. I remember my teacher’s big brown eyes as she explained to me how good I was at dancing, how I put my feelings into it. She understood me through dance. I could see it in her eyes. They all did. And now I will be part of their community, too.

I pull the photos of my school friends out of the trash and tape them on my wall again. Then, I add everyone from dance class. Bianca’s picture stands out in the middle. Bianca. She showed me the joys of dancing, although I doubt she truly knew them herself. She had tried to help even when I wasn’t responding to her. I smile, joyful tears filling my eyes. Bianca didn’t understand me. Bianca will never understand me. But Bianca is still my truest friend.

Sometimes I think I live in a world of shells.

But that’s okay.

 

I’m Not People

Characters:

DARA – A high school girl who lives in a superficial world, but is searching for more. She has trouble truly understanding self-involved girls like Audrey. However, she knows how to “play the game” and blend in to survive the social scene.

LYLE –  A boy in Dara’s homebase class. He is a bit of a loner because, like Dara, he is fed up with other people’s dishonesty and shallow values. Lyle has a direct approach to life. He is frustrated with peers who are not straightforward like him and is driven away by their social climbing, political correctness, and selfishness.

AUDREY – Dara’s best friend. She is quite the diva, but not a “valley girl.” She is shallow, gossipy, and self-absorbed. Audrey likes to boss around the less dominant, more submissive Dara to make herself feel superior without being directly mean to her friend. However, she does love to criticize and judge other people.

 

(We see LYLE in an Italian restaurant. He is eating lunch alone in a booth. DARA and AUDREY walk onto the sidewalk, laughing, dressed in SoulCycle brand attire.)

 

DARA

Oh, please!

AUDREY

No, but she so did. Hold up, my shoe’s untied.

   (AUDREY bends down to tie her shoelace.)

But seriously. Why would she hook up with him? It makes no sense.

DARA

It was unexpected. I’ll give you that.

AUDREY

He literally looks like the little, green guy from that “phone home” movie.

DARA

E.T.?

AUDREY

Yeah, that’s it.

DARA

I guess she just has low self-esteem. Or maybe she’s actually into him.

AUDREY

Ew, no! Like, I love Brit, but this is an issue that needs to be addressed. If he has a beer belly at sixteen, then it’s a no-go.

DARA

Maybe his soft stomach felt like a pillow.

AUDREY

No, Dara! That’s gross!

   (beat)

Oh shit. You have a tampon?

DARA

Sorry, Aud.

AUDREY

I need a bathroom asap. Like, I’m in my Lulu’s and everything.

DARA

Right now?

AUDREY

Yes. Like Mother Nature, I don’t wait.

DARA

Wait, maybe I do have one. Hold on.

AUDREY

Finally.

   (DARA starts digging through her bag. AUDREY is impatiently waiting.)

Take your time. Really, I’m fine standing here in my own filth.

DARA

   (Gets out a tampon and hands it to AUDREY)

Relax. I got it.

AUDREY

   (noticing the restaurant)

Okay, let’s go in here.

   (DARA and AUDREY enter the Italian restaurant.)

AUDREY

   (noticing LYLE)

Wow. Some kid’s eating alone on a Saturday. That’s really pathetic.

DARA

Wait, we know him.

AUDREY

We do?

DARA

He’s in my homeroom. His name is Lyle.

AUDREY

That’s weird.

   (beat)

Where’s the bathroom in here? There’s no arrow pointing to the restrooms or anything. It’s ridiculous.

DARA

   (ignoring Audrey)

Should we say hi?

AUDREY

No way. We would look like such creepers.

   (catching DARA staring at him)

Why?

DARA

Why not? He’s really cool, actually.

AUDREY

Ooh. Does Dara have the hots for the lone wolf over here?

DARA

   (giggling)

Will you stop it?

AUDREY

You know you want it.

DARA

I do not! He just looks a little sad, and I want to comfort him.

AUDREY

   (teasing)

I’m sure you want to comfort him all night long.

DARA

Oh shut up and

   (slightly louder)

get your tampon

   (back to normal)

that you were desperately searching for.

AUDREY

Shush! Dara! That’s so embarrassing! Now, everyone’s looking at us.

   (LYLE is minding his own business in the booth.)

Continue reading I’m Not People

MTA

     

Cleanliness is nonexistent.

The rush of the system takes over.

Dirt and love coexisting.

Flying through tunnels and darkness.

 

The rush of the system takes over.

As the young and the old unite.

Flying through tunnels of darkness.

A music and culture smoothie awaits the lips of community.

 

As the young and the old unite.

We are covered in loud rhythmic love.

Flying through tunnels of darkness.

An ocean of difference and humanity.

 

We are covered in loud rhythmic love.

Zooming through our sleep-deprived home.

An ocean of difference and humanity.

As the platform door is closed

 

Zooming through our sleep-deprived home

Cleanliness is nonexistent.

As the platform door is closed.

Dirt and love coexisting.

 

My Love

     

Love reminds me of a shirt I made for my sister,

sweet candy yams.

Love is my sister at Coney Island at night,

going on rides with me,

taking pictures,

going in the water.

it’s blue and cold,

warm,

quiet.

 

Love reminds me of my brother,

sitting on a beach, playing with the rabbit on the beach

playing with the sand.

I’m watching my sister and brother

so they can play.

“I love you,” she says.

“Da, da, da,” he says. “Ga, ga, ga,” he says.

“I love you, too.”

 

Love reminds me of singing at church,

it’s big, it’s brown, and it has bricks,

my grandmother is there praying,

praying about our family,

and for others.

 

Life Lost, Love Hidden

  

Life lost love hidden I lost it all in one sittin’

so I grabbed a pen and pad and started spittin’

I’m more than a conqueror so there’s no quittin’

even now it feels like my heart’s been ripped from my chest

but I keep flowin’

tryin’ to not let emotions be showin’

even now the pain keeps growin’

 

Life lost love hidden

Life lost love hidden

Life lost love hidden

 

a lot of people in my life aren’t here no more

but I’m gunna keep growin’ for them for shore

just because you passed away doesn’t mean I need to close

all of life’s doors today

 

life lost love hidden

life lost love hidden

life lost love hidden

 

Mom you’ve been gone for so long

and I would like to introduce you to our life song

tellin’ you that I never steer myself wrong

 

life lost love hidden

life lost love hidden

life lost love hidden

 

Life gained when my left wrist got sprained everything seemed ta change

my maturity surely has gained since my left wrists got sprained

I repeat my sprained wrist because that’s my only tick

 

Gained my level

lost my level

Second time I lost my mind,

But I know this isn’t gunna be the last time

That I have to keep my mind

But I have to do good to keep my mind

Meaning I have to be mature to see my past in a good mind

Not having to ask anybody if they have the time

I matured because now I can understand the word no

so I’m gunna keep maturing for show

and I got everything on track and that’s why I’m back

 

A Lost Teen (Chapter 9)

“Listen, baby girl, I am sorry for doing that to my sister, and I told her I am sorry. I was on heavy drugs, but now I am a clean person. I have been sober for twenty-three years. I am hard on you because I don’t want you to end up like me. You are my baby girl, and your brother is my baby boy. I love you guys like yawl my kids, so when I hear my niece is pregnant, it fucking hurts.”

“Alright, Uncle Robert, I get it. Are you done? I would love to go to my room to go to sleep.”

“Yeah, you can go to sleep. I love you, London.”

“I love you too, Uncle Robert.”

London goes upstairs and goes to her room. She finds a note from Auntie, saying: Baby girl I love you and I know what’s going on yes I am disappointed, but shit happens, and I am going to be there for you your whole pregnancy.

“Thank you Auntie, at least I know somebody from my family is going to be there,” she says aloud to herself. Then, she heads to bed.

When she wakes up, her aunt is right in front of her. It’s like London can feel her aunt breathe on her.

“What the fuck, Auntie? What is you doing in my room? Get out. Let me sleep in peace,” London jumps up and says with anger in her voice.

“You’ve been sleeping all day, so I came in here to check up on you, and plus, your boyfriend keeps calling and getting on my last nerve.”

“Well, you get on my nerves. I’m trying to rest, and I can’t because my aunt is being annoying, so I might as well just get up and go to my boyfriend’s house,” London says, annoyed.

“Hey London, Uncle Robert wants you, and it sounds like something wrong. Come on,” Samad says, worried.

“What do you want, Uncle?” said London.

“Something bad happened today with your dad.”

Samad yells, “What the fuck happened?”

“He died this morning at 2:30AM.”

Samad throws the kitchen chair at his uncle and says, “You fucking lying. You just want to ruin my life because your life is ruined,” with tears flowing down his face. His sister and his aunt comfort him in the kitchen, while his Uncle is in shock that his nephew just threw a chair in his face.

“S-S-S-Samad, I’m not trying to ruin your life. What’s in it for me? I really love you guys,” Robert says with a strict, stern face.

He jumps when London says, “I’m out of here,” with hand motions.

“Where are you going little girl?” Auntie shouts with frustration. “This house is out of control. Everyone come and sit down in the living room now.”

They all come to the living room with their attitudes, but they listen as their aunt and sisters speak. They would never disrespect her. It’s like she has taken their mother’s spot. Her orders in the house are that London and her boyfriend have to be back in the house by 9 PM every day, and that Samad has to come in the house by 8 PM today. And everyone must respect their uncle and themselves.

London has some disagreements. Samad agrees, but has some comments.

Auntie says, “I am not going to be stressed out. I have kids of my own, so if you don’t want to follow my rules and be tough, then you can get the fuck out.”

“You not my mom, and you don’t pay the rent, so I don´t have to do shit you say,” says London rolling her neck and pointing her finger at her aunt.

¨You so right, you can even be wrong. I am not your mother, and I don’t pay the rent, but you will respect me,” Auntie says and smacks her niece in the face. ¨So you can pack your shit up and leave if you don’t agree. Do you understand me, Ms. Renee Johnson?”

¨Yes, I do, Tisha Monae Johnson,” London says with tears coming down her face. She goes to her brother and says sadly, ¨You are going to let her do this to me? She slapped me and talked to me disrespectfully… But I have do respect for my aunt.”

 

Unknown

      

Today Is A Good Day, But Tomorrow Is Unknown,

The Past Already Happened. That’s Why I Left It Alone.

When People Make Mistakes, It’s Hard To Recover,

You Can’t Love One Who Doesn’t Love Another.

Love Don’t Cost A Thing. Love Is Everything

It’s A Motivation, Like Red Bull That Gives You Wings.

 

When I was a young boy, I never had a childhood like all the others,

Bad in school, coming home and getting beat by my mother.

It was times like those that made me worse,

Living on the streets, holding guns, and making bullets burst.

But Imma get back to reality and finish off this piece that I’m working on,

carrying on with life like words from a number one song.

 

The Future in Blood (Excerpt)

Front, back. Forward, backward. Those were the only thoughts going through my head as I pushed off each wall and drifted towards another one. I moved my arms and legs to avoid the obstacles in my room: my glass, my pillow, my desk, and a case full of metal fingers.

Oh yeah, I should probably tell you. I’m missing the first two fingers of my right hand. I’ve said it. Let’s get on with the story.

I pushed off my desk and grabbed the case. I pulled it open and grabbed two fingers from the top left, checking the label as I did. Smoke bombs, good. I opened up a plastic case and took out two smoke bombs. I checked my watch and cursed. I pushed towards the door and got out, drifting down as gravity returned to normal. I got into a small cubicle and pressed a button. An instant later, I was standing in a cubicle that looked the exact same, teleported to the race I was going to.

I lined up in front of it and was told to go to my spot.

“Finn? Number 28? Over here.”

I walked over to my spot and noticed someone standing next to me. She was young and looked to be about 12.

I asked her, “Are you sure you can do this race? Is there an age limit?”

“Nope!” she replied. “That’s the beauty of it!”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Ready?” I got into position.

“Set?” I got ready to push off.

“Go!” I shot off the starting plate like a bullet, then jumped clean over the first obstacle. I rolled under the next one and got to the barbed wire. I crawled under it slowly, then pushed up. I looked ahead. Was I in first? I couldn’t see anyone in front of me, but then someone passed me. I looked and saw that it was the little girl who was next to me.

“She is not going to beat me,” I muttered. The rest of the race, we were neck and neck. I would be ahead for one part, then she would pass me. We were almost at the end of the race. I could see the finish. She put on a burst of speed. Time to go for it. I sped up and passed her when she was barely a hundred yards from the finish. I kept going as fast as I could and was there almost instantly. I looked back and saw her right behind me.

“Good job,” I said.

She shook my hand and said, “You too. What’s your name?”

“Finn. Finn Lawliet. Yours?”

“Mykhaila Rubio. See you!” And she went into a teleporter. I decided to walk to where I was going next. I had to be careful, as I was going through a shady neighborhood where there had been murders before.

I forgot to tell you. Our world is broken. We may have teleporters and other high-tech things, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have crime and corruption. The “event” I was going to? A forced one where if you do well, you could be drafted into the military. And if you get there late, you could be sentenced to death.

I was walking through a bad neighborhood where two people were murdered last week, and the government didn’t even care. Their bodies were still there, for all I knew. And then there was this new threat. The government tried to create sentient life, and they created it alright. They made these animals that kind of look like giant spiders with metal legs. They can read your memory and spin a silk cocoon that looks like someone you love to kill you. The only good thing is that if you know that that person isn’t there, then you just kill them. Except they don’t die easily.

“Finn?” I heard. I knew that voice, and I turned around slowly. My sister stood behind me, holding a bloody kitchen knife.

“This guy was following you,” she said, nudging a dead man with blood welling up from his chest. I pulled out a combat knife, and I walked toward her slowly. Then, when I was in arm’s reach, I stabbed her with the point of my knife. She let out a screech, and bright cyan blood spurted out of her abdomen. She stabbed toward me with her knife, and I ducked underneath it and swept her legs out from under her. I prepared to puncture her windpipe.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own sister, would you?”

“You’re not my sister.”

She let out one final screech, then the silk crumpled into a ball, and a spider crawled out and tried to scuttle away. I stopped her with my boot, and then stomped on her head. I heard her neck crack, and a bone poked out of her neck. She started to laugh, then crawled back into the cocoon, blood gurgling out of her neck. God, I was going to have nightmares. I mean, who stabs their own sister? It was just so messed up, and that’s why so many people die facing these things. Most of them can’t bring themselves to hurt their wife, or child, or parents. I had to get moving. The government would be coming soon to get me for the military. I pulled my knife out and wiped it on her shirt. I slid it into the sheath and shuddered as a few drops of blood splattered onto my shirt. I just stabbed my sister. No! It wasn’t my sister! I can’t think like that. I’ll end up going crazy. My sister is still alive somewhere,and I have to find her. I can’t let what happened to my mother happen to her. I should probably tell you, even though it’s a bad memory. Here it is.

It was the middle of the night when I heard the scream. I sat bolt upright in bed and ran to the door, my sister beside me. In my mother’s room, my father was about to stab my mother. But my father was running up behind us from his office. The man who looked like my father brought the knife down. Blood splattered everywhere. My vision turned red, and I couldn’t think clearly. I ran at the man and kicked him in the head. I heard something get crushed, like paper, and he fell to the floor. He got back up, his head at a funny angle. He grinned lopsidedly, his jaw crumpled up. I grabbed the knife from where he had dropped it and stabbed him in the head. His brains started to spill out, along with spurts of cyan blood. He started to shrivel up, and out of the shriveled ball came a huge spider with shiny legs. I kicked the spider to make sure he was dead. He didn’t respond, so I grabbed him and pulled him towards the window. One of his legs shot out and sliced the two first fingers of my right hand off. I yelled and threw him out the window, then sank to the floor cradling my hand.

There. I told you. Let’s get back to the story now. So, I was crouching in the middle of an alley, a dead crumpled girl and man lying by my feet. I stood up. Time to go. I ran at a wall and jumped off, grabbing a fire escape. I climbed up and jumped, grabbing the roof with my hands. I pulled myself up and ran across it. When I was about three rooftops away, I went down the fire escape.

“Hey you! Stop right there!” I turned around slowly and raised my hands slowly. Two uniformed officers were pointing tasers at me.

“You’re Finn Lawliet?”

“Yes,” I grumbled. “Can we do this some other time? ‘I’m kind of busy right –”

“You placed first in the race, and she placed second?” He pointed to Mykhaila, who I hadn’t noticed before. She was in handcuffs.

“You know, you’re not supposed to put her in handcuffs.”

“She resisted.”

3… I thought. 2… 1… “Just let me get some –” I shot a smoke bomb at the floor. Under the cover of smoke, I ran at the officers, hit them both in the temple, and grabbed their keys. I tried to fit a key in the handcuffs lock. “Wrong one. Typical,” I muttered. It took me three tries to get the right key.

“Thanks,” she said. “But, could you use the right key first?”

I rolled my eyes for the second time that day, knowing that it wouldn’t be the last.

“Come on,” I said.

“Where are we going?”

“The military will be back to try to get us again. Do you want to get caught?”

“I guess not…”

I didn’t wait around to argue anymore. I dropped the keys and the handcuffs, and walked off to the nearest teleporter station. I put in a set of coordinates that would take me and Mykhaila, who was next to me, to somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The teleporter said it didn’t recognize the coordinates as the location of another teleporter, so I clicked the box with “Not found” on it twice, an exploit that I knew. I was teleported to a pod on an island somewhere in the Arctic, at a resistance location known only to a few people.

I said at the wall, “Finn Lawliet, and guest.” The door slid open, and I walked out into a room full of people lounging on chairs or couches.

“Who’s that?” one of the people said, a woman sitting on the back of a sofa. “You know that you can’t just bring new people without aski –”

“Whatever. We’re here because we’re rule breakers, not keepers.”

“Fine. He’s in the back.”

“He’s always in the back,” I replied.

I told Mykhaila, “Come with me,” and walked to the back room. When I got close, I could hear pings and electronic beeps coming from behind the door. I pushed it open and leaned against a wall.

“What’d you do to deserve boss position?” I said to the man playing pinball against the left wall.

“Hmm, lets see. I founded this group, I fought off the dictator of this country, and I kept the resistance alive. Who’s the girl?”

“She can tell you herself, I think.”

“I’m Mykhaila Rubio,” she blurted out.

“And? What do you do? Achievements? Age?”

“I’m twelve years old, I placed second in the annual drafting race, and I’m an assassin.”

“Did she beat you?” the boss asked.

“Of course not,” I snapped back. “You know I’m the fastest one here.”

“You. Mykhaila and Finn. Fight.”

“What?!” we both said.  

“She claims she’s an assassin. I’m testing her.”

“Fine,” I said, mumbling under my breath and rolling my eyes again. Third time. I settled into a combat stance, and got ready.

“Go!” I jumped up and shot out a smoke bomb. I’d have to replenish those soon. I clung to a pipe on the ceiling and scanned for Mykhaila. I saw a shadow below me moving, and I knew it was her. The boss wouldn’t be stupid enough to be moving. I opened a skylight and waited. I was about to do the most clichéd move in history. I jumped down, kicked her up into the sky, and jumped up beside her. I was about to kick her down, when something hit me in the back. I landed crouching and waited for the rest of the smoke to leave through the skylight. I saw Mykhaila, along with a crumpled dummy lying on the ground.

“Is that –”

“Yes. One of them attacked my brother as me, and I kept the silk. It works well for that type of thing.”

“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” yelled the boss.

“You’re good,” he said to Mykhaila, “So I have a job for the two of you. Assassinate him. The dictator. Our ruler. Whatever you want to call him. ”

“Consider it done.”

 

I Hate My Life!

Saturday

I hate going to the beach!  All I want to do this summer is hang out with my friends, play video games on my laptop, and watch TV! But do my parents care? NO!! They just come up to me and say, “Jenny, even though we know you hate the beach, we are going there today because we want to torture you.”

Okay, maybe they didn’t say that last part. People think that when you’re an only child your parents give you everything and let you go anywhere you want to go, but that is totally not true. When you are an only child, your parents are totally overprotective, and they bring you wherever they go because “you are their only child and they want you to protect you.” So, here I am crawling around in the sand because I dropped my iPod when my dad snuck up on me and told me to “put the iPod away and come play in the water, because when he was twelve, his parents never took him to the beach so I should be grateful.”

Well I would be grateful if you would just leave me alone, thank you very much. I wish I had a little brother or a sister, because I could boss them around and my parents would get off my back. When I was little, I asked my parents for a sibling but, instead, they got me a puppy. Not that I’m complaining about that. Sky is amazing. So, anyway, now I have to go in the water with my parents.

Sunday

Oh my god, I thought that the beach was the worst thing my parents could make me do. But no, they found a worse thing. Going to the neighborhood family festival. Every year, a bunch of people set up games and some bouncy houses and a bunch of snack booths. Sounds fun right? WRONG! You know why it is so boring? Because it is set up by parents! So all the snacks are fruit, the games are lame, and the bouncy castles are for babies!

Oh, here comes Daisy. My best friend. People would NEVER guess that we were best friends EVER EVER EVER! Oh great, she’s running over here waving at me. I wave back but WAY less happily. Oh, she’s stopping to talk to some random people about how great this is. I guess I have time to tell you about her.

She is really really happy, and I mean happiness overload. Her favorite color is pink, while mine is black, and (yes, I know that is technically a shade). She has a younger sister, and her parents are not over-protective. They let her go wherever she wants as long as she’s not in trouble, which she never is (which is another difference between us).

Oh shoot, she’s talking to me. I wasn’t paying attention, so I just nod.

“So, anyway, I’m so excited that you’re coming to my beach party! I know you don’t like the beach, but I’m sure you’ll have fun!”

“Uh huh,” I say, still not paying attention.

“Ok! Let’s go to the bouncy castle!”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you just said that you would.”

I did? Oh, that’s probably what I nodded to when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, right,” I say. “I thought you said let’s not go to the bouncy castle.”

“Great! Bouncy castle here we come!” Daisy says.

Yippee. I get to go bounce around on an inflatable princess castle. Did I mention it’s pink? I should probably tell my parents were I’m going. Wait, actually, I won’t because they’ll see that I can handle my self alone. Uh-oh, here they come. They don’t look very happy.

Tuesday

Yesterday, I went to Daisy’s birthday party and, for some reason, people find it offensive if you bring a journal to their party and write about how boring it is. Also, I’m grounded for a completely terrible reason. I didn’t tell my parents that I was going to the bouncy castle with Daisy. I mean, I just wanted to get away from them for a little while. Is that so wrong? According to my parental dictators, it is! So now I can’t play on my laptop, hang out with my friend, or watch TV. Also I’m not allowed to leave the house unless I tell my parents where I’m going. Sadly, I was allowed to go to Daisy’s party, even though I told my parents I didn’t deserve to go. They said that since I already said I was going, I had to go. So all I did at the party (which was three hours long!) was sit in the sand and do nothing. IT WAS SO SO SO BORING! Please don’t tell Daisy I said that, it’ll hurt her feelings.

Wednesday

So today I’m going to talk to my parents about not having to tell them everywhere I go. I go into my parent’s room. They’re watching TV. Mom is in matching blue PJs. They pause the TV and Dad says, “What’s up?”

I say, “Mom, Dad? Do you think you could give me a little more independence?”

Dad rubs his eyes, “What do you mean, honey?”

“I mean, maybe being able to go out with friends without having to tell you who I’m going with or where I’m going everytime.”

“Well, sweetie, how would we get in touch with you if you get hurt?” Mom says.

I smile and raise my eyebrows. “I could get a cell phone?”

“Jenny, right now you’re grounded. Do you really think you deserve a cell phone? And I beli — ” I cut Dad off.

“Think about the reason I got grounded. If I had a cell phone I could have texted you guys!” I’m whining.

Mom and Dad’s faces darken.

“Jenny, I don’t think you’re old or responsible enough for a cell phone,” Mom says.

“Right. Cell phones are very expensive,” Dad chimes in. “What if we buy you one and then you lose it or break it?”

“Sorry, sweetie. you’re just not ready,” says Mom.

“Ahhh! You guys are being so dumb and unreasonable!”

Ok, so maybe I didn’t say that but I definitely thought it! Ugh parents can be SO ANNOYING!

Anyway, I gotta go cool down.  

Thursday

“Are you even listening to me?” asks Daisy.

We’re sitting in Daisy’s bedroom.

“Nope not at all,” I say.

“I said that you were acting really moody at my birthday party.”

“I’m sorry, but you know I don’t like the beach and I didn’t know anyone besides you

there.”

“Well it hasn’t been only that moment. You’ve been really moody and not paying attention lately.”

“Give me an example,” I say.

“Well, at the family festival, you weren’t paying attention because you didn’t know that we were going to a bouncy castle.”

“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t want to bounce around on an inflatable princess castle!”

“Well then, you should have paid attention. You know, I don’t like it when you don’t pay attention to me! I mean, it’s not like I do anything that annoys you.”

“Yes you do!” I yell.

“What do I do that annoys you so much?!”

“You’re way too perky!”

“Yeah, well you’re way moody and I’m getting tired of it!”

“Well I’ll leave then!”

“Please do!”

“Fine!”

I slam the door of her way too pink and perky room and stomp out of her way to happy house.

So you’re probably wondering by now why the heck me and Daisy are best friends. Well, the short answer is she was the only one who talked to me when I moved here three years ago. So basically, I walked into my third grade classroom for the first time. The schedule was up on the board and the first thing it said was free time. This may surprise you but I’m a huge neat freak. So I thought the first thing I would do was organize my cubby and desk. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where either of those things where because apparently instead of putting our names on our desks, cubbies, and other stuff Ms. Wyatt (who by the way was the best teacher of all time) assigned each student a color. And since I had come in the middle of the year I didn’t know my color yet. Then this little girl wearing all pink and a huge smile (can you guess who it was?) comes up to me and says:

“Hi, I’m Daisy. What’s your name?”

“Jenny,” I said.

“Do you know your color yet?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Oh, well I’m your welcome buddy, so I know!”

“What is it?” I asked.

“You got so lucky almost every girl in the class wanted this color but you got it!!”

Oh no I thought that can’t be good because most nine year old girl’s favorite color is …

“Pink!”

“Great,” I said.

“We’re gonna be best friends forever!” said Daisy

So I agreed to be her best friend because no one else would talk to me. Now, I don’t have any friends. When I get home I go to my room to play on my laptop but then I realize I can’t do that because I’m grounded for a completely stupid, terrible reason! Ugh.

So I do what any rational twelve-year-old girl would do at this moment. I scream into my pillow. Then, when that doesn’t work, I throw it across the room. It hits a picture of me and Daisy skiing. I don’t pick it up. Sky comes in, because she heard all the noise, climbs up on my bed, and starts to lick my face. Then she curls up into a little ball. She’s so cute. She’s a three-year-old golden labrador retriever and she’s really energetic. I start to cry and I burry my face in Sky’s fur.

I hate my life.

When my mom gets home (my dad is on a business trip to Asia), she sees the pillow and the picture and me asleep with my head on Sky. She wakes me up and says:

“Honey what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Jenny, something is obviously wrong,” she says.

“Fine, me and Daisy had a fight.”

“Daisy and I,” she says under her breath.

Did I mention she’s an English teacher at our town college?

Mom,” I say in a stern voice.

“Fine. Continue,” she says.

“I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. She got mad at me and started saying how I’m moody and don’t pay attention and then she said that she never did anything that annoys me and I yelled at her saying she was too perky. Then, I stomped out of her house.”

“Well, sweetie, were you being moody and not paying attention?”

“No! Mabye. Yes,” I say.

“Well then you can’t blame her,” says Mom.

“But she knows that’s who I am,” I say.

“Well, honey, it can be annoying. And I should know. I’m your mother.”

“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll go to her house and apologize to her.”

“That’s a great idea sweetie!”

“Okay, bye Mom.”

“I’m ordering pizza. I’ll call you when it gets here.”

“Okay Mom.”

“Bye, Jenny.”

Mom walks down the hall. I’m going to take a nap until the pizza gets here. I hope she ordered Sicilian, it’s my favorite. Daisy’s too.

Friday

I’m walking over to Daisy’s house to apologize. I hope she forgives me.

I walk up to the door and knock. I see Daisy in her bedroom window. Her mom comes out.

“Oh, hi Jenny!”

“Hi Ms. Ackerman. Can I talk to Daisy?”

“Um… Daisy isn’t here” she says looking over her shoulder.

“Oh well tell her I want to talk to her,” I say, sadly.

“I will,” she says.

I start to walk away and, after a couple seconds, I turn around to make sure Daisy’s mom isn’t looking then I start to run. When I get home, Mom is also home because she has off on Fridays. She sees that I’m crying.

“What’s wrong, Jenny?” she asks, kind of panicked because I never cry in front of people.

“I went to Daisy’s house to apologize and I saw Daisy in her bedroom window but when her mom came to the door she said that Daisy wasn’t home!” I sobbed.

“Oh sweetie I’m so sorry that’s terrible! Do you want me to talk to Daisy’s mom and tell her that you just wanted to apologize.”

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“I’ll talk to her. Oh and Jenny? That was a very mature thing you did. Your grounding is over.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Mom smiles back me. I go up to my room and play Minecraft.

Saturday

Tomorrow’s my birthday and I have a plan. Since it’s my thirteenth birthday, I’m going to ask my parents for a phone. I have a plan and it’s foolproof! You’ll see what it is tomorrow. When my mom got home from talking to Daisy’s mom yesterday, I asked her how it went and she said it went fine. I still don’t think that Daisy forgives me. I asked my mom if Daisy was coming to my party and she said that she didn’t know and that we’ll see tomorrow. Anyway I’m so excited for tomorrow. I’ll officially be a teenager and have a reason to be moody. I’m probably just gonna play on my laptop all day today.

Sunday

It’s my birthday today and my plan is in action. I’ll go downstairs and my parents will be at the table and they’ll have made pancakes. Then they’ll yell happy birthday. Then they’ll ask me what I want for my birthday and I’ll say a phone! It’s foolproof! They can’t say no since it’s my thirteenth birthday! I’m going downstairs now. I peek around the corner of the stair case. Okay, good. There are pancakes on the table with a “13” candle on top. So far, so good. I walk into the kitchen.

“SURPRISE!” My parents yell. I act surprised even though I’m not.

“Oh my gosh!” I say in my best surprised voice.

“Sit down honey,” says Mom. I sit down and as expected they ask me what I want.

“Well,” I say pretending to think, “it would be great if I could have a phone.”

My parents look at each other smiling.

“We thought you would say that,” says Dad. They take out an iPhone case.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim. Then I open it and there is an iPhone 5s!

“Thank you thank you thank you!” I say excitedly.

“You’re welcome,” says Dad. “There are some rules, though.”

“Ok what?” I say skeptically.

“Here’s a sheet of paper with the rules,” says Dad handing me a sheet of paper. It reads:

  1. No texting until your homework is done.
  2. If Mom or Dad texts you, you must answer within two minutes or they will call the cops.
  3. You must ask permission to buy any game.
  4. No social media.
  5. If you break or lose this phone, there will be no new one.
  6. No giving random people your number.
  7. You must tell Mom and Dad your password.
  8. No prank calling.
  9. Most important rule: do not give any boy your number!

I would complain about these rules but I don’t want to lose my phone.

“Let’s go get ready for the party,” Mom says.

We are in our backyard for my party. It’s really sunny and nice out. I’m really bored. My cousins are running around playing tag. The grownups are talking about politics. Boring.

I wish Daisy was here. She used to be the only person I would really talk to at my parties. Usually at my birthday parties it’s me, my parents, Daisy, some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, some of my parents  friends kids, and my grandparents. But I don’t think Daisy is going to come even though mom said the talk with Daisy’s mom went well. I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Daisy!

“Hi Jenny,” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” we say at the same time.

“Let me go first,” she says.

“Okay,” I say.

“I’m sorry I told my mom to say I wasn’t home and that I called you moody,” she said, sadly.

“Okay, my turn,” I say. “I’m sorry I called you too perky and that I wasn’t paying attention to you. I am moody, so I forgive you.”

“I forgive you too,” she says, happily.

“I’m going to think about how moody I am and maybe try to be a little bit less moody. I said try. No promises!” I say to Daisy.

“Great. And I’ll try to be less perky,” Daisy says.

“No don’t, I kind of like it,” I admit.

“And I kind of like how you’re moody. I guess we kind of balance each other out!”

“Okay. Oh, and guess what? I got a phone!” I say excitedly.

“Really? What kind?” asks Daisy, even more excitedly.

“An iPhone 5s!” I say.

“Oh my god that’s awesome what’s your number?” she asks

“(212) 566-7653” I say. She taps it into her phone.

“What’s yours?” I say.

“(212) 356-3579,” she says.

“Oh, the cake is coming. Let’s go!” I say

“Okay!” she says. Then we run and get some chocolate cake with vanilla frosting that my mom made just for me.

So, right now, I guess I don’t hate my life.

San Francisco Collective

        

Prologue

I am terrified and also a little bit excited. Mostly because Jude said I have a story to tell, and she doesn’t lie about anything. I guess that I do have a story, and I’ve collected all the moments that make it up, but I don’t know how to string them together in a way that makes sense because my life doesn’t really make sense. I’ve saved up these fragments to write about, and I was always waiting for the right time to start working, but now the “Right Time” is staring me in the face, and I am scared shitless because I don’t want to fuck this up. I have screwed up a lot in my lifetime, but this thing feels sacred. I have this notion that it’s the one something that I can’t mess up because if it goes bad, then it’s like I’ve gone bad.

1

My name is Russell. Up until I turned sixteen, I lived with my mother in a suburb of Springfield, Illinois. The house was small and dumpy. My mother’s name is Bliss, which I thought was pretty fucking ironic seeing as all she really did was watch true crime TV after my father left. He was a quiet, friendly dude named Carl, who always seemed a little nervous. He was really gentle, didn’t talk much, and had a weird bald spot on the back of his head. Back when Carl was still around full-time, my mom was happy. She smiled a lot and hummed Elvis Presley songs.

Things were pretty run-of-the-mill, I suppose. And then my father was hired to work a nationwide circuit for his car dealership when I was ten. Things were a little tight in terms of finances, and my mother began to slide into depression. When he was gone, her smiles were infrequent and looked kind of manic because the happiness never reached her eyes. She lost her job when the local post office branch shut down, and we started living on welfare checks. After six years of this, he sent us a letter from Chicago. My mom read it first, and then left it to drift onto the kitchen table, turning slowly to walk to her room. I don’t think I was very surprised either when I read the note. I knew in the back of my mind for a while that his absence would soon become permanent.

It was still a tiny bit of a jolt to see that what I had feared in the abstract was no longer abstract, but very much real and very much happening to me. The letter was sappy and emotional and full of apologies.

He was sorry, but he could no longer live as the person he convinced himself he was.

He was happy now and living with a man named Herb, who was his partner.

He loved Bliss, but just not in the way that she loved him.

He had tried and tried for years, but couldn’t bring himself to care for her in the way she deserved to be cared for.

He would always care about us, but he could not be a part of the family any longer.

He told me I could come visit him whenever I wanted, and that Bliss could feel free to take loans from him if needed. I still loved him, sort of, but I knew I would probably not visit him.

Even though I barely interacted with my mother anymore, I felt a little twinge of pity watching her sit alone on the couch, swaddled in blankets, watching The F.B.I Files. She was pathetic, an overgrown child, no longer able to take responsibility for anything.

Don’t think I was weak or a pussy or anything. I was still planning to get the fuck out of there as soon as I could. Just to see the world a bit. Or at least get out of Illinois.

In late junior high, I went to an end-of-the-world party where I drank for the first time, and I smoked pot for the first time. Obviously, the world didn’t end, so the party ended up being my gateway into the world of marijuana. I smoked occasionally throughout freshman year, and a little bit more in the summer before sophomore year, and then even more throughout sophomore year, mainly because I fell in with a crew of self-proclaimed pagans who worshipped Satan and Mother Nature or some shit.

Before I got friendly with the pagans, I was buddies with this guy Darren, who I thought was really cool because he had a green buzz cut and wore a leather jacket from his uncle’s biker gang, but he turned out to be a little weird in the head. He was one of those emo types inside, and he tried to hide it by pretending to be “hard” and “gangster.” He tried to get me to enter a suicide pact with him in February of freshman year. Even though my life was kind of shit at the time, I still wanted to make it through. It seemed sad to die without ever having actually kissed a girl, so I decided to leave Darren and to find new friends instead. Darren didn’t kill himself, but he did move to Texas at the end of the school year.

The pagans were a small, exclusive gang of kids that hung out on the outskirts of the school campus, behind the clumps of trees surrounding the parking lot. There were all sorts of sick rumors about them, like that one of the girls had set fire to the music room a few years back by just summoning a flame into her hand or some shit, or that the guys in the group had turned the pool water into beer. Anyway, there were a few people in the crew at the time that I joined.

There was Melody Armstrong, a really pretty former cheerleading captain who now wore lots of layers of knit clothing and odd fabrics and lots of necklaces and had like ten ear piercings. She was still the wet dream of lots of guys, even after she transformed into a weirdo. Some creepy guy wrote a haiku about her after gym class one day in the locker room:

“Melody Armstrong

Your stomach so pale and tight

I want to screw you.”

I had a bit of a crush on her in elementary school after she beat me in a race at lunchtime. That was back when you could actually see her bright, blue eyes without the layers of black eyeliner masking them, back when she didn’t cover up her freckles with cakey makeup. There were lots of pervs at my school who used to watch the cheer team practice, just to catch glimpses of her skin while she did flips and leaps and shit.

The unspoken leader of the crew was Gunner Jorgensen. He was this tall, lanky guy with a handsome face. His face was angular and sculpted, and he was the main reason why the pagans were almost (counterintuitive as it may seem) mainstream. Gunner was clever, but didn’t get good grades because he rarely showed up to his classes. He was a junior. He listened to heavy metal bands like Cannibal Corpse and Burzum and Varg Vikernes, and he lived in a modified cabin in the woods. In addition to being very good-looking, Gunner was very charismatic, but also ruthless and cold. A dangerous combination, in hindsight.

There was also this girl Raven, who transferred in during her junior year. She must have been ordinary once, but she definitely wasn’t by the time she arrived at my high school. She wore goth clothing and an assload of makeup, heavily applied around her eyes like that chick Avril Lavigne. She really did look the part of a witch. People made fun of her in the beginning, but she didn’t seem to care. Somehow, rumors and gossip spread from her old school about how she’d been expelled for doing lots of drugs and bringing a sacrificial knife to class, and then people didn’t fuck with her anymore. She became kind of friendly with the pagans really quickly.

Most of the girls who had been in the group had hooked up with Gunner at some point, but Raven wouldn’t let Gunner into her pants, and I think that he latched onto her because she was a challenge. She became like the queen to Gunner’s king.

There were other kids in the group too, a few random dudes named Jack and Rudy and Smith, and then there was one other girl named Jane. She didn’t talk much. The pagans would mostly just hang out in the wooded areas on campus and smoke and stuff. After school, we’d hang at Gunner’s cabin instead. I did my first hallucinogens with them during some weird, batshit Wicca ritual. We’d do those sorts of things occasionally, but most often, we’d just chill as a group and get high and/or drunk and break glass for fun, because nobody could hear us from the middle of the woods.

So I ran with them for a few months during my sophomore year, and life was pretty interesting. Being with them kept the drugs flowing, and the girls were hot. I wouldn’t say that the pagans were really the type to share your secrets with or whatever, but Darren was long gone, and there was nobody else of interest in my school, so it was them or nothing. At any rate, my mother was kind of wigging out at the time, and she was drinking and crying a lot, which caused me to feel weird and uncomfortable in my house. I began crashing at Gunner’s occasionally, and then more and more, until I was spending most of my time at school or the cabin. I only went home when I needed more clothing, really. Over the summer before junior year, I lived with the gang full-time.

At least once a week, Gunner would throw a sort of party at his cabin. It was at one of those parties that I decided to emancipate myself from the pagans and potentially get out of Springfield. At the time, it was only a little idea at the back of my mind, and it slowly grew as I realized how crappy things were with my mother.

So anyways, the cabin was really dim and kinda grubby, and it had a pentagram carved into the wall of the main room where we all used to chill. Beer was flowing, and joints were circulating, and we had all sort of fallen into a groove. We weren’t talking though because Gunner had put on some weird, head-banger metal shit and it was too loud for conversation.

It was a sizeable group that night: me, Jacko, Rudy, Raven, Jane, and Raven’s cousin from out of town named Isadora. That probably wasn’t her real name because it sounded kind of medieval and uncommon, but I never asked nor did I ever see her again, so it didn’t matter. Gunner and Melody had disappeared into another room.

After a while, the CD ended, and the room was weirdly quiet for a moment before we heard raised voices from Gunner’s room. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The words were unintelligible, but it was obvious that the two of them were violently arguing with each other, and there was even a crashing noise or two. Then, the argument cut off abruptly, as though they finally realized that the music was no longer playing. The door slammed open, and Melody strode out, looking furious. There was a small cut along her left cheek, which was an angry red color. Gunner shouted the word “slut” after her violently. Needless to say, the rest of us were sort of embarrassed at having overheard the emotions of what was probably meant to be a private conversation. Nobody said anything to Melody as she shoved open the door that led to the deck.

A few of us made awkward conversation until Gunner put another CD in, and the death metal resumed playing. He looked like he was fuming — his nostrils were flared, and his eyes were doing some weird, intense thing, and I joked to Rudy that he looked like Loki, the evil Norse god (because Gunner was Nordic, ha ha.)

A little while afterwards, Gunner motioned to me to come into his kitchen, which actually just consisted of a derelict fridge, a broken camp stove, and some wooden cabinets where he put his used takeout boxes. I zig-zagged my way over, and he put his hands on my shoulders.

“Melody wants a piece of this,” he slurred (he was obviously obliterated), motioning to himself. “She wants a piece of me,” he said again in a weird, drunken sing-song way, followed by a foul burp.

I refrained from telling him that Melody Armstrong definitely did not want a piece of him, as he had just called her a slut. Instead of saying anything, I patted him on the back and told him to sit down. He did, and he continued to speak.

All the ladies want a piece of Gunner. All of them.

This time I couldn’t help but chuckle and nod, because Gunner sounded like a ridiculous sleazebag.

He sang to himself again — this time his lyrics were “poppin’ cherries everywhere I go!” — and I began to laugh. The drunkest, the most pathetic, and the most unfiltered and uncalculating Gunner was trying to make himself sound like a virile sex stallion or some shit. I was laughing so hard, I almost started to cry. Granted, I was smacked and would have laughed at just about anything.

I was wheezing and wiping my eyes when I said to Gunner something along the lines of, “Dude, you disrespected her. We all heard it. I’m just saying, she probably doesn’t want a piece of you. Like not even a tiny piece, man.”

Like I was dreaming, Gunner’s expression soured, he pulled back his right arm and slammed a fist into my abdomen. He learned how to box freshman year, enough said. I curled up on the ground in the fetal position, retching. My eyes watered, and Gunner just stood over me, watching. Through the pain, I noticed that his face looked curious, and it reminded me of scientists. I guess the best way I can explain it is that it was like he was just watching me to see what would happen. He looked cold, detached. But my mind was still swimming with thoughts, and I felt overwhelmed, so I closed my eyes for a little bit.

After a while, I managed to stand up straight, but I was still reeling from shock. I felt a bit out of whack at that point, both physically and mentally, but I grabbed another beer from the cooler and headed out to the deck to sit and breathe. I chose a spot somewhat close to Melody, who was sitting alone and looking sort of pensive, but also pathetic. I popped the tab of my beer and took a few sips.

It was in that moment that I decided that Gunner was kind of an egotistical, sexist maniac. Somewhere deep inside of him, where his conscience was supposed to be, his ego just sat, watching his life happen, and majorly jerking off.

I said “Hey”,  to Melody. She didn’t say anything but sort of looked at me and half-smiled. She hadn’t been crying or anything, but her mouth was turned down at the corners and her eyes looked droopy. We were quiet for a few minutes, and I took a few sips.

But then, I don’t really know what came over me,  because I turned to her all of a sudden and said, “I’m leaving the crew.” She looked at me blankly. “I’m outta here. You should come with me. Not in, like, a weird way. But these guys are really weird. And Gunner’s an asshole.”

She nodded slowly and looked almost convinced, but maybe not convinced enough because after a second, she said she wasn’t sure, and that those guys were still her friends. I said cool. She said sorry. I said that it was no big deal. Then, she looked down, and that was the end of the conversation, so I took a few swigs from my can and got up and left from the back. I was done, gonzo, desaparecido.

I returned early the next morning when everyone was dead asleep, or too hungover to notice me, in order to gather up my stuff. That was the last time I went to the cabin. But it wasn’t the last time I spoke with Gunner. A few days later, after I had taken some time to regroup, I was in the library when Gunner walked in. He looked at me like he was curious, but he was also smiling in a weird way. Gunner’s smile is kind of scary, which just adds to his intimidating presence. His teeth are perfect and white, and his canines are really sharp because he underwent a procedure to have them filed into points a while back. The corners of his mouth pull away when he smiles, and so he kind of looks shark-like, predatorial.

Anyway, he said, “Hey bro, what’s up?” or something similar, and I responded in such a fashion. It had been a while. The group was doing well. I was fine back at my mom’s house, just helping her around the house and stuff. He asked me what had happened that night of his party, ‘cause I had just sorta disappeared. I made up some phony story about how my mom needed me to help move some furniture or some shit, and that I had drank a few too many anyhow and needed to rest.

He seemed to buy it though because he nodded and said, “Been there, man,” and that was the end of that. He had either been too drunk to remember the punching incident, or this was his weird way of apologizing. Either way, I had made my decision.

But in typical Gunner fashion, he brought the conversation back to himself. “Dude, you’ll never believe it. I hooked up with Raven a few nights ago, man! Let me tell you, that chick is a freak in the sheets. But she’s also a freak on the streets, so I guess just a freak overall.” He laughed at his own joke, and I smiled. Inside, though, I just felt like he was being a prick.

“And you wanna know something?” I didn’t say anything, but Gunner didn’t need encouragement. “Afterwards, she told me her real name! It was like, Caitlin or Maddy or some shit. I don’t remember.”

“Wow, man, that’s whack,” I responded, but the whole time I was thinking, What a fucking douchebag, he hooks up with a girl and then can’t even be bothered to remember her real name.

Needless to say, my friendship with Gunner was over. We made a little more awkward small talk, and then I came up with a shitty excuse to leave. He told me to come and stop by the cabin sometime soon, that my presence was “sorely missed” (which I didn’t really believe. Pagan satanists don’t really tend to form many meaningful attachments, I guess.) On my way out, we power-shook, and I began to walk away.

“Hey, Russ,” he called after me, and I turned to listen. “Blood brothers, man.”

I replied, “Blood brothers forever, dude.”

We nodded, and he said, “Wicked.”

And then, I walked away, and that was the last time we spoke. I don’t miss him.

Getting ready to leave my mother’s house was not particularly difficult. I don’t own very many things. My room didn’t look too different once I packed the necessary items into a backpack. Bliss had been sitting on the couch, dazed the whole week. I felt a bit concerned at first, but then reasoned with myself and decided that this could be good for her, not having anyone there to do shit. Maybe she’d take back her responsibilities and be a normal mom again by the time I came back. That was the only way I could reconcile leaving. I guess I do have a soft spot.

Saturday night came, and I felt really restless, but also nervous. I began to worry if maybe I shouldn’t leave Springfield at all, but I figured I’d never know if I’d made the right choice until I left. I’d already paid for the tickets — Springfield to Chicago, Chicago to San Francisco. I had no excuse to stay. Before leaving that morning, I left a note on the table for Bliss that said that I was leaving for a few weeks, and that she shouldn’t look for me or try to contact me. Not that I actually believed she’d go out of her way to get in touch. It was just a way for me to feel like I wasn’t just abandoning her. She’d be fine. My departure would be good, maybe even for both of us.

The morning was brisk for late August. The sun hadn’t fully come up yet and made the low-hanging clouds look like a child had finger-painted on them in an orangey pink color. My bag seemed lighter that morning, and I felt pretty good, or at least I felt much better than I’d felt the night before.

I walked quickly into town and up the hill onto the exit from Route 125. The walk from the exit that led into Pleasant Plains was pretty short, about ten minutes or so. Soon enough I was on the side of the highway, and I stuck out my thumb in order to hitch a ride into Springfield. A few cars passed by me, followed by gusts of wind and car exhaust fumes.

Finally, a pickup truck stopped, and the passenger door opened. I grabbed my stuff and jumped in. The guy who was driving the truck was short and had a beer belly and a thick brown mustache. He asked where I was headed. I said Springfield, and he nodded and said he was headed there himself. He introduced himself as Bud, I said my name was Russell, and we shook hands. There wasn’t much more to say, so Bud turned on the radio to the local country station, and I rested my head against the window of the truck. I liked how I could feel the cold glass pressed against my temple, vibrating softly.

After about forty minutes, we could see Springfield ahead of us. Bud asked where he should drop me off. I said the Amtrak station, and so that’s exactly where he left me, standing on the corner with my bag and a nervous fluttering in my chest.

 

Villainous: Start from Zer0

There is a world of good and evil, light and dark, heros and villains. The two contradict each other. Almost everyday there is a fierce battle between the two forces. The two have only one thing in common: an enemy. In this world, anti-heroes think that they are in charge because they believe they obtain both light and dark energy. This world is loaded with cities, towns, and villages just like on Earth. Eighty-nine percent of people in the world have powers or can obtain powers; the rest are humans.

When a child is born, his or her powers are tested to see if it will be useful for good, evil, or both. The children are blood tested to find out their power and their power level. This process is tested by human scientist under the anti-hero’s organization, A.H.. The humans test the power of the children when they are born to see if they are qualified to become a savage for evil or a variant for the good. In percentage, the numbers to become a savage or a variant are 70%-100%.

One day the hero with the name of Yuri was helping other heroes defeat a giant jackal that had entered the city Hatake. Yuri was one of the strongest heroes. Yuri had a light shade of brown skin, he usually wore a sweater and jeans, and his hair was black and spiky. Yuri also had a tattoo of a black line starting from above his eyebrow, in the middle, and ran down to his jaw. It was on both sides of his face, a sign of extreme power. People called Yuri the “Thunder Dragon” because he had the power to transform into a dragon and he had the power of lightning. The dragon was yellow with plenty of bone spikes emerging from his skin and black streaks near the spikes. The dragon had hard metal-like skin and it was smooth, too. But his bones were hard as diamonds and rough as bedrock. The dragon’s figure was aerodynamic giving him the ability to move as fast and graceful as a jet.

The jackal was intelligent with extreme power, and he went by the name Chaos. Chaos was decimating the city of Hatake. Yuri met a new female hero that day named Natsuko. Natsuko had smooth, dark skin and black hair. She had a mark of extreme power too, like Yuri does. It was a tattoo of a black line running from her cheek bones, not too far below from her eyes, and it ran through her nose to her other cheek bone. Right away, Yuri fell in love. Natsuko was then targeted by the jackal in the fight and the jackal attempted to slash Natsuko, but right before it happened Yuri used his powers to save her. With his hands, he and Natsuko gave birth to a child. They named him Zero.

After Natsuko gave birth, the child was sent to a baby nursery in the hospital’s basement.

Meanwhile, Natsuko rested in her bed. Then large thumps started to rush through the ground. The sounds were coming from right outside of the city. The sounds were getting closer and closer as the humans and superhumans stood in suspense. Yuri then transformed into a dragon flying up, gaining altitude, to see what was going on. “EVERYBODY GET DOWN!” Yuri shouted making his voice bounce off of the buildings, creating an echo so everyone in the city could hear him. Everyone listened to his command as a blast of light was shot out towards Yuri. Yuri dodged it with ease but the beam still continued to seek its destruction and blew up the city’s police precinct.

At that moment the city turned into chaos. Buildings on fire, broken down, smoke emerging from each and every corner. Humans, superhumans in agony, injured, bruised, broken. Yuri needed more help. The savages were sent out as back-up for Yuri from the villains, knowing he was the strongest person in the city at that moment. So then the Heroes decided to do the same, and they sent out their variants as back up. The human government sent jet fighters and choppers to attack after the superhumans did. A huge battle was about to begin but they couldn’t figure out what yet. The warriors waited patiently until the huge dust clouds and smoke died down so they could see what they were facing. Yuri impatiently flew into the smoke and used his wings to reveal his enemy. It was the demon king, Darton. Darton appeared with his ace: The Poison Dragon, Felong. Felong was purple and scaley. He had black drool emerging from his mouth that stuck to his lips as he opened his mouth to let out a roar. His roar made the drool splatter all over parts of the city. It was acid and it killed many people and decimated buildings.

“We are here for your child, Yuri!” exclaimed Darton.

“But why? For what reason?!” Yuri responded.

“He has a strong evil aura. And we would like to have his power.”

“Impossible! He is the son of two great heroes. That’s not even logical.”

“Trust me. Just hand the boy over and there will be no trouble.”

“Never! He’s my son. What makes you think I would just hand him over?”

“I predicted that you might say that. So if I can’t have him, no one can!” Darton informed Yuri.

At that moment Yuri was drowned in anger, and the power of the Thunder Dragon started to consume him. His eyes changed to a neon yellow merging and mixing with a neon orange color. His pupils then thinned out and stretched out like he had eyes of a snake. Then his vertebrae started to mutate then bony spikes started to emerge slowly out of his back, stretching his skin and piercing through the flesh, causing blood to splatter all over his skin. His teeth then started to convert into long, sharp, acute fangs. Then the cells and molecules in his fingers began to unite creating three fingers with frightening claws. His skin was then forced off by the yellow, metallic-like armor. His scapula was then stretched out from his back and it stretched out the new yellow skin on Yuri’s body, creating wings. Yuri’s body then expanded, and he transformed into the famous Thunder Dragon.

Felong and Darton were ready to fight. Yuri zoomed in towards Felong and covered himself in a coating armor of electricity and then tackled him. Felong’s wings became paralyzed as Yuri continued to attack and slammed him into the ground. Natsuko awoke from her sleep and looked out the window and saw the fight taking place. She was a bit scared but she didn’t care — she needed to help Yuri. Feeling better, she used her teleportation powers to place herself in the fight. She appeared right in front of Darton.

“Crap,” Darton solemnly stated.

Natsuko used her super strength and gave him an extreme punch and broke off his horn. Darton then used his size and strength to pick up a lamp-post and swatted Natsuko. She was already weak from giving birth so when she was whacked, she coughed up almost pints of blood.

“Natsuko!” Yuri cried in fear.

Yuri stopped wrestling with Felong and slashed his face, leaving him a giant scar with three claw marks. Yuri started to create a gust with his wings to take flight and to try and finish off Felong. He let out a huge blast of electricity, released from his mouth, and it was shot at his face.

Yuri escaped and dashed over to where Natsuko was.

The spikes, skin, fangs, claws, yellow skin, and neon eyes started to relax, and he turned back into his normal human form. He tried to help Natsuko get up and protect her from the demons. Then Darton ordered his demons to attack the two and they were left with scars, bruises, burns, and scrapes. Then Darton started to charge up a black beam of powerful dark energy with his hands and aimed it at Yuri and Natsuko. He released it towards them. Their bodies disappeared.

Hundreds of heroes appeared in fighting stances with death in their eyes ready to help their friends. Some flew, some on the ground. They tried to help the two but it was too late. Natsuko and Yuri were killed. And baby Zero was next.

“Those two tried to defy me, they are now dead! What are you going to do about it?” Darton informed the Heroes. “Whoever wants to end up like them, try to fight me!” Darton continued.

“We need to avenge them! Who’s with me!” a young hero with the name of Akiko cried.

“Yeah!” a group of heroes responded with hope.

“If that’s how you want to die, then okay. I will destroy your entire city then!” the Demon said with confidence.

At first, the villains didn’t care, but they decided to join in the fight along with the heroes. They did this for two reasons. They started to sense the boy’s power. Also they didn’t want their home to be destroyed. Villains and Heroes stood side-by-side to protect Zero. A fierce battle then started. Demons versus Superhumans. It went on forever, but then the superhumans won. They chased off the demons. There were already thousands of Heroes and Villains, but then the human government appeared with tens of thousands men, and hundreds of thousands of anti-heroes arrived under the A.H. organization.

The demons got scared and fled towards south to their base.

“This isn’t worth it anymore!” Darton exclaimed.

Everyone wanted to celebrate their success but they couldn’t — two great heroes had died and they felt really bad that they were too late. Even villains were upset. Some of them admired Yuri’s power and how he could control it so perfectly and turn into a fearsome beast like a dragon. And they respected and feared Natsuko’s extreme strength.

It was a sad but new start for a new beginning.

End of Part I

Epilogue

13 years later.

There was a crash of blue lightning flashing down the blocks of the city, with fiery blasts following it. The flames melted metals and heating cement as they sped down the block. The lightning created heated craters as it dashed through the city. The two seemed to be chased by something. It was the Police.

 

Have You Seen This Girl?

Part 1

Chapter 1

“That girl has been missing for seven years, Jordan,” the Chief Officer sighs, removing his glasses and setting down the notes I’d written on his desk. “There’s no way you could’ve found her.”

“For the last time, Chief Warren, she was there. She looked just like the girl in the picture.” I argue, hastily pulling out a crumpled picture of the girl from my bag.

The Chief reaches over his desk and rips the picture from my hands, looking down at it. “Except now she’s seven years older,” he mutters. “Why do you care so much about her now?”

“Please, you have to understand! She was there in the Glengarry Forest! I saw her, I swear!” I exclaim. I will not give up on this girl and her family.

“Listen here, Eva Jordan. Glengarry Forest is on the other side of the United Kingdom. If you remember correctly, that girl disappeared in the New Forest. I’m not going to send you and my officers on some sort of pretend mission. The girl is dead, Officer, and you have to understand that,” The Chief says in a menacing tone. “No four-year-old girl can survive in the woods alone for seven years. Just forget about her.”

As I walk out of his office, I say with grim determination, “Just you wait, Warren. I will find Delilah Johnson.”

I leave the Paddington Green Police Station in a rush of excitement. The Chief had finally agreed to let Benjamin give me Delilah’s case file for the billionth time. I kind of lied to him, saying I’d only look at it and make sure I couldn’t have actually seen Delilah Johnson.  I’ve done this investigation countless times, ever since she disappeared. But now I’m prepared and I know I won’t fail again. London’s icy winds howl and bite my cheeks, but I keep walking, even though I almost slip on the snowy floor. I pull my scarf over my nose and notice that the Christmas decorations are finally being put up. My mind is racing, thinking of all the crazy possibilities of what could have happened to the girl. I finally stop at Madam Puddifoot’s Cafe. I walk in and shake the snow from my boots and my hat. Old-fashioned Christmas carols pour out of the small radio, and multi-colored lights decorate the walls. The cafe smells of eggnog and Christmas trees. I walk up to the line and wait my turn. Finally, the people in front of me get their drinks and go to sit down. `

“Hello Eva,” Chloe, the cashier lady, smiles. “Same thing as usual?”

“Uh, yes please,” I answer.

“Are you okay, dear?” Chloe asks. “You seem… different.”

“I’m just really excited,” I whisper. I choose my words carefully for what I’m about to say next. “I’m working on… I’m working on a… a case.”

At this, Chloe laughs. “Oh, okay… That will be two pounds, please.”

“Here you go,” I say, handing her the money.

“Your coffee will be ready in a minute,” Chloe assures.

I sit down at a small table near the window and quickly open my black bag full of papers and pictures relating to the missing girl. I’m setting the evidence on the table when my name is called.

“Eva Jordan, regular coffee!”

I stuff the papers in my bag and haul it over my shoulder as I pick up my coffee. Chief Warren has said to keep this a secret and to not let anyone know what I am working on. He’s a weird guy. I set my coffee down on my small table and sit down again. I take all the files and images out of my bag again. One picture shows a small girl, four years old, with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. I open my laptop and start looking through all the pictures and videos I have of her.

I flip open the missing girl’s case file. Delilah was born on April 18th, 2006. She disappeared July 19th, 2009 in New Forest, England, at three years of age. She’d be ten years old now. She was wearing a pink knit sweater with cupcakes and blue pants. She was 37 inches tall and 32.6 pounds. Her hair color was dark brown. Her eyes were also dark brown. She lived in Surrey with her family.

I write down things in my notebook as I read articles, watch videos, look at pictures, and hear interviews. I write things like what color shirt she had been wearing the day she left, the exact address of where she was in New Forest that day, and what her personality was like. Then, I go to the more recent media.

Last week, I’d gone camping in the Glengarry Forest, Scotland, with my father, my sister, and my nephew. I had gotten up early to take a walk and to take pictures of the dawn, forcing my feet through the deep snow. I was already deep into the forest when I heard a branch snap above me. I turned around quickly and took a picture, thinking it would be some sort of interesting animal, but what I saw almost made me scream. It was not an animal, but a girl. She had wild curly hair with what seemed a new pair of blue pajamas with little clouds and stars. I could tell she was scared, but I managed to take a video of her as she leaped into another tree. She disappeared as quietly as she had arrived. Only when I got back to our tent and looked through the pictures did I realize that I may had just seen Delilah Johnson.

Chapter 2

The sun had already set a few hours ago when I decide to go home. I walk to my car, falling a few times on the snow. I’m so distracted that I almost get run over by a car as I cross the street. So Delilah disappeared in New Forest. New Forest is at the very south corner of England. But I also supposedly saw Delilah in Glengarry Forest, which is in the north of Scotland. It doesn’t add up. What little girl can cross two countries alone, without anyone noticing her?

I finally find my yellow Volkswagen through the blinding snow and quickly climb in. I decide to wait a while until the snow clears up a bit. Driving in the snow is hard, but driving in the night as well is harder. I’m turning the radio on when a face pops up through the window. I recognize her face immediately.

“There you are! Hi, Eva! Hi!” exclaims Morgan Anderson, wiping the fog and snow off my window.

I sigh. Morgan is also a police officer, and sometimes, I just can’t stand her. “Not now, Morgan, I’m busy.”

“No, Benjamin told me that you’re working on something! Is it on that Della girl? I can help, you know!”

“Her name is Delilah,” I mutter through clenched teeth. Why does this girl have to come now, of all times? And why on earth did Benjamin tell her about my mission to find Delilah? That’s classified information! “And no, you can’t help me. So just leave me alone, thank you.”

“I want to help! Really!” Morgan calls, jumping up and down. “Let me in! Or else I won’t leave, and I’ll keep screaming at you through this window.”

I sigh even louder. What is it with Morgan? I unlock the door. “Get in,” I mumble, banging my head against the driving wheel. Why did I let Morgan in again?

“So what’s first, Officer Jordan?” she laughs, clapping her hands in excitement.

I look at her like, Are you serious? “First, please just calm down,” I beg.

“Okay, done.”

“Second, leave me alone.”

“What? But we’re partners in crime now!” Morgan argues.

“No, we are not.” I explain, taking a deep breath and wondering how long I’ll be able to stand this girl. Morgan is probably the most carefree officer I know. “All you’re doing is helping me in this mission, okay?”

“Fine, but that still makes me your partner in crime.”

I ignore her comment. “We’re going to my office. We’re buying tickets for a plane to Scotland, and we’re going to Glengarry forest, and we’re going to find that girl.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I start the engine and drive back to Paddington Green. We cross the lobby, ride the elevator, and walk into my office, number 713. I immediately go over to the huge chart I have of Delilah on the wall, removing the old sheet on top of it. The chart is made up of pictures, clips from articles, maps, and more. I turn to Morgan and see her sitting on my chair with her feet on my desk.

“Morgan!” I hiss. “Get your feet off my desk!”

Morgan jumps up. “Jeez!”

“So look. Delilah was three when she disappeared, right?” I begin, pointing to the last picture her parents were able to get of her.

“Right,” Morgan says, walking up to the chart and sweeping her eyes over it with curiosity.

“That happened July 19th, 2009. Seven years ago.”

“Mm-hm,” Morgan nods. “But how is it possible that she’s still alive? Where’s your evidence?”

I detach three pictures from the wall and give them to her. “See the picture on the left? That’s in Liverpool, September, 27th, 2011. A man was hiking and was able to capture a picture of Delilah. She’s running through the woods. See her? She’s by that beech tree.”

“Okay… ” Morgan says, squinting at the picture. “But there are a lot of ten year old girls with curly brown hair in the U.K.… “

“Exactly. But how many ten-year-old girls with curly brown hair have disappeared in the last decade?” I observe. “The picture in the middle was taken in New Galloway, during the year 2014. That’s Delilah there. She’s sitting on that rock.”

“Mm,” Morgan replies.

“And the last picture was taken by your ‘partner in crime’ last week, when she was camping. Delilah’s in that tree, wearing the blue pajamas. She’s in the middle tree.”

“Wow,” Morgan says. “So we’re actually going to Scotland?”

“Yup,” I answer, sitting down on my desk and turning my laptop on.

“Does the Chief know?”

“No. Don’t tell anyone. The Chief would never let us go.” I tell her seriously, as I buy our tickets for Scotland. I print the tickets out and give two to Morgan. “One of those is your ticket for the train, and the other is for the airport. We’re taking Heathrow Express from Paddington Station. You better be there by 4:00 AM sharp.”

“Thank you,” Morgan gushes, looking down at her blue ticket. Her bright green eyes, framed by a pair of big brown glasses, gleam with excitement.

“And here… ” I say, giving her another ticket, “is your ticket for Inverness. We depart from Heathrow Airport and arrive at Inverness Airport. British Airways. The plane leaves at 6:00 AM, and we board the plane at Gate 45.”

“Heathrow Express from Paddington Station. Be there at 4:00 am sharp. Heathrow to Inverness at 6:00 AM. British Airways. Gate 45,” Morgan repeats. “Okay, got it.”

Chapter 3

The birds aren’t even singing when I wake up. It’s all dark and silent, except when the occasional car comes down the street. I wonder what I’m doing up so early. I suddenly remember: I’m going to find Delilah Johnson! I’m going to Scotland with Morgan Anderson!

I fly out of bed and flip the lights on in my bedroom. I make the bed as quickly as possible. I’m so excited that everything seems to go by in a blur. I pull on a pair of dark blue jeans, thick, grey socks, and a blue and white striped shirt, and then dash into the kitchen. I quickly make myself a piece of toast with orange marmalade, a cup of coffee, and a Ziploc bag of fruit. I decide that I’m going to take my breakfast and eat it on the way to the airport. I zip up my faded green parka and put my boots on. I pack my hat, my scarf, and my gloves in my backpack, grab my suitcase and my breakfast, and I’m off.

I run down the street, trying to catch a taxi. The streets are dark, lit only by moonlight and a few lampposts here and there. I can barely see through the snow that threatens to blind me. After a few minutes, a taxicab driver sees me and pulls up. The driver gets out of his car and helps me stuff my suitcase into the trunk.

“Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you,” I repeat, closing the door as I get in the back seat. “I’ve been waiting forever in all that snow, oh my God.”

The driver, a plump guy in his fifties, nods. “My pleasure, missy. Name’s Tom. Where you headed?”

I look out the window. “Paddington Station, sir.”

We ride through my city, watching all the Christmas decorations that are being put up. From a distance, I see Paddington station, already alive and bustling with people. I pull my thick, dark brown hair into a quick bun and put my grey-white hat on.

“So, where you headed this early?” Tom asks a few minutes later, pulling up next to the station.

“I’m on my way to Scotland,” I answer merrily, handing him eleven pounds as he helps me with my suitcase.

Tom gets in his taxi. “Good luck, missy,” he calls.

I wave at him as I roll my suitcase into Paddington Station. I bump into a few people here and there as I look for Morgan. I look down at my watch. It reads 3:26 AM. I swear, if Morgan isn’t here on time, I’ll… I’ll do something to her. Something bad.

After waiting ten minutes, I decide to call her. My phone rings about seven times before she answers.

“Hello?” Morgan yawns.
“Morgan!” I say loudly. “Where are you?”

“Umm… “ Morgan mumbles. “Ummm… “

I can’t believe her. “Morgan! Wake up! Where are you?”

The phone is silent for a few seconds. “I’m in London.”

“Yes, I know, Morgan, but where exactly?”

“I’m outside my house. Trying to get a stupid taxicab.”

I sigh loudly. “You have exactly twenty two minutes! Hurry up!”

“Okay, okay.”

I hang up. I knew I should’ve just picked Morgan up and brought her with me. Now she’s gonna miss her train. I pace the station, thinking of ways I could fix this. If she misses her train, she can just buy tickets for a later one… but then she’d miss the plane. She has a car, so she can also drive to Scotland… A few minutes later, my phone rings. It’s Morgan.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hi, Eva. I’m in a taxi now, like five minutes away,” Morgan mutters. I can hear the sleepiness in her voice.

“Okay. The train leaves in about fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

I walk over to the schedule for the Heathrow Express. It’s delayed, arriving in twenty minutes. I silently pray that Morgan will make it. The station isn’t as busy as usual, since it’s only 3:43 in the morning. But still, people push past me and yell at each other and all the usual business. I sit down on a bench by the entrance so I can see Morgan when she walks in. I take out my Goblet of Fire book while I wait for Morgan. You’re never too old for Harry Potter. All of a sudden, my phone rings again. I reach into my backpack and pull it out. It’s Morgan. Again.

“Morgan? Are you here?” I ask.

“Yup. Where are you?” Morgan says.

“I’m here, right by the entrance.”

“No, you’re not.”

My stomach suddenly drops to my feet as I realize something. “Morgan — where are you?”

“Um… King’s Cross,” Morgan begins. “Why?”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. “Morgan! Morgan! It’s Paddington Station! Paddington!”

The phone is silent for a long stretch of minutes. “Oh. Whoops.”  

I start breathing heavily. “Are you kidding me? What are we supposed to do now?” I practically yell. My watch reads 3:52 AM. “Okay. Morgan, pay attention.”

“Okay.”

“King’s Cross is like eleven minutes away by cab, right?”

“Yeah.”

I look over at the wall. There’s a bus that connects Paddington Station to King’s Cross. It leaves in two minutes. “Listen, Morgan, the train is delayed by five minutes. We have thirteen minutes left. Is there a bus schedule around you?”

Morgan pauses before saying, “Yeah, why?”

“Can you see the bus that will bring you to Paddington Station?”

“Yes.”

“It leaves at 3:55 AM,” I inform, looking at the schedule anxiously. “Think you’ll make it?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make it!” Morgan cheers excitedly. “Of course I’ll make it!”

“Then, go!”

“Okay! Bye!” Morgan exclaims.

Chapter 4

I sit down on the bench again, hoping and praying that Morgan will make it. I’m too anxious to keep reading my book, or to do anything else, really, other than think about all the worst things that could happen. What if Morgan’s bus crashes? Or what if she got on the wrong bus? What if she misses her stop? I decide to call her to make sure.

“Hello?” Morgan says. “Eva?”

“Yeah, hi Morgan. What bus are you on?”

“I’m on 167T, I think,”

I give a long sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

I hear Morgan ask someone something. Then, she tells me, “The driver says we’ll be there at 4:05.”

“That means you’ll make it just when the train arrives,” I gasp, not knowing whether I should be relieved or worried about this.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in Scotland faster than you can say ‘Delilah,’ okay?”

“Delilah.”

“Aren’t you funny?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” I answer.

“Bye,” Morgan says.

A few minutes later, I see a redhead wearing a grey beanie, a red pea coat, and brown boots, dragging a suitcase splattered with paint behind her. I jump up, grab my suitcase and my backpack, and run after her.

“Morgan!” I call, running after her.

“Eva?” she says, turning around to look at me. “Hi, Eva!”

“Yes, hi,” I pant. Then, I look down at my watch, which now says 4:05. “Come on, quick!”

I drag Morgan behind me, through crowds of people, past restaurants, maps, and more. We finally arrive at the station, where the conductor is getting the last few people on board. I yelp and bound up the stairs to the train, and Morgan leaps in after me. We put our suitcases in the overhead compartments and just as the train pulls out of the station, we find two seats near the window and sit down.

I sigh, relieved that through all this mess, we made it. I look up at the white ceiling, so grateful that we’re on this train, already on our way to the airport.

“One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” I tell Morgan.

Morgan tugs on her brown Ray-Bans. “Sorry about that,” she says, then laughs. “Honestly, I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to my shoulders.”

I suddenly snap my head forward and look at Morgan. “Did you remember your tickets?”

“Oh, um…” Morgan mumbles, rummaging through her backpack. She then pulls out two tickets, a blue one and a white one. “Here you are! Ha, suckers! I found you!”

“Thank goodness,” I whisper to myself and look down the aisle. The train is well lit, with two columns of plush blue chairs that run down each side. To my surprise, the train is pretty full. I can hear a baby wailing a few rows ahead. I reach into my bag and take out my packed breakfast. My coffee’s still hot, since I put it in my best thermos this morning before I ran out. I take the top of the thermos off to let it cool down a bit. I’m biting into my deliciously still warm, crunchy, orange marmalade toast when I notice Morgan looking at it with longing.

“What?” I ask, with a mouth full of bread and marmalade.

“I’m really hungry…”

“Didn’t you eat breakfast this morning?”

“I didn’t have time,” Morgan says.

I stop to think about it for a second. Then, I rip half of the toast off and hand a piece of it to her.

“Thank you so much, Eva!” Morgan cheers, carefully handling her bread and looking down at it as if it were gold.

“Don’ werry ‘bowit,” I blurt, my mouth stuffed with my delicious toast. Then, I notice the conductor is coming down the aisle, collecting the tickets. “Morgan, get your ticket out.”

“Which one?” Morgan asks.

“The blue one,” I tell her, taking mine out of my jacket’s pocket.

“Oh, okay.”

The conductor finally reaches us. She has a badge that reads “Conductor Lilith King.”

“Hi, ladies,” she says, reaching for both of our tickets. “Where you goin’?”

I hastily wipe my mouth with my napkin. “To Scotland.”

“Beautiful place, Scotland,” the conductor smiles, punching some holes in our tickets with a small metal contraption. I forget its name. “I was born there, you know.”

“Cool,” Morgan nods, finishing her toast. My toast.

The conductor bids us good luck and moves on to the next pair of chairs. I decide to share my Ziploc bag full of fruit with Morgan. The train speeds past tall buildings, stores, houses, cars, and restaurants. Morgan braids her silky red hair as I finish my last strawberry. The snow outside has started to calm down, and only a few snowflakes swirl to the floor now and then. The Heathrow Express then zooms into a dark tunnel and emerges at the airport before coming to a halt.

“Thank you for boarding the Heathrow Express. Please gather all your belongings before exiting. Please be careful when exiting the train, and watch your step. I wish you all safe travels, and have a good day,” Lilith the conductor instructs through the megaphone.

I haul my bag over my shoulders and put the lid on my coffee thermos, which didn’t manage to cool down at all. I reach into the compartment above our seats and pull Morgan’s paint-splattered suitcase and my indigo one out. I give Morgan her suitcase, then double check the chairs to make sure we didn’t leave anything.

We wait until most of the people have exited the train, and then we cross the aisle to the doors, where the conductor is standing.

“Thank you,” Morgan nods towards her.

The conductor smiles. “My pleasure, miss.”

I wave goodbye as we step off the train, facing the huge Heathrow Terminal 5 in front of us. The white marble floor seems to stretch out for miles. The ceiling is made up of large, white, graceful arches, and the walls are made of glass, which allows a clear view of the planes taking off. The airport is full of people. I mean full of people. People sitting in cafes, people waiting in lines, people running about trying to catch planes. Restaurants and shops are also everywhere. There’s a Starbucks, a Pret A Manger, a Gordon Ramsay restaurant, and more. There’s also a Chanel, a Rolling Luggage, a Ted Baker, a Mulberry, and a Hamleys. I sweep my eyes over it all, trying to look at everything at once.

“Look! A Hamleys!” Morgan tugs on my arm. “Can we please go look? Please? I need a Christmas gift for my cousin!”

I look at my watch, which says 4:21. “Fine. But we have only like an hour and a half left.”

“Yay!” Morgan exclaims, skipping ahead of me with her suitcase bobbing behind her.

We enter Hamleys, a big red toy store. It’s the biggest toy store in England. Displays in the middle of the floor are packed with Barbies, Legos, stuffed animals, clothes, action figures, masks, and more. Morgan seems like she belongs in this store with her red coat, her peculiar but colorful jewelry, and her iconic, paint-splattered suitcase.

She zooms throughout the store, stopping here and there to admire different clothes and toys. Once in awhile, she comes to me, showing me the toys she likes and asks whether she should get them. I look around the store as well, getting ideas at what some of my younger relatives would like. Then, Morgan goes to the cashier, where she pays for a bag full of toys. I wait for her outside. Sometimes, too many things and colors at once can give me a headache. Morgan skips her way toward me, through the racks and displays of toys. Then, I notice something catches her eye, and she starts walking to the side of the store. I lose her among the blurs of toys and clothes.

“Morgan?” I call, stepping closer to the shop.

After a few minutes of silence, Morgan answers. “Eva. Eva, come quick. You need to see this.”

I walk briskly towards her, almost crashing into a stack of Barbies. I finally find Morgan, crouching over a rack of toddler clothes. “What is it?” I ask bitterly. “You almost scared me.”

“No, look,” Morgan points to the rack. Hanging there are some pairs of blue pajamas. “Look closely.”

I suddenly notice the pattern on the pajamas, and my eyes widen. Blue pajamas with little clouds and stars. “Oh my God,” I whisper, covering my mouth in surprise. Because I know who owned a pair of pajamas like these. I know who was wearing these the day she disappeared.  

Morgan looks at me and nods slowly, biting her bottom lip. “Delilah Johnson was here.”

End of Part 1

 

Hope

“There is none.
You are stuck in a trash compactor.” – Star Wars
Hope is a test
A test you have not studied for
A test you cannot study for
A test you will fail
… at least that is what some will say
But Hope is not what people tell You
Hope is what YOU make!
You make hope for Yourself
You can make Hope for Others
You can be Hope
Because
Hope is free and Hope is great
I love Hope
I Hope you find it too
I will always love Hope

Ben’s Space Poem

       

3, 2, 1. The ship is off!

So much smoke, sounds like a cough.
The captain is yelling what to do,
But his voice is lost to the engine’s loud vroom.
From the Earth to simply explore,
We always want peace, but never want war.
3009 is the year that we chose,
But the year we come back, nobody knows.
A minor glitter up in the clouds,
The spot is now empty where once there were crowds.
Off we go in outer space,
Into that mysterious place.
What will we see? Will we see life?
Maybe black holes? Or the portal of strife?
Our crew is made up of four astronauts:
A cook, captain, engineer, and me, for the thoughts.
Spaceship roaring past the moon,
Looks like a little grey balloon.
There it is floating in orbit of earth,
but it’s now behind us, for all that it’s worth.
Now to Jupiter the rocket goes.
There, we make friends. Friends and foes.
We choose our captain to first come out,
And explain to the creatures that we’re just roaming about.
The creatures there, called Jupitariens
are little red-spotted things, little red-spotted aliens.
They have tentacles and a mouth with many rows of teeth
because the only food on Jupiter are the crops on the heath.
Drops of acid ooze out of them as they move around,
And all of it seeps in the poor, clabbered ground.
They have eight eyes positioned around their small heads,
this is so that they do not wind up dead.
These creatures are to each other quite savage,
But when others come, they do not at all ravage.
Those who are friendly to us must have had food,
But the ones who are hungry are the ones who were rude.
Some try to help with advice, others not.
But Jupiter’s now just a tiny, red spot.
An asteroid is coming our way.
“What do we do?” to each other we say.
The others say it’s my call to deduce
The best course of action, but I am not Zeus!!!
Boom! Our ship is aggressively swayed,
From the collision, but signals now fade.
We now have no contact with home,
or anywhere else where we might roam.
Our ship is running out of food.
We ask Pluto’s people. “No.” We’re screwed.
We thought that we’d finally get what we need,
because we have quite a few mouths to feed.
“What did we ever do to you?”
“Why not just help us? Why not give us food?”
Our spaceship now exits the solar system.
“See you later!” The spaceship kisses ’em.
Off into mystery lands our ship goes.
“But where to?” Nobody knows.
The spaceship’s speed increases quite fast.
Now the ship goes full speed at last.
Quarter lightspeed, does it go.
That speed you cannot call slow.
Stars around it seem to bend.
Thank the speed for that, my friend.
Running low on fuel now,
Where to re-fill? Where and how?!
But wait! One idea we have;
We can stop on the comet. The comet called Dǻv.
The creatures there, called Romniaks,
Are all very different and travel in packs.
They will hunt and eat whatever’s in sight,
And will suck on the bones all the way through the night.
Those four-legged creatures look kind of like apes,
But in all different colors and all different shapes.
Our cook ask the Romniaks for fuel and food,
And we do get it, not a moment too soon.
For if we were without it for a moment longer,
we would have lost, outer space being stronger.
We see something interesting far to the right,
And we direct our ship there. Was that wrong or right?
I pull out my notebook and get ready to write,
About this object as we get pulled right
Off of our course and get spun around. Why can’t we go there? I thought it was our right
To go where we please. As we right
Our course to head back towards the object, we’re pulled back again! Oh, right.
So we can’t go there. Now what?

Cry Stone Tears

Chapter 1: Soul

I know who he is.
He does not know me.
Here’s what’s important:
I believe I can read his soul.

***

“Do I know you?” my friend said.
“No, you don’t. You never did.”
Now, she remembered me. There were tears in her eyes. “But don’t you know me?” she asked. “Don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do. I’d know you from a thousand miles.”
She thought I was going mad. Or that maybe I was sick. But I wasn’t. I was just fine.

***

They told me I never stopped reading.
And it was true. I never did. I was always reading.
I read books.
I also read souls.
But I could not read my own.

***

I used to sit during recess. Used to read a book. And I used to watch. I watched the other kids running around and laughing, playing tag. And I noticed things. Noticed that the prissy fourth-grader near the fence admired another girl in her class, and that she wanted to befriend her. It wasn’t working. I could see that. Noticed that the girl across the yard was friends with some of the boys. That was unusual. Talked with them. There was one boy who hated her. I could see the hate in his eyes. No one else could. They all thought she was a bit of a tomboy. I thought she was like a rosebush. Hard thorns encasing a sweet flower. But no one else saw. I never talked to any of them. I still knew.
Outside, I think I was normal. I talked and laughed and chased my friends. I teased the other kids. Made new friends. They all told me I was calm.

“You’re so calm,” they would say. “How are you so calm?”

“I’m not,” I would reply.

They insisted I was anyway. I don’t think it mattered what I said. All the teachers had different opinions of me. Some told my mom I was too shy.

“Kai doesn’t participate enough. She’s too quiet,” they told her.

I wasn’t shy at all. I just didn’t think the questions were worth answering. The teachers didn’t realize that. I have a lot of friends. Every single one of them tells people they know me inside and out. My soul isn’t inside out. It’s hidden. Only I can find it. I laughed inside when they said things like that.

It all started with a book. As usual.

The book was called Friends, and it consisted of quotes from kids of all ages. As I read those quotes, I felt a rush of understanding. Like I knew what each kid was thinking as they wrote it. I did.

One boy, age four, said, “Having a friend is better than having a brother sometimes.” I knew he had a recent fight with his brother. He wasn’t mad at him or anything. He was just drawing conclusions. Adults don’t take four-year-olds seriously. They don’t get that there’s actual reasoning behind their statements. Later on, I found I could do the same thing with people.

I first saw him when I was reading. He was resting briefly beside me after doing some fierce running.

Another girl, who later turned out to be the tomboy, said, “Hey Rowan.”

He didn’t answer. It was then that I knew he hated her. By denying the return of a simple greeting, he had inadvertently shown his dislike of her. He only stuck with her because the rest of the boys did. That stuff was common among them. I believe he was actually somewhat more insightful than the others. I had a mild interest in him because of that. He wasn’t good enough to read souls though. Like mine.

Once, I wanted to test him, see how good he was at controlling his emotions and figuring out those of others.

I said, “ You don’t like that girl, do you?” I pointed at the same one he had refused to greet.

He looked at me suspiciously. “That’s none of your business.” Case closed.

He didn’t know. My head was like a battlefield. Part of me wished other people could understand me, that I was a person, and that I had a soul too. I wasn’t just the calm girl reading books on the sideline. The other part liked being anonymous. Liked being able to read other’s emotions and render them incapable of reading mine.

Reading souls is like being able to discern personality at a glance. Normally, people know each other for years and can’t figure it out. I could do it at a glance. Sometimes, it scared me. And people claimed I was normal. Sure.

 

Chapter 2: She Came Again

There used to be a girl I knew. Her name was Camryn. She was from Thailand and had the most gorgeous hair, down to her waist. It was black, silky, and she paid absolutely no attention to it. What she did pay attention to was soccer. She would put up her locks in a bun and play, day in, day out. She played after school, during recess, everywhere. The only time she stopped was to one: criticize me, and two: upbraid me for reading. Again.

Despite that major difference, we were still friends. Last year, she moved and changed schools. Never saw her again. That is, until now. I was walking home. My house is a bit far for walking, but I liked the view and the scenery, so I walked. I decided to clear-cut through the park, and I stopped next to a tree to watch a group of kids playing soccer. Camryn was one of them, of course. I felt a little jolt in my heart; I had imagined her for so long that to actually see her was a bit of a shock. I still wasn’t particularly surprised or anything. It was only when I realized she was on the verge of tears that I felt something other than calm. That something was concern. She ran past me, holding the object of her worries. The soccer ball. It was encased in some sort of wire, and apparently, no one had managed to get it off. She ran past me, distraught. I grabbed her arm. She turned.

“Do I know you?” my friend said.

“No, you don’t. You never did.”

Now, she remembered me. There were tears in her eyes. “But don’t you know me?” she asked. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do. I’d know you from a thousand miles.”

She thought I was going mad. Or that maybe I was sick. But I wasn’t. I was just fine.

“Kai,” she said, confusion in her voice, but at the same time, relief. Hesitating and unsure, she changed the subject to her object of woe. “Can you pull this off? Please? We have a game and the other team will kill us because it’s our turn to bring the ball!”

I took the ball and examined it. I sat down and pulled off the wire, bit by bit. It was rather difficult, and my hands were scratched, but I just handed the ball to her and hid my hands behind me. Camryn hugged me then.

“Good luck!” I called. I did not know if she heard. I had a feeling she did. Usually, those feelings were right.

I walked home. I had a headache. Or maybe a heartache. I couldn’t tell. But I did lie down on my bed. My parents were not yet home from work. For now, I could rest. Rest and think. Think. That was my last thought before I fell asleep.

I was crying on the shore, my reflection distorted by the waves below. Each of my tears turned into smooth, white pebbles. They piled up around me until I could not find my way out. I was clawing helplessly against the growing sculpture when I felt a shadow over me. I looked up and a lock of hair, gorgeous, black hair, fell to the floor. I heard a piercing scream.

“Don’t hurt her! She’s my friend!” I called in vain. The wall was getting higher and higher. I cried out as the stones began to choke me. I woke up. Something was underneath me. It was a smooth, white stone. I trembled, and the strength left my body.

***

They told me I was sick afterwards.

I did not go to school.
I knew that nightmare.
It
was the same one
That I had
After that day
On the river
When I watched the little girl
Scream
Fall in the water
And she nearly drowned.
And the same nightmare
I had after every time I cried.
I stopped crying then.
I didn’t want to cry
Ever again.
So I didn’t.

***

I was trusted with secrets by my friends: hopes, dreams, fears. I think it reassured them that I could take it without fuss, that I could comfort them with perfect confidence and not seem equally worried.

***

It was easier then.
But not so easy.

 

Chapter 3: Run

I walked up to the park the following week, and I watched my sporty friend Camryn practice. She was good, I had to admit. I walked up every week after that too, at least twice. Most of the time, she never noticed me, but that was fine. Seeing her was all I expected. I always sat at a distance so as not to disturb the players, and sometimes, I brought a book to keep me company. It was almost peaceful there. Sometimes, some of the neighborhood kids would watch too; they were not very nice and yelled insults at the players when they made mistakes. This led to more creative and elaborate schemes, such as yelling while riding by on a bicycle, threatening to steal the ball, and running in front of the players in the middle of the game. Obviously, it wasn’t so peaceful anymore, but Camryn was fine, and all was well. That is, until the stones.

***

They threw stones at them
Smooth, white stones
And they laughed
When one girl
Hit hard in the face
Fell to the ground
My friend is angry now
Very angry
And she yells
And screams
And curses
Those wretches
When they aim
A rock
A big one
At her
I jump in front of her
They were surprised
And I was more
Surprised
To find myself
In mid air
And crashing senseless
To the ground.
I am surrounded
Stoned
Like a criminal
I was just trying
To be a good friend
My stomach is bleeding
I cannot breathe
And my shoulder
Seems broken
After the fall.
Camryn
She is crying now
Though I am silent.
I’m sorry
I didn’t mean to upset her
I’m sorry.
They are gone now
I hear someone say
Camryn
is running to me now
She is turning me over
And examining me
Oblivious to my blood
Sinking into her clothing.
I missed you
I manage to gasp out
I cling to her
Before the world goes black
And I see nothing.
But I feel her arms around me.
Chapter 4: When All is Quiet

It hurts
And I don’t want it
Make it stop
Stop
It hurts
Please stop
Please
Please.
Someone is holding me
Stroking my back
Soothingly
I want Camryn
I want to see
If she is alright
Camryn
I am calling her
I am kicking
I don’t want to be here
I want to find Camryn
But she is here
She is with me
She is holding me
In her lap.
Camryn.
Cry
She says
It’s alright
It’s okay
To cry now
Just cry.
I can’t cry anymore.
I shut my eyes
And the tears come
But they are there
In my eyes
Like stones
I don’t know how to cry
I can’t even cry
Stone tears.
I want to close my eyes
Shut my ears
It’s too loud
Even
When all is quiet.
Shhh
She holds a finger
To my lips
I try to turn away
I kick
Trying to escape
That noise
Resounding
It is my heart
And that scares me.
She holds me
I am too weak
To struggle
I have no strength
No more
Than an infant.
I can’t be strong anymore
I forgot
I can only be weak
Weak and helpless.
And I collapse and close my eyes.
A nurse comes in
She lifts up my shirt
My shoulder is sore
It is bandaged
And hard to move.
I look down
And my stomach
Is scarred
Purple streaks
Mixed with blood.
The nurse
She is wrapping
The white
The long
Bandages
Around
My waist.
It hurts
I try
To pull away
But I can’t
And I am shaking
So hard
I can’t breathe.

There is a mask around my mouth.
It’s an oxygen mask
And it forces the air
Into my lungs
And I am winded
As if
I ran
A thousand miles.
When the nurse
Goes out
Camryn
Takes off
The oxygen mask
Breathe
She says
I feel like I’m drowning
Like that little girl
That little girl
Falling in the river.

But she has pulled me out
And I breathe.
She cannot understand me
And she never will
But she
Can read my soul.
And then
I know
I am not alone.
Before
I was calm
And I could not cry
Not even
Stone tears.
I cry now
And my tears are not stone
They flow
in accordance
With my soul.
And Camryn holds me through it all.
We are silent
But we are one
And I am whole.
I am exhausted
And I fall
Into a restless
Sleep.
I cried
My heart out
But there is no nightmare
There is no stone.
Only quiet.
I stayed with her at the hospital that night.
In the morning
I looked out the window
and at the river
and my last thought was
It’s beautiful.
As I looked up
I seemed to see myself
walking again
along the shore.
And I whispered
I whispered it again
and said it once more
I know now
I know
that I’m not alone.

Courage

       

Some people have courage

I do not always think I had it

But now I know I did

 

Everyone has courage,

Courage to do what makes them happy

 

Courage is a choice

A choice is always on the table

If you want to do something great, you should

Because courage is a beautiful thing

 

It is free… and yes

Courage is not easy

But if you really want something

 

You will find it!

 

Search for it

It is there

It has always been there

 

Courage

 

The tree I used to dream under was cut down to make room for the extension

 

There was a jar

filled with Ring Pops

that she would always

pull out for me.

Don’t tell your mother,

or she would kill me,

she laughed.

There was a

stream in the backyard,

and I used to pretend

I was in Bridge to Terabithia,

beside the girl,

dying, of course.

My aunt’s old room

was filled with Beatles posters,

and an elliptical from the 70s.

I never saw my mom’s room.

It’s funny, I said to her,

Your hair didn’t used

to be red.

She would smile that smile.

The house was sold and they

decided to move to

an apartment,

where I slept on

their pullout couch and

ate Fruit Loops.

Don’t tell your mother

she whispered. It’s

our little secret.

She likes to volunteer at every museum and park and organization in the city

    

The stream

looped around

the yard near the fence,

and I begged her to

put a bridge in so

I could cross it.

What would you be

crossing towards? She

always questioned.

I didn’t bother to answer.

How could you talk to

someone about the infinite,

when they could only ever

see to the fence?

When was she trapped in

a marriage by the time

she was eighteen

to a man she met when

she was fourteen? When

she got an 100 on her math

regents and went to

college, but had to stay

home to be a mom of the

Baby Boomers?

When her children were

raised in a home filled with

loud voices and bruises,

and nights spent crying where

she thought they couldn’t see her.

I used to wish that I would

Grow up to be just like her,

living in a nice house with a

stream out back.

Then I started to see

the paint peeling and

the wood rotting and

the stream drying up.

I used to wish I could be her

But she used to wish

she could be past the fence.

Cracks

It starts small

a thin line

maybe

maybe

maybe it wouldn’t count but

it gets big enough to count

for seven whole years

of bad luck

i wish i couldn’t see it

i wish i could forget about it

maybe if i focus on the

very top of the line

maybe then i won’t notice

the sun-shaped spiral

the spiral that’s

symmetric but lopsided

the spiral that makes me want

to crack my mirror on the wall

on its right side too

so that its even

but no one’s ever said anything

about cracking a mirror twice

maybe the bad luck would

cancel out but maybe

it would double and

i can’t risk it

my mirror on the wall would be beautiful

if it wasn’t recently repainted

in cracks liked it when my mirror on the wall

was untouched and smooth and even

my mirror on the wall

was flawless and i didn’t have to worry about it

but then it fell and

my mirror on the wall became

as shattered as me and

maybe my mirror on the wall is beautiful

after all, beauty and horror go hand in hand

opposites attract

that’s what they say

but they also say i’m crazy

why else would i

refuse to walk under a ladder?

i don’t know-safety, maybe?

i’m not scared for my safety

i just

can’t risk it

they say my throwing salt

is making the floor dirty

not blinding the devil

but i throw it anyway because

i can’t risk it

they call me superstitious

they use the word

in the same way New Yorkers say schizophrenia

then they turn around

and search for a four-leaf clover

they call me crazy

bend down

and pick up that lucky penny

they laugh in my face

then knock on wood

as they said something was going well

i guess they can’t risk it

i don’t call them hypocrites

that’s bad karma and

i can’t risk it

my mother took me

too see a doctor

he said that i might have OCD

and recommended Fluvoxamine

i wanted to recommend that he jump off a cliff

but that’s bad karma

and i can’t risk it

besides i’m not really sure

how to take medicine

in a safe way so

i can’t risk it because

the crack in my mirror on the wall

matches the crack in me

it starts small

but it ends big

 

The Sea World Debate

“Pencils down, hand in your tests on my desk,” Ms. Arnold announced.

School was finally over! I felt like yelping with joy! Everything was perfect at that very moment. Though Ms. Arnold’s biology tests were hard, I made sure to impress her. I stayed up late at night, studying hard, and it always paid off. Every time I answered a question, I felt so relieved that I had studied the night before. I felt so devoted to biology, and nature. I don’t want to be self-centered, but I aced all of her tests. I was determined to do well on that important biology final.

After I handed in my test, I dashed into the hallway, sneakers squeaking on the polished tile floor. I swung my unzipped backpack onto my shoulders and rushed up to join my friends.

“Where have you been, Alicia?” my best friend Maria asked me.

“I was saying goodbye to Ms. Arnold,” I said as I grinned.

“Oh, come on, no need to get overexcited.”

Maria is a model student; and even though we are just leaving sixth grade, she’s probably smarter than some of the soon to be eighth graders.  And everyone knows that she is as modest as it is possible to be. I personally think it is absurd how every piece of work she does is perfect.

As I marched out of the doors of our school, I instantly joined the mob of girls swarming just outside the school building.

“That test was actually not that bad,” Emma shrieked, trying to overcome all of the booming noise.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who loves biology. I silently agreed with Emma.

I scanned the crowd to find Maria. I saw her talking to Jenna. I grabbed her away.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to?” Maria said, looking puzzled.

“Well, Mom told me I had to be home by 4:00.”

“Uh, sure. My dad probably wants to talk about the big test.”

“Okay, great. Awww,” I crooned “Look to your left. There’s a nest of little baby birds! How ADORABLE! I simply looove animals. Especially the little innocent babies!”

We cut through the crowd, dashed down the sidewalk, and ducked into the subway. We swiped our cards, and ran up the steps. Suddenly, a huge wave of tourists, New Yorkers, and other people flooded the stairway.

“Urg, we missed the train!” Maria swore under her breath.

“Well, I guess I better go,” I said. I didn’t want Mom to worry.

And then, we went our separate ways.

When I finally got home, I burst through the door, happy as a lark. Apparently, Mom caught on immediately.

“How was your last day of school, Pumpkin?” she said smothering me in fat, wet kisses.

“Great!”

“I can’t believe you are a seventh grader now!” Mom exclaimed.

“Hey, how was your biology final?”

“Awwwesooome!”

“Woo hoo! Great job! I have a special surprise for you!”

Usually Mom’s surprises were actually good surprises, like that time when we found out we were moving to the city. And because of this, I started bouncing up and down on the edge of my seat.

“Tomorrow, we leave for San Diego, California, where you are going to see your cousins that you have never met before. They live in Seattle, Washington. It is a really long flight, and we’re staying there for five weeks, so I suggest you start packing now.” She motioned to the doorway. I made my way to my room.

I pulled out my favorite purple duffle bag, and stacked some clothes on my bed. I pulled out a pair of pajamas. A hair brush, some shampoo, body lotion. More toiletries. Blankets. My diary, sketchbook, some pens and pencils and my summer homework. In due course, I was done. I zipped up my stuffed duffel bag, and heaved it out of my room and through my door.

“I’m ready!” I called out.

“Great. Just in time for dinner,” Mom added. Then, Mom started talking a mile a minute. “Okay, so, we have rented a house. It is three floors high. You are sharing the attic bedroom with Sophie and Alex, your cousins. Sophie is 11, and Alex is 13. Your brother Jordan has the little alcove in the hallway, so please, please don’t make fun of him. We have to leave for the airport at 3:oo AM sharp.”

Whoa. that was early. I gobbled down my mashed potatoes and avocado salad and rushed into bed.

“G’night,” I called out to her. I climbed into my bed, and pulled the covers over me. The next thing I knew, Jordan was shaking me awake.

“Time to wake up!” He sneered.

“Wazthisallabout” I muttered.

“WAKE UP!”

Okay, now I was awake. I climbed out of bed, pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I basically sleepwalked into the car. It all happened so quickly. We went through the airport, onto the plane, and into San Diego. I fell asleep about three times on the plane, but I was woken up each time due to my stomach gurgling from nasty airport food. I guess some other people were also having stomach troubles for the person three seats behind us puked and it stunk worse than a rotting dumpster in a run down side street. Needless to say I was happy when I got out of the plane. It was already evening when I finally got to meet my cousins.

“Hi! I’m Alex. You are…” Alex’s voice trailed off.

“I’m Alicia.”

“I’m Sophie. I’m 11 years old, I live in Washington state, my favorite food is caramel apples, I’m on my school’s softball team, my favorite color is brown, and I love, love, love alpacas,” Sophie said all in one breeze.

“Er, I’m… Alicia.”

“Okay, cool. That’s such a pretty name. Mom told me that we were going to Sea World aquarium tomorrow. I’m so excited. All of my friends say it’s amazing. I’m so excited to see the whales. Everybody says that they are supposed to be trained,” Alex went on.

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited for it too.” There wasn’t much more for me to say. I turned around and went to our bedroom.

* * *

Soon enough, it was morning. Sunlight streamed out through the window.  I yawned and sat up slowly. I got out of bed and stretched. I threw on a tank-top and a pair of ripped jean shorts. I stepped into my well worn flip-flops and hobbled into the kitchen. I used a rubber band bracelet to pull up my hair into a ponytail and I poured myself a bowl of cereal.

“Who is that?” came a voice from the bedroom.

“Don’t have any breakfast without me!” It was Alex’s voice. I heard a lot of rustling from the big attic bedroom and some noisy footsteps from the stairs. CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP.

“There you are.” It was Alex. She had an elaborate braid in her hair, and her face was drenched in blush, eyeliner, mascara, and bright pink lipstick.

“Oh, hi,” I mumbled. “Oh! We’re going to Sea World today. I’m so excited!” Alex looked at me like she was encouraging me to go up on stage and play a solo on my flute, so I raised an eyebrow. Alex’s creepy smile suddenly changed into a regular one. Soon enough, Aunt Zella was awake, and so was Mom and Jordan. In the meantime, our family pack would be traveling to Sea World aquarium. Alex, Sophie, Aunt Zella (whose spouse was home sick), Mom, Jordan, and obviously me, all piled into our rented minivan.

VROOM, VROOM, VROOM, went the van’s engine, The piece of junk tottered onto the highway.

We pulled into the parking lot, and all of the adults and children clambered out of the van.

“Okay, let’s have some order here!” came Mom’s voice. “We are going to visit the sea lions first, and then the sea turtles. We will then see the electric eels, and then the sharks. Finally, for the grand finale, we are going to see the big orca show. Kids, I’m sure this will be lots of fun, and Sea World is very educational. If you kids like Sea World enough, we might find time to come back to later on in this vacation. Everyone excited?” There was a long awkward silence. No one was as enthusiastic as Mom, but she continued. “Great!”

Anyway, Alex, Sophie, and I dragged behind the adults, tagging along about 10 feet away. The sea lions were cool, and so were the turtles. I marveled at the electric eels, but Sophie LOVED them.

“They’re the alpacas of the sea,” Sophie awed matter of factly.

If the electric eels were amazing, the sharks were out-of-this-world.

I thought that they were so elegant, gliding across the serene tank.

“I love them,” I managed to make out. Alex was literally pressing her nose to the glass, and Sophie was trying to communicate with one small whale on the extreme right of the tank. When Aunt Zella finally pulled us kids away from the tanks, it was time to go to the orca show.

As Sophie and I were running up ahead to catch up to Mom and Aunt Zella, we realized that Alex wasn’t with us.

I looked behind us, and there was Alex, looking for something. Sophie and I backtracked, and found Alex locating her silver gold compact. Alex searched the ground, and then hollered out, “I found it!”

Right when Alex had stood up, Sophie noticed a mysterious door. The least Alex and I could do was to follow Sophie.

Soon enough, we came to a slowdown. Our threesome hid in an alcove in the hallway as I saw two men carrying a thing wrapped in white.

“That’s an orca whale!” whispered Alex excitedly. We followed the men through another doorway. Then I had to duck through a short, wide door, and then Alex, Sophie, and I hid in a corner draped in shadows in a large room. Though I couldn’t see very well, I could hear the same two men muttering.

“Well, you know Edd, this feisty baby’s gonna take a long time to train. It’s been a long journey from where we captured him, and this babe’s gettin’ really restless. And when I captured him along with the crew, it took a good three hours to pull ‘im away from his family.”

It was terrible! How could these Sea World employees rip whales away from their lives? I’d read in books that orca whales were very intelligent animals, and what the Sea World employees didn’t know is that the orca whales have feelings, too! I tried to whisper all of my thoughts to Sophie, but she was too perplexed.

“This is evil,” Sophie managed to mutter. “Simply evil.”

Then I saw Mr. Edd turn toward our hidey hole. He grinned.

“Hmmm, what do we have here . . . “said Edd. I shrieked.

Sophie, Alex, and I bolted down the hallway, and appeared out of the door we came out of.

“We gotta do something about that!” Alex exclaimed. “How can they torture those poor whales! We gotta, gotta, gotta do something about that.”

“I know,” I muttered, my voice shaking with fear. “But first, we gotta find Mom.”

***

I headed to the visitor center. Sophie and Alex were tailing me. I ran up to Mom who was running around screaming.

“Oh honey, where were you?” Mom was frantic, her voice quivering. “I couldn’t find you anywhere!”  

“Um, I was doing some stuff. . . er . . . with my fellow cousins. But there is something really serious. These people at Sea World are torturing the poor whales. It’s terrible! I, er, might have followed these evil guys into a room where I overheard them planning to train the poor whale. Oh! It was sooo terrible!” It was hard to explain my feelings toward these whales. If there was only a way to help. I wish.

I glanced over and saw Sophie looking over some pamphlets. She was wide eyed and there was a big smile on her face.

“I know what we have to do.”

* * *

I was back home, sitting on Alex’s bed, along with Alex and Sophie. Though we looked like we were having a reading club meeting, we were actually all huddled over the same little pamphlet. I simply couldn’t believe it. There was a debate tomorrow! Sea World desperately wanted to expand their tank sizes, but animal rights activists had a strong NO. I had told Mom and Dad (who had arrived from the city a couple minutes ago) about the debate, and they had agreed that I could go to the  debate/protest. Aunt Zella also agreed that we were doing a good deed. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow!

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Alex complained.

“Almost!” replied Aunt Zella. In 5 mins, we were there. I was lead into a big, dimly lit room. Then, my family members and I were led into seats by a big, mysterious man in a dark suit. Next, a man started speaking. “Sea World is an excellent place for children to learn about sea life, and to inspire kids to become marine biologists.”

Oh, great. I didn’t know that Sea World had such good argument. But, if everything went well, hopefully Sea World would fall for the last time.

Oh, another man was practically screaming now. His face was completely red, and he was literally exploding with anger.

“Sea World is a terrible place for imprisonment! The poor orca whales have feelings, just like you and me!” Flecks of saliva were flying from the man’s mouth and they were spraying in my face.

“Ikkk!” I muttered under my breath. The spitty man continued.

“The worst part of Sea World is that they breed more whales and those whales are born into misery!

Wow. This debate was kind of too much for me. I kind of tuned out. As I started to nod off, I was shaken awake. It was Alex.

“The debate is over! The judge made the decision! I can’t believe it! The San Diego Sea World is not allowed to capture or breed ANY more orca whales!”

“OMG, OMG, OMG!!! I can’t believe it either! So we won! Well, we kinda did. OMG! I’m so happy!” I couldn’t believe that we actually got our way!

Mom was tapping me on the shoulder.

“Time to go Sweetie Pie,” Mom whispered.  And the big happy family piled into the big black van, and we drove away, cheering down the road.

 

It was Beth Israel before Mount Sinai took it over she explains as we get off the subway

  

I watch as she sleeps.

Easy, is the word

that comes to mind.

Is this what she’ll look like

when she dies?

If. Repeating in my head,

like a never ending mantra.

If, if, if, you must remember if.

Something’s in my eye.

Does this hospital have tissues?

The box is blue and marbled.

Focus on that.

Don’t worry, I just have allergies.

She speaks sometimes, but I can’t

liisten. I don’t want to hear

the jumbled nonsense coming out of her

drug filled mouth.

She wakes to complain that

it’s been three hours

since her last dose of

Oxycontin.

Pick your poison, he laughs.

The window looks out

to a brick wall.

A hand is placed on my shoulder,

reminding me there is only

5 minutes left in visiting hours.

 

Solitary

Hazel –– The Middle of Nowhere

Sometimes I wish I had a parent. Sometimes I wish I had a place to go, a goal to reach. Sometimes I wish… Enough, my brain scolds itself.

The sun is merciless against my peeling neck, my feet somehow still trudging on. I curse my hair for being blacker than the night sky, attracting more heat than my poor scalp can handle. I bring my bottle to my dry lips, and try to remember the feeling of being refreshed for as long as I can.

I honestly don’t know where I am.

I’m from somewhere called Jackville. What part of the world that’s in, I don’t know. Heck, I don’t care. I walk and walk for what seems forever. My home is everywhere and nowhere. I guess that’s okay.

I squint and see hills and hills of straw-like grass, going on for farther than my eyes can make out. A couple bare trees are in the distance, the sun still glaring down at everything beneath it. A small pond is glittering down a hill, reflecting the bright blue sky. The cracked soil beneath my worn sneakers is a dehydrated beige instead of a rich dark brown.

As I get closer to the pond, I realize the water is rippling slightly. I stop, crouch down, and listen. My eyes scan the pond’s edge through the grass. I need to decide on fight or flight.

Two large ears appear over the golden grass. I nearly missed it. The head pops out, its beady black eyes looking for me. Its fur is slightly more red than the grass, and it has a black back. I sigh.

A jackal.

I recognize this one as a black-backed jackal, smaller than its cousin, the side-striped jackal. Jackals are scavengers, and will feed on small animals and the remains of already eaten animals.

I pick a fight.

I stand up abruptly and roar. With that, the jackal scampers away into the grass. I kneel down at the pond’s edge and cup my hands. The water trickles down my chin and shirt, my lips form a smile. I run my cool hands through my tangled hair, and let the water tickle my toes.

My forearm is submerged in the water, my hand in the gooey muck. I take out a pebble from the pond and throw it as far as I can. Ripples come back to me like an echo.

“Hazel,” Mom said as we threw pebbles into the water. “Every pebble is like friendship and love. You know why?”

“Why?” I asked, letting her embrace me with her warmth. Her dark blonde hair fell over my face, but I didn’t care.

“You see the ripples coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“Friendship and love radiate, spread, and come back to you.”

“What do you mean?”

She caressed my hair. “My little star, when you give something, there is always a return.”

Only then do I realize that the pond is rippling more and more. My tears are like firecrackers, erupting in the pond, sending ripple after ripple, crashing into each other. That’s what she called me. My little star.

Mom used to say that when you give, there is always a return. I give love to Mom… but she’s too far away to return it.

Water bottle sloshing, lips a little less cracked, I set off from nowhere to nowhere.

 

Parent Problems

“Mom?” I called into the empty living room. “Mom?”

I peeked in the kitchen. No one. I silently climbed the stairs. The TV was blaring in Mom’s room. I squinted through the crack… I gasped, a little too loudly.

“Shu’ up Malcolm! Are yeh a man or not? This movie isn’ even scary!” a gruff man’s voice scolded. He thought someone elseMalcolmwas the one who gasped. His hair was curly and out of control. His eyes kind of scared me. I felt like I should obey him or he’d punish me. His shirt was stained and he seriously needed to shave. He gave off a strange scentcigarettes. A boy with dark blonde hair mumbled something that I can’t hearI was already running to my room.

“Honey! I wanted to talk to you. Come sit.” Mom patted the space next to her.

“Who is that guy, Mom? What is he doing here?”

“My little star! He’s –– he’s your father, honey.”

My eyes widened. My father? Horror ran through me. I had his hair color and his dark, determined, powerful eyes. But I’d never met him before. I knew there was a reason for it.

“Don’t be scared, please. We were separated, right after we had you and Malcolm.”

“Why? Who’s Mal –– no way! Malcolm’s my brother?!”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you. But we think it’s time we live together again.”

I crumbled at her feet. Live with them? Live with –– with him? No way.

I take out one of the pebbles I collected from the pond and throw it as far as I can. I run after it, stomping through the grass. It’s softer now, less like straw. The soil is not cracked and beige anymore. I take that as a good sign.

But my mind is in the past, and as I retrieve the pebble and throw it again, I feel the same anger, the same surprise and shame, as I did that day I left home. How could that man be my father? But we have the same dangerous eyes and black hair –– only mine is straight, not a curly mess.

I sit at the bottom of a short tree, resting my back against the rough bark. I close my eyes against the sunlight, against the heat, against everything. I wish I could open my eyes and find myself with Mom, no one else. No father. Just Mom and me. I don’t call him Dad. He’s just… not. He’s Father. The distant father. The scary father. Not Dad.

I open my eyes to find myself alone with the grass, dirt, sun, and sky. I sigh. I guess things don’t happen just because I want them to. I stare at the grass and the sky and the dirt and everything there is to look at, which sometimes feels like a lot, and sometimes feels like too little. Sometimes I look at the sky and see how beautiful the clouds are, or I’ll look at the dirt and watch the worms wiggling their way around for hours, or I’ll look at a pond, and throw rocks and watch the ripples.

Other times I feel like the world is boring, and there’s only a blue sky, and brown dirt, and water in a pond. I wonder what normal kids do. They don’t stare at nature for all their life, do they? They don’t have to run away from their parents because they’re scared. It sounds so much more full. A little less scary. But I don’t know if I would rather have that life.

I quickly learned that things don’t happen because you’re hungry, or sad, or dirty. You have to earn it. I was only eleven when I learned that lesson. I was eleven when I left.

Tears spilled everywhere while I screamed for my mom, that I was sorry and I wanted to come home. I was hopelessly lost in the forest, the shadows starting to look creepy. They followed me, and every crunch of a twig under my foot made me jump. A sign was nearby, but it was hard to read. I took out a flashlight.

Why are you here? Go home.

This is Mason’s property.

I gasped. Mason hated when people were on his property. No one had really seen him, but he made it clear he didn’t like visitors. A growl came from my left. I spun around.

“Read the sign, little girl. You are the second to stumble onto my property. The first did not end well.”

I ran. I thought about the sign. Why are you here? it said.

I’m here because my father is back. I’m not going to be with him. That drove my legs farther and farther from home.

 

Imaginary Friends

The sky, trees, and grass aren’t very good company. They don’t respond to your questions, or give their own opinion. They are just there, growing and reproducing and dying all over again. I live differently. I don’t live to bloom and then die. I live to –– what do I live for?

I have friends, I guess. They just aren’t different people. They’re part of me. They’re imaginary, which I know sounds babyish, but I need them. They’re my support. I only have two, Zoe and Kate. They give me a boost with everything I do.

The trees are everywhere now, not scattered like before. It’s almost a forest. I have shade now,  but at night, shadows still give me the creeps. I’m probably nearing a deciduous forest, because brittle leaves are all over the ground, nearly up to my ankle. I kick through them, thinking about jumping into leaf piles and laughing and not caring that a dog probably peed on the leaves. I wonder if kids my age even do that anymore.

“Thank goodness the sun isn’t showing its face anymore!” Kate said. “My shoulders are sunburned and peeling!”

“Stop grumbling, Kate. We’re all going through that, you know,” Zoe smiled.

“Oh yeah, and I bet we got a whole bunch of vitamin D too. Right, Miss Know-It-All?”

“Oh quiet, you two,” I said, smiling secretly.

I heard a rustling sound. Kate and Zoe froze. The noise was coming nearer.

“Guys, this shouldn’t be something too big if you listen to its footsteps. But there are two, maybe a baby. Either way, if this is a mom, it’ll be pretty protective. It might feel that we’re a threat,” Zoe whispered. I nearly told her to be quiet. She’s your imagination, I told myself, as much as I wished she wasn’t.

A head popped out from a tree. Her ears were perked up, fur a reddish brown. The underside of her tail was white, and I heard Zoe hiss, “A white-tailed deer!” A smaller deer followed by her legs, trotting in the deep pile of leaves. There were circles around the deer’s black eyes, which were bright with interest.

I slowly crouched down by a tree, trying to be as quiet as possible. The mother deer stared at me intently for a very long time. She was wondering if I was a threat. I didn’t move. If I looked scared she’d sense it. So I relaxed into the tree, letting the branch’s shade cover me. They trotted past me, and when I couldn’t hear the deer’s footsteps, I stood up.

Only then do I realize that Kate and Zoe vanished from the beginning. I handled it all by myself.

 

Full Circle

It’s the next night, all peaceful and quiet, except for the rustling leaves and breeze that flutters my hair. I crawl into my little hut made of twigs and logs. They lean into a tree trunk, making a cone-shaped structure. My rucksack is in one corner, a pile of leaves in the other. That’s my bed tonight. I take out a small blanket and wrap it around myself, just like Mom and I did when we sat out on our porch. I duck under the small entrance of the hut and look up at the moon through the branches.

It’s amazing how far away the moon is. I feel so far away from other people, my mom, my brother. But the moon is so much farther away… doesn’t it feel lonely? Father is so far from my life, but the moon is still farther. Even my distant father. Or am I being distant? Do people think of me the way I think of my father? Does Malcolm think I’m a distant sister?

I shake my head as if to shake away the questions. What does it matter?

The wind picks up, now whipping my hair. I decide to go inside. I make myself as comfortable as I can in my leaf pile, wrap the blanket around me, and close my eyes. I wonder if whenever I walk, I’m getting closer or farther away from home. I’m not really sure what I want.

***

I wake up with leaves in my face. They smell like fresh soil and sap. The wind has died down, the morning sun peeking through the walls of the hut. It’s smiling at me, as if to say, “Today’s gonna be a good day.” I sit up and bang my head against the side of my shelter. What a start for a good day.

“Ow.”

I yawn widely and look into my bag. Today’s breakfast is…

Insects!

I know you’re thinking, “GROSS!” But, insects are the best thing you can eat in the wilderness. They’re full of protein and easy to find. Plants are faulty because a lot are either not easy to digest or poisonous. I learned that at summer camp.

I sling my rucksack over my shoulder and climb out of the shelter. I learned the hard way to always take my bag or animals get curious about what’s in that hut. The leaves are still, the forest only just waking. All is silent except for an early bird’s call. I kick through the leaves and trace my fingers on the bark. My stomach grumbles, but I tell myself to be patient. This morning’s breakfast might be a little more special…

“Aha!” I exclaim. My fingers find something wet and a little sticky: tree sap. Tree sap is good raw, and isn’t actually that sticky. A lot of it is made of water. Trees give sap when it’s thawing or freezing, and in this case it’s starting to melt. I collect what I can in my container (from home) and mix it with my bugs. Not bad.

I decide to eat and walk on, leaving my shelter. As I munch on my sap-glazed insects, I wonder where I’m going. The woods are getting noisier now. I walk and walk, finally coming across something I haven’t seen in a while. A sign. As I near it, I realize it says,

“Why are you here? Go home.

This is Mason’s property.”

A shiver runs through my spine. All this time, I was going in a circle? I turn around to go the way I came.

Kate jumped out of a bush.

“The Masons? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“No way! I’d rather fight an angry coyote!” Zoe gasped.

Someone growls from behind me.

“My, my little girl. Where have yeh been?”

 

What Parents Are For

I try not to panic. It’s just a human. No claws, no teeth, no poisonous venom. Just a human. I’ve been through enough to know this person is no harm.

I pick fight over flight. I’m not a little girl anymore.

I spin around and glare with my dark dangerous eyes. “Come out.”

A man with dark, out-of-control hair comes out from a tree. His shirt is stained and filthy, his eyes murderous. He smelled like something vaguely familiarcigarettes.

I gasp. Father.

“So, little girl. How did yeh end up here?” He smiles, showing gray-yellow teeth.

“Don’t call me ‘little girl.’”

“Why not? Yer obviously smaller than me.”

“Parents don’t normally call their children ‘little girl.’”

His eyes widen. He doesn’t look so casual and unconcerned now.

“No way. Hazel?” He whispers. “My little star?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? Yer mother does. I’m yer dad, yeh know.”

“No. No, you’re not my dad. You’re my father.”

“What’s the difference, again?”

“Dads take care for their children! Dads love their children! Dads give a good example for their children! Dads —– 

“And who says I don’t do all that?” he fires back. “Do you think I don’t love ye? Do you think I wanted to be separated from ye?”

I look at him straight in the eyes. I see his concern, his surprise, his guilt.

“Yeh got my eyes,” he says at last. “Come home. Yer mom’s been waitin’ a year now. Come home.”

Remember me?

I step into my home, not Father’s. It’s exactly the same, like I’m stepping into the past. Except this time, Father’s hand is on my shoulder.

“Hey, Malcolm! Call yer mother. I got someone.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Just do what I say!”

Malcolm peeks into the living room, and his jaw drops.

“Hi, Malcolm. Remember me?”

“Uh… hi. What’s your name again?”

“Hazel. I’m your sister.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, my sister. Yeah.”

“Call yer mother already!”

“Mom!” It’s strange that someone other than me calls her ‘Mom.’

Her dark blonde swaying, mom comes in. She looks at Malcolm, then at father, then at me.

“Hazel! Oh my God!” She hugs me so tightly that I can’t breathe. I hug her back, tears spilling down my cheeks.

Sometimes I wish… No. There’s nothing to wish for anymore.

Wish I Was Yours

Chapter 1

“Mom, MOOOMMM!” I yell, but she can’t hear me and she disappears right there in front of me. I wake up, sweat trickling down the side of my face. My mom died when I was young. She just… disappeared out of nowhere when I needed her. I couldn’t sleep for months. I thought about her all the time afterwards. She only died five years ago but it felt like it happened right now.

I ease my way out of bed and read my clock, which says 7:03. I put on the clothes I picked out from yesterday night. I live in an estate, but only because my dad is a duke. But I got sent here to Paris, in a boarding school. I met my roommate yesterday, but she’s with her boyfriend right now. Luckily, it’s a mixed boarding school, with boys and girls. I never really actually had a true love or a serious boyfriend except for Jason.

My mom was my best friend and I didn’t need anything else besides her. I just found out I have a dad anyways. I’ve been living with my gramma in past years before my dad decided to show up out of nowhere and come back into my life. I was popular at my old school but that was because I had a model for a mom and I looked exactly like her. I was proud to look like her, but now when I look at myself it just reminds me of her and it kills me every time. People tell me to accept that she’s gone but I can’t. You just can’t have everything you ever think you’ll need and then lose that most important part of your life. It shouldn’t work like that. Never should it ever work like that.

“Lively, are you here?” Auburn says to me, walking into the room. “I brought you a donut. Hope you like jelly-filled,” she says again.

I look at the donut hungrily and take a huge bite when she hands it to me.

“By the way, when we go down to breakfast my boyfriend and a couple of my friends will be joining us,” Auburn says, quickly jumping out of the shower.

Not knowing and grateful enough to know I’m already making friends, I wait for Auburn to get dressed and together we’re out of the door, down the stairs, and quickly into the dining room. The room is stunning and the wonderful smell in the room lifts my spirits up. I see a hot boy walking towards us. He has navy blue eyes and thick black hair with high cheekbones. At first I think he was walking toward me before I see him reach us and grab Auburn into a deep hug. This must be Sky. No wonder he’d date someone like Auburn, with her beauty and friendliness toward anyone. He finally realizes me standing there and does a double take. He flashes his smile with his dimples and I feel myself turn redder than I’ve ever been.

“Hi, you must be Lively, right?” he says.

I can swear I feel my heart skip a beat, I might as well just faint right here. He is also British, too, so every word he says is seeped in English. As we near the front of the line I turn toward the menu, and everything (I mean everything) is in French, so I try my best to try to figure out what it says. But in the end Sky has to help me. We get to our table, and as soon as we get there, a swarm of girls from unknown places start flirting with Sky, but he easily shakes them off and sits down with the rest of us. This place just seems to get better by the second, and unlike my old life, more interesting too.

 

Chapter 2

“So, Lively, how do you like our — and now your — school so far?” Auburn asks while she stuffs her face with toast, not caring that Sky is laughing at her.

“It’s really sorta… ” I start to say but not wanting to say the word because it might offend people.

“I know it’s much,” Auburn says, widening her eyes for emphasis.

“Yeah,” I take a bite of my yogurt, the only thing I knew how to order while standing in line.

“I just really miss my old school, and my best friend Katherine, and some other friends as well,” I say, more to myself than Auburn.

“Ooh, who’s the boy you left?” Auburn says with a tease in her voice.

I turn my head to hide my blush, only to find Sky staring at me closely as soon as I say, “His name was Jason. We were starting to get serious, but then I had to leave. He was my only boyfriend I really cared about.” I picture the way he used to smile at me while he was eating a gummy, and his dazzling white teeth would turn all green or blue depending on the color of the gummy. I remembered the way he would bite off the head of the gummy first. He said it would kill it without pain as fast as he could. I start to smile just at the thought, but am abruptly stopped midway when my phone buzzes on the table.

Sky quickly looks at the caller ID and says “Oh, it’s that Jason person.”

My eyes pop wide open. Jason hasn’t called me since we had to say goodbye and finally he called right now. I grab the phone from a slightly dissapointed-looking Sky and a very nosy Auburn.

“Hey beautiful, whatcha doing?” he answers as soon as I pick up.

“Hahaha, very funny. You know I hate when you call me beautiful, handsome,” I say, glancing around, seeing an annoyed look on Sky’s face and Auburn hovering over me trying to listen. Suddenly, Sky grabs the phone from my hand and says:

“Hey, this is Sky, Lively’s super cool awesome new boyfriend. Sorry, but it seems like you’ll have to find another girlfriend. Adios!” and with that he hung up.

“OMG I’ve been waiting for him to call since I left! How could you?” Anger flashed before my eyes before I stormed off without my phone.

 

Chapter 3

“Lively, LIVELY!” Sky ran after me down the corridor and turned me around with his arm.

“WHAT? Okay, what? You got what you want, I don’t even know you! Just because all the girls throw themselves at you doesn’t mean I’d be pleased at what you said to Jason.” I start crying silently but when Sky tries to touch me I jerk away from him and his face contorts back into an angry face.

“I just didn’t want you to wait for someone when you’re a beautiful girl, you see. Whenever you walk past everyone does stare at you.”

“I don’t need your pity, I can handle myself. Why don’t you go back to your girlfriend? God!” I say but my brain only processes on one word which is that he called me beautiful. I finally notice people staring, and I say quietly so only he can hear me. “Stop acting like you are my boyfriend, you already have someone who is perfect for you. I’m just trying to find the perfect one for me.”

I storm back into the cafeteria, grab my bag, and walk out to my first class. English. The only class where I can make up a new world, new characters, a new life and not have anyone tell me no. As I walk into English I notice I’m the only one in the classroom. Not even the teacher is here. Surprise, surprise! Not like that’s new, I was always one of the straight-A students in my old school anyways.

As people start filing into class, Auburn plonks herself into the chair next to me and Sky sits down right on my other side. Sabrina, who was also sitting at our table with her boyfriend Dylan, sat right on the other side next to Auburn.

“I’m so sorry Lively, I really don’t know what got into Sky. And he will now be your maid waiting on you hand and foot forever. Sky was probably just looking out for you, right SKY?!” Auburn pleads to me while she glares at Sky.

“Yeah, I beg of you,” Sky says in the exact same voice that Auburn had.

I laugh, but finally give in. I mean if you have a cute boy trying to stick up for you — even in the worst possible way — what could you do?

“I hope you guys know I’m holding you to that no matter what,” I tell them with a gleam in my eyes. We all burst out laughing. Even Sabrina, who hasn’t said a thing since I met her, gives a small grin.

As we calm down the teacher walks into the room. He jumps straight into the lesson as he sets his bag onto the floor and sits on the edge of the table.

“What do we learn about ourselves when we write?” the teacher begins.

I relax in my seat, already knowing I’m gonna enjoy this class.

 

Chapter 4

Before I know it, I make it to dinner in one piece. I found out in all my periods I was with either Sabrina, Sky, or Auburn. I convince Sky with guilt to get my dinner so I don’t have to face the treacherous way of only eating a yogurt again. Once everyone got to our table we all started to eat.

“This went a lot better than I thought it would. These past couple of hours, I mean,” I say as soon as I’m able to get my mouth away from all the delicious food.

“I know, right? It’s the best. Even if people say this school is so snotty, it has the best educational system ever,” Auburn gushes.

“Of course Auburn would say that, she’s always a teacher’s pet,” Sky says. And while holding back a laugh he imitates everything that Auburn said in a high squeaky voice. As Auburn swats him with her hand we all burst out laughing.

“But seriously Auburn, we still on for tonight though?” Sky says trying to get ahold of his laughing.

“Maybe, if I don’t kill you first,” Auburn says, shaking her fist at him in a playful manner.

“Fine, I’ll buy you a crepe if you forgive me,” Sky says in reply as he shoves another spoonful of food into his mouth.

“ YAY! Fine, I forgive, but only because you’re buying me a crepe. That’s all,” Auburn says and as she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

I look away, not wanting to look at them anymore, but as I turn away I see Sabrina and Dylan making out. I look down at my phone and it vibrates. Finally, a text from Katherine.

 

Hope you’re having fun 🙂 but I miss you already 🙁

xox- M

 

I smile at her text and text back.

 

Not as much fun without you 🙁

oxo-L

 

Quickly she replies.

 

Nope I bet you just miss your boyfriend JASON.

Jk.

xox-M

 

I laugh out loud without realizing. I look up since I feel everyone’s eyes looking at me. Well, only Auburn and Sky. I smile sheepishly.

“What? Is something wrong?” I say, still not sure what had happened to make them look at me with such funny faces.

“It’s not that, you just — you seem to really be enjoying your phone more than us,” Auburn says with a little hurt mixed in with her usual cheeriness.

“It’s not that, it’s just that I haven’t seen my best friend since I left and I just really miss her,” I say, not meaning to hurt Auburn. I quickly show her the texts and she smiles — really, really widely.

“Oh, looks like Jason just texted,” Auburn says with her eyebrows going up.

I quickly take me phone back and read the text.

 

I miss you so much why don’t just leave paris already.

Love, J

 

I quickly get up from the table, suddenly feeling very happy. I guess I made a loud noise because everyone seems to stare at me. I don’t care. I go to the little corner right beside our small table. A little too close, with very easy access for eavesdropping, but I didn’t notice. I call. I feel like we’ve been talking for five minutes only to see that dinner’s over. I quickly hang up and walk up to our table with a smile that I wasn’t able to wipe off my face, as everyone starts heading out. This would be my first night in Paris, but all I want to do is go to sleep. I say bye to everyone and go up to my room. I fall onto my bed, closing my eyes. When sleep doesn’t come I finally decide to watch my favorite TV show, Pretty Little Liars. And that’s how the next day I find myself asleep in front of the TV and Auburn in her bed.

 

Chapter 5

Since it’s Saturday there isn’t much to do, especially since I finished all my homework so I could have the whole weekend to myself. Then I remember that I have nothing planned, unlike my old school which I always had this party to attend or that get-together.

“Knock, knock,” I hear Sky say. I wake up Auburn, who is a very deep and late sleeper but in the end I have to open the door. As soon as Sky walks into our room Auburn is awake.

“Sabrina, Dylan, Jace, and I are planning to go to the park today. Would you guys like to join?” Sky says, and sits down on the couch in our room. The way he says Jace’s name is clearly out of annoyance.

“Definitely. What about you, Lively?” Auburn says and she goes over to sit down next to Sky.

“Um, sure. I haven’t seen anything around Paris yet,” I say, a little embarrassed.

“Wait, so you’re saying that you’ve been in Paris for a couple of days now, but you still haven’t seen anything of the campus?” Sky says, looking at me strangely.

“Yeah, but today’s the day, right?” I say, putting on a cheery face.

“YEP, today is the day!” Sky and Auburn say together before they start to kiss.

I walk out of the room and run right into a brick wall — no wait it’s not a brick wall, it’s someone’s body. I step back and there he is. Sky’s twin brother Jace. Funny how Sky never even talked about him at all but immediately I fall head over heels for him. I realize I’m staring and he is too, so we quickly look away and then look back.

“Um, hi, sorry for running into you,” we say in unison before we start blushing.

“I’ll show you to Sky,” I say again, trying to start a conversation, but he’s too busy staring at me to notice.

As we walk into the room Sky turns around and glares at Jace.

“So, Lively, it seems like you meet my twin, Jace,” Sky said, still glaring at Jace, who is staring at me.

“Let’s go downstairs to Sabrina and Dylan so we can go to the park already,” Auburn says, trying to clear the tension.

We all get ready and leave. Sabrina and Dylan are right where they’re supposed to be. We run to the park and as soon as we get there we lay the picnic sheet down and start to dig into the food that Sky generously packed.

“So, Lively, how do you like the school so far?” Jace says, looking at me while he blushes.

“Oh, I really am enjoying myself,” I say while looking down at my sandwich, trying to hide my very own blush.

“Did you talk to Jason?” Sky says to me with a frown on his face.

While glaring at him from underneath my lashes I say, “No he’s been very busy,” while I try very hard not to remember not to remember what Katherine told me this morning on the phone. Jason got a girlfriend — someone who isn’t me. I wasn’t even that surprised or sad even, because even when we talked on the phone he seemed different, sort of like he was obligated to talk to me. Just like the psychiatrist was forced to listen to me cry over my mom, even though I could tell she thought I should’ve gotten over it already.

“EARTH TO LIVELY!” Auburn screams and everyone laughs except for Jace and Sky for some reason.

“I’m just going to go for a walk, I’ll be back soon,” I say quietly as I get up and start walking away.

“I’ll join,” says Jace and he follows me.

I look back and there is Sky, looking at me with the same look he’d given me earlier, sort of like jealousy.

Jace and I walk side by side. The silence was comforting, surprisingly, and it seems like Jace also likes the silence because he doesn’t try to disrupt it. I sit down, tired of walking, and he sits down right next to me. His leg brushes against mine but he leaves it there. That is also surprisingly comfortable.

“I really like you, I mean really like you, Lively,” Jace says as he takes my hand.

“Oh wow, subtle,” I tease before I say, “I really like you too.” Before I think it through I give him a kiss. It is gentle and his lips are soft as flower petals. I pulled away reluctantly, feeling like we had an audience, and there is everyone there staring at us.

“If you guys were going to go make out you could’ve at least given us a heads up,” Auburn teases before everyone starts cracking up. But like always, whenever it has anything to do with me, Sky doesn’t laugh, and this moment is no exception. But I’m not going to let that spoil the day. He can pout all he wants right now and it wouldn’t bother me. Right?

Mind

I scratched at my sweater as my eyes darted around the room. My hands twitched to do something, and I decided to twirl my hair, but realized it was weird. I clenched my hands into fists and pushed them into my lap, holding my eyes closed. The world around me, the noise, everything faded. I was the only thing there in that hazy universe I had created.

I planned to keep it that way… this world, this haze, was mine, and only mine. The only thing I could control.  

I was erasing the world, and relied only on myself. That was how I got through, stayed sane, kept going. I narrated my life, pretended I was the main character of  a novel. I hoped people cared about what the character… me… was doing.

To feel the adrenaline and the wonder of someone hanging to the end of their seat wondering what I would do next. To be amazed about what decisions I would make. They would laugh with me about the crappy joke or pun I would make. To understand me… to relate to me.

I was always sucked into books, eating the words, wondering what James, Cather, Ines, an endless amount of characters were doing. Siding with their feelings and dreaming of the day I would meet those fictional characters. To me their world was as real as mine. Who’s to say they weren’t reading a book about me?

I honestly would’ve preferred to be sad, at least that feeling was real. Fake smiling and happiness rubbed off on other people. It made everyone around me happy, and I felt my mother deserved a break… HE was already a handful.

But I’m running out of stories… and I fear what will happen next.   

The Show Must Go On

Shuffling through the streets of New York City, along with millions of other people, was Siobhan Greenberg, sporting her long white infinity scarf. Her black boots clanked noisily on the concrete and could even be heard over the honking cars and yelling people. Her long red hair blew majestically behind her, and her hands clutched the sides of her hat. She was only thirteen, but her mother thought it was important that she learned how to get around by herself.

Siobhan rushed along, periodically pushing people out of her way. She was late for rehearsal, and she knew the director, Sam, would bite her ear off. This drove Siobhan on, making her black boots click just a little faster.

Finally, she came across a large, looming building with pillars that rose up high above Siobhan’s head. She ducked and ran inside, dodging people coming out the revolving door around her. She walked swiftly across the  vast lobby, heading towards the rehearsal room, and she stopped at the doors, took a deep breath, and entered quietly.

All of the other actors were already standing around, listened to Sam speak.

“People, this show is in two months! I know that seems like a long time, but it is not! Not for a show! Everyone needs to be here for every rehearsal. If people miss anymore without telling I could take your part away! I have that authority!”

Siobhan slipped quietly into the crowd of her friends, moving her way until she found Yalfonsa. Yalfonsa was born one month too early, and her parents didn’t know what to call her. Her father was very into a science fiction show at the moment called “Yalfonsa’s Adventures,” so that’s what he named his daughter.

“Fonzie, what has Sam been saying?” Siobhan asked, trying to act normal and pretending she had been there all along.

“Nothing much, except the usual ‘I can take away your role!’” Fonzie said, leaning slightly towards Siobhan and wiggling her hands like Sam did. “It’s been a month. It’s way too far into rehearsals for her to take away anyone’s role.”

Siobhan nodded her head in agreement, shifting her gaze up to the stage. People in the art crew were sitting there, painting the scenery. The green paint was sitting in a row at the edge of the stage, and people were periodically standing up, dipping their paintbrush, and sitting back down to paint. Upstairs, behind them, the stage crew was looking through the script for lighting and sound cues.

Sam was still babbling, and she hadn’t noticed Siobhan was late.

Good! she thought. Maybe I won’t get in trouble!

When Sam was finished she surveyed the crowd of actors, and her eyes narrowed when she got to Siobhan. “Siobhan,” she said. “Come here, please.”

With a knot forming quickly in her stomach, Siobhan stepped forward and took a deep breath. Sam took her by the arm and dragged her away from the crowd.

“Siobhan, stop your panting. I didn’t call you over because you were late, which I know you were, by the way.” Sam said, brushing stray locks of brown hair behind her face. “It’s because Josh is missing.”

Sam pulled Siobhan even farther from the group. “Siobhan, I’m telling you because you play Belle. You are literally in every scene with him. That may seem unfair, telling you but not the others, but you are the one who would probably worry most, seeing that there are some scenes with only you and him. Everyone else is so worried about their part in other scenes that they probably won’t notice.” She looked Siobhan in the eye and whispered, “If anyone asks, please tell them that he is on vacation.”

Siobhan looked silently at Sam. What did she expect Siobhan to do? Lie to her friends? Josh played the Beast, but that wouldn’t mean that only Belle would see him missing. Nobody is that self-absorbed.

“Do his parents know where he is?” Siobhan asked, staring up at Sam. She shook her head sadly.

“No idea.”

Siobhan nodded her head vacantly, her eyes glossing over. She turned around and walked back to Fonzie, her head screaming with things to say.

Who would play the beast if Josh never showed up? Does Sam have an understudy for Josh? Where could he be? Where was the last time he was seen? Where did he go? Why did Sam only tell me?  Josh wouldn’t run away, that’s not his personality. So the scariest question of all is — who took him?

* * *

Rehearsal started as usual, with a short warm up. Sam spread everyone in a circle and reminded them, “A perfect circle is where everyone can see everyone’s face and people are evenly spaced!” Siobhan clung to Fonzie, words on the tip of her tongue. She wanted so badly to yell and scream about Josh. It was very unfair of Sam to inflict such a secret upon a child. She shouldn’t have told her at all! With her mouth sealed uncomfortably shut, Siobhan went through rehearsal, blocking scenes five and seven. Without Josh. The most infuriating thing was that Sam was right, nobody noticed he was gone but Siobhan.

Siobhan kept quiet. She had been waiting to do this play for too long to just ruin it. Sam had told her to keep quiet, and there was no reason that she shouldn’t.  

Two days later, on the day that they were studying their monologues, Siobhan noticed that Josh wasn’t the only one not there. The Enchantress, Bella, wasn’t there. Siobhan had become accustomed to her not being there during most rehearsals because she only appeared at the beginning of the show, but today was a day she was supposed to be there. Siobhan got up, disregarding that Monsieur D’arque was in the middle of his monologue, and she walked up to Sam. She looked at Siobhan, and she looked back at Monsieur D’arque, and she took Siobhan by the arm.

“Excuse us for a moment, Jared,” Sam said, walking towards the front of the stage.

“Siobhan, Bella has gone missing too. I don’t know what else to tell you, but with that look in your eye I can tell that you want to hear more.”

“Why won’t you tell the rest of the cast! Why am I the only one noticing!” Siobhan whispered, gesturing to Monsieur D’arque. Sam shook her head.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Siobhan. Don’t tell anyone and read your monologue!” Sam said with authority, and she started walking back to to her chair.

* * *

As each day went by, other people started disappearing. It seemed to be orderly and systematic, two people from the crew one day, two actors another, two people from art crew the next. And slowly Siobhan’s shell started to crack. She started checking behind her every time she left a room, and when she heard noises in the nighttime she would run and lock herself in the closet and wait there, shaking, until morning. Bags started forming under her eyes from no sleep, and she was still always very alert with fear. She called the parents of friends who had gone missing, but there was always something off with the way they talked.  They all didn’t seem particularly bothered with anything that was happening. She loved this play, though. She had been dreaming about being the lead in this play her entire life. There was no way she wouldn’t go to rehearsals.

A week later, when Siobhan was late to rehearsal again, she got on the stage for scene six. She was used to the fact that the Beast wouldn’t be there. The Cutlery was supposed to be there, though, and not a fork or spoon was there, and neither was Cogsworth &  Lumiere. Mrs. Potts wasn’t there, and neither was Chip or any Feather Duster. LeFou wasn’t there, Maurice wasn’t there, Philippe wasn’t there and Monsieur D’arque hadn’t been there since the day when he read his monologue. Nobody seemed to be there but Gaston, who was hiding behind the big black curtain, sliding his feet on the wooden floor because it wasn’t his scene. Sam seemed to notice too, and her eyes gleamed with worry, but she looked back to her script. “Siobhan!” she yelled. “Start the scene!”

“Sam, there’s nobody here,” Siobhan whispered, shuffling her feet. Sam gaped, as if surprised that she noticed, but she kept yelling.

“Then let’s do the scene with Gaston, alright. Scene two, everyone!” There was no reason to announce it to anyone. Only Belle, Gaston, the Wardrobe, and one member of the crew was there. Again, the scariest thing was that even after Siobhan had announced that nobody was there, only Fonzie realized that Siobhan was right. She played the wardrobe, and it was like she was knocked out of a trance. Ignoring Sam’s screaming, Fonzie ran to Siobhan and grasped her hand. She looked into her eyes, clearly just as surprised as Siobhan had been when she realized nobody but Sam and Herself had notice people leaving.

“Siobhan,” Fonzie gasped. “I don’t know why I haven’t noticed before. Everyone’s gone!”

“Fonzie, I know.” Siobhan said, a hint of irritation in her voice. How in the world had she not noticed? Practically no one was there! If they were to put on Beauty and the Beast now, seven eighths of the cast wouldn’t be there! Probably more! Both girls went home that day feeling sick to their stomachs.

* * *

The worst thing happened the next day. Absolutely no one was there except Fonzie and Siobhan, not even Sam. The girls sat at the edge of the stage, trembling and holding each other’s hands. The room seemed to feel colder, and just a little bit darker. The eggshell colored paint looked as if it was peeling off the ceiling and the room smelled of nothing but spiders and cobwebs. They didn’t dare say a thing. They were sure something would come out and grab them, or jump scare them like Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe this was all a prank, and maybe the cast was just playing a trick on them, but why would the director, who spent so long everyday lecturing them on how they had no time, waste even a second pulling a stupid prank?

“Siobhan, we should go home. Why should we even be here? The entire cast is gone, even Sam. What use is it to be here?” Fonzie murmermed. Siobhan looked her in the eye and sighed.

“I have been waiting way too long for this. We have to go to rehearsal.”

They started to rehearse. There wasn’t much they could do, but Fonzie put on her costume and so did Siobhan. They tried a scene they were in together, but it was practically no use.

“I’ve gotten no sleep in the past week, Fonzie. My head’s killing me and I’m not sure why this place isn’t shut down yet, but I am sure of something. Whatever that’s taken the entire cast and crew is coming for us next, even if we don’t come to rehearsal. It took Bella when she was sick at home, and I know because I called her when she was sick. The next day, when she wasn’t at rehearsal, I called her. Her mother said she was missing. But do you want to know the even creepier part? Her mother didn’t seem to care. She told me her daughter was missing with a lilt in her voice, and I could sense even through the phone that she was SMILING! Smiling! Who else could make a mother smile about her missing daughter then some sort of monster!” Siobhan yelled, her arms flailing in the air and her voice shrill. Fonzie reeled back, crawling onto her hands and knees. Siobhan sighed and sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry I yelled, but we can’t stay here,” Siobhan said. “If we do, even if we don’t go to rehearsal, something will still get us. The only reason I’m still here is because I love this play. If we leave, we could do this play in some other place”

“Where would we go?” Fonzie whispered, sitting back on the edge of the stage.

“I don’t know,” Siobhan whispered back, scared something in the wall was listening. “Some other country, maybe just another state. If we stay here, that thing is sure to get us.”

“Siobhan, you know I can’t leave. I’ve got family here, and Joey is going to that special school he’s been waiting to go to next year…”

“Fonzie, are you even listening to me? If we stay here that thing will get us! I don’t know how to make it any clearer!”

Fonzie gulped, tracing her fingers on the floor, and Siobhan knew her decision.

“Alright,” Siobhan said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pulled Fonzie into a hug.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Fonzie replied, throwing her bag on her shoulder. Siobhan knew she couldn’t leave either. Fonzie was her best friend, and she couldn’t leave without convincing her to go.

* * *

The next day Siobhan sat alone on the edge of the stage by herself. The paint was still peeling, and a sort of hum seemed to be emitting off the stage. Fonzie wasn’t there, Sam wasn’t there, Josh wasn’t there, and neither was anyone else.  She sat with her hands clutching her script, saying the lines quickly with her eyes closed, almost like she was saying a prayer, when the lights shut off and the room went silent.

 

My Brother’s Shadow

My brother’s shadow was a marshmallow’s toasty crisps of goo. It was the cozy convenience of “younger brother,” the smaller footprints my cleats left in the soil. Sitting on his shoulders as he galloped down the sidewalk, unnoticed as folks whistled at him from all corners of the universe. Alone in the bleachers, but still feeling satisfied because when his muscular body hurdled down the basketball court, I told myself I could never please our parents the way he did. Outgrown t-shirts and underappreciated teddy bears always found their way into my arms because outgrown love was fresh when it wore my brother’s blueberry scent. A constant conversion factor loomed, in which his layups equaled my full-court shots, and despite my efforts, I could never achieve anything applause-worthy.

Suddenly, with the crinkling of the leaves and the fading sound of the basketball bouncing into oblivion, he was gone. With his absence came the lengthening of his shadow as the crowd gradually dissipated. His shadow became the hulking space in the bleacher seats, the empty loneliness which swallowed me whole. The grief was significantly more potent when there was no one to be compared to, when the would-be hand-me downs remained locked in his closet out of respect. Because when a shadow is left by itself there is no light to counteract its misguided ways, and it’s eternally fixed in a darkened spotlight. His shadow morphed into the clumpy, death-black cigarette tar with that distinct, sticky consistency, a texture I knew quite well from my quiet evenings in its seductive company. That inherited teddy bear, accidentally left in a moldy cooler, was submerged under layers of irregular ice cubes. And I can’t help but wonder if a shadow can ever escape itself, or if it’s confined to its own pitiable existence.

 

Summer of 2000

Day One

Dear Diary,                                                                                                 

It’s my first day at sleepaway camp, and I really don’t want to go because I know at the end of the first day, all my stuff is going to go missing. My roommates are going to be slobs, and their stuff will be everywhere. This is going to be the most annoying summer ever and I’m really going to dread this. I can’t believe my mom is making me go to this. All my mom can talk about is how I’m going to be more independent, how I’m getting out the house, how my brothers and sisters won’t be there to annoy me, and how I can make new friends. I DON’T WANT TO MAKE NEW FRIENDS!

Okay, I’m calm now. It’s just that my parents are always annoying me about how I’m not a normal teenager and just do me. But guess what guys, that is fine because everyone is different and personally my life is perfect just the way it is.

ANYWAY, BACK TO THIS DREADFUL SUMMER CAMP.

I’m on my way now in the car. It’s upstate New York, which is pretty far from my home, so I can’t just run away. To be honest, I can try to enjoy this camp if they just give me my own room and I won’t have to worry about a whole lot of problems. Like, instead of worrying about people taking my PERSONAL stuff, I can worry about friends, nasty camp food, you know the normal things kids worry about.

I told my mom about my great idea about getting my own room and guess what she said, Diary? She said, “No.” Can you believe it? And you know what her reasoning was? You’re going to get a kick out of this. She thought having to share a room would help me socialize better. It’s messed up. I guess I have to go back to the drawing board and create a better plan because this one didn’t work.

Maybe I could pretend to be sick! No that wouldn’t work because once I “get better,” they would send me right back to that horrible place. Well that’s it for now I guess. My mom isn’t going to buy any of this. Goodbye world, I’m pulling up to this dreadful camp now. All these people talking too. “Alex this,” and, “Alex that.”

“Oh, Alex, good news! Your bunk-mates already checked in.”

No, is all I’m thinking. I am so not ready for this. My bunk-mates? I thought I was only having one! Ugh! Bye, Diary, I have to go now. I’m going to a hotel with my mom for the first night (Thank god!)  because I’m ”sick,” but tomorrow is another day of trying, so wish me luck.

 

Day Two

Dear Diary,                                                                                  

Watch this. This is going to get me out of this and my mom is going to fall for it.

Alex: Mom, I don’t want to go.

Mom: Sweetie I know you’re scared but you have to try new things.

Alex: I’m not scared of anything! I actually don’t feel good and if you don’t take me to the doctor, I’ll die!

Mom: Well, we know you’re not going to die, and if you’re not scared, why are you trying to get out of camp?

Alex: Camp is for immature children, Mother. I should be spending my summer getting a job and becoming a responsible kid.

Mom: If you can’t even be responsible enough to go to summer camp for a few weeks, how can you get a job?

Alex: You don’t have to be responsible to go to summer camp. I’m responsible to get a job.

Mom: Let’s get real, Alex. You don’t do anything at home, but sit in your room and do nothing all day. It’s not healthy. You should be outside playing with friends. That’s what kids do.

Alex: But mom! Having friends is stupid. I don’t need friends, and the outside is yucky. Why would I need to have friends and go outside when my room is awesome?

Mom: Everyone needs friends. You know, I met your godmother, Sandra, when I went to summer camp, and I can’t imagine not having her in my life. You’re going to love it, I promise. Hopefully soon you can find a best friend there and when you have a kid she can become your kid’s godmother!

Alex: Not everyone is like you. How many times do I have to tell you summer camp is not for meeeeee?

Mom: I’ll make you a deal. If you stop complaining and really try to make it work for 24 hours, and you still want to leave, I’ll come pick you up. But you can’t lie and just say it sucks. I really want you to try, Alex. Trust and believe I am one step ahead of you, so I will know if you are not trying.

Alex: Fine, but I won’t enjoy it at all.  

I did it! I thought of another plan. I actually persuaded the “grand master” (Mom) to stay with me. Well, until it backfired.

Oh well, I have a great plan to escape and I planned it excellently. It’s going to work, so as soon as my mom leaves that night, I’m going to escape through the forest. It’s not that big. When we drove to the camp, we drove through the forest on the road and I saw on the other side was a bus stop. I can get on and give a good explanation to the bus driver as to why I’m only 13 and taking a bus. Oh well, I can lie better under pressure.

Anyway, all I need to bring is my diary, my phone, water and food in my backpack. I can always get new clothes. I can’t escape camp by bringing my big suitcase. They would notice, and it would prevent me from moving fast.

***

I’m out of my room. My roommates kept asking me where I was going, but of course I ignored them. So I’m out. I made it. This is what happens when you don’t interact with anyone. You can easily escape because no one pays attention to you.

Okay, bye, Diary, I’m going to start writing on my iPad Mini. I brought that for navigation because I can’t risk losing my phone out here in the forest even though I’m not scared of anything.

***

So I’m walking. It’s pretty dark, and I’m not exactly sure of where I am. I’m pretty sure I’m lost, but I see this nice house. It’s night, so I go in. It’s quiet in here, so I guess no one is here. As soon as I’m in the shower I hear the sound of creaking floorboard and people whispering, “Alex.” I’m not really scared. It’s probably the wind.

As soon as I step out of the shower, something grabs me around my neck, covers my mouth and whispers, “Oh, such a pretty girl. What are you doing in the forest at night? You know that’s dangerous right? I suggest you leave tonight, and never come back.”

Of course I think its my older brother pranking me somehow, but you know how I am. I decide not to listen to the person who attacked me and I stay in the house like the BRAVE person I am. But tomorrow morning, I’m going to suck it up and go back to camp, because I definitely don’t want to die, and creepy person, if you are still there, I’m not leaving because I’m scared. I’m leaving because I’m scared I’ll get in trouble with my mom. If she finds out I broke the deal I will NEVER hear the end of it.

 

Day Three

Dear Diary,                                                                                      

So I’m back on campgrounds and it totally sucks. Everyone is cheery and sitting around talking to each other, painting nails, braiding each other’s hair, or in the lake together. I’m sitting here and taking in this madness and out of nowhere someone taps my shoulder.  I hear an over exaggeratedly voice say, “Hiya kid, what a happy camper you look like. Do you know what bunk you are in? Did you check in yet?” Of course I just rudely brush her off. In my head, I’m just thinking this HAPPY staff member is over excited and reminds me of my little sister. Bright colored shirt, untied shoes, bracelets up and down the whole arm, with a high ponytail to top it.  She just looks crazy. But of course, the HAPPY staff member she is, she continues to follow me so I give in and I tell her, “Hey, HAPPY staff member. I’m Alex. I don’t know what cabin I’m in and I just got here soon…”

“Well, sweetie that’s fine. Lemme help you out. Let me find my handy roster, and see if I can find you. Mhmh Alex Jones?”

“Yup.”

“Well, honey, you are in cabin 12 and both of your cabin members have already checked in.”

“Yay… That is awesome. Thank you HAPPY staff member.”

So I go to the cabin and it’s big and nice. The ceilings are high, the walls are clean and painted blue. To be honest, it’s way better than that creepy house. I’m really starting to think my mother was right about me liking this camp. I yell out hello, but no one answers. Thank god they are not here. Some alone time, I’ll write tomorrow, bye.

 

Day Four

Dear Diary,                                                                                           

I did it! 24 hours! I can finally leave! I can’t wait to text my mom and tell her to get me. I followed all her rules. I tried to participate and everything, but where was she when we made the bet? She said she would pick me up first thing in the morning, and it’s already two. I have been stuck in my bunk room because it’s “BONDING DAY” with your bunks-mates. YAY! Not. So I’m just sitting on my bunk with my phone and then one of my bunk-mates, Ruby, or Kelly, comes up. I honestly don’t remember who, and I could really care less. Anyways, she asks if I want to paint nails with them, and I put on my cheesiest smile and say, “Sure, I’d love to.” I was going to say her name, but I honestly forgot it. Oops my bad. So we are sitting there and the one with the blond hair says, “What color do you want?”

I say over-exaggeratedly, “Glitter pink.”

The one with the red hair says, “OMG! I was so going to use that color! Now we can be twins, YAY!”

On that note, I snatch my hand away and mutter, “Never mind,” and go back to my bunk.

Both of my bunk-mates come running after me and sit on my bed asking, “What’s wrong?”

I yell at them, “Get out of my bunk!”

They jump up and say, “Sheesh. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.” As they left I mutter a few choice words to myself. Im sitting here and I just realize my mom isn’t coming to pick me up. She definitely didn’t keep her part of the deal. I’m so upset. I scream into my pillow and throw it at the wall. I guess I really have to rough it out here for a few weeks, but I will come up with a new plan soon enough. Deep down I had a feeling that my mom wasn’t really going to pick me up after all, and she set me so to be honest I’m not that disappointed. But I’ll just keep that in mind next time mom wants to make a deal with me.

***

Kelly: Hey, Grumpy! Are you ok now?

Alex: Yeah, I guess this is hard for me to do, but I am sssssorry. I didn’t mean to be such a you-know-what. I just got really annoyed by your sunshine and rainbow attitude. I had to take a break, so I guess I’m going to have to get used to this place now and actually try.

Kelly: Well to be honest, I didn’t like this place at first either. Hannah, not exactly my first choice as a roommate, but the days you weren’t here I got used to Hannah. I know she can be extra excited, but you just have to give it a try.

Alex: Ugh, BITE me. This place sucks so much, I can’t.  

Kelly: Well, lunch is coming up next and you can sit with me. So far the only friend is Hannah, and I’m pretty sure she only thinks of me as her bunk-mate.

Alex: Alright, thanks. (I don’t want to admit it, but I’m actually starting to like this place, and I think Kelly is cool.)

Kelly: Come on, girl.  

She grabbed my hand then winked at me. I think I have a new friend, but I wonder what to do about Hannah. I’m not so sure I can take her energy. The level of energy she gives out is just so overwhelming that I wish she could take it down a few notches. Like, I just don’t understand how she wakes up like she’s on cloud nine. I think she lives off of rainbows and unicorns. Ok, I’m done being mean I have to try because I know I am going to be stuck here for a while. Um. Did Kelly just wink at me? My heart is racing. What is going on? Whatever, let’s just go get lunch. Will write when I get back from lunch. Thank god my mom didn’t come to pick me up, I guess.

 

Day Five

Dear Diary,                                                                                                

Ok, it’s hard to admit, but today was pretty cool. I continued to hang out with Kelly, and we did a lot things together. We went on a hiking trip, we did horseback riding, and we went kayaking. I’m so wiped out. I took a shower and I’m lying down. I’m just thinking honestly, why did I put up such a fight to come? It’s not that bad, and I am away from my annoying family. I think I didn’t want to come because I didn’t want my mom to win. She always gets the last word and she always ends up right. So I just wanted to show her that I won’t enjoy this and why she’d send me here, but it SERIOUSLY backfired because I’m really enjoying my time here. Well, tomorrow  Kelly and I are going to the campfire to make s’mores and get to know each other better. I can’t wait! Write tomorrow.

 

Day Six

Dear Diary,                                                                                             

Kelly: Come on, Alex! It’s time to go! Hurry up put your shoes on.

Alex: I’m coming hold on.

Hannah: Where are you guys going? (I can’t believe Kelly is talking to her. Ugh, omg, she is so rude, I can’t stand that girl.)

Kelly: We’re going to the campfire. Do you want to come with us? (I know Hannah is going to say no, but it’s worth a try to ask because I really like Alex, but if Hannah doesn’t want to come  that is fine with me.)

Hannah: Nope. I am fine right here.

All don’t know why Kelly would invite her. Thank god she said no. It would’ve been awkward if she said yes.)

Kelly: Okay, come on, Alex, let’s go.  

We go outside. Kelly turns towards me and whispers:

Kelly: Sorry about that.

I don’t bother with whispering.

Alex: It’s fine. So what did you want to talk about?

Kelly: Why do you always try to put up walls when people try to be your friend? Why do you always put people down?

“I DON’T KNOW,” I yell. I silently take it back and apologize. “When I was in eighth grade, I had this best friend named Cara. Or at least I thought she was my best friend. We were so close. We told each other everything, and then on day she approached me and said she never really liked me and she was using me because my mom gave her stuff when we would hang out. She told she only went over to my house to see my older brother. I was so upset that day that I vowed to never have friends anymore. So I built up a wall and promised myself to never let anyone in. That’s why when you guys tried to talk to me that day I just blew. I just… I don’t know, I’m really sorry for that conflict. That was not the real me. I promise you I am really a nice person.”

Wow, Diary, I can’t believe I just opened up to Kelly like that. I was not expecting that to slip out. My face feels wet. Is it raining? Nope, I’m crying. Just great.

Kelly: (Wow, I didn’t know there was another side of Alex. I just thought she was a regular girl with a bad attitude, but now I know that she has pain too. Oh no she’s crying! She needs a hug.)

Alex: (Kelly is hugging me right now. Okay, um, this awkward. I’m going to stop crying now, I don’t like being touched) Okay, enough about me. Let me hear about your life.

Kelly: Well, I live with my aunt in Oakland.

Alex: Oh, thats cool. I live in San Diego, but uh, why do you live with your aunt?

Kelly hesitates. Why is she hesitating?

Kelly: (Should I tell her? I feel like if I tell her, she is going to get weirded out, and not talk me anymore. I don’t want to lose my only friend here.)

I watch her face drop and I feel that I should take back my question, but I feel like if something is up, I want to help her, just like she helped me. I have a little feeling her problem is deeper because her whole mood just changed.

Alex: Sorry. I take that back, you don’t have to answer anymore. I’m sorry if my question upset you.

Kelly: No, it’s cool. Like, I want to answer your question, but I’m nervous that if I tell you, you’re going to freak out. 

Alex: I promise I won’t. Well, I’ll try my hardest.

I listen to Kelly and I stick to my promise.

 

Day Seven

Dear Diary,                                                                                             

That campfire conversation was very deep. Kelly and I got a lot off our chests. We talked so much and I can’t really tell you what happened or what she said because we promised each other. I just made a friend. I can’t just do that. I would want her to keep my secrets, so sorry, but our bond lead us to be SS4L( Summer Sisters 4 Life). Okay, I’ll write later. I’m just glad I made a friend I can trust. I guess I’m going to have to admit to my mom that this place is actually good for me and I have learned a lot. It helped me make a friend I can trust and share feelings with. I can’t believe I actually made a friend. I think this will make my mom happy. I think I will be ready to admit to her that this place was good for me and that I made a friend. That next time she suggest a camp, I will give it an honest chance and not put up a fight, promise. Will write later, bye.

 

Day Eight

Dear Diary,                                                                                                  

Hannah: Alex, we need to talk.

Alex: Wow, no hi? Okay sure, let’s talk.

Hannah: What is your plan with Kelly?

Alex: What do you mean? Kelly is my friend.

Hannah: Yeah, okay, sure. You can’t just string her along because… she probably hasn’t told you any of her business so never mind.

Alex: Actually, I know everything. She told me and I’m not stringing her along. I don’t know what you are talking about. She is my friend and I care about her. You are confusing me. What are you talking about?

Hannah: Oh, you’re not… I’m so sorry. Forget it.

Alex: Gay. You know you can say it, and no, I’m not. Hannah, I should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to take your friend away. She just really showed me how to understand friendships, and that I don’t always have to build a wall and keep people out from being my friend. I’m sorry for talking to you like that, it was not fair of me to do. I was hoping, maybe, I could try being your friend again.

Hannah: Um, okay, fine. It’s okay with me. Maybe we could go to the ice cream shack and then go horseback riding. I mean, I guess I did come on a little strong to be your friend. You seemed pretty cool, so I just wanted to try, but now I know to not do that.

Wow, today was a successful day. I made friends with both my bunk-mates. Hannah and I had a nice conversation. She is actually cool when you get to know her. She really doesn’t have a lot of energy when you actually hang out with her. Well on that note, this summer camp was pretty successful. I learned new things, have new hobbies, and I made new friends. I’ll write later. Today is the last day. My mom is picking me up tomorrow, but tonight is a bonfire.

 

Day Nine

Dear Diary,                                                                                          

Alex: (Wow, that was tough, saying bye to my friends and all, but I had to.) Wow, Mom, did you get lost on your way here when you were supposed to come pick me up after 24 hours, or did you just decide not to come?

Mom: Well sweetie, I was coming to pick you up, but you know, I got lost, so I just turned around and came back home. Either way that doesn’t matter because you made FRIENDS! Friends, Alex. I’m so proud of you.  

Alex: Mom, sorry for doubting you. I really enjoyed myself, but it took some time. It didn’t happen right away. But after a while, I started to enjoy it, and my bunk-mates helped me enjoy it to.

Mom: Well that’s all that matters, Alex. I’m proud of you. You didn’t enjoy it at first, but you stuck with it and then started to enjoy it.

Well that was my interesting summer, and that’s how it went. I’ll write later, bye.

The Cruise Ship Catastrophe

It all was fine until an hour ago. On January 27th, 2028, my younger brother, my parents, and I departed from New York City and headed for the Bahamas on the Anthem of the Seas. When I got on board my mind could not decide on what to do. There were many activities to please everybody. There was a zoo, many different restaurants, a spa, 23 pools, 17 water slides, a water park, a hockey rink, a separate skating rink, a basketball court, a baseball field, and a skate park. I felt I was in an alternate universe before reality set in. It was almost too good too be true. The thing that appealed to me most was the hockey rink. There were bleachers and the rink was modeled after the rink of the New York Rangers. Each team could select their own goal horn and uniforms for the game. My parents forced me to stay with my brother so that I could watch him. The only problem was we had conflicting wants; he wanted to explore the zoo and I wanted to play sports and explore the cruise ship. “I want to play sports and you want to explore the zoo, is there anything I can do for you?” I asked my brother.

“I might want to go back, but I might want to go to the zoo.”

I figured out his bargain and jumped at the opportunity. “I have 20 extra dollars. Will that do the job?”

“How did you manage to obtain these $20?”

“We had a short week, so it’s extra lunch money. Remember, we have open campus lunch.”

“You only spent $20 on lunch this week. That’s an all time low.”

“I only spent half of my money this week, honestly and truly.”

“We have ourselves a deal,” he replied.

I took him to our room, plopped him in front of the TV and set off on my own adventure.

I never wanted the day to end, there were so many activities that I could participate in. In the end, my final order was an hour of baseball, an hour of hockey, and then I would retrieve my brother and we could explore the zoo and visit the water park. I found out that we were on a ship with very athletic people. I was the youngest and probably the least skilled of all the people at the field. I was satisfied because they went easy on the worst players, so I had the top stat line of everyone there. I was so caught up in the action I realized that I had spent an extra hour on the baseball diamond. I had to rush to get my brother, so we could get to the zoo. The second I walked into the room my brother was giving me the evil eye. “What took you so long?”

“I got caught up in a baseball game, but now we can go to the zoo.”

“Fine, we should leave now.”

When we got to the zoo, the first thing we saw was the African part of the zoo. My brother marveled at the sights of every animal. A gazelle that could be seen anywhere, in any zoo was special to my brother. Going through the zoo was torture because I had seen all the animals ten trillion times. My brother and I don’t see eye to eye on zoos literally and figuratively. First he is shorter than me so our eyes don’t ever meet unless I’m kneeling. He also finds pleasure in staring at the same animals over and over at every zoo. He accuses me of being a hypocrite because I watch Sportscenter on the weekends over and over again. “Can we leave now?” I ask my brother.

“It will be a good 10 more minutes.”

“Great, another hour of this torture.”

“Why do you dislike zoos?” he asks me.

Fortunately I was prepared for the question. “The reason zoos don’t appeal to me is because they are stuck in captivity. I see no difference between photos and seeing an animal in captivity except that one is moving. Seeing an animal in the wild has a different feeling because it is more special because you are there seeing an animal that is in its home which makes it seem like a one time moment instead of an artificial feeling from captivity.”

“I understand your point, but it is still great to see animals that you might have not seen in the wild.”

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

I realized my phone was buzzing in my pocket. I picked it up and answered it, my mom was on the other line.

“It’s time for dinner, so you need to wrap up and meet us at the room.”

“Okay, we will be there in 10 minutes.”

I turned off my phone and reported the “bad” news to my brother. We left the zoo and headed back to the room. When we got there our parents were waiting for us. My dad spoke first. “Kids, you have to make the most of your opportunities because this isn’t 2015, this ship moves pretty fast.”

Just then an announcement came over the loudspeaker. “We have hit an iceberg and we are going down. Families should proceed to the exit where a life raft will be taking them to the closest land possible.”

I was scared. It was the Titanic all over again. My brother and I were really scared, but our parents were comforting us. They kept telling us everything would be okay. I could tell from their facial expressions that they were not confident about our chances about getting back to New York City. We rushed to the exit and found that the captain wasn’t lying. There were members of the crew already lifting families into lifeboats. When everyone in my family was safely in the lifeboat I took a sigh of relief. I also made a promise never to go on a cruise ship again. Once we were safely on the lifeboat we were following the lifeboats ahead of us. After what felt like hours we finally reached a block of land that no one could figure out. My family went to explore the island while other people used whatever they salvaged from the wreck to make a makeshift campsite. My first impression of the island was that I could really enjoy this vacation. As we journeyed through the island we came across many fruits like coconuts and bananas. There were also birds, many lizards, and many unexpected inhabitants of the island. We spied on a family of jaguars. The second we saw them my brother understood my hatred for zoos. “You are definitely right about this — zoos take away the special feeling of actually seeing an animal in its natural habitat,” he told me.

“Speaking of natural habitats, why are there jaguars on this island?” I asked.

“We should explore a little bit more and see what other surprises we can find,” my mom chimed in.

We walked around the island but came across nothing special, but then we heard a scream coming from our campsite. “Help,” screamed someone.

We rushed to our campsite and came across something we were not expecting. The jaguars we had seen earlier had cornered our peers from the cruise. Instinctively my dad threw a coconut in the general direction of one of the jaguars. Surprisingly, it greedily chased the coconut. So then my mom, my brother, and I all picked up coconuts and threw them in the general direction of the jaguars. They all chased the coconuts as our peers scrambled to safety. Once they reached the top of the hill where we were standing they all thanked us. My mom suggested we do a head count. After the final count there were 42 people including us. There were 27 adults and 15 kids. After the head count we established a campsite and split up into 3 groups of 14. Each group was assigned a different job. The first group was assigned to build the shelter. The second group had to gather food and try to find fresh water, and finally the third group had the job of making weapons for hunting. I never imagined having jaguar and coconut for dinner. My family and I were in the second group. As long as we get saved I would have bragging rights over all my friends back in New York City. This might not have been my dream vacation, but we have the ability to make a fun vacation and probably get a refund. We could invest that money into a new video game console or an upgrade for my iPhone 5S. For right now I could only dream, but I look forward to a good future. The most depressing part was that there happened to be no cell service on the island, so we couldn’t contact anyone for help.

Even though we had explored the island, we went off again in search of food and a resource that provided fresh water that would not leave a salty taste in our mouths. In 20 minutes we had collected 90 coconuts, 54 bananas, and 28 unidentified fruits. As we went farther into the forest we came across many different surprises. The first surprise was some unexpected inhabitants of this mysterious island. We found pigs, chickens, and goats. I was elated — we could have pork and chicken. The second were crops of vegetables that I would have never willingly ate until today. Then we found an actual cottage. We rushed inside to find the owner. When we went inside I was hit with a rancid smell. I predicted it was a dead body. I wasn’t wrong. The owner was lying on the floor. I was the only one who took this as a blessing. I ran upstairs and started shoveling all of his possessions into a pile. When I went into the kitchen my mom was holding up things I would have never considered as delicacies. She found flour and sugar and bread. After all the supplies were rounded up, we ransacked his crops, and we now had potatoes, carrots, and tomatoes. We knew that with such a large group there was a high chance we would run out fast. When we got to the campsite, we divided up the loot equally. Since I was the one who discovered most of his inedible supplies I kept all the things from the upstairs to myself. I was surprised when the rest of the campsite awarded us the mattress that I had found. We were voted the leaders of the group for our bravery and our discoveries. Once the celebrations were over I realized we had forgot about the pigs, goats, and chickens that I had discovered earlier. I gathered my group from before and we went out to hunt these animals. When we got there we realized we had made a major mistake. The other animals around had gotten to the rest of the farm animals. It was finally night and we were ready to settle in for our first night in the mysterious island. Right before I dozed off I had an idea. I woke up my mom. “Mom, we should take the cabin for ourselves,” I said.

“We shouldn’t go alone. We should take other people who were in our group. We don’t want to be alone in case we get exiled. We don’t want this to be like Lord of the Flies where the numbers are disproportionately unfair to one side.”

We woke up the rest of our group, stole all of the weapons and all of the food. Once we were settled in, we actually had a good shot at surviving. We knew we were outnumbered, but we were athletic and we had the supplies. I created a nefarious plan for the next night that my peers agreed would definitely work. I finally fell asleep and when I woke up everyone was working hard outside.  When I went outside my mom sent me to the other men to hunt. When I finally found them, they had a large amount of dead animals. I had seen the wrath of a tiger on my family vacation to India, but I had never seen a pile of all those exotic animals. I screamed, “What are those?”

One of the men responded, “Your food for the rest of your life.”

“I’m going to eat jaguar for the rest of my life?”

“Shut up, we’re about to get a wolf and her babies,” my brother said.

“Screw you,” I snapped.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry.”

“I feel kind of stressed, this experience has been really tough on me. Can I talk to you in private?” I asked him.  

When we walked over to the makeshift armory, I selected a wooden spear.

“Whatever you want, make it snappy,” he told me.

“Why am I the one taking charge if I’m only 13?” I asked him.

“You’re not, it’s just that you’ve just gotten lucky a couple of times.”

“Whatever you say, young child,” I said sarcastically.

“We should head back.”

“Ok,” I responded.

As we got back to the other men, I looked through the pile and I realized that we had good food and skilled hunters. They had goats and pigs, but also a tiger and giraffes. I decided to spy on the rest of the people who crash landed on the island. I didn’t want to go alone, so I fetched my brother. As we approached our old campsite we could hear faint voices to our left. I also heard faint voices to my right. We went to the right first. Fourteen people there were setting up a new campsite. On the left there were fourteen more people setting up a campsite. They were all preparing weapons for the war that was potentially coming in the future. I realized we had been spotted. Our cover was compromised. My brother and I had a huge advantage over everyone and we were armed. Everyone else had come nowhere close to finishing their weapons. We made it back way before anyone came close. I said to my brother, “When we get back home remind me to create a video game about our time on this island, this will make a lot of money.”

“True that.”

When we reached the cottage we reported the news to the rest of our group. My mom announced to the rest of the group, “We are extremely well hidden. Thank god for this guy who left us all these pleasantries, but my husband and I have a surprise that will give us an advantage. We found 2 fully loaded rifles, 3 loaded pistols, 1 machine gun, and 15 rounds of ammo. This is going to put us over the top.”

“Let’s catch the other groups by surprise — we should spare no one,” one of the men suggested.

“Advance!” my dad screamed.

We strolled through the bushes with confidence because we had two advantages, weapons and the element of surprise. We started with the machine gun. It totally caught everyone by surprise, we first shot at the people on our left with the machine gun and pistols and the people on our right with the rifles. There was so much blood everywhere, I felt like throwing up. “From everything we’ve been through, this is by far the worst,” I said to my brother while regurgitating my lunch of pork and coconut.

“Don’t worry,” I heard my brother respond.

After I counted 28 casualties, we went in and ransacked their supplies. While we were on the beach I noticed a ship in the distance, it was another Anthem of the Seas ship. I ordered one of the men the shoot one of the rifles in the air. We emptied one magazine, but the ship failed to notice us. We were so close but the ship never came, after our failed attempt we sat down on the blood spattered beach. My mom had the idea of icebreakers so that we could get to know the rest of the group. The two rules were that you had to find someone who was within 3 years of your age and they couldn’t be related to you. I was paired up with another person my age who was very nice. Her name was Sharon and I really liked her. I think I was in love for the first time in my life. My brother was nodding and egging me on. I got to know her a little bit better over the time with this one icebreaker. I found out that we have a lot in common; we both love Law and Order SVU and Chicago PD. I revealed my deepest secret about my opinion of this whole experience.

“I want to be respected at home, so I am using this as a way to earn respect. Honestly, this experience has been stressful and tough and there are just times when I can’t handle it. I want to be viewed as a strong person, but there are times when the reality of what is happening gets to me and I think that this conversation has led me to a place where I can think about the true effect of this experience. It’s like a Law and Order mass shootout, I am here to experience it in the moment. At home when I’m watching an episode of Law and Order I cover my eyes and get scared, but here I’m not alone or in the confinement of my home, I can’t be the weak fragile person I truly am. I want to present myself in the best way possible.”

She said, “I think this is another way for us to bond. I think part of the reason I stayed in the shadows is because this experience has been terrible. It was supposed to be a fun vacation for my parents, my older sister, and I. But I got separated from them and I don’t know where they are. And then as I end up on this island it gets worse and worse, all the blood and gore, I experience on TV but being here, experiencing it, puts it in a whole new dimension. Just when I thought, life couldn’t get any worse I meet you.” She broke down into tears and I did my best to comfort her.

“You can live with us back in the city.”

We were so caught up in the conversation that everyone had switched partners and my mom had switched the game. “I’d like you to meet my brother,” I told her. “We fight a lot, but rely on each other in the darkest of times,” I added on.

As I took her to him I was starting to doubt that I had made the right decision, because he had a lot of information about me. He knew some of my worst secrets and knew a lot about some of the bad things I have done. He repeatedly has caught me live streaming New York Rangers games when I was supposed to be doing homework. He knew things about my life at school that my parents had no idea about. In the end, I ended up going with my original decision and let her meet my younger brother. After all, we had been through a lot. I seriously doubted that he was going to jeopardize the impeccable record I had with my parents. I put my trust in him. If he lost my trust there was a high chance he would never get it back.

My brother was actually very cordial with Sharon. He was very warm and forthcoming. The three of us talked until dinner time and for the first time since arriving on the island, we had a full out feast. We had chicken in a coconut sauce with bananas for dessert. It was a delicious meal for a mysterious island. After dinner, we settled in for the night. All the kids were in the bedroom of the cottage and the adults took the bottom floor of the cottage. There were only 4 kids so we had a substantial amount of space. We agreed on a plan to alternate the mattress and the floor. My brother and I agreed to take the floor the first night. In the middle of the night, I needed to use the bathroom. I took out my flashlight and went through the house to explore and see if there was a bathroom with indoor plumbing. To my surprise, I found it. I was astonished. I wanted to keep this bathroom a secret, but I knew that this was impossible. After I got back I dozed off again and it was morning in a snap.

In the morning the men set out to hunt and the women stayed back to fix up the home. At the time we went out, there were no animals in sight.  It was a fail that left us very upset with ourselves. The island was a very suspicious place. The afternoon was spent playing games and hanging out. I spent time with my brother and Sharon. Being on this island opened up a whole new world for me. In the end I think that I’m starting to enjoy my life on the island.

This Place Called Home

  

I come from a place where quarters are

tailored as lustrous silver buttons

strung together with the residue riches

of small town life.

The houses are planted like

impeccable lego ziggurats

with their roots clutching on

for generations too long;

and the children here beam with

straight white pearls

that reflect off the silver linings of

embellished rusty clouds.

 

Here–the crime rates are as low

as the stress is high

with the nerve picking pressure

of decisions to be made.

Gaping mouths and parched throats,

gasping for four magic words:

fame, money, success, power,

fame, money, success, power.

There is a constant velvet pretense

masking closed plastic doors

and an incessant gloom smothered

with upper class glamour.

 

Just last week, I saw a girl with depletion

carved on her forearms.

Her eyes

are still sketched in my mind.

And yes,

clean classrooms have taught me

exhaustion in three different languages,

but I’m still more drained than

these tongues will know.

I come from a town known for its

lustrous silver buttons,

but here,

smiles are bought with pennies.

A D-i-s-s-i-p-a-t-i-n-g Sting

I was climbing in my favorite tree when I heard a ruffle in the bushes. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew there was trouble. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I remained in the tree for two hours until I knew what vicious predator was in the haunted shrubs. It was probably a sabertooth cat, or at least, something like that. I wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it wanted me. I looked around and saw everything that I was so familiar with. The tree with a white birch trunk, the neon orange berry that had been sitting there for so long. I listened to the babbling river about 300 feet south. I could never find a place quiet enough to listen to water in Philly.

As soon as I had gotten home, I grabbed my bicycle, dropped off my backpack, and headed straight to the woods. I couldn’t take another second in the house. Yesterday, my parents decided to throw away all of my childhood photos, toys, clothes, and everything that I had ever made or constructed when I was a kid. There was one photo that they disposed of that I loved more than any other: the one of my parents and I laughing with each other in the baseball game. But they threw it all in the trash. Instead of my precious childhood bedroom, my parents prioritized a storage room that would most likely go unused.

The river was the only thing that kept me from losing my sanity. The river was the one thing that I could always count on to be there. It put me at ease and was why I kept on going back day after day, week after week.

If I didn’t have that one small stream, I don’t know what I would do. I smelled an aroma that I could never smell in the city. The fragrance of moist dew made me know that I was safe and stress free. Even though I had so much on my plate in terms of school and my family, I liked to go to this one spot in the forest and relax.

But as I felt the rough bark of the maple that I was leaning against, I sensed the ruffling again. A shock went straight through my body as if I had been electrocuted. First my arms began to become stiff, then my legs, and then I froze. Why did it have to be now that I couldn’t move? For all I know, it could be on me right now and injecting poison into my body. After what felt like hours, my arms and legs started to feel fine again and I scampered right down the tree as soon as I could.

This meant one thing that I didn’t want to have to do: go back to my house and my parents. Normally, I would stay in the forest until it got dark after my parents had already left to go to their dumb jobs at the bar. I guess I would just try to avoid them and study for the spelling bee. It’s not like they would come anyways. I took my bike, and rode home intentionally slowly. When I got home I started to sprint up the stairs to my room. My dad stopped me and snapped at me saying, “Hey kid — ”  

I stopped him. “Leroy, my name is Leroy.”

He continued, “Your mother thinks that I should not take full ownership of the bar, but I disagree.” I had already stopped paying attention. I noticed that my mom had also stopped taking him seriously. She knew that whatever she said, her husband would have had some disagreeing retort. He continued, “Life’s about taking risks. I want to do what I want, but she’s holding me back!” He went on to ramble for another five minutes, but I didn’t listen. After about three more minutes of dispute and loud bickering, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Listen! Both of you have a point, but solve it on your own,” I yelled as I walked away. My dad shot me a cold look of disappointment, which nearly made me tear up. Why did they have to do it? They couldn’t just be like any other parents that I know and get along. They couldn’t go on any trips or vacations, couldn’t go on bike rides, couldn’t go to any of my spelling bees, couldn’t even get me a gift for my birthday. Well actually they got me an “Ericksen’s Bar” baseball hat that was 80 percent off on a dusty shelf in right above the bathroom sign. To me that classifies more as a gift with air quotes.

I spent the day at school feeling agitated, wondering if my parents would ever get along like normal. Normal. It seems so simple, but it’s not. At least for my parents. Whatever. I searched for the sting on my body, although, to be honest, I forgot where it was. I knew it was there, I just couldn’t seem to find it. All of a sudden it came back to me, I felt a small pinch in my arm. I said out loud, “Ow.” I don’t really know why, it just felt sorta good to say it out loud. The next moment, my mom came inside the room and asked me if I was alright. That took me for a surprise. I muttered to her, “Yeah, I’m fine,” even though I wasn’t. Later that night, while I was surfing my dictionary, I kept wondering why my mom showed concern. It could have been for something dumb like maybe to one-up my dad, but whatever it was, I actually enjoyed it.

The next day, something even weirder happened. I was about to walk to school, but she stopped me. She asked me “Leroy, why don’t you come to a couple doctor  appointments  with me and show the doctor your injury?” She didn’t even know what it was, but I accepted nevertheless. Is this what it felt like to have a mother that cared? If so, it seemed like I could get used to it. Apparently, she had made two appointments already which I was willing to skip school to go to.

“Mom, why are you so caring all of a sudden?”

“No reason,” she muttered. I saw her look down in shame. I knew there was a reason, but I didn’t feel like asking her any more questions. I felt the stinging once again. I winced in pain. My mom held me as if I was about to faint. She asked, “Are you alright Leroy?” I nodded a bit nervously.

For the next two weeks everything seemed to fall into place. My mom actually asked me about my homework and made sure that I got it done. She also picked me up from school instead of going home on the filthy bus. I insisted I didn’t need her to do it, but she did not cease, and it felt great. Even my dad, the most stoic person I knew, the person who reads science books every night, had a conversation with me. He actually seemed to enjoy talking to me.

“Hey son.” Son, I found that name delightful. “Do you need any help with your homework?” I thought about my science homework, I didn’t need much help, but I took advantage of the opportunity and let him help me. We worked on physics, and believe it or not, he actually gave me some helpful information.

I asked, “Dad, you know a lot about science and you’re obviously interested in it, why don’t you become a scientist or even a science teacher?”

“Oh, that dream was exterminated as soon as your mom got pregnant.”

I was shocked and decided it was not right to ask him anything more.

“Okay,” I murmured, “I think that I understand the science now, thanks.”

He trudged away. Although I did feel bad, the conversation was an eye-opening discussion and my dad actually talked to me about something besides the dirty bar.

I couldn’t help but follow my dad to his room and stand outside the door. I heard a loud bang on the table and then muttering. My mom, overhearing the anger, tried to placate him. She mentioned, “Karl, I know you have aspired to be a scientist for a long time but now that Leroy is in our lives you must focus on him.” I felt honored in a way. I had never heard my parents speak about me that way. I went back to my room pleasantly. They had finally treated me with value, but this “special treatment” had only lasted about a week so far, I doubted it would carry on.

Finally the day of the Philadelphia spelling bee had arrived. It felt as though there was ice in my veins. I couldn’t wait. Weeks of training had led to this one moment. I saw the crowd, all 30 of them, anticipating the success of their own children. My parents were actually there. I had barely even mentioned the spelling bee to them before, but they showed up, and I couldn’t be more energized. They were even holding each other’s hands as if they were nervous for me. Everyone was practicing spelling as if it would help them. I saw parents holding up flashcards to test their kid’s spelling.  There was a buzz in the air as everyone came to their seats. Chills ran down my back as I approached the lectern. The first word the moderator gave to me was claustrophobia. I spelled out C-L-A-U-S-T-R-O-P-H-O-B-I-A. I heard the noise of approval from the moderator’s table. I felt very relieved. That serene peace of the river ramble flashed in my head and I was ready. All of a sudden, the thought of the stinging and pain came back to me, but this time I was over it, I didn’t let it bother me. I went up to give my next answer. The word was “conservative.” I spelled it wrong but that didn’t matter, I still received applause from my parents. That was all I needed, that was all I wanted.

The Telephone Wants to Retire

   

She is tired of sending wired hugs

she no longer wants to hear tearful goodbyes

and screaming hurts her electronic ears

She has already learned the code of voices

the nervous giggles of first date calls

the half hungover messages to work

and the infamous breakup over a call

 

new generations of little girls and boys

say they prefer text anyways

they hate the sounds of their own voice

She now knows the difference between

a sister and a roommate and a cousin once removed

the obvious contrasts of

mother and a mom and beloved mommy

and she knows if the news is good or bad

just by how they say hello.

 

Numb Until Now

Nothing seemed real.

T.V. shows didn’t matter. Holidays seemed fake. Happiness seemed unobtainable. There were those joyful moments, they were tiny, but still there.

I fell.

I fell hard.

I fell into my head, into the deepest part of my mind, for a long time it passed in a blur. It lasted the entirety of sixth grade, and left me in a tough position. I can’t remember that year. It was nothing. Memories didn’t stick. I just remember that feeling, the crippling feeling of nothing. Just numbness. I had lost my brother, and myself. I lost them to other people, substances, and materials; I was not good enough for them. I don’t think anything was.

If you asked anyone, they would say I was happy or always laughing. No one saw, and no one asked. I don’t blame them. I didn’t realize I was such a good actor.

Those who did,

I lied to.

My mind would scream help, but my tongue would tie and say, “I’m fine.”

Fine became my favorite word. I walked a long and lonely road. I folded up and only walked by myself. It was dark and lonely and I was always prodded with thoughts… dark thoughts.

“Are you sure people will like that?” They would ask, judgmental eyes sizing me up.

“Yeah, I like it,” I would answer.

“All the more reason to change,” they would snicker back.

They always won. They didn’t care. Their goal was to hurt me. At first I believed they couldn’t be stopped and no one would help to stop them. They would judge my jokes, how I talk and dress. I’ve built a fence, big enough to keep them out. Although, they find a way in. They do come back. They climb up my brain and stick their sharp fangs into my mind and begin to suck the hope, happiness, and confidence I had found. Now I have defenders, people I trust, and myself. When I ask them questions the always give me a positive answer.

“Is that okay?” I would ask, waiting for them to beat me down.

“Of course. That’s great,” they would answer.

It was a new attitude. Something I was trying, and I decided that those monsters that came back were worth fighting. That sickening feeling they gave me didn’t have to be permanent. The girl who felt lost and sad, who needed someone but that one person was gone, didn’t have to be me.

That person came back.

My brother had come back, as well as his new girlfriend. With them they brought the monsters.

They came back telling me I had lost my brother to yet another thing. I built a relationship with that girl and she also gave me those positive words.

“Jemma, it’s perfect.” She would smile.

The monsters were shocked; they didn’t believe I had broken my shell and grown. There I was suddenly, armed with a sword and shield ready to fend for myself. The monsters fled and I was given more confidence. Now I walk the road with my new attitude and my new tools.

I’m ready to take on the world.

Filters

The last time I looked at the clock it was 9:21 p.m. I got ready for bed so early because tomorrow is my first day at high school. I’m not prepared. My best friend in the whole world is going. Just me and him from the same school that I know. I’ve known him since the first day of kindergarten. His name is Aaron White, which is ironic because he’s black but his great-great grandmother is white. The first day of kindergarten, I was sitting on the carpet with about five other children. He came in and threw a tantrum because he didn’t want to leave his parents. They left and came back about 20 minutes later. There were now about seven kids on the carpet. He came back with food in his hand and put it in his cubby. He seemed calmer this time around. He came and sat next to me and I moved over. He then moved closer again and again and again and I kept moving over until I was off the carpet. Ever since that day we’ve been best friends. Sometimes in the summer for a month his parents take us to Europe and we spend all summer together.

I can’t see the time on the clock but I see the red light shining on my side table. My room is brighter than usual. Ever since the day care across the street had installed new lighting, it shines right into my room. I thought my curtains were dark enough to keep out any light from the outside world. Then I feel tiny feet on my legs. When I look down I see a white figure with a tail. I realize it is my cat and he didn’t leave my room. That means that when he’s ready, he’ll wake me up to open the door for him.

Every night I reflect on my day and try to think about every second of my day. I always try to imagine myself the next day and what everyone looks like and how they act. I can’t do that tonight for some reason. Maybe it’s because I didn’t do anything today because I realized it’s my last day to actually relax and have a day to myself. Doing nothing was pretty amazing because I didn’t really have a worry about high school, not knowing it was so close.

I don’t realize that I fell asleep until my alarm clock goes off at six this morning. I then hear the shower come on and then sizzling of some sort, maybe food. I hear my mom say, “Have a great day Ellie. Tell Aaron and his mom hello.”

I hear my heavy feet clomping down the steps. I don’t come to all my senses until I slam Aaron’s mom car door, they watch him.

“Good Morning Ellie. Are you ready?” Aaron asks me.

I take a deep breath and nod my head yes. When we arrive there are some students lined up wearing the school sweater and smiling at us. They all repeat, “Hi, welcome, how are you, please step to the right, there are numbers on the desks representing your grade, have a nice day!”  

As you walk in there are four desks lined up next to each other with two people sitting at each desk. Each desk has a number on it.

“I think we’re supposed to go to that desk,” Aaron points at a desk with the number nine. Aaron’s mom follows close behind us. I think it is kind of weird because I haven’t had a parent chaperone since sixth grade. There are a lot of other moms too, so we aren’t embarrassed.  

“I can’t stay or else I’ll be late for work. Ellie’s mom will pick you guys up after school. Have a good day!” Aaron’s mom kisses us both and runs out the door.

We walk up to the desk that has the number nine.

“Name?” A lady with a big smile says to me.

“Ellie Kogan.”

She goes to her clipboard, looks for my name, moves right, and checks my name off. She then hands me a paper with my schedule on it. Aaron walks next to me. Again students line up and say, “Please go straight ahead and take a seat in the auditorium.”

There are students lined up showing us to seats. We’re in the third to last row. It starts about eight minutes after we find our seats.

“Welcome students to…” a tall, slender, white man, with a full head of black and gray hair, starts. That’s when I stop listening. I realize that the people in the front are the ones leaning forward in their seats trying to catch every word this man was saying. The two rows on the sides are half listening, on their phones, whispering to each other, listening and eating. A couple rows in front of us, kids are talking, laughing, passing notes and joking around. Basically, they all act the same except the first couple rows. I guess those are the freshmen and we’re supposed to be up there. The kids in the first row are either wearing dresses, or jeans with nice shirts and cardigans. The kids on the side and the back are wearing nothing special. Aaron’s wearing jeans with a white shirt with his open sweater. I am wearing black jeans with my Vans that matches my sweater. Then it is back to reality. A kid turns around, he looked as if he’s a senior because he’s joking around while the man is talking.

“Hi!” a boy says with dark skin, perfect white teeth and deep dimples. I smiled, my way of saying hi back.

“Junior?”

“Freshman,” I say with a smile.

“Shouldn’t you be up there,” he says pointing to the front of the auditorium.

“Is that where the freshmen sit?”

“Yeah! But you look comfortable where you are.”

“I am,” I say again with another smile. “Are you a senior?”

“Funny! Sophomore.” He smiles at me.

Aaron hands me a paper with staff names and pictures next to it. The man talking turns out to be the principal.

“Is this your brother?” He asks looking at Aaron.

“No.” I turn my head toward Aaron and smile. “This is my best friend Aaron.”

“Oh, hi!”

I know Aaron is listening but he doesn’t look at me or the boy I was talking to. “Hi,” Aaron says softly.

“He’s really shy.” I clarify.

“I can tell,” he smiles, which made Aaron blush, “I’m Prosper.”

“Pardon?” I said, not hearing him clearly.

“My name is Prosper.”

“Really? Sorry, but I’ve never heard a name like that.”

“Yeah I’m unique.”

“Ha! I’m Ellie.”

“Oh, do you know who you have for homeroom?”

“Umm,” I say, shuffling papers, “Mr. Hendrix. I also have him for science.”

“Wow!” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Wow what?”

“Just do your homework and don’t talk in his class and you should be fine.” He closed the sentence with a wink.

“… thank you and have a nice day!” the principal says and walks away.

Wow, I talked to him the entire time! I wonder if Aaron was listening at all to the person on the stage or paying attention to my conversation with my new friend. I’m guessing!

***

Aaron’s schedule is pretty similar to mine. Only two classes we aren’t together, and I have advanced math classes with the upper grades. Fortunately, we do have the same lunch period, which is nice because I know it’s hard for him to make friends by himself. There are seven periods in the school day. Lunch for us is at 1:00. The worst part about having lunch is that this is the only time we have to share with the tenth grade. Which is bad, because tenth graders think that they’re better than everyone else. Which isn’t true, because seniors are better. The day is going exactly how I thought it would go. Every class we did an “icebreaker” activity, where we play small educational games to learn everyone’s names. After this we did pre-assessments, the bell rang, and off to the next class it was.

The class before lunch Aaron and I don’t have together so we decided we would meet up in front of homeroom and make our way down the stairs just like some of the high schoolers. Since we are in high school the teacher doesn’t take us down. We have to go down two flights of stairs. The stairs aren’t like they were in middle school. We had to line up in two straight lines and walk down quietly. Now everyone runs down, skips steps, screams, jumps, and I’m pretty sure those are the tenth graders. The rails are black, the steps are black, and the floor is black. On every floor there are big glass windows through which you can see into New York City.

Once we get to the cafeteria I notice that there are kids who jump on the school line, ones who starve themselves, and the ones who bring lunch. The tables are different from middle school. They’re round and white with eight red chairs surrounding them. If you didn’t make it to the table right on time you would have to go sit somewhere else, which was maybe the worst thing that could happen. We sat toward the back where we weren’t noticed but we weren’t invisible.

That’s when I see Prosper. I know Aaron doesn’t like him very much just by the look of his face. Not that I don’t like Prosper. I just don’t want Aaron to feel like I am neglecting him, so I sit so Prosper can’t see my face.

“How was your day so far?” I ask Aaron.

“Good, I got homework from almost every class. The teachers were fairly nice but I think it’s just because it’s the first day. I want to see how they act when ––. ” Then he rolls his eyes and starts to eat.

“What happened?”

That’s when Prosper pulls up a chair and sits next to me.

“Hey. How was your first day?” he says with that bright smile he gave me this morning.

I peep at Aaron and see his head down. “It was great,” I respond. “Everyone was really nice. The teachers of course had to give homework, but everything aside from that was good.”

“That’s great! Aaron, how was your day?”

“Fine,” Aaron says with his head still facing downward.

“Okay, that’s good,” Prosper says, twisting his mouth to the side.

Prosper and I have a mini conversation about our summer. Then one of his friends calls him, so he tells me he will see me later and tells Aaron bye. As soon as he leaves, Aaron’s head lifts back up. I stare at him and he stares back.

“What!?” he says, still staring at me.

“What’s your problem?”

“What do you mean?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“Whenever Prosper’s around, you get quiet and ignore us. Do you not like him?”

“It’s not that. It’s just weird having someone new that’s closer to you than me.” I am confused and Aaron can tell. “Like, we’ve always had friends that we met together. Not just you and then me.”

I have no response to what he just told me. I think Aaron’s jealous. I can’t tell him that. He would deny it right away and feel like I am trying to make him jealous.

Oh.” The rest of lunch is quiet. I don’t know what we can talk about at this weird moment.

Last period goes by fast. I meet Aaron at the corner. I am a little late because I was talking to Prosper. He wanted to walk with me but I told him I was in a rush and Aaron was waiting with my mom. I told Prosper bye and I’d see him tomorrow.

Aaron and I wait in silence for my mom to pick us up. She asks a lot of questions when we are going to drop Aaron off and we answer them. When we get home she knows something is wrong. She is watching me in an uncomfortable way, so I watch her back.

“Anything else happen that we didn’t discuss in the car?” she said, cutting up cucumbers.

“Well…” I tell her everything that happened –– how Prosper and I met, and how Aaron acted and what he said at lunch, and what I thought about but didn’t say to him –– by the time I finish we are eating.

“That’s normal high school drama. It never gets easier. Aaron should accept the fact that he’s in a new environment with new people with different behaviors. But you shouldn’t forget who your friend is. I understand why Aaron would react this way. I mean, you guys are like this,” she says crossing her fingers, “and it’s hard for Aaron to make friends, so he may not feel comfortable with new people. I’m not saying to not hang out with your new friend but make sure Aaron feels included with this relationship you’ve formed with someone new.”

Again I am speechless, I am in shock. I’m not sure Aaron feels this way but he probably does. I’ll talk to him tomorrow for sure and hopefully he understands and we can work this issue out.

***

The next day Aaron and his mom are downstairs waiting for me. I feel nervous but I am determined to fix this right away. We get to school a lot faster than yesterday. When we get out of the car Aaron doesn’t even say bye to his mom. I wave goodbye to her and run to catch up to Aaron.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” I say trying to walk at his pace.

“Nothing,” he says, walking faster with his head down. That’s when I see Prosper but he doesn’t see me yet and this is my time to talk before he comes and interrupts.

I pull his shoulder toward me and he rolls his eyes and looks at me. His face has a mean attitude that I am used to, and I know how to deal with it already.

“I know what’s wrong with you.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

I see Prosper turn around talking to someone but doesn’t see me yet.

“I know it’s hard coming to a new school where everyone has their own personality and not everyone wants to hang out with people who hang out with other people.”

He looks at me confused and I realize I am making no sense.

I start again, “I know that you’ll make friends that you might not want to hang out with me and I’ll make friends that don’t want to hang out with you. It’s like a test of friendship because we can’t let anyone come between us. Not matter how hard they try because if you have a tight bond that can’t be broken like ours, that shows how much we care about each other. So if I don’t show it or can’t just remind me who my best friend is and how much he means to me, because he means the world.” I am just in time because Prosper starts walking toward me. Aaron starts to hug me and I hug him back.

“Hey,” Prosper says with his bright white smile.

“Hello,” I say as Aaron and I broke up our hug.

“Hi.”And that is when Aaron gives his smile.

Then I realize that this will be the best four years of my life.

kek’d (Excerpt)

George Matthews was the seventh richest man in the world, and therefore, was effectively one of the most powerful men as well. However, he looked decidedly powerless, as he lay in bed with tubes and wires connected to his limbs and head. Thank God no one knew, though. Thank God no one had seen the real George Matthews, only the double who had stood in for him since 2000. Right after the car accident that had landed him in the hospital bed, he kept in his 70,000-square-foot mansion. Only his house staff and his maid, Cynthia, knew about his strange sickness. And it was strange; draining his energy as it made him more restless. He stayed in his room all day, without the energy to walk or even to get out of bed and dress himself.

Cynthia also knew, though, about the doctors who had come to see him about his sickness. The doctors who had told him that vitamins and exercise, as well as two or three operations, would most likely cure him. She knew about the accusations George had made: the doctors were frauds, they didn’t know a virus from a plague. He believed he had an incurable ailment, but she knew it was just a disease he made up in his head after the accident that he just couldn’t let go of. She thought about telling him this, but she knew she was being paid, in part, for her belief, or at least feigned belief, in his imaginary illness. George’s family had deserted him when they realized that he wouldn’t die quick enough for them to make good use of the money they would inherit, so she also felt pity for the deserted old man. This deadly mixture of pity and money convinced her not to quit.  

Months later, Cynthia was awoken in the middle of the night by a servant. “The master needs you. Come immediately.” Cynthia dressed herself and rushed upstairs to George’s bedroom, her one-size-too-big slippers brushing against the carpeted floor of the stairs. She imagined what could have happened: Did George die?

To be continued…

Kanye West

A tattered “Vote for Kanye” poster hung on the window of a decrepit development. Bullet holes were scattered around the poster, and black permanent marker graffiti outlined a swastika beneath his headshot.

“So this is what it has come to, huh?” a white-bearded man croaked. “The so called Age of Rapnazis.”

Before I could respond, a shrill beep sounded through the nearest loudspeaker.

Yo, yo, check it, yo. I eat it like dinner. You see this stuff I gotta deal with from these beginners? Wait, what? We’re recording? Oh! This is the president speaking. I just wanted to share a short, fire lyric from my song. We’ll buy a lot of clothes when we don’t really need ‘em. Things we buy to cover what’s inside. BEEP.

“Well, I guess it’s his attempt at initiating a neo-N.W.A.-based country. It’s been three terms and West still hasn’t been able to pull it off.”

“That’s why I voted for Eminem. He wouldn’t try some arbitrary stunts like such. But, y’know, Detroit would probably be the new capital.”

“His cult of rapper-nazis is growing by the hour. All these formerly-outlawed items were mostly smuggled in by the imbe — The Lordwest Majesty Himself,” I stuttered as I spotted a burly pro-Kanye voter. Various types of gun-tattoos decorated his bare barrel-chest, complementing the gang seals on each of his protruding biceps. “‘Ey ya’ll.” he growled.

Whitebeard and I genuflected in an instant, gesturing the gang crest with our fingers.

“I guess you know who I be then?” A glob of saliva landed on my knee.

“Secretary of State, MC Vanity. Why do you roam these parts?” wheezed Whitebeard. He did not lift his head, but peripherally, I spotted a grin creep up his countenance.

“You will not,” his unauthentic Jamaican tongue twisted and strangled these simple words. “You will not…

“Taking some time to process, Mr. Secretary?” the old man said under his breath.

Chuckling, I whispered back, “Maybe he got so caught up in faking his accent that his brain stopped.”

“Ask me such confidential questions! Anyway, I’m here to do the daily check-up. Aight my brothas, recite the first 30 pages of the N.W.A. Bible. Otherwise, you’ll have to come with me.” Glancing at me, the geezer ran his index through his messy beard, and furrowed his brow. Suddenly, he bore a confused smile. “No, no. You must have mistaken us for citizens! We are simply visiting from Canada. O Canada, our home and — ”

“All right, I get it. But it’s a continental law to have memorized the history of the Book of Rap, y’know, with the Drake election and all. Starting with Tupac, go, old man.” He looked at me with true dubiety.

“Mister, I think I’ll take this one. Tupac started the Book of Rap. Er… ” Ever since the election, even the history books had been altered. It is strongly believed by the anti-N.W.A. party that Eminem finished the Book of Rap. However, that response would by no means be accepted by this MC.

“I’m sorry, but the truth is that Eminem finished the book. And Kanye, well, Kanye. You see, the thing about Kanye is that… he lied by infringing on copyright, and then he claimed that he wrote it. That’s illegal.” Before he could speak, I started again.

“Hang on. Endure the sass and absorb my point of information. Kanye is a scandal artist, and paid off major media networks to shut up about it.” Whitebeard licked his lips, silently applauding the defiant decision that could result in a permanent incarceration. As I smirked, he mumbled that it was not just praise — no, it was a eulogy.

Under Which Condition Do I Work the Best?

Motivation helps people gets things done. Procrastination is when a person waits to do something, sometimes because of laziness. I procrastinate in school, sometimes with assignments. The questions I will be answering in this essay are: what assignments would I most likely procrastinate doing? Under which conditions do I get motivated? Am I more likely to procrastinate when I have a deadline, or when I have no deadline?

The first thing I want to focus on is having a deadline for an assignment. Some people say they work better with a deadline because it pushes them to work, and it motivates them. I personally have gone through a time when deadlines motivated me, but currently that puts me under stress. And when I’m stressed out, I’m really not in a good mood for anything, except doing what’s due. Even though I’m to do the assignment, I don’t feel my best.

When I don’t have a due date, I tend to procrastinate whatever’s due. I have done this before, and it hasn’t gone well. I don’t like to procrastinate. It’s only avoiding whatever is due, but for some reason I still procrastinate. But when I finish, it feels like a truck just got lifted off my shoulders. Either way, with a deadline or not, I still often get stressed out.

I am used to deadlines, like homework, when everything is due on a specific day. I usually don’t get stressed out when doing homework, because that is an everyday thing for me which I’ve gotten used to. It’s the big projects that I get in school that I usually procrastinate on. I usually have to set smaller goals for myself so I don’t delay doing my work.

I have to play piano every day. Sometimes I don’t do a good job, other times I do, and sometimes I do great. But I usually do my best only when I am motivated. Some things that motivate me are parties. I love parties. When I know there is a party, I do well.

There are some conditions, like when there is something that I look forward to, under which I get motivated, and there are some others conditions, like when I am in a bad mood or when I’m feeling lazy, that cause me to procrastinate. Overall, either way, and despite the stress, I prefer having a deadline.

The Writing on the Altar

Minegamer225 stared at his creation. He had been on his computer for months on end, but he finally finished it: an 8-bit redstone computer (redstone is basically a wire).  After a few minutes of staring at it, he pulled a small stick from his inventory and placed it next to him by a trail of redstone. Minegamer pulled the stick towards him and the trail of redstone lit up with a warm, inviting glow. He looked up at the computer screen, waiting for the “booting up” message. After a couple long minutes he sighed and walked away. While he was walking, he didn’t see the strip of redstone in front of him and WHAM! He was thrown to the floor by the electric power of the wire. He stood up, dazed from the fall.

When he regained consciousness he kicked the wire as hard as he could and watched as it went flying. He was so angry, he didn’t realize that the wire was heading in the direction of the computer. At the last second he realized where the wire was going to land. He flinched as it crashed somewhere in the circuit boards. Suddenly the computer flickered to life and the rebooting message popped up on screen. Minegamer’s body filled with excitement as he jumped up in the air and started dancing.

But his joy was extinguished as the computer started sparking and sizzling. Minegamer jumped behind a block at the right time, because just afterward the computer exploded. Blocks started raining from the sky, but he dodged them with ease. He was so upset that months of work were RUINED!!! When the block rain was over he crawled through the rubble to the computer core. He reached out and grabbed the computer chip. He sadly looked at the fried circuit and frowned. “I JUST GIVE UP!!” he said as he smashed the circuit against a rock. He watched as the pieces went flying in different directions. Then he got up and walked out of the rubble pile towards his house. When he reached his house he shoved the door open and stepped inside. At once, his cat, Mittens, started following him and meowing for her food. When Minegamer plopped down on the couch, Mittens jumped onto his lap and started purring affectionately. “Aww, thanks mittens,” Minegamer said appreciatively. Then he got up and walked over to the kitchen. “Here you go, Mittens,” Minegamer said as he gave Mittens a bowl of food. Minegamer watched as Mittens hungrily devoured her food. When she had finished her food, she trotted over to the couch and curled up in the corner, waiting for Minegamer to sit down. Minegamer looked at Mittens and smiled. Then he realized that he was starving!!   

He looked in his kitchen chest for some food and found three potatoes. He placed them in the furnace to bake while he got some butter. When the potatoes were done, he spread the butter on top and then joined Mittens on the couch. When he sat down, Mittens crawled up on Minegamer’s lap and looked up at him with sad eyes. Minegamer understood what she meant. “I miss him too,” Minegamer said. After sitting down for a few minutes, he got up to get some cookies for Mittens and him to munch on. “Do you think about him much?” asked Minegamer.

“Meow,” replied Mittens. Minegamer also understood what this meow meant. This time it was a reassuring kind of meow.

“I remember our last moments with him….”

***

Eight years ago…

“Minegamer, do you have any string?”   

“Yes, Brine. It is downstairs, in my storeroom.”

“Thanks buddy.” he said, going downstairs.

***

Two Hours Later…

“Minegamer, I have a present for you!” he called faintly.  

“Be there in a minute.” Minegamer came down the stairs.

“Okay, I’m here,” Minegamer said excitedly.

“Here is your present,” he said, while handing Minegamer a chest. When Minegamer opened the lid he gasped.

“AN ENCHANTED BOW!! YOU’RE THE BEST, BRINE!” Minegamer shouted.

“Thanks, but without you, I would be a Noob,” Brine answered.

“Come Brine, let’s try out my new bow!!” Minegamer said as he raced out the door.

Minegamer notched an arrow, pulled back the string and released. As soon as he released the arrow its tip burst into flame. It flew out of their vision and hit the middle of the dam, 300 blocks away.

“Hey, Minegamer, do you hear that noise?” asked Brine.

“Yeah, what is that?” responded Minegamer. The both turned and saw the wall of water thundering towards them. “GET TO DA CHOPPA!!” yelled Minegamer. They hurried to their helicopter and put it in ignition. Minegamer was about to fly away when he remembered something…. “MITTENS!!” Minegamer screamed.

Mittens was still in their house!! “I’ll get her!” Brine bravely stated. He unbuckled his restraints. He ran down, kicked open the doors, scooped up mittens and ran upstairs. The wave was feet from the roof. Minegamer was already in the sky with the rope ladder hanging down for Brine to grab. Brine popped out of the trap door and Minegamer was filled with relief. Brine looked at the helicopter, then at the wave. He looked back at the helicopter, took Mittens in one hand, and punted him up into Minegamer’s hands. His eyes locked with Minegamer’s, and he smiled. Then he was swept away by the wave. When the flood was over, Minegamer landed his chopper in the watery remains of his house and frantically searched for his chum.

After 15 minutes he tripped on a loose root. Angry, he turned around to kick it when he realized it was not a root, but a bow, an enchanted bow!! BRINE’S PRESENT!! He carefully caressed the bow and sobbed…

 

Minegamer stroked Mittens a few times, then he realized how thirsty he was, and went to get some water. He searched around in his cabinet for a bottle of water. “Ah, here it is!” he exclaimed as he downed it. “Oohh, I don’t feel so good,” stated Minegamer. He picked up the bottle and looked at the label. “That’s not water!! It’s a hunger potion!!!”

Minegamer heard mittens meow and turned to go pet her when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shiny, red apple outside. He slid open the door and walked towards the tree, with Mittens trotting along behind him. He climbed up the tree to grab the apple when the tree came loose and fell.

Minegamer popped out of the leafy canopy and took a bite out of the apple. His hunger went back up to full. He looked around and realized Mittens was nowhere to be seen!!! Then, he heard a faint mewing coming from a nearby cave. “I’m coming, Mittens!!” Minegamer bravely said. He drew his sword and raced toward the cave. When he reached it he followed the sound of Mittens’ meowing until he was around the corner from the sound. He jumped around the corner, preparing to attack, when he heard a frightened child’s voice.

“P-p-please don’t hu-u-rt me.”

Minegamer put down his sword and saw a shaking villager child stroking Mittens. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you lost? You should be in your village,” Minegamer asked.

“M-m-my village w-was destroyed b-b-by a big wave,” the child said. “M-my name is P-pablo.”

“Well, Pablo, you can live with me!” Minegamer said. “Let’s g-” Minegamer was interrupted by a faint glow at the end of the tunnel. “Stay here,” Minegamer said. He turned the corner and saw a glowing compass on top of an altar. He walked up and saw some strange writing on the altar, the galactic alphabet, a language only minecrafters could read. It said: To Minegamer: If you are reading this, follow this compass to these coordinates; 45-y  754-x  35-z.

“This can only mean one thing… BRINE IS STILL ALIVE.”

 

To Be Continued…

The Caramel Underdogs

There are so many things that remind him of you. Just so many. Too many. Like Kleenex and ironic hair ties and giraffe statues and italics and Jewish holidays and metaphors and Bulls-Eyes caramel creams. Especially the caramels. His heart rips a little bit every time he sees a Goetze’s Bulls-Eyes caramel cream because Goetze’s were your favorite. And his heart is completely torn now because he still buys those Bulls-Eyes caramel creams, the Goetze’s if he dares, because it reminds him of you and it cuts deep into his heart, and that’s why he likes them. It’s a habit of his, those caramels. Because of you. You made him fall in love with those Bulls-Eyes caramel creams the way you made him fall in love with you. Softly and truly. You truly did love him at one point. And every time he buys those Bulls-Eyes caramels he smiles and swings his arms and puts a cute little bounce in his step. That’s what you called it. A cute little bounce. It was the bounce he did when he was with you. So he does that little half-smile and arm-swinging and cute-bouncy-step while imagining your hand in his. Your bright eyes on him. Your teeth separating the caramel part from the cream part of the Goetze’s Bulls-Eyes caramel cream, which was the same way he ate it. Was and is. He still loves you and you know he does. You forget it though, because it has been so long since you broke his heart. You can tell, though, how much he misses you, because when you see him in class at college the air is thick between you and he doesn’t wave, but he stares, a pleading stare that has words behind it. Why’d you leave? Was it me? Us? You? Does that matter? Will you ever come back?

Will you?

And does it matter? Because he has started to encase his heart in a wall, a wall

that will keep out any more people who love him because he doesn’t want someone breaking him again.

It’s a bit like the caramel coating around the cream in the Goetze’s Bulls-Eyes caramels. He loves them so much that he is becoming one himself. Caramel walls around the creamy sugar center, his soft heart, if there are any pieces left, his soft heart, so vulnerable and gullible. But see, you can fix him. The wall is made of caramel and if you try, you can bite through it and find the creamy loving center. But you have to do it soon, because you feel it –– he’s missing you so, so much, so much it’s hurting him almost more than when you broke his heart, and if this keeps on those caramel walls will turn to stone. And you can’t stomach stone. It’s much harder to chip away at the stone for so many years. You loved (love?) him and cared (care?) for him and missed (miss?) him when he went out late to perform at pubs. Why can’t that be again? You and him, you are two pieces of a puzzle that make up both your lives and you fit. Perfectly. Without you there will always be a puzzle piece missing from his life and no matter how long he looks under tables and chairs he won’t be able to find you. And you won’t be able to find him unless you choose to take him back. The air is thick when you see him in school again, and nothing’s right, and it’s awkward air, stale air, air that he is avoiding breathing in because he knows you are breathing it too. But it clears when you stare back at him and acknowledge him, smiling, and catch him in the hallway after class and slip your hand in his, hearing it click into place because your hands always just fit perfectly in one another’s, and say I’m sorry, can you forgive me? Ever? And even when he says I don’t know if I ever can, you know that means yes because you loved him so much, knew him so well. Or maybe it’s because you still love him so much. Know him so well. Just like your caramels.

Letters

Mama sips her morning tea from the kitchen counter, the strength diluted by her fading smile and tense, constricted muscles. Her skirt, drenched in a deep black and frayed from continuous wearings, skims the hardwood floors. It dances in a steady motion, at the morning breeze’s will rather than her own.

I beat my hands in a consistent rhythm, matching my mother’s dress and shutting my eyes until I’m soaked in a vast swarm of people.

Mama’s laugh echoes off the cliffs of the beach, and she’s dancing again. Spinning and twirling as the drums beat on and the swarm’s melody erupts into a harmonious climax. And they’re at the center of it all. Mama and Papa pulled tightly together, the passion infused in the cores of their eyes. Anna and I stand on the edge of the circle, clapping and shifting to the pace of a movement much bigger than us. Yet, when I turn to peek at the joy in Mama’s eyes, I feel Anna’s hand clutch my arm, and I’m abruptly snatched from the depths of the moment.

“Lizzy?” she calls, and her big blue eyes fill the void of the newfound silence.

“I’m fine,” I retort. I don’t intend to convey such a boiling frustration. Lately it just spills out of me in spasms and streaks, directed at the easiest prey. With Anna, I feel a force that consumes me. I’m standing on a tipping iceberg and the bitter grasp of death compels me to lash out. Mama stares straight at the cracked, uncleaned cup in front of her instead of coming to Anna’s defense as I secretly wish she would. Anna’s pained face adds to my dread, to the pulse of my drained body. I lay down on the dirt-ridden floor, the one that used to be so pretty with its black, well-maintained tiles, arms sprawled, and my sister comes to tap me.

“Why isn’t Mama eatin’?” she inquires, the gap between her two front teeth prominently exposed.

“She’s not hungry,” I dryly respond.

“But she wasn’t hungry yesterday,” she persists.

I pause and inhale. “Well, maybe she’s not feeling right.”

“Then we should call Grandma and Grandpa. They could help her. Give her some medicine or somethin’…”

“NO!” I shout, my stubborn resistance ricocheting off Anna’s droopy ginger pigtails and compiling in wrinkles underneath the rims of her eyes. “What’ll they do? Save her? Make our tummies full or her mug empty?”

Anna’s pursed lips and angular bones jut into my eleven-year-old conscience. Mama’s position on the opposite side of the counter with the tattered, discounted yellow curtains swaying behind her, stands in a stark contrast. I conclude that my baby sister certainly won’t feed herself.

“Alright,” I relent, assuming that something to chew on is better than an empty stomach, even when the tears make the food salty. Maybe if she eats, I reason, she’ll forget for a while. “How ‘bout I fetch you a nice blueberry Eggo?”

“Leggo my Eggo!” she eagerly replies, captivated by a fresh sense of delight.

I stroll over to the pristine refrigerator, wrapping my hands around the stainless steel of the handles. I freeze before the cold hits me: drawing me in — the vibrant letters, plastered to the fridge with magnets purchased from the local ninety-nine cent store. Falling to my knees, I reach out to trace the mariposa-wing orange “C” with my dirt-stained fingertips. I run them down in trickles, inching over the curve, reaching the sharp ends. And all at once I feel the crisp corners of his jaw. The way it felt that clear spring morning when Anna and I tackled him in bed, reminding him of his thirty-fourth birthday. How he hadn’t shaved, and his beard covered his chin in sporadic prickles, jostling when he creased his cheeks to smile. And the way Mama threw her head way back in a careless thrust, and spoke in a serious manner to remind us of our place and break from the bouts of teasing.

“Birthdays come and go,” she announced, firm and easy. “Remember the little things, and try not to grow big-headed like your daddy.”

Then came the “U,” yellow like the sunrise, and just as slow moving. Just when it made you suppose it had got the best of you, you were left dumbfounded by its unforeseeable comeback.

“U” was the uncontrollable undulations of Papa’s hair in the summertime. Like when we all went on down to the state fair in Georgia, and Anna was scared to go on Thunder Mountain. Me, being the bigger sister, I tried convincing her to come along. But, no sir, she stayed huddled right there with Mama, eating a big old stick of cotton candy as Daddy and I waited in line. And his huge brown curls tossed and turned on the drops, but he stayed laughing up a storm, me howling right with him.

When it was all over and we rolled up into the station he pulled my ear over to his mouth and whispered, “Now listen, I wanna tell ya something. You are brave. You are one piece of wonderful work, more like your daddy and your granddaddy than you’ll ever know. And don’t let any folks ever tell you otherwise.”

I savored his words, sweeter than any cotton candy I’d ever tasted. I kept that little secret tucked among my eyelashes as I shuddered and hesitantly dragged my fingertips towards the terrifying “R.”

“R” was the dreaded letter. It was the one that appeared suddenly and out of the blue: the relentless rage and mutated genes that exploded out of Daddy the Cotton Candy Machine. “R” was when Daddy never showed up at the Thanksgiving concert, or to pick us up at the bus stop after school that day. “R” was coming home by ourselves to Mommy’s sobs and Daddy’s massive bellows, screaming about things only he understood. For the hatred that seized him, and for the protectiveness that made Mama muster “Go stay in the closet until I call for you. Like hide-and-seek!” between broken cries that failed to sound like counting.

For the peeking out of a crack in the closet and the way I covered Anna’s eyes to be the brave one just like Papa told me. And for what happened next: for the image that would become stained in my memory, but not in Anna’s. For his blow, which came like an avalanche in slow motion, striking Mama in a thunderbolt tinged with pity. And for my tongue, bitten and swollen from when I ordered tears back to the deepest depths of my throat.

For the constant “sorry’s” and “forgive me’s” and Mama’s late-night phone calls. To the fake smiles, prepared meals, and empty wallets, drained without a penny to spare. To the day she agreed to stay — for us, not her. For when our dinners started to have conversations, and she stopped having to use scarves to cover the bruise. And all went back to normal. “R” as in “revered,” when Daddy was a strong man in a house of forgetful girls.

Santa came. Leaves fell. A thin layer of ice emerged on the roads. And Mama picked us up from school. “T” as in tangled tendencies, tangled tactics, and tangled terms. Mommy unlocking the front door. Put down the scarf. Scream. Run. Collapse.

Protect Anna. Go to Mama. Look away.

Papa was there, but he was distant. Far away. Dead with a bullet in his head. Gun down. Man down. Curls drenched in a coat of thick, drying blood. Ambulances can’t help the deceased.

The note said Daddy loved us very much, but that he couldn’t go on any longer feeling like a stranger in his own body. I wondered how much he could’ve loved us, leaving a black casket and sighing old ladies as our last image of him, and not roller coasters and birthdays. After all, he never did reach thirty-five.

Anna forgets. They say it’s ‘cause it’s too painful to remember. I can’t cover her eyes forever. But I want to shield Mama’s. She can’t un-see. But maybe she can stop staring and start living. Instead, she sips her tea. It is spring again. I open the fridge, and grab the Eggos.

His Eyes Through a Window

The newborn child

opened his eyes

and blinked into the sunlight of the coming dawn.

The open window breathed in fresh air

and he did too,

taking in oxygen for the first time.

Eventually,

the tiny blue eyes of the child

found the curtains covering the glass

and the crack of light they let through.

His crystal eyes caught a glimpse of the outside world,

a world filled with natural beauty,

a world that sang with joy from the perfect chaos of nature.

The birds could be heard by the tiny one,

birds that just wanted to fly, fly,

higher than the sun

and the stars.

The people wished the same,

the ones the child could watch,

pacing up and down the lawns.

But they argued with one another,

and cried for one another,

and embraced one another.

They fought and fought,

watching the shadows play on the faces of the rest

and the tears run down from their eyes,

a silent warning

of any coming storm.

The bright sun was darkened by a cloud,

and the child’s face was concealed in darkness.

When the rain fell,

he watched the raindrops hit the window

and fall to the dusty sill,

darkening his world.

The people outside shifted,

their decisions focused on themselves, using their coats

to shield the raindrops from their already

tear-stained faces.

As he watched,

the lightning flashed a warning to the child,

and the thunder clapped along.

Frightened,

the tiny newborn turned away

and instead rested his eyes on his mother;

he saw the tired woman

who sat across from him on the grey sheets,

her blonde head framed

by the whitewashed walls.

She looked back at her child with a mixture of contempt

and love.

Confused, he searched for a father

to hold him

when the mother could not.

But the only man in the room was an old doctor

with greying hair

and stitches in his old coat

that had been ripped and torn

too many times.

He held the boy up,

and so the child saw the fatigue in his dark face,

the pity in his eyes.

They were grey,

stormy like the clouds

conversing outside his window.

The child was sorrowful,

disappointed in the lack of color in this dusty room

with too many bookshelves.

He heard his mother speak,

her voice softer

than the fierce demeanor that she breathed.

She blinked once,

Slowly,

asking for the child

without words

but with actions.

The doctor obeyed, walking, almost flying

to her with the grace of an eagle.

The child felt movement,

felt himself soar over the obstacles in his path,

his reward being the outstretched arms

of his mother that seemed too cold.

The quiet young woman

leaned over her baby,

allowing her thin blonde hair

to tickle his soft skin.

She whispered in his tiny ear. The sounds,

though incomprehensible to him,

were soothing.

Her voice washed over the small body

and he relaxed,

his tiny blue fist unclenching.

The doctor, too old and tired to help,

looked on with the eyes of a man

who has gone through too much pain.

The mother,

like so many,

let her tears fall, and the dark water

fell from her clouded eyes

to his bright ones.

The tiny,

blue,

unwanted child in her cold arms

looked out the grey window,

and,

for the last time,

closed his

eyes.

Inside

I am stuck, in the oddest sense of the word. I know exactly where I am, and know I will never get out. I am on the inside. It’s the only way to describe where I am. The alternate inside. The unofficial prison of hell. Twenty thousand miniature mechanics stimulating complete and total isolation. It’s basically a never ending prison cell. Separated only by doorframes (no doors) are the three rooms: the bedroom, the bathroom and the waiting room. You eat, think, confess, write, whatever you want to do in the waiting room. It’s just a white couch and a white coffee table in a white space with a white ceiling and white floors – everything is white here.

SLAM.

The food slot closes, jolting me out of my daydream. The food is a bowl of oatmeal, just the palest of grey-browns. There is never anything else. It is actually very comfortable in here, but in a redundant way. There is nothing to do, only a notepad of pure white paper and a white ballpoint pen that flows with grey ink, barely a color at all. In fact, it has been proven that people released are almost color-blind because of the whiteness. The only color is my uncovered hands, but even those look white under the fluorescent lighting. Everything is made to be monotone, boring, so precise that you will forget any wrong you did, or think it was a dream. As I said, the perfect prison. And the brilliant thing is that you can keep up to ten people in the same room and none of them will acknowledge or see the others in their simulation. Thirty if you strap them down. You can keep people in here for centuries after they die, and they will still live inside the simulation. The genius behind this must be evil. Ha, thinking like I’ve been here years already. I am best friends with the person who made this. Her kindness was unmatched in all the years I’ve lived. And I can’t even blame it all on her, either. I was the engineer.

R(un)ning Away

My face is damp. I can’t feel my throat. I sluggishly walk to the water left over from yesterday, and moisten my lips with a few drops. I quickly run back to the floor, worried that Father will wake up and slap me for using the scarce water we have. I start covering my bony body with my blanket but then see the morning sun streaming through the twigs. Time to start my chores. I take the big bucket from the kitchen, put on my sandals, and start walking down the dusty path to the river. I’ve been walking down this path for seven years and I’ve never had the urge to run away, find a new life, a new beginning. Father and Mother would never let me leave, for fear of what is over the trash-piled mountains, but I don’t.

As I calm Baji in my arms I look in her deep green eyes, look at her scarred face, and she smiles at me. Should I take her with me? Should I free her from the chains of life? After all, she will end up like me, with no future, no money. No, I can’t. She’ll be too much of a burden. I put her back down on my blanket and take one last look at our house (if it even is one) and embark on my journey for a new life.

“Where are you going?” Mother screams.

“I’m going to Arva’s house to play with her,” I lie.

“She’s not there, she got sent off.”

“Oh, then I’ll go, um, get some more water.”

I rush out the door before my tears wash my dirty face. Poor Arva. I never thought her parents would be so cruel to send her off. She’ll get treated like an animal. Her poor little body will be ripped in half.

I run. Run for her, run for me. I can’t risk my parents sending me off.

I’ve been walking for a day now, my feet are as dirty as the ground, and I smell like the garbage that surrounds me. Finally, some trees! I take the big dirty blanket from under my feet and bring it over to the tree. The shade envelops my dark skin to make it even darker and I collapse onto the blanket.

The hard wind strikes my body and I pull the blanket to cover myself. Something’s there, like an anchor. I dismiss it and try pulling the other side. It takes me just a second to realize my clothes are off my body and a coarse hand is stroking it. I quickly turn back around lying face to face with a scarred one-eyed old man. “Stop moving, darling, the fun hasn’t even started.”

I stand up, still processing the abuse I’ve just experienced. I grab a piece of metal just an inch away from me and hit the old man with all my might. I see blood streaming down his neck and know he is dead. I immediately start praying and ask god for my forgiveness. I walk and watch the sun reflect on my piece of metal. I know that I’ll be needing it now.

The metal scrapes me every now and then but I dismiss it. The only thing on my mind is water, I know that if I don’t get it soon I’ll be too weak to walk. I need to get a job, make money, get food. I’m about to turn around, end this adventure, and go back to my boring hut but I see a sign. Asarganj it says in bright red with an arrow pointing to the right. Asarganj is where mother’s from! Maybe I’ll find aunty, she won’t tell on me, she never liked mother anyway.

Asarganj, this is where mother grew up. Dusty streets, shady people, the smell of dead bodies. Beggars, dogs, the sound of gambling, and there it is the legendary Dream House where prostitutes bathe in gold. Only the best of the best serve there, they come in poor and come out queens, but their minds are scarred forever. I can’t resist. It won’t hurt to go inside and take a quick look. This is a place of magic. I touch the cold gold metal on the door and rush in.

Scarves, mist, sound everywhere. I push the scarves away, already feeling like a queen, and find myself standing next to men bidding on women. “100,” “150,” “200,” “300,” “Sold.”

“What’s happening here?” I ask a nice-looking man.

“I’ll take her for ten.”

Everyone laughs.

The next thing I know a woman so covered in makeup you’d think she’s a doll touches my shoulder. “Honey, you seem hungry and tired. Come with me,” she says.

I’m so hungry by now I don’t care if they’ll kill me, so I follow her. We walk into a room with wooden tables and chairs filled with more dolls. All the women look at me.

“Kindra, who’s this?” one of them asks.

“She’s hungry, we’ll talk later.”

“Honey, take some bread with your soup,” Kindra says.

“What were those men doing?” I ask.

“Oh, just playing a game. Are you done?” I nod my head. “Follow me.” I follow Kindra through the sea of dolls and we go inside a room. The room smells of incense with a big lumpy bed adorned with scarves.

“Who’s this? You know I’m busy,” says a woman, so thin I can see her heart.

“She came in. What should I do with her?”

“Girl, why did you come here?”

“I wanted to see if the legends are true,” I say.

“Oh, they are. Would you like to work here?” the skeleton woman says.

“Marji, she’s just a little girl.” Kindra stares at Marji as if communicating with her telepathically.

“We need a greeter, don’t we?”

“Yes, miss.”

“So, do you want the job?”

“How much would you pay me?” I ask.

“A greedy one we have. Ten each day.”

That’s more than I’ve ever seen. “I’ll take it.”

“Good. Kindra, go dress her up.”

The bony woman then turns around and vanishes into another room.

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” says Kindra. We walk past multiple rooms with weird noises seeping out. “You know, you’re lucky. Fathers send girls over here a few years older than you and make them work here for as long as they like. Of course, the fathers get the money and Marji gets half. She doesn’t like that it happens but she’ll lose all her money if she doesn’t.” We walk into a room with many women transforming into dolls. They paint their faces with vibrant colors and attach feathers to their hair. “Come here,” Kindra says. I sit down on a velvet chair and let the dolls make me into one of them. A crisp blue is put on my eyes and a mash of purple and red put on my lips. They then undress me and put me in a glittery sari. I turn to look at my new self. All my life I’ve been told to hide, be invisible, but now no one can miss me, everyone must see me. I’ll be the sun goddess in the pool of dark, I’ll be the only flower in the garden. All the dolls are looking at me, laughing. “Yes, you’re beautiful. Let’s go. You’ve got work to do.”

“Come to the Dream House, where your dreams will become reality.” That’s my phrase. Kindra says to say it every 20 seconds, so I do. “Come to the Dream House, where your dreams will become reality.”

My first customer. A man approaches me in a nice white shirt and immediately examines my demeanor, as if he’s hiring me for a job. “What are you doing here young lady?”

“I work here.”

“Well, you can come work for me, I give 20.”

“What would I do?”

“Have fun.”

“Get out of here, Bakul,” screams Kindra.

The man grins with familiarity and says, “You wanna work for me too?”

“No. Now leave, before I call Marji.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“He comes here every day, takes girls and doesn’t let them leave,” Kindra says to me.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?

“Warning me.”

“Get back to work.”

***

“Good work today. It´s only your second day and you’re a pro. Here’s your money. Now let’s eat,” says Kindra. We walk back through the hallways and Kindra brings me to a room. “Wake up at 6:00 to start again. Good night.”

I open the door to my room and see it’s not just my room. Three girls around my age are sitting on the floor eating. I look at the brownish broth with a little fish head popping out. “I’m Ashmira,” I say.

“Here’s your food. I’m Bindi.” Bindi’s face, like all the others, is covered with makeup, but it’s covering something. Bruises and a black eye.

“That’s what happens when you resist,” she says.

“Who did it?” I ask.

“He did,” Bindi points to the bed. Bindi stares me down with envy and confusion.

“You’re lucky. You get a choice. I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Then I remember what Kindra told me –– her father sent her.

“My family needed money, we had no house, no food, nothing. They sent me here when I was eight and when they got what they needed, that wasn’t enough. They wanted more. They now have servants and banquets and I get nothing. All I get is bruises. I finally got sick of this life and decided to rebel, but that didn’t work. They lock this room all night, so don’t think you’re getting out.”

A cold rush of insecurity runs through my veins. Mother and Father could’ve sent me off but they didn’t, even if they were going to starve. They did everything for me.

“But I don’t work for my family.”

“I know, but do you think they care? They have more power than you. It was a mistake coming here.”

I look closely at her to make sure she’s not exaggerating. What if she’s right? What if I’m going to become a slave?

“It’s all a trick,” I say.

Bindi´s eyes glitter with satisfaction and delight.

“Exactly. They lure you in with niceness, but when you start working, there’s no going back.”

“What do we do?”

“I’m glad you asked. Have you seen that man that comes every day?”

“Yes. Kindra says he enslaves girls.”

“She’s lying, she only says that to make you stay here, not go with him.”

Is she crazy! Who would go with a complete stranger to a foreign place?

“So you want to go with him?”

“Yes.”

“But what if he kills you, doesn’t give you food?”

“It’s better than here.”

I then realize I can argue with her no more and that she would risk her life to get out of this place.

“When are you going?”

“Whenever you decide. You’re the only one who gets to talk to him. Get more information. But hurry up, we can’t stand another day here”

Nobody talks, we all just go to bed. We don’t bother taking our makeup off, or getting undressed.

***

“So you’ll pay us 20?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“What if we want to leave?”

He pauses for a moment trying to figure out the right words to answer my question with.

“Then you can, but I don’t think you’d want to.”

“What exactly would we do?”

“I told you yesterday, have fun, but you’ll see for yourself if you come.”

“When can you take us?”

“Any day, just be ready when I come.”

“Why does Kindra say you enslave girls?.”

“I don’t, she just says that because she worked for me once, we didn’t get along. I have to go.”

He walks away, looking at his gold rings not paying attention to where he walks.

***

“He told me Kindra worked for him,” I say.

“I knew it.”

Bindi squints her eyes and looks at me as though she just solved a murder mystery.

“Why did she leave?”

“Who knows? Maybe too little pay, or boredom.”

“He said we can leave any day. We don’t even have to tell him in advance.”

“Great!”

“Doesn’t this seem a little too good to be true? 20 a day and no restrictions.”

“Some people are just rich, Ashmira.”

“We need to find out more before we go.”

“Why? Do you know how much it hurts to have men pushed up your body whenever they want?”

I see the pain in her eyes and I know that if I refuse her stare will kill me.

“I’m sorry. We can go tomorrow.”

Should I go with them? I’m getting paid a good amount and no one is enslaving me, at least I don’t think they are. What if this man abuses us and feeds us poison? No, I should believe the people who have been here the longest, like Bindi. And what if she’s right?

***

“Run, get into the truck!” he screams.

Bindi sees the sun and starts crying. “Fresh air.”

“Hurry up.”

We all scramble into the truck and immediately start going. I look at the Dream House and realize the legends aren’t true, they’re just advertisements. I see Kindra run outside and she’s also crying. Why is she crying? Is he going to kill us? She curses at the man and quickly calls someone. The police? No, they can’t come to the Dream House, they’ll arrest her not him.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He looks back at me and shows me he’s the king of this truck.

“Stop asking questions.”

We situate ourselves strategically so that we can run away if we have to. I then realize that the two other girls aren’t here and that they ran back to the Dream House at the last minute.

***

¨Okay, get out,” he says.

We walk out to face a big muddy path with a forest surrounding us.

“The car won’t go through so we have to walk.”

He starts to walk so we follow. After three hours we finally come upon a big grand house, or should I say castle? Bindi and I hug each other in disbelief and both of us start sobbing. I then see something through a window. Five girls are putting on makeup, their doll makeup. The mysterious man displays a wide grin. It occurs to me that Bindi was wrong, Kindra was right and I’m trapped. I realize that no matter where I go or where I work I will never be free. I realize that even though my family had close to nothing they still loved me. I realize that I had freedom and now I don’t.

Rosadel Infinitum, 71

Sevaa’ane

Finally. After three years of being the only one free, finally. She seems willing. How willing, though, is what I am going to test right now.

“Do you trust me?” I start, like I’ve started with the other twenty.

“No. But I trust that you like me. And I trust that you would be a valuable friend, and a terrifying enemy. So, if you are asking a favor, yes, I trust you to not stab me in the back.”

She is the tenth to understand the question.

“Do you trust, in any way, that I would never break the law?”

“At all? No. But more than you needed to? Never.”

Perfect. Should I show her now? No. She would be scared, more than she should be. But I must ask her. I am the only one left to ask her. We need to. I need to. My hand comes out of my pocket, slowly. She has never seen it for more than a second, but now I purposely slow my movements. Purposely letting her see the red blisters covering the sides of my twisted hand.

“You have one of the last few cures.”

She does not balk, but watches, transfixed by my hand. The one that has thrown so many knives now that I cannot remember who they hit.

“I do.”

She doesn’t back down. Stubborn. Like I am. Was. Am. I don’t know. She is confused by my pause.

“What of it?”

“You could take it, become more powerful than me. You could take my knives and rule the streets that I have taken. You could let me become just another victim of the plague. Or you could give it to me, and we could be unstoppable.”

Her fingers, in her left pocket, touch the syringe. She is thinking. Looking at my outstretched hand, half the palm twisted upwards by disease that has ruined my family. Is ruining. Has ruined. I don’t know. She is thinking, I presume, about the power she holds over me. The power I gave her over me. She takes it out. Looks at the drug that reminds me of red mercury liquid in its steel and glass package. She injects my hand. The pain starts to dissipate.

“Why?”

I need to know. What power does she want from me that is greater than ruling the streets of this metropolis’ underground?

“You are a formidable enemy now. Not only could you have killed me in seconds WITHOUT the cure, you could have then gotten it from someone else. I trust you as a partner, but the moment that ends, I do not trust you as a friend.”

She’s learned me well in these two weeks.

“Good.”

***

Firna

The room we share is in disrepair. I bought it from an underground retailer, like she did her home. But her home is dead. Mine isn’t. I’m not sure why she didn’t get the cure herself. She doesn’t seem the kind to want an ally in this cruel line of work. She seems like the one that sleeps only when surrounded by barbed wire. We are polar opposites in style, also. She is one to throw, hitting every one of her targets in the back of the neck as if she were mere inches away. I am one for poison and venom. Both are silent, but neither of our styles gives off a scream. She is in her head, never seeing anything but possibilities and traps. I am the one that is able to figure out how to get out of any of these traps. I am the one that will walk right into one to create chaos. She is the sniper, I am the liar. Maybe that’s why she wanted to work with me. I wouldn’t know.

One thing that I’ve gathered from her stance is that she has siblings. You can always tell when somebody has siblings by the way they stand, trying to take up room so that the other people can’t. Some call me obsessive over details. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessive, just overtly aware. I know to duck when somebody is throwing a knife. That is survival, not obsession. There is a difference for me. Sometimes, when she thinks I’m not listening, she’ll speak strange sounds, like another language. Just below a whisper, so I wouldn’t normally be able to hear. Almost the way you would expect a rock to speak, grating, harsh, and clipped, but then morphing into water’s speak, soft, lulling, and continuous. Like she’s speaking to the entire earth, except that it ends as suddenly as it began.

She notices me in the room. She notices everything in the room: the window, the walls, the two beds, the old rotting bookcase in the corner of our one room apartment, and the sky outside the window. She looks at it as if she has never seen the sun, and is blinded by its beauty. She speaks with a serpentine accent, almost as if she is stuck on the s’s of the English language. She takes breaths between letters in words. Like she’s from somewhere else, somewhere where nobody has been before.

It’s one o’clock when we get home. Neither of us seems to be tired. Me noticing, her thinking. Her eyes, large on her face, her hair, short, cut so that it is almost like feathers, mottled and brown. But one cannot describe her as owlish. She seems to be trying to portray herself that way, but nobody would think of it. Once every so often, she looks directly at me. Looks directly into me, that’s what it feels like. We are both sitting cross legged on our beds. She is next to the wall, I the window. Her body is never completely still: a finger tapping, a bang being brushed away, a leg bouncing, as though if she stilled she would die. We have both given up pretending to sleep.

I check my watch. Half an hour has passed. She gets up to explore the other parts of the room, looking behind the curtains that serve as walls, the only thing that makes it count as a three room apartment. Her head is constantly cocked to the right. She rolls it occasionally, for no apparent reason. It is late. I will pretend to sleep some more. I rarely actually sleep. I wouldn’t want to miss something that might mean the difference between life and death. However, one can close their eyes and keep watch as effectively. I close my eyes and curl up, my feet against my edge of the wall, both my ears listening for every sound. The vibrations from the wall show she’s done with her inspection, and is heading back. She sees me, and lays in her bed. Her back is to the wall. I hear her rustle a bit, then lay. I continue to pretend to sleep. She sits up and looks at me. She waits a moment. She calls my name softly. I don’t respond. She hesitates, but then she begins to speak in the other language. It is a string of unintelligible sounds. I pick out something confusing from the jumble of sounds.

“Ane cuegra, sepafe popere- Sevaa’adu.”

That word – it wasn’t a word. I puzzle over it till dawn. The word she said, it was almost exactly her name.

***

Sevaa’ane

I know that tomorrow I must fulfill my promise to my family. How I will do this, I don’t know. I can tell that Firna does not trust me. She was awake when I said my prayers last night. She shifted at one of the parts that I added. I hope she did not understand it. The night was long, but the morning is peaceful. When I woke she was almost asleep. She is too scared to sleep. That I can tell. Always ready to flee, like an animal that fears it is being hunted. It is ten past 7 a.m. on her watch when I am woken by the light.

The sun was shining a brilliant saffron when it rose and slowly developed to white. Firna doesn’t notice this. She doesn’t wake, and I don’t wake her. I find dry water jugs and empty paper bags in the cabinet of what she calls “the kitchen,” but is more of a section of wall with cabinets and a rice boiler that is half broken. There are also three dented teapots. The first is labeled P, the second V, the third T. She is suddenly standing beside me, picking up the pot labeled T, dumping oatmeal and water in the boiler, and at the same time telling me that I should never drink out of the other two teapots. she busily fills the teapot, and stacks it on the boiler where the lid is supposed to go. She turns it on. Minutes pass, and the kettle shrieks. She jumps and turns off the boiler, takes the teapot off, and steam comes out of the boiler.

“Oat mush and tea made at the same time means less things to clean,” she explains. I don’t understand that logic, but I’ve never actually made food.

We eat in silence. She stares at me the entire time. I stare back. If either of us is disturbed by this, neither shows it. At some point, she stands. We walk down the over-crowded halls of the apartment building, ignoring the people around us. I am still puzzling over how to introduce my reasoning for the alliance, when she beats me to it.

“Your sibling.”

I’m not even sure how she knows I’m going to say something about the people I came here with, but I’m not going to debate it now that the topic is up.

“She isn’t my sibling, but yes.”

“Whatever they are to you, you want them out.”

She seems to be reading my mind. How does she know this much about me? Does she speak the language? I try a test.

You know this because of my people’s history?”

She doesn’t respond to my muttered question. She doesn’t know Quixeu.

“How do you know about me?”

“You don’t hide, Sevaa’ane. You don’t hide anything at all, not from me.”

I pretend to look dismayed, as if she might have found something important.

“Stop acting. I know you didn’t hide anything physical.”

So she reads people. That explains it.

“So what if I want them out? How does it benefit you?”

I am blunt, to take her guard down.

“No direct benefits of course, but you will be more willing to not kill me.”

She is smart. Doesn’t trust me worth a feather-weight. I wouldn’t trust me worth a featherweight either.

“You know where they are?”

I am asking, not for any real reason. I am curious. She is more a mystery to me than I will ever be to her.

“She would be where you were. Hospital on 56th?” So she can’t read everything about me. Just the obvious ticks.

“On 78th.”

“The prisoner hospital?”

“What makes you think I’m not a prisoner?”

“What makes me think you’re honorable enough to not kill me when I’m sleeping?”

“You didn’t sleep. Not last night. You listened to my prayers. Why?”

She looks at me, searching. I realize that I had reverted to speaking Quixeu. Shoot.

“I don’t know you well enough to know whether I should be scared of you, or laugh.”

Her response is both reassuring and terrifying.

“If you knew me, I would kill you.”

“I don’t know you?”

“You know Sevaa’ane.”

“I know that you are not Sevaa’ane.”

“I am. Just not how you might think.”

“And if I knew how you were Sevaa’ane, I would die.”

She understands some part of me now. I think. “Yes. If you know me, you die. But I don’t kill you.” She laughs now, throws her head back and laughs at my statement.

“A riddle to answer an answer. We are insane!”

“Do you think I’m a prisoner?”

“No. I think you are a girl.”

“But…”

“I think you might have been, at some point. I don’t know, Sevaa’ane. Whoever you are, you probably got on somebody’s nerves, and they got you arrested.”

“If I was a prisoner?”

“You are not in jail now. You probably went to the prisoner’s hospital because the other one didn’t want foreigners.”

She has hit much too close to the truth for me to be comfortable. But no matter – she is helping me get my only true relation out of her cage. If she is letting me do this, I shouldn’t care how close to the truth she gets. But I do care. We aren’t going to go back. We shouldn’t have to go back. I realize I should say something to break the silence.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything you have done with me. For everything we might do later. And I’m sorry if you never know my name.”

“You don’t need a true name to be a person. If I always call you Sevaa’ane, you will still be the same person.”

“We are insane.”

“Yes, we are.”

I look at Firna, so small, and yet so stubbornly strong. I like her. She is like I was. Am. I hope I am.

“Stop giving me the ‘older sister look’ and let’s just do this already!”

Yep. Exactly like I was.

***

Firna

The walk is short. Sevaa’ane seems lighter now. She’s probably been trying to get the cure for her family for years now. I don’t know if I’d hold out that long. I probably would. If my family wasn’t dead already, I mean. And if I wasn’t, you know, one of the only people with enough influence, power, and manipulation to own four cures. I don’t think anybody has enough hold over people to own five. Scratch that, I HOPE nobody has that kind of power. It is a short walk to the 78th street hospital/prison that has been here since before the plague. I think it’s the only non-profit hospital that has stayed relatively open. I can tell why just from the outside. The place is creepier than hell. Sevaa’ane walks to the gate. I have given her two of the syringes, under her coat. She smiles at me, and walks through the rusted metal bars. She looks back at me, a sly smile on her face.

“You gonna come, or do you want to wait?”

I shudder a bit, and she smiles brighter.

“It’s fine, I was joking. I wouldn’t force anybody in here.”

She goes up to the second set of doors, which are not only rusted, but thick and massive as well. She lugs one open, then has gone in without a glance back.

I lean on the chalky crumbling brick pillar by the gates. I know this might take a while, so I sit on the ground next to one. I pull out the notebook I bought and try to sketch a few of the pigeons on the sidewalk. Oh well, at least I have something to do.

***

Sevaa’ane

The inside is just as I remembered it. I was alone in my “room” when I was here, but I know she won’t be. She’ll be with my dad. I bite my tongue as the smell of the place hits me again; rust and blood covered up by cleaning product is a hard smell to forget. Nobody is at the desk, but I sign in anyway. Only three people have come since my sister and I checked in eight years ago. One came two days before I checked out: my father. I search the walls for any indicator of where they might be. I know the plague quarantines are to the left-most hallway. But they should be healed by now, so I look past that one. The right-most is labeled “staff.” The middle hallway’s sign is tarred and graffitied over, but I as I trace my hand over it, I can feel engraved words spelling “recovery rooms.” I follow the painted over walls down to the doors. There are two, with the little windows hanging broken in the thick cement doors. Only now am I tall enough to look through them.

The first room is empty except for the remnants of a beer bottle. The second holds three huddled shadows, covered with blankets. I cautiously try the doorknob. It is unlocked. I open the door after quite a bit of effort and a few choice words. The first two shrouds have huddled towards each other, and it occurs to me that the smaller one is two children. The third person just sits, their back to the wall. I crouch down.

“Father?” I call, not in the language we were later forced to speak in, but the Quixeu we spoke in our house, when we cursed the bad TV and the metal springs in our beds. The first two shades draw back at the different-ness of my voice. Though I am cured, the rasp will never leave me, I suppose.

“Father? Derma?”

The third makes a slight noise in response. A groan? He speaks louder, again, looks up at me. I crouch down. The floor is covered with gravel and soot. It stains my fingers black, like his. He speaks, Quixeu like me. My father.

“Rosa?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Rosa?”

“Where’s Derma?”

“I thought you left.”

“I did. Where’s Derma. Where’s my cousin?”

“Why did you come back?”

“Where’s Derma? I came back for Derma.”

“I don’t know. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t come for you. You are beyond my compassion. Tell me where my cousin is.”

“She went to the other room. I don’t know. Please, Rosa…”

“There is no one in the other room. I came to get my cousin. Where is she?”

“Rosa, I didn’t mean to. I thought we would be better…”

“I came for Derma. Where is she?”

“She’s gone. I don’t know. The other room.”

“What room?”

“Let me explain why I did it! Let me explain to you what happened!”

“You are beyond my compassion. I’ll ask you one last time. Where is my cousin?”

“Gone. I don’t know. The other room.”

“What room?”

He points, his hands shaking with age and cold, to the door.

“I don’t understand.”

“She went into that room. They took her.”

They took her. But they couldn’t have. No. No, no, no. They would have taken Father, not Derma. Not Derma.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Rosa…”

“DON’T! I’m not Rosa anymore! I am not your daughter anymore!”

“Please…”

“You said it yourself.You said that night to choose my fate. I am not your Rosa anymore.”

I rock back on my heels.

“One last chance. One last chance to have me back. Tell me where Derma is.”

“She’s gone.”

“Where!”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“You had a chance to ask? You had a chance to save her?”

“No, you don’t understand! You’re a child, Rosa…”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

I stand. He looks up at me, pleading. I look back, and deny him.

“I’m so sorry. I did everything I could.”

“You did everything wrong.”

“We were safe.”

I wish I could feel any emotion other than hatred for this man. Honestly, I can’t anymore. Not since what happened.

“Are we safe now? Is everyone safe and sound and happy just like you thought we would be? Look at us! You’re locked freezing in a prison room, Derma’s gone, and I can’t muster enough compassion to get you out! Is that what you wanted?”

“I never said we would be happy. I only said we would be safe.”

“Safe. You injected me with the freaking PLAGUE for God’s sake! That’s SAFE?!”

“No. That’s necessity.”

“Screw you. I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t my father.”

I kick his arm against the wall. He moans, but makes no moves to stop me.The other bundles have scooted against the opposite wall. I can see they are scared. I slowly walk over to the bigger bundle, who I assume is the mother of the child in the smaller. A slight whimper escapes her. I take out the two cures from my bag. Place it at her feet. She looks at me, shocked. I smile slightly.

“For your family.”

She nods her head in gratitude, too confused to acknowledge it at the moment.

I open the door and walk out. In the freezing air, all I can think of are the words my father said, echoing in my skull like a rude taunt. Derma’s gone. That was necessity. Derma’s gone. Didn’t ask.

I sign out at the desk like I did eight years ago. I didn’t come out alone like I did eight years ago. But this time Firna is waiting for me. She sees me, and runs to embrace me. I gently shrug her off.

“Let’s go.”

She doesn’t need any more explanation than that. We walk home in silence.

***

Firna

As soon as we get home, Sevaa’ane starts to speak. Without regard that I’m in the room, she rants, screams in the other language. After a second I hear that it doesn’t seem to be one language. But as soon as I start to recognize one language, she switches, sometimes halfway in between words. But soon it settles into a rhythm of sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard.

“M’paer, paer ro t’vie hermater. T’ete ah hermater ieh m’yoje. Derma, Derma m’hermater…”

She’s staring at the wall, sitting cross-legged now. Suddenly something clicks. Those words. They must be words. I write down the sounds.

M’hermater. Rebincaret. Paer. Wait. Paer. I know that word. I learned that word. Isn’t that…?

I duck from under her gaze. She blinks. I walk slowly backwards, making sure she’s still unaware of me. I run out. I know this language. Some of it at least. In some coffee shop, a high-end one, one pricey enough to still have working wifi. I download a translator for Quixeu. How did I not know that? Enable the microphones I installed in my bedroom. The rant slowly loads into a story that I didn’t know could exist.

***

On the translator in her phone

I remember you were smiling the night before, you can still smile can’t you, and you were laughing. I forget what you were laughing about. Was it something I said? Something we shared?

I’ve changed my name like you said we should. I said no, but now I get why you said that. It’s jarring at first, to have a number instead of a name. But I needed to. For you. I’m calling myself your number now. I remember that your birthday was one day after mine, the seventy-first day of the year. Mine was seventy, and you were always so jealous that I was only 293 days older than you and would get the duties of the older sibling.

Oh, Derma. Where are you now, what are you now?

I tried, tried to get you out of there.

I wish I knew what happened to you. No. Scratch that.

I wish I didn’t.

I wish…

***

Rosa, March 15, 2186, Kingdom of Agayirhet, formerly known as Colony D53 in Bolivia

Father is standing next to our stepmother. She is smiling serenely, but Father looks straight ahead. Why won’t he acknowledge me, his only family now? What does he see in the crowd that is more interesting than his daughter in chains? I feel tears trying to pull themselves out of my eyes, but I dig my nails into my wrist to keep them from coming out. Derma is next to me. She can’t see that this is hopeless. Her hand reaches mine. She slips something into it. It is a knife. I look at her. She looks at me, and then nods to our stepmother. Why couldn’t our government turn out to be a republic? Why are we criminals? Father led the rebellion. Why are we dying? I look at the knife in my hand. Kill the Queen? Sure, why not. Only one more account of treason for my thirteen years of life.

I run through what could happen, and what we’ll need to do. Derma and I will get branded. After that, we will be taken to the jail. But before we are branded, I will kill Stepmother, and Derma will get Father. After we escape we will catch the illegal train in half an hour, and hide in one of the cars like the treacherous people we are. We will go from here to Nuevo Sucre, and from Nuevo Sucre to La Paz, and from La Paz to New York City. I can fight for a living, and Derma will forage the streets. Father will stay home, because he’ll be recognized as a rebel. We will go forth with the plan as if it wasn’t the most ridiculously flawed thing we ever imagined. We will get out. I stare daggers at the cameras that will televise a mandatory screening of our branding. They will see we are stronger. We will escape. I suppose you could call us rebels as well. But not by choice, really.

Stepmother is stepping up to the microphone so that she can announce the punishment. Father stands a few feet back from her, his eyes glazed over like they always are now. I still cannot believe he will not acknowledge us at all. Maybe he’s drugged? Maybe he just doesn’t care? I don’t really want to know. They reveal the torture table, and I crane my neck to see the burning steel shapes. But I don’t see any branding irons at all. All I see are syringes. What? I am not as good as Derma at speaking the new language that has been forced on us, but I see her pale. I squeeze her hand, trying to tell her that we’ll be alright. But her chains are yanked, and we are ripped apart. She screams. Screams my name, not in Quixeu that we usually speak, but in English.

“ROSA!”

She is dragged before the table, where she collapses and begins to sob at Father’s feet. He doesn’t look at her, acknowledge her. Stepmother calls serenely for Derma to choose something. I don’t understand. We were to be branded, me first and then Derma. What is happening? They unshackle her arms, and she sobs louder.

“Here, would it help you if your sister chose first?”

Stepmother cruelly chides her. Anger builds in me. How dare she condescend to her; How dare she insult Derma. I walk to the table. I refuse to be pulled. Derma tugs at the sleeve of my tunic, trying to tell me something without speech. I delay with her for a second, and an understanding passes between us. She will run, and I will fight.

Counting down the seconds until I can get a good shot with my knife, I walk steadily to the table. On it are three choices. A syringe with contents that look like the consistency of half-dried tar but is a metallic copper. The other syringe is blood-red and the consistency of mud. Next to the two of them is a loaded gun. I cannot tell what the syringes contain, but I know the gun means sure death. You cannot survive a shot to the head, but you can survive a disease. My hand wavers over the syringes.

Derma grabs at my shoulder, pulling me back before my hand can settle. She is doing something I didn’t think to do. As she cries, she talks, not to me but to the cameras that are focused on me. She talks in English, displaying the unfairness of our situation to every other person in Agayirhet. She begins to scream. As she thrashes, her hand barely brushes the copper syringe. A guard pulls her back and Father blankly injects the copper sludge into her arm in a matter of seconds. The moment it is finished, she stops crying, as if the tears were a faucet of water. Her eyes glaze over. Her back straightens. Her entire being shifts into a not- quite-human form. She stands stiff and still, saluting to Stepmother.

“There, that wasn’t that hard, was it, honey?”

As Stepmother leans in to taunt Derma, I take my chance and throw. It pierces her under the chin perfectly. She falls from the balcony, shrieking. I try to pull Derma away, but she doesn’t move. She continues to salute to the atrocious sight of the twisted woman tumbling from a height. Father stares blank-eyed. I try to get him to move, but he doesn’t. Both their eyes are like glass, seeing nothing in front of them.

“Derma, wake up! Come on, we have to get out of here! Derma! Father! Anyone!”

A guard shouts for me to be held back. Derma practically jumps into my arms, trying to pin me down. I suddenly realize what the syringe was: Soldier solution. I’ve heard people say how the wires take over your brain, killing you, but I didn’t think to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But Father, something breaks in him. He grabs the other syringe and forces it into my throwing hand. The pain is immediate. It is such a stark, harsh feeling that I almost collapse because of it. But I have to carry Derma.

So I grab the gun. It is loaded, and by the weight I would guess I have about ten shots. I carry Derma over one shoulder, point the gun with the other. I aim for the guard shouting orders. I miss and he ducks down. Father is chasing me through the streets towards the train. I can’t really jump, not with the weight of Derma and the near crippling feeling shooting through my body. The train is about to leave, just as I arrive. I toss Derma in first, and her leg hits hard, breaking. I wince. I didn’t mean to. Derma is trying to struggle up, trying to obey the orders to hold me still. Father is almost next to me as I haul myself in. The train begins to move before my legs are even fully in the car. Derma clutches me, her eyes blank. Father is clawing at the train-car behind mine, trying to reach me, to tell me something. I turn away. Clutching Derma so she doesn’t fall out of the car, I huddle into the straw that layers the floor.

The other people stare at me, their eyes processing the two strange girls holding onto each other, one with dead eyes, the other with a loaded gun. They are scared. I am not. I feel as dead as Derma looks. Holding the gun for dear life, I fall asleep. This is not how it was supposed to end. This is not how we are supposed to leave. This is not how… I am asleep and dreaming of injustice before we even get outside of Bolivia, and don’t wake until we’ve crossed the border to America.

Freedom

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

This is the last day I’ll hear these words. I get cuffed and then the cage door opens. I feel familiar hands on my shoulders, though they are lighter than normal. I’m led through the hallway I’ve walked down since 10 years ago, because they still don’t trust me – nobody does. I say goodbye to my closest friends but am only allowed to for 10 seconds each. Before I am walked into a little room, the officers behind me squeeze my shoulders extra hard, a way of showing affection. They leave and the door locks, like always.

On the table sits a cup of water and a single piece of bread, what I asked for yesterday. I take the water and stand up with it, getting accustomed to this new way of life I’ll only be living for 30 minutes. I try to enjoy this freedom, though limited. I close my eyes and try to imagine the road where my house is: the endless road where there is nothing on either side but air. I try, but I can’t forget the locked door behind me. I cry. I don’t know if they are tears of grief or tears of relief, but it doesn’t matter, because there is nothing I can do about my fate. An officer comes in and nods his head. I stand up and look down at my feet, and notice that the water I was holding is on the ground and the cup smashed in my hands. I drop the cup to the ground to accompany the water and then slide my feet to accompany the floor.

Once I pass the door frame I am back in their territory and the hand is on my shoulder. Now I don’t mind the hand on my shoulder, because I want someone to guide me and someone to help me. The hand lets go and I am in another room. There is a long rope, a stage, and two men. They motion me too come over and I do. The rope is tied around my neck as if I’m their pet and we’re just going on a walk. I look around to loosen the grip. One speaker and one camera. The camera will make sure nothing goes wrong and the speaker will prove my guilt.

Now the hands are not only on my shoulders but on my hips, and I am being slowly pushed off the stage. I’m pushed and pushed until one leg is off, then the other. I’m hanging, flying in my life and in my death. I close my eyes and think of that road, the road that I’ll return to in a few seconds. My eyes open. There is a muffling sound coming from the speaker. It then screams, “Wait, he’s innocent!” Those are the last words I hear.

Life

A sigh of loneliness whispered softly on a gentle morning breeze as the flowers bloomed and birds sang their songs of joy. The soft ruffling of her wings as a hummingbird fluttered to a new patch of flowers.

 

I stood alone watching the steady progress of the morning sunshine creeping across the sky. Butterflies fluttered around my head and leaped and froliced through the air. The flower’s fragrant aroma gently floated on the balmy morning breeze as the swing set in the deserted old playground creaked.

 

I was soaking up all this scenery as the ground shook with agony as if it had given up and was falling into an endless pit. The pavement cracked. The formerly warm, fragrant, clean air had changed to dank, dense, and murky air.

 

Despair seeped through the freshly gouged pavement and attacked me. It pummeled me from all angles. The despair crammed itself into  any nook and cranny that could be found in my body that wasn’t touched by contentment and happiness. My Hope and will to live started to drain. My thoughts were darkened and hate. Inexplicable hate swelled up inside me. It sloshed around inside me like some toxic waste feeding my hatred.

 

I grabbed at the butterflies trying to smush them. I lunged at the few birds that dared remain near me trying to rip their wings off and puncture  their souls. And I tried to deprive every living creature in sight of their life and their enjoyment in the cruel world. . .

 

But then one one little speck of light in amongst all the darkness said “No!” with such force that for a split second I left the darkness and saw light, hope, happiness, and life. And as  I submerged into the darkness again with the feeling of drowning in tar. I realised how much better the light was. And I let that little speck of light fight through all of my defenses like fire burning up paper.

 

The light found its way to the innermost sanctum of my now almost non-existent heart and suddenly I felt pain, empathy, and remorse like never before. It was excruciatingly painful. as if my skin was being ripped off my body. I pleaded “Have mercy” but there was no mercy. Eons later it seemed the pain stopped.

 

I felt gratitude with such intensity that words could not be found to explain this feeling. I cried. For days on end. I woke up bathed in sweat shaking and crying. I was so incredibly joyful that I was alive and well. And I was ashamed for everything else I had always taken advantage of without even once paying those things any thought.

Short Story Part 2

Henry had been living at Nicole’s house ever since the incident. Now every time Nicole or anyone else looked at him, all Henry saw was pity in their eyes. Henry’s mother was dead and his father was in jail for committing the crime. If Nicole’s parents had not volunteered to take him in, Henry wouldn’t have been lucky enough to live with Nicole. He would would have been sent to the foster care system. It had been hard for Henry, being only 10 years old. This was the most traumatizing thing that had ever happened to him. To say the least, Henry had not handled it well. He had not gone to school since the incident. He spent most of his time just laying in his bed, staring at the only possession of his father’s that he had kept, his camo hunting knife. Henry had become dangerously thin and Nicole and her parents were worried about him.

It was now spring in Norway and the snow was gone. Nicole and all the other kids would play outside for hours on end, not that it made a difference to Henry. He just stayed inside, laying on his bed. One day Nicole decided to visit Henry while he was moping in his room.

“Hey Henry, how are you doing?” Nicole asked. There was no response from Henry.

“Henry, you can’t be like this! Do you expect us to continue to nurture and take care of you for the rest of your life? You may want to throw your life away, but by doing so, you’re dragging me and my family with you!” Nicole screamed at Henry.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it like that,” Henry responded softly as a few tears rolled down his cheek.

“Hey, I have an idea. Let’s go visit your dad. Maybe seeing him will help sort out some of the things that are going on in your life,” Nicole said as she ran to her parents.

Within ten minutes, Henry, Nicole, and Nicole’s parents were in the car on the way to the local jail. During the twenty minute car ride, Nicole’s parents tried, in vain, to make some small talk. First they asked how their day had been, but after there was no response, they decided to just continue the car ride in silence. At one point in the car ride, Nicole had looked over at Henry and had seen not worry but fear in his eyes. She did not have a possible explanation for this.

Once Henry, Nicole, and Nicole’s parents arrived at the jail, they were greeted by a policeman who said that he had been wondering if they were going to show up. He guided them inside the jail and into one of the many hallways. As soon as the officer, who they now knew as Officer Pete, opened a second door, they heard immediate moans.

“It wasn’t me, I was framed!”

“That is your father,” Officer Pete said. “I’m almost tempted to believe him, but the evidence is stacked against him. No one could have been this persistent on framing him.”

‘Well, unless someone had a very good reason,” Henry said, practically whispering to himself.

“Did you say something, kid?” Officer Pete asked.

“Oh no, I didn’t say anything,” Henry responded quickly.

After about fifteen minutes of talking to Henry’s father, Henry and Nicole’s family returned to their car and began the trip back to their home. Halfway through the ride, Nicole’s father looked back at Henry and said, “You look much better, Henry. I hope this trip helped sort things out for you.”

It was true, Henry did look better, but not because he had sorted things out. It was because he had made a decision. Late that night Nicole’s family all heard sobs coming from Henry’s room until midnight. The family assumed that Henry had just fallen asleep, but sadly that was not the case.

The police came to Nicole’s house as soon as her parents called telling the officers about how they found Henry dead, soaked in blood, with his father’s camo hunting knife sticking out of his chest. There was also a note and it read,

 

Dear everyone who has cared for me,

I am truly sorry for what I have done. I am the one who killed my mother. It was in a stupid argument and I regretted it as soon as I did it. My father is innocent and I beg that you release him because he is an innocent man. I felt the need to punish myself and that is the only reason I am not telling you this myself. Once again I apologize, but I do not ask for my forgiveness. I ask only  that my father be freed.

Sincerely,

Henry

The End

The Last Time it Rained

Myra

It’s been 55 years since I’ve graduated high school and moved to Paris, France. I picked up the accent, but I can still speak clear English. That was also the last day I saw my high school boyfriend. We were voted the most likely to get married in five years. That was until my mom died and my dad had to get a new job across the Atlantic. There was not a day that passed where I had not thought about him. There wasn’t Facetime or iMessage back then, so we had to write each other. Unbelieveable right! It took about a month and a couple of weeks to receive word from one another. We stopped writing about 20 years ago. I’m now 73 years old and I still think about him. I never married because I was planning to marry him. I tried to date, (obviously what kind of 19 year old wouldn’t want to date) but it didn’t work out well. After a while I gave up. I thought what was the point if nothing good was ever going to happen to me … after him.

***

Melvin

I’ve always wondered if she thinks about me, the way I think of her. It’s been way too long since I last saw her. She was my one and only love. We always wrote to each other. Then I got married, so my wife told me I had to stop. I never loved my ex-wife the way I loved her. I had my mind set on marrying her and spending the rest of our lives together. Her dad got a job working as a language teacher, so basically he taught English. The worst part about it was that his job was in Paris. She told me she was moving the day we graduated. I was mad at her for not telling me earlier. I forgave her because she was leaving soon. Instead of prom, we went back to her house and I helped her pack. Afterwards, we went to watch a film on the roof and spent the rest of the night together. I had her in my hands and cried together in the rain with her favorite umbrella, because it wasn’t until then I realized…it was over.

***

Myra

My dad died. I was expecting his death because he was very old. He wasn’t sick; he lived the most healthiest lifestyle I’d ever seen. He worked out until he couldn’t. He ate like an athlete everyday no matter what occasion or holiday. He had the healthiest and the most kindest heart ever. Every day I wake, go to work, eat lunch, and save some for my dad. That was the only thing I looked forward to. Knowing my dad was sitting there waiting for his only child to come and care for him and love him like no other. Unfortunately, I still find myself doing that. Walking the same path and saving half of my sandwich. It was a burden I couldn’t shake. No matter how hungry or tired, I always went to him.  

***

April 19th, 2015

Dear Melvin,

We haven’t talked in awhile. I don’t know if you remember me, but I hope you do. I don’t know what happened to us. We used to be in sync, and now I don’t know what to tell you. How about, I never married. And how I’ve never gotten a letter back from you. And how my dad died. And how I live by myself with two cats and a parrot. And how I still love you. And how I miss you. And how I’ve had other boyfriends. And how they never lasted longer than a couple of years. I hate to say it, but I’m old now. My life isn’t over yet, but it’s close. I hope nothing happened to you. I wouldn’t have anybody. You haven’t sent me a letter back for a while now. I just want to know how drastic our lives changed since we split up. I hope your life turned out better than mine and I hope you write back or I could see you sometime.

 

Yours truly,

Myra Hart

***

April 27th, 2015

Dear Myra,

 

I was divorced five years ago. I have three kids. All of them are grown up now, so they all left me. I stopped writing because my wife didn’t think it was right for me to be writing to my highschool girlfriend at age 70. I always wanted to write back, but I never knew what to say. But now I do. I miss you too and I still love you too. I think about you all the time too. I always thought of going to Paris to visit you, but I never knew if you wanted to see me, so I decided not to. I still want to visit. I’m retired and have no life anymore. And the remains of my life I would like to spend with you. So, i’ve decided to come and visit. If you don’t think it is a good idea please tell me and if you think it’s a great idea please tell me.

 

Yours truly,

Melvin Hunter

***

May 5th, 2015

Dear Melvin

 

I think it’s a great idea. I can’t wait.

***

Myra

My head feels heavy with all these thoughts about him. When are you coming? How long are you going to be here? Are you bringing anyone? How much luggage are you bringing? Do you have anyone to stay with, or are you going to stay with me? What part of Paris will you be in? Are you going to the Eiffel Tower? Are you going to be close — close by any restaurants? There’s a place I go everyday to get a sandwich and it’s close by the Eiffel Tower. They have Croque Monsieur and any kind of chocolate pastry. Do you still like chocolate pastries? Do you still drink your coffee with so much sugar? Do you still take those midday naps? Do you still stay up late, reading?

***

June 29th, 1960

Dear Melvin,

I remember feeling warm when we cried together in the rain. We were under my favorite umbrella. The night before I left. Last night. With your strong arms wrapped around my body. I knew once you wrapped your arms around me that we weren’t going anywhere for a while. I knew that at the moment you wouldn’t let anything happen. I felt like nothing could take me away or do me any harm. I remember the warm salty tears streaming down my face. I remember you being the brave one telling me everything was going to be okay even though we both knew it wasn’t. You wiped my tears, one by one, even though you knew more was coming. I’ve been on the plane for 3 hours so far and I’m going nuts. My dad is four rows in front of me. Next to me is this old couple. Maybe in their mid seventies. They’ve been talking ever since we got on the plane. It’s like they haven’t seen each other for years and are catching up on their lives. In front of me is a lady maybe on a business trip because she is wearing a business suit and is writing the entire time non stop and there is briefcase under her seat. I am surprised because someone that dresses like that belongs in first class.

 

Love,

Myra

***

          June 29th, 1960

Dear Myra,

I miss you already and you’ve been gone about 17 hours now. I remember the night before you left. Last night. It was our final hours actually together, just the two of us. We were on the roof together and it was raining. We were under your favorite umbrella. That was the only one you used because that was the one you and your mother used together. I wrapped my arms around you because I saw the tears forming in your eyes. I knew you were scared because we wouldn’t be able to see each other like we always did. You were scared that we would separate eventually. I wrapped my arms around you because I didn’t want anything to happen to you, I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. That’s when I knew the crying started because your body was trembling rapidly. I felt your warm tear fall onto my arm. I wiped away the tears one by one, even though we both knew more was coming.   

 

Love,

Melvin

***

“I missed you,” he spoke when I greeted him at the airport.
“Have you seen my umbrella?”
“No, really. I’ve missed you.”
“I haven’t seen the umbrella since…”
“Since?”
“You know. The last time it rained in North Carolina.”
“Oh you remember that?”
Its was awkward for a while, then I spoke, “Well. Can we get some tea?”   

A Crinkled Page

You bend down and pick up the crinkled page that I wrote this on.

You see these mysterious words and try to picture the anonymous writer; you are encapsulated.

 

Meanwhile, I walk down the hall after a long day,

inside a fog. I am encapsulated.

 

I leave the building and look out at the world in front of me.

By everyone I see, I am encapsulated

 

I pretend that I don’t see some, but I say hello to most.

The instant that I smile at their comforting, familiar faces, in my mind, they are encapsulated,

 

but as soon as the people pass, all I see are empty spaces in the outdoors

between the holes in the landscape. I am encapsulated.

 

I look down at my watch.

In that moment in time, we are encapsulated

 

I walk up the steps and through the doors, and as I infiltrate the entry, I pause to take a breath.

My lungs expand and I push out my rib cage in which my charred heart is encapsulated

 

I plop down in a desolate corner and I close my eyes.

Inside the darkness, I am encapsulated.

 

You toss this sheet of paper into the recycling bin and walk away.

You walk down the hall, move on with your life. In this simple action, your existence is encapsulated.

Yaha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lila?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What-If?

I have always been waiting

for my big “what-if”

where an option,

maybe our final phone call,

swoops in

and I can just

grasp it, the way Dad

used to grip the steering wheel

of our blue Toyota and steer

my life in an entirely new

direction.

 

But as I wait

my fingers quake,

my body hovers, and

I am always watching

and waiting

and watching

but never seeing

and as I wait

life passes me by.

 

It’s all I can do

not to cry.

I have seen everyone

get up and move on

and still, I am waiting

for my big “what-if”

and waiting for John

to come back.

 

John went out

to look for Dad,

who left nearly

ten years ago,

with a woman

who was Not-Mom

but could have been

in another world

with another

what-if.

 

And sometimes I wonder

what it would be like

to have Not-Mom as a Yes-Mom?

to come home to her

baking brownies

for the next PTA meeting

or going shopping with Not-Mom

and getting a shirt that hasn’t

been stained and torn and re-sewn

and adjusted to be five sizes bigger.

 

Because Real-Mom can’t afford

to take me shopping for a new shirt

so my precious shirt,

the shirt Dad might have adored

had it been torn one less time,

because he loved anything that was stained

and ruined, but I guess he got sick of us.

This shirt is all I have, but

Not-Mom would scoff at it

and buy me a better one

with the money Dad enjoys spending

on his alcohol and not-shirts.

 

Sure, there are the shirts

from more fortunate girls

that the thrift store gives to us

when no one else wants them

but they are scratchy

and choking me

and Not-Mom’s daughter

wouldn’t wear anything

like that.

 

I’m not even sure that Not-Mom has a daughter

but she must have one,

or else Dad wouldn’t have left.

Dad is a Natural-Dad,

and he can only go

where there are children

to take care of and love.

 

I’m all grown up now,

15 years old and taking care of myself.

Real-Mom told me Dad needed children

and since I am not a child anymore

Dad couldn’t stay and take care of me.

 

Sometimes I wish

that I was eternally a child,

that I could stay and play on the

rickety swing set

and not have to worry about

a big what-if

and not have to worry about

John or Dad or Not-Mom

or if Real-Mom will get out of bed

today, or if she’ll stay in

for the seventeenth consecutive day

this month.

 

Real-Mom has a habit

of not getting out of bed

or caring about her appearance.

Sometimes the people on the street

outside the thrift store

where we get the scratchy clothes

will judge us

and I will be quick to apologize

with a shy smile and a slight shrug

saying

 

“What can you do?”

as if there is anything that

any of us can do

to fix the old habits

that haven’t died yet

and fix her broken heart

that has spread to the rest of her

broken body and broken life

and I suppose

 

That is why John left

he was looking to make

stained glass windows

out of the broken

fragments of his childhood

while I am only cutting my hands

on the glass.

 

My hands

have always been

too big and callused,

and cold,

but Dad used to tell me

“cold hands, warm heart”

as he blew on my fingers

and cooled down my heart

until all that is left for him

is a big slab of ice.

 

It’s only felt right

when Dad held my hands

because he doesn’t laugh at them

and he doesn’t try suggesting

lotion for me or ways for me

to make my hands more lady like.

Not-Mom must have had

more nimble hands than Real-Mom

and a much more nimble waist.

 

Because Real-Mom was never perfect

and neither was I, but Dad craved

perfection and money and alcohol

to dull the pain

that we had no power

to take away.

 

On the day that I met Not-Mom

her hands were pale and small

and soft, with long, slim fingers

and carefully trimmed, manicured nails

bright red nail polish screaming out.

Her hands were entwined in Dad’s

and I kept my hands on my elbows

digging my nails into the dead skin.

 

Dad was loading his car with all of his stuff

putting the possessions

that he cared most about

in the trunk of the car,

locking it and pushing past

a broken Real-Mom, who was

screaming and crying for him

not to leave, with an empty

bottle that she kissed more often

than she kissed me goodnight.

 

And I kept on wishing

that Dad would put me in the trunk

and he would look at me and John

and say something, anything

and I kept on wishing that he said

he would come back

and I kept on waiting

and looking out the window

for that dark blue Toyota that

probably still had my Barbie’s heads

shoved in between the seats

and John’s cars broken and abandoned

in the cupholders.

 

And as I looked out the window

I looked down at the ground below

and I swore that I could fly

and I would fly into Dad’s arms

and Not-Mom’s kitchen

and she would be baking brownies

and he would be playing piano

and I would be singing

and we would be a family.

 

Real-Mom doesn’t bake brownies,

she sold the grand piano in the living room

for “emergency money,” as she told me

but I noticed the jar of money

hadn’t increased in months

but Real-Mom always went out

and came back with things for her

forcing John to buy food for us

and I wanted to ask him for another shirt

but I could never find my voice.

 

Dad always loved my voice

So maybe he bottled it up

and put it in his car

because I haven’t been able to sing

my voice is raspy and burns in my throat

so I have decided to stop talking

and Real-Mom doesn’t talk to me

and John is gone

and I am fleeting

but I don’t quite know it yet.

 

I’ve got a song on my lips

and a war on my mind

only I don’t know how to soothe both

so I let them rage on and it’s eating away

at my heart, until slowly

very slowly

there is nothing left.

 

Dad used to talk to me all the time

he used to talk with John, too,

and I would love to watch John’s

eyes light up the way they used to

with Dad, because Real-Mom and I

could never give that to him

 

And maybe that’s why John left

to get another twinkle in his eye

for a smile to dance on his lips

and to finally feel appreciated

because no one feels appreciated

in this house.

 

Maybe, with the chance of a

What-If

John will come back and

tell stories and he’ll

barely be able to contain the

excitement of his voice,

and he’ll murmur,

stumbling over his words

saying, “oh yeah,

and look what else!”

 

And Dad will walk in

with his arm draped around Real-Mom

and we will be smiling

and we will be a family

and we will be…

 

But it’s time to stop daydreaming

because fantasizing about things

that will not happen are unhealthy

and unfair to the heart, who only yearns

for fantasies, for those what-if moments

that will one day be reality.

 

My last conversation with Dad

was at a coffee shop

miles away from our house

as I was trying to escape

and he already had.

 

He tried to cut me in line

ordering a coffee–

black, although I knew

he despised the taste

of tastelessness. He

always needed sugar and milk

or his cup would go untouched.

 

He craved sweetness

and eventually, Real-Mom

ran out of smiles to sweeten his day

and he ran out of spontaneous kisses

in the middle of the street

or when she was making pancakes

or applying more things to her tea, like

 

Sugar and spice and everything nice

was what he used to tell John and me.

He used to bounce me on my lap

as John stared up at him from the

dirty, carpeted floor with nothing

short of adoration in his eyes.

He would repeat these mantras to us

getting in our heads

and the worst mantra of all was

 

“I love you”

I was just short of telling him

in the coffee shop

but I knew how he cringed

hearing it from Real-Mom

as he stepped on our

carpeted floor in his

dirty boots and drove away.

 

But the coffee was not for him

I watched Not-Mom watch him

from the counter by the window

bringing her long, slim fingers

up

and

down

her red nails

striking the linoleum countertop

drumming out the beat of my heart,

 

amplified by the blood

rushing through my ears

and suddenly, I wasn’t craving

green tea, just his attention

and I knew I couldn’t have either.

 

I pulled my guard up

along with my hood

stepping out of the door

and I barely heard the twinkling of the bells

but by then they were sitting at the window

watching me

their eyes open and

Dad left Not-Mom with her coffee

and stood across from me on the street

that wasn’t familiar under my feet

and he opened his mouth

but had nothing to say.

 

I shrunk back against the window

it wasn’t John’s stained glass,

but the glass was forever stained

with this memory, though I’ve been

keeping it to myself for three years,

and I had dreamed of this moment

this was perhaps a what-if I was searching for.

 

He held out his hand

and I wanted to take it but my body was stiff

and he stepped closer while I wanted my distance.

In his hand was a five dollar bill and if John saw

he would have thrown a fit,

kicking and screaming that it wasn’t enough

for the seven years he had been gone.

But he placed the bill in my hand

his fingers lightly brazing the blisters on my sweaty palm.

He dropped his arm to his side and I wrapped my fingers

around the crumpled bill, he opened his mouth again.

 

“You dropped this,”

he told me, his voice dead

and his eyes unknowing.

My what-if window of opportunity slammed shut

almost closing on my fingers and locked

and I realized

 

He didn’t recognize me.

Three years have come and gone

and I’ve never told anyone

and he hasn’t come back for me

and now, as I look in the mirror,

and think about that day

 

I don’t even recognize myself.

Used

Yellow strings dancing

A used guitar on its last tour

The air is spinning

from left to right

The hallucination

of tireless

perspiration, precision, and

power

An intricate maze of

fatigue, fear, and

furiosity

Legs

Weak and barren,

like a wasteland

inhabited by a

dark and detrimental

black hole

Lost in a sea

of his own world

known to the outside as

imagination

A rainbow

of red, orange, yellow, green, and blue

Connecting the past

to the present

Like a stopwatch

Passing by

time

Minute by minute

Deteriorating

Inside, out

Counting down

the minutes

A web of

Pessimism

Never half full

Always half empty

Optimism concealed by

Reality

The reality of death

Where do we go

after death?

An impossible question

posed for fact or

fiction

People want to believe in

Hope or

desperation

The reality of size

Tall, short

Obese or anorexic

A concept

Bound by time

Weight

DIet

Concepts

That abide by other

concepts

To make one more

concept

Of life

Or death

When thinking of infinity

We think of a

sideways eight

But what really

is infinity?

We are infinite

Trillions of particles wrapped around

in a genetic code

Earth

A particle so tiny

Compared to the

universe

Humans

are infinite of

stupidity and curiosity

And are foolish

enough to think they can make a

difference in the

universe when they can’t even on

Earth

We are prisoners

In our own homes

Thinking our lives are

ours to choose

But in reality are just

stories for the world to see

We fall in love just

like that when

love is still a mystery to

us

Politicians

backstab one another

to make headlines

and buy people

out to

gain their superficial support

We waste billions of dollars

in the blink of an eye

when it wasn’t even our money

to spend

Celebrities say they want to

make the world a better place,

but behind the scenes

commit untruthful, unlawful and

immoral acts that

come back to haunt them

Trapped Part 1

Why do i feel this way?

Why am i trapped in a box?

Why do i feel like i can’t breathe?!

Why do i feel like  i can’t get  out of this box?

Why can’t i speak?

But when i try to speak nobody can hear me.

I’m trapped in this box where nobody can hear me.

Is it because i push people away and didn’t listen to what they have to say?

Or maybe i’m out the box but why do i feel so trapped on the inside?

Maybe i’m still in the box.

But i feel like i can’t speak and tell them how i feel.

Does that still mean i’m in the box trapped?

I feel like i’m in a small space where i can’t move.

Am i just trapped in this box forever?

Because on the inside i’m melting.

Thunderstorms

She sat there,

numb.

It was almost okay,

she was almost okay.

Her booming thoughts were interrupted.

It was as if happy children were running across the roof of her

lonely,

musty, house

eager to get somewhere, anywhere.

She sighed,

a deep, echoing sigh,

wondering if it would ever be over.

She got up from her chair struggling a bit as she pulled the string that was attached to the bulb.

She walked slowly, anciently to her bed.

She laid there,

numb.

It was okay.

She was okay.

To Me, Izzy Meant

To me, Izzy meant losing someone

It was the end of something old

But the start of something new

I realize now that it was for the best

Even though at the time it was horrible

 

To me, Izzy meant finding myself

It was a painful process

But less hurtful than staying

I realize now that staying would have killed me

Even though I wanted to kill her

 

To me, Izzy meant technology

It was the horrific memory of my old life at school

but the amazing memory of starting over

I realize now that I became a better person

Even though at first I was worse

 

To me, Izzy meant hateful words

It was blaming myself for everything

But then realizing nothing was my fault

 I realize now that it was no one’s fault

Even though I put blame on everyone

 

To me, Izzy meant a change of name

It was a new way of seeing her

But in truth I knew the real her all along

I realize now that I was trying so hard for everything to stay the same

Even though I knew it never would

 

To me, Izzy meant taking sides

It was understanding that I was alone

But knowing I had a whole army to back me up

I realize now that I was so much more powerful

Even though I had felt so weak

 

To me, Izzy meant popularity

It was trying so hard to fit in

But knowing that I wanted to be myself

I realize now that something was wrong

Even though I thought everything was perfect

 

To me, Izzy meant the friendship was over

It was forced at first, never seeming right

But at the time I didn’t see it

I realize now that she was horrible to me

Even though I was worse back

Thunderstorms

The water hits the window

and she sits on the couch.

Wind howls outside

and a candle flickers on the table.

 

The sounds echo around her,

reverberating in the space.

 

Everything is illuminated

for an instant,

before it disappears.

 

Coldness seems to seep

through the windows and walls,

sneaking past her sweater

and chills her to the bones,

as the demons fight in the air

where they can’t be seen.

 

Their loud cries of rage and pain

and the shining streaks of weapons clashing

makes her feel small.

 

Their tears and blood splash

against the roof,

slipping down the sides

and collecting around her

like an ocean.

There’s No Rain in Winter

MISSING

Olivia Hackett

Age: 5

Eyes: Green

Height: 3’5

Fresno, California

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go home,” I simply said.

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

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

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

***

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

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

Dear Ms.Hackett,

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

Here’s your first clue.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, it’s alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is your next clue :

Stendhal Syndrome

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

***

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

To be continued…

The Price of Words

Words are the things that define us,

shape us,

make us who we are

because

try as we might

we will, even in the most minor way possible,

concede with the labels slapped so harshly upon us

because

that’s how it is

we are a

loser

freak

blank

clear

unloved

forever alone

nothing

and we can’t change that

so really

we think that a picture is not worth a thousand Words

Words are worth a thousand pictures

and we can’t change that, either,

but

we can change schools

we can change our appearance

we can face our greatest fears and survive

just for the sake of fitting in

we can convince our parents to drive us to a tattoo parlor, late at night

we can have them strap us down so we don’t try and escape

we can scream louder than we have ever screamed before

pleading to be let up

pleading to be kept down

we can feel the needle on our skin

we can keep our eyes shut

squeeze them tight as we may, the tears trickle out

forming a steady waterfall down the side of our face

falling into a natural saltwater lake

we can be done after what feels like eternity

we can look at the Words in the mirror

curved along our jawline

with letters that spell out

‘May I?’

we can move the next day

start school the day after that

pretend that we’ve met our soulmate on a train

never to see him again

we can lie through our teeth

keeping a straight face

but on the inside

we can wonder

is the price of Words too much?

is the price of fitting in too much?

we can wonder this

wonder this until we regret that night

regret our false identity

but we can’t change it

we can’t change this new label that’s been forced on us

this new burden to carry around on our shoulders

slowly

slowly

breaking our back

cracking our bones

until we are nothing but a ‘May I?’ on our corroding jaw

until we can’t stand it anymore

until we realize that

yes

the price of Words is too much

the price of Words is us

our identity

who we are

and

we want all that back

so

‘May I?’ we want to ask to whatever stole them from us

‘May I have it back?”

that ‘May I?’ will be imprinted in our mind as long as the ‘May I?’ on our jaw is imprinted there

and one day

just before we crack

someone will come up to us on the bus and say

‘May I?’

and we think we’re imagining it

but we feel our foot burn

and as we say

‘Of course’

they grab their neck

and we get their phone number

they get ours

but really

we never return their texts

because

we were never more happy than when we were ourselves and we still didn’t know

the price of Words.

The Hidden Cost of Hamburgers

Thesis: People shouldn’t eat hamburgers because they are bad for you and for the environment because they are wasteful.

 

  1. Waste:
  • 3,000-5,000 gal of water per lb of beef
  • pollutes streams and rivers
  • destruction of rainforest and soil- 257 burgers
  • release of CO2 and methane
  • destroys wildlife habitat
  • Half a burger requires enough energy to power your car for 3 weeks. (1)

 

(2) Health:

  • weight
  • heart
  • blood pressure

 

CONCLUSION

 

solutions:

  • save massive amounts of water – 3,000 to 5,000 gallons of water for every pound of beef you avoid,
  • avoid polluting our streams and rivers better than any other single recycling effort you do,
  • avoid the destruction of topsoil,
  • avoid the destruction of tropical forest,
  • avoid the production of carbon dioxide. (Your average car produces 3 kg/day of CO2. To clear rainforest to produce beef for one hamburger produces 75 kg of CO2. Eating one pound of hamburger does the same damage as driving your car for more than three weeks);
  • reduce the amount of methane gas produced. (I imagine the next bumper sticker: stop farts, don’t eat beef);
  • reduce the destruction of wildlife habitat, and
  • help to save endangered species.

 

  1. http://www.earthsave.org/environment/foodchoices.htm              
  2. http://healthyeating.sfgate.com/bad-effects-burgers-11402.html
  3. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ut3URdEzlKQ

 

The Hidden Cost of Hamburgers

 

America consumes an excessive amount of beef. Not only is beef bad for your health, but to raise it is extremely wasteful of natural resources. Did you know that by eating one less hamburger a week is the equivalent of driving your car for 350 mi? Beef can make you gain weight, it causes heart disease, it increases your blood pressure, it causes diabetes, but did you know that it is also especially harmful to the environment? People shouldn’t eat beef because it’s bad for their health; and for the environment, because it’s wasteful.  

Americans eat an average of three hamburgers per week, and America eats more than 48 billion hamburgers total per year. That’s three times more beef than any other country. America is the biggest beef producer in the world. Also, America’s beef consumption has doubled since WWII. A burger costs three to four dollars, which is pretty cheap. Billions of dollars are spent every year on beef production. But what is the hidden cost of hamburgers?

Cows produce a lot of greenhouse gases- as much as cars, planes, and trains. This is because we are raising an excessive quantity of livestock for hamburgers, thus causing a significant increase in the amount of greenhouse gases produced by cows in the atmosphere. One of their main byproducts is methane, which comes out as a gas. Cows fart because they are forced to eat feed made out of oats and corn to make them grow fatter, which they can’t digest; instead of grass, which is what their digestive system is built to eat. Methane is 21 percent more harmful than CO2 to the environment, contributing to global warming.

Another byproduct of cows that are raised for food consumption is nitrous oxide. Cows produce 500 million tons of poop per year- three times as much as we do. Nitrous oxide is 300 times more harmful than CO2. Cows produce ⅔ of all the nitrous oxide in the world. Fertilizer, used to grow the feed, also produces nitrous oxide. Seventeen billion pounds of fertilizer is produced each year. Cow poop and fertilizer run into rivers and oceans, producing algae that sucks out all the oxygen from the ocean, creating “dead zones”. Dead zones are areas of the ocean where no life exists. Cows produce more greenhouse gas than 22 million cars per year. One hundred fifty-eight million tons of greenhouse gases are produced every year. That’s as much as 34 factories. Shipping the beef also produces CO2.

Cows also take up a lot of space: 30 percent of Earth’s land area; mainly consisting of pastures and land to grow grain for feed. Rainforest space the size of a football field are plowed every second to make space to raise cows that will then make 257 hamburgers, destroying wildlife habitats. Animals take up eight times the amount of space we take up. Also, it takes 1,800 gallons of water to produce 1 pound of grain-fed beef.

So, what can we do to resolve this issue? People can buy grass-fed beef, which is much less harmful to the environment. As mentioned above, they could also reduce their average consumption of three hamburgers a week to two. We don’t have to become vegetarians, but we should certainly cut down on the beef and try to eat other meat instead, such as chicken, pork, and turkey. If people really like burgers, they can eat chicken, pork, or turkey burgers. Plus, why are they called hamburgers if they aren’t made of ham? If everyone were to try to give up beef for other less environmentally damaging meats, it would have a significant impact on the environment.

 

The Best Number 2

Part 2

 

Arnold, the main character

Arthur, his brother

Bob, the father

Sara, the mother

The director

The actors (Eric and Steve )

 

Act 6 (On set.  The children are sitting in seats for the audience, and the director is on stage).

 

Director: You two have surpassed Eric.  But only one of you will win.  Both of you are like Michael – lazy, cute, and, well, weird.  Arthur, you are quirky and slightly amusing.  Arnold, you like being the leader and doing everything, and you’re also funny.  But you both should know that the loser is also very-

Arnold & Arthur: GET ON WITH IT!

Eric: And hey, it’s not nice to make fun of me!

Children & Director: GET LOST, ERIC!!!

Director: As I was saying, before I was RUDELY interrupted, only one will win, but both of you are winners anyway.  The person playing Michael, the person who will be staying in California for 5 months each season, and we plan for there to be 13 seasons, is Mr…

 

Act 1 (Same as Act 6).

Arthur!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Arthur: In yo face, brother!!!

Arnold: How’s this possible?

Director: He wowed all of us so much.

Steve: If I may object –

Director: You may not!

Arnold: You may!

Director: Arnold! You may not!

Arnold: Arthur!

Arthur: Arnold!

Steve: Director!  Why didn’t you just ask me?  I thought Arnold rocked the auditions!

Arnold: Thank you!

Eric: I will also have to object –

Everyone else (Steve, Director, Twins): GET LOST, ERIC.

Eric: But I made it!  I did better than those twins.  They’re just fools.  I should be in “Ben & Jake,” much more than the two “ARs!”

Arthur: We repeat: GET LOST!!!

Arnold: Stop talking – it’d do you real good.

Director: Kids, kids, stop fighting. I made up my mind, and I decided Arthur –

Steve: Your decision should be that Arthur should leave. Arnold has displayed real talent. And Eric, go home man, you lost.

Director: The next time I hear a peep from you-

Arnold: I’m leaving.  Thank you for your time.  See you ‘round, big brother.

Arthur: You’ve gotta take me home!

Arnold: No, we don’t!

 

Act 2 (In the car, driving home.  Mom’s at the wheel.  (Fred is the baby).  Arnold is in the car and talks to Steve on his phone).

 

Sara: I ALREADY MISS ARTHUR SO MUCH!!!  MY POOR MUNCHKIN-BABYYYYYYYY!!!!

Bob: You gotta stop that!

Arnold: What’s that, Fred?  You think so, too?

Sara: Stop making fun of me!

Arnold: Arthur ditched me.  He probably used foul-play.  After all, he’s usually dishonest.

Bob: Maybe he just beat you for once.

Arnold: Him, beating me?  I don’t think so.

Bob: Some humility, please!

Arnold: I can’t talk, my phone’s ringing.  What’s this?  Unidentified number?

Bob: Don’t answer it!

Arnold: Hello?

Bob: Great!

Arnold: The director?  He wants to speak to me?  Why, Steve?

Steve: He’s reconsidering letting you play Michael!

Arnold: What does he want from me?  I thought he prefers Arthur?  Can I speak to Arthur?

Steve: No, but you can speak to a very special guest!

Eric: HHHEEELLLOOO!!!  I thought you were dead!

Arnold: Get lost, Eric!

Eric: If you’re still talking to me, I didn’t get what I wished for!  HAHAHAHA!!!!

 

Act 3 (In Eric’s kitchen).

 

Eric: Hello?  Who is this?

Steve: Me, Steve!  The director wants to give you the role of Michael.

Eric: But he REJECTED me!

Steve: Here, you can talk to him.

Director: You’re gonna get the role!  We’ll start the show on Monday, so get some rest!

Eric: Is this just a trick?

Director: We only trick people who are unsmart or unwanted.  But you’re smart and wanted, right?

Eric: I-I-I- G-G-Guess!!

 

Act 4 (In Arnold’s kitchen).

 

Arnold: Steve, are you lying to me?

Steve: No, no. Arthur was really rejected. And you know Eric has and had no chance of getting the role. Speak to the director. Oh, and by the way, come here by Monday.

Arnold: May I speak to Arthur?

Steve: No he’s packing.

Arnold: Tell me why he can’t speak!

Steve: I don’t wanna break your heart, but Arthur’s jealous.  He hates you right now.

Arnold: May I speak to the director?

Steve: Fine.

 

Act 5 (Arthur in California on set where he got the job).

 

Arthur: Steve, may I speak to Arnold?  I really miss him?

Steve: I- I- I-

Director: As a matter of fact, Arnold despises you. So does Eric. They’re both driving here, being escorted by their parents.  

Arthur: I don’t know what to say –

Steve: Jealousy. An evil trait.

Director: Don’t feel bad. You got the role.

Steve: You worked the hardest.

Arthur: Why did you protest when I got the role, Steve?

Steve: I wasn’t thinking straight. But you’re definitely the best.

Director: Get an early start on Monday. That’s when we’re starting the show.

Arthur: How’d you know they’d be coming? Arnold and Eric?

Director: They called us.

Steve: Really horrible of them to do this.

Arthur: Do I deserve to be in this show?

Director and Steve: Of course you do!

 

Act 6 (On set where Arthur was voted).

 

Arnold: What are you doing here, Eric?

Eric: What are you doing here, Arnold?

Arthur: I know what you two are doing here. You came here ‘cuz you hate me.

Arnold: No, I wanted to speak to you, but they didn’t let me!

Eric: They said they reconsidered and I got the role.

Arnold: No, I got the role!

Arthur: I kept the role.  You two are hallucinating.

Arnold: You are, Eric and Arthur.

Eric: Both of you are wrong!

Twins: GET LOST ERIC!

Eric: Hold on, I got it.

Arnold: Stop, they called me!

Steve: We spoke to all of you…

 

YOU DECIDE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!!

The Best

Any word(s) in italics is (are) for emphasis, while any word(s) in bold is (are) louder.

 

Arnold, the main character

Arthur, his brother

Bob, the father

Sara, the mother

The director

The actors (Eric and Steve)

 

Act 1 (In the kids’ room, after lunch. The beds are messy, and who-knows-what is on the floor. Arnold and Arthur are sitting on their beds, watching TV and arguing. The father comes in, and the mother comes in later, too).

 

Bob: What on earth are you watching, Arthur?

Arthur: I don’t know, some stupid show that little Arnold is watching. Probably for 2-year-olds, that’s why it’s age-appropriate for him.

Arnold: First of all, we’re twins. Being 19 seconds earlier does not mean that you are much older than me. And second, this show, “A Time to Think,” is really stupid, I agree. But I want to see what these actors are doing that is so wrong.

Bob: These are the 13-year-olds I have. Sara, I need some help!

Sara: What on – wow, that really does run strong in the family. But what is going on?

Bob: Ask Arthur.

Arnold: Arthur!

Arthur: Arnold!

Arnold: Dad!

Bob: Sara!

Sara: Children, stop fighting! What is this all about?

Arthur: Arnold’s making me watch a stupid show!

Arnold: I wanted to see what the actors are doing that makes them so bad. Maybe it’s their voices, or the characters, or the plot, or the –

Sara & Bob: That’s enough.

Arthur: Yeah, how ‘bout you try acting, let’s see how you fail.

Arnold (to himself): Or succeed.

 

Act 2 (In the kitchen, sitting at the table).

 

Arthur: You’re not considering letting him move, are you? You think he’s gonna be OK away from Minnesota in Hollywood, in CALIFORNIA??

Arnold: I mean, it’s hotter there.

Bob: Too hot for my liking.

Sara (crying): My sweetie-pie can’t leave!! I love him, and he’ll be sick without me!! No, no no!!

Arthur: The sweetie pie you called, “A pain everywhere?” That one? The one who always brags ‘cuz he’s “King Arnold the Great and Powerful Ruler?”

Arnold: Arthur, stop that! I mean, you’re right, but you’re better at yelling and joking around pathetically. And mom, it’ll be OK. I’ve been to sleep-away camp. For two months. In a row.

Bob: What if you don’t land the job?

Arnold: Me, not landing the job? Are you serious? The only thing I have to worry about is coming up with a good stage-name. “Arnold Ricassuss” is not a greatly and widely-loved name. Probably. Just guessing. I know! James Hardy! That’s so cool.

Arthur: You’re not a “James,” or a “Hardy.” You’re BETTER name is “Fishy Fishy Cryie the Second!” Sorry, Dad. The first.

Bob: Arnold, a little humility! Arthur, stop bullying your brother!

Sara: I can’t take it! It’s too much! I’m already crying!!!!!!!
Bob: Come on Sara, it’ll be OK. And Arnold, we haven’t even decided if you’re going yet. And Arthur, go to your room!

Arthur: You can’t just –

Bob: Now!

Arthur: FINE!!!!

 

Act 3 (Everyone’s in the kitchen and later, they move to the garage).

 

Bob: We’ve arrived at a decision! Arnold, get ready to pack to California.

Arthur: And what should I do?

Sara: Stay home and watch the baby.

Arthur: The one who puked in my face? Joe?

Arnold: That’s the one.

Arthur: Shut up.

Arnold: Your wish is my command! Just kidding! HA! I’m going to Hollywood, and you’re not!!!

Arthur: That’s it! I’m coming along. You’re not the only one in the family that’s cocky.

Arnold: Well that’s obvious.

Arthur: Why you little

Bob: Both of you can come. I know what show you should audition for!

Sara & Bob: “Ben and Jake!”

Arthur: Yeah, ‘cuz our dream is to try to get into a great show.

Arnold: And that’s JUST the one!

Arthur: We’ve heard about that. It’s as good as the show Arnold was watching yesterday. But let’s just give it a try.

Sara: There’s only one spot left. Kids from 12-14 can audition!

Arnold: I’m getting in!

Arthur: In your wildest dreams!

Arnold: Which will come true!

Sara: Get the baby. You don’t even know who or what you’re auditioning for. I’ll explain in the car.


Act 4 (In a large minivan, with the father at the wheel).

 

Bob: You’re auditioning for Michael, the third star, after –

Sara & Boys: “BEN AND JAKE!!!!!

Bob: Someone feed the baby!

Arnold: That’s your cue, dear brother.

Arthur: After I get the role, you’ll be taking care of the baby! “Arnold! Go feed the baby!!!!

Arnold: But when I crush your dreams of ever being better than me at anything, I’ll do my trademark victory dance.

Arthur: There’s a reason it’s trademarked! Or a signature move! WHATEVER.

Bob: We have three more hours! Stop bickering, and someone feed the baby!!

 

Act 5 (On set, with cameras and costumes).

 

Director: Well, hello there! My name is – confidential.

Bob: Nice to see you, confidential.

Director: Who here is auditioning for Michael?

Sara: My two munchkins, Arthur and Arnold.

Director: Well, you’re in luck. Only one other kid, Eric, is auditioning. He’s 14. How old are your little munchkins?

Arnold & Arthur: 13.

Director: My best actor, Steve, will help you feel at home.

Steve: Hey.

Director: Best of luck!

 

Act 6 (On set. The children are sitting in seats for the audience, and the director is on stage).

 

Director: You 2 have surpassed Eric. But only one of you will win. Both of you are like Michael – lazy, cute, and, well, weird. Arthur, you are quirky and slightly amusing. Arnold, you like being the leader and doing everything, and you’re also funny. But you both should know that the loser is also very-

Arnold & Arthur: GET ON WITH IT!

Eric: And hey, it’s not nice to make fun of me!

Children & Director: GET LOST, ERIC!!!

Director: As I was saying, before I was RUDELY interrupted, only one will win, but both of you are winners anyway. The person playing Michael, the person who will be staying in California for 5 months each season, and we plan for there to be 13 seasons, is Mr…

Thawing Time

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

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

“Hi dad,” Jake and Sarah chirped.

“Wanna see me travel through time?”

They certainly seemed interested.

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

And I meant it.

 

THE END

Second Draft Essay

Kolkata and Columbus Circle have shaped the way I live by teaching me the tools I need to raise myself to become a successful person in the future.  The endless lessons in both India and New York help me develop how to be passionate in what I believe in and never give up. To my family and my second family in my soccer teams and swimming teams in New York. To the stories people tell of Gods and Goddesses in India. These people have taught me how to build a foundation of how to become a well-rounded individual.

Firstly, I would like to talk about the phrases “Be passionate in what you believe in” and “Never give up.” These two phrases represent a value in my life which is grit. Many times I hear this phrase when stuck on a math problem and unable to proceed farther. Usually I would give up after so much frustration. Other times I heard it when I was at young ages I would get mad when I never saw a word and couldn’t read it, but from hearing this phrase from my grandparents in Asia to my parents in America I have understood what it means. After many math and reading incidents I have been  taught me to reach for my full potential and become a golden star. This opened a new personality for me, specifically a gritty one. In India the gritty side of me is always trying to become better, always being bombarded by knowledge by my grandparents and aunts. In New York the gritty side of me is always competing against other individuals in swim races and other teams that I want to beat really badly in soccer games. In both places, though, I will never give up whether I am learning something new or competing when playing sports.

The people who have excellently given me the tools I need for having a marvellous life are my families. I know it’s not a typo, I said families. I have three families. First, my mom, dad, brother, grandparents, and aunts. I have two other families: my swim team and my soccer team. By getting long lectures from my parents and in school about how you should be friendly to one another, and they will like you if you are friendly to them. To the endless “Hi!” with teammates as we learn how to respect and appreciate our differences. All my families have taught me a life lesson: to be friendly and make sure you are warm and welcoming to others. By getting to know one another and learning our weaknesses and strengths. By training hard and working together functioning as well as a utopian society. By never giving up and always respecting each other whether you make mistakes or not. My team families have taught me teamwork.  My grandparents and aunts in India have bombarded me with so much knowledge that I would like to know even more by asking endless questions and receiving endless answer. From my family in India I have discovered the curious side of myself. Whenever my grandparents have given me the knowledge, I was always curious to learn more about the topic. From my parents and teammates I have discovered the welcoming side of myself. Whenever I was doing the exercises about being friendly I realized that I became welcoming. I always welcomed my friends when they came to my house and was friendly to them.

Lastly, the many religious beliefs that I have learned, from my grandparents in India. The beliefs have each opened up another side of me. As I read the many far-fetched tales I start wondering why a character made a decision in the story if he or she knew something was going wrong. Therefore I always asked questions to my grandparents. Some questions were, “Why did the demon in the story put his right hand on his head if he knew he would burn to ashes if he put his right hand anywhere on his body?” They always replied, “Think Yashu.” Their answers always left me at a cliffhanger. After hearing this, so many times I discovered  my intellectual personality, and the side of me that never stopped thinking. It taught me the life lesson: there is always some time for you to grow and learn or become better at anything. It taught me this specifically because every time I started thinking about each story my mind started developing, and my thoughts were taken to a higher level. It showed me that I can become better at anything because each time I showed grit I became better at thinking about the stories.

Throughout these examples I hope you can see how from a little boy, the advice these marvellous people have given me. They each have opened me up to a new side, one that I discovered each time I learned something knew. In conclusion, I am intellectual, gritty, passionate, and have a side that never stops thinking.

Robin Flew

Robin was the type of 7-year-old,

who fell in love with fire after watching her father light his cigarettes.

Smoke from his burning soul would roam the air that Robin would swim in.

 

She fell in love with the fire’s dance,

and liked the way it burned things,

slowly then almost instantly,

which reminded her of how fragile life is.

 

On the fourth of July,

she hid in her backyard by the swings that she never sat on.

She had stolen her father’s matches and kissed it with her hair,

just to see “what would happen.”

If she would become life.

Burn slowly,

then instantly.

 

She watched her lover the same way it disappeared off her twelve candles.

The same year she disappeared into silence for seven months,

as she watched her mother slowly rot alive.

 

Her teeth were stuck together,

as if her mouth had been sewn shut.

She was a sculpture,

and like falling stone, she cracked.

She broke through the silence once she feared of forgetting how to speak.

 

Four years later,

like trains passing by,

night passed.

And like the child she still was,

Robin climbed on top of her roof every day to feel like a giant in her world.

She learned how to fall in love with the wind,

because she swore it felt like she was underwater.

The thought made her feel infinite.

She’d climb and climb everyday,

until she decided to fall,

just to see if she could still feel.

 

As the globe turned,

and people left,

Robin stayed and met numerous lovers.

she fell in love with a shadow that saved her from her reflection.

Its dark and piercing eyes that peaked through her soul,

felt familiar of a once lost dream.

 

Like smooth skin,

A polished knife laid on her throat.

With sweat, and rivers running through the skife,

she threatened to leave if he ever left.

 

She couldn’t breathe with or without him.

She told him how much he burned her,

slowly,

then almost instantly.

He made her feel stuck at the bottom of the ocean,

and frozen from the smoke that she once swam in.

But like the sun to moon,

he fell.

And like the wind,

Robin flew.

School

Blabbering

It’s going on and on

I glance up to see staring

At me

I flip through the pages

Stress

It’s climbing up my throat

The intimidating ringing

I quickly slip out the door as the others crowd out behind me

The numbers are buzzing in my head

I systematically copy them on the board

The ringing

It’s back

Only to remind me of what’s to come at home

The day was a blur

Just like the day before

I think about the continuous tasks to come

Tick

Tick

Tick

I zone back in as the gears slide past one another

Keeping my sanity.

Rebecca GF 8/11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” she whispers, turning towards me.

“Yeah.”

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

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

“Woah,” Erin says. “Chill, Josie.”

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

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

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

I pause, calculating my response.

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

“No it’s not a guy.”

“Oh, okay. What is it then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Erin?” I ask, timidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your lesbian best friend,” I add.

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

Our Garden

I planted these the first day you touched my heart.

Your presence felt stronger than any other soul that passed me.

I used to kill flowers for them,

because L-O-V-E was doing anything for that person.

But killing flowers,

is killing love.

So I planted these seeds to watch our love grow,

instead of fading like the crinkling leaves of my past mistakes.

I watered them with with my tears,

which you stabbed out of my throat.

You gave it light with your pearls,

And I watched them grow every day.

And every day,

you opened my heart.

The same way I watched the flowers open their wings.

But sun after moon,

your smile began to crinkle,

my heart lost its color,

my throat felt dry and stale,

the way that your mouth tasted whenever I tried to kiss you.

 

My tears began to shower,

as I fell underwater and drowned,

willingly with our dead flowers,

to save myself from your grip.

 

Number One Wish

The first floor was an

interesting place to stay

when everybody

could hear the endless roar

coming from

my mother

and my father.

 

2007,

my maternal grandmother

passed away.

We were next in line to

take her apartment.

 

I was not aware my father

wouldn’t be joining

me

and my mother

in the move.

 

I didn’t know about divorce.

I assumed my dad was

living at my old house,

so we could keep

both of them.

 

I didn’t know what

divorce was

mainly because

in my childhood readings

the princess always found her

prince charming

and there always was

a happy ending and

 

I was six

and I was forced

into family therapy

baffled by the situation

 

Because I didn’t

know why mommy

was crying

and why daddy

was shouting

and why nobody

told me what

was happening.

 

I would talk to my

friends

with two happily married

parents

and I would try

to explain my situation

and they would look

perplexed.

 

Because just like me,

they were seven

year olds who only

knew of the storybook

family.

 

I don’t remember when I learned,

but I remember a series

of conversations

in the fourth grade

that allowed for me

to talk to a friend.

 

“It’s happening,

The divorce.”

By that point I knew.

 

Since then, whenever

someone has asked me

what I wish for

if a genie’s lamp

appeared on my doorstep

or if I were to throw a coin

down a well

 

I would always

silently say

to have my parents

back together again

with ultimate happiness.

 

Because their happiness

would bring family outings

and a sense of normal conversation

when I bring up one of their

names.

 

But as much as I want

for the conversations to occur

and those family outings to happen,

eventually my dad

may find his princess,

and my mother will find

her prince charming.

 

It just won’t be

the storybook family.

 

Now my parents

both have other love

interests,

love interests I may

not be entirely thrilled

with, but

they won’t replace

my biological counterparts.

 

But if they were still together,

havoc would

exist.

Havoc would —

the bickering I heard

when I was young,

would have exponentially

grown worse and

they wouldn’t be happy and

 

Maybe in the future I will have

not one but two mothers

and two fathers.

 

And a set will lie

on the seventh floor

in the apartment we

inherited from my grandmother,

and another will be on

a different first floor

without screams and shouts.

 

So I am changing

my wish.

I thought my original wish

of bringing my parents together

would bring happiness.

But now that I understand

the reasonings for divorce,

I can’t say that it would.

 

I have a wish for my parents:

I want them to be

radiant and joyful.

New Zebraland

Act One

 

Scene 1

 

Daytime, mid-morning. A picturesque mountainside. An all-white sign reading “GHOSTLY LANDING POINT: NEW ZEALAND” sticks out of the ground, covered in pamphlets for various tourist attractions. LIZZIE is lying unconscious on the floor near the sign. MAYA, her identical twin, is floating around near her. They are ghosts. LIZZIE, rubbing her eyes, sits up and sees MAYA.

 

LIZZIE
Ugh.

 

MAYA (laughing)

You sound so stupid! “Ugh.” “Ugh!”

 

LIZZIE

That’s not how I sound!

 

MAYA
“That’s not how I sound!”

 

LIZZIE

Stop!

 

MAYA

“Stop!”

 

LIZZIE reaches out to punch MAYA, but instead her hand appears to go directly through her. MAYA giggles.

 

LIZZIE

How can you be so immature even when we’re dead? I mean, I think we’re dead. It sure seems like we’re dead. How did we end up dead?

 

MAYA (sing-song)

I know something Lizzie doesn’t, I know something Lizzie doesn’t.

 

LIZZIE

Tell me!

 

MAYA

No.

 

LIZZIE

Yes.

 

MAYA

No.

 

LIZZIE

Yes.

 

MAYA

No.

 

LIZZIE

Yes.

 

MAYA

Fine. Remember that Ferris wheel we were riding on?

 

LIZZIE

Sure.

 

MAYA

Something in the inside-y machine bits got overheated and the whole thing exploded! It was super cool.

 

LIZZIE

The Ferris wheel exploded? Why do you remember and I don’t?

 

MAYA
Well, before everything exploded they did an emergency stop and you banged your head on the wall and passed out. Then the lady’s voice came out of the speaker box, and she was like, ‘Remain calm. The internal whatchamacallit is experiencing complete failure. Remain calm as emergency procedures-’ And then before she could finish, BAM! KABLAM! POW! And that’s all I remember.

 

LIZZIE

Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain how we ended up here.

 

MAYA

Okay, so after the explosion we were at this weird waiting room place, and you were still conked out when the mean guy at the desk told me I had to stop stealing the mints and decide what I wanted to do and (mockingly) “Fill out the paperwork for your journey to the afterlife right now, missy, and do it for your little double over there, too.”

 

LIZZIE

Okay…

 

MAYA

Except for they used all these big words I didn’t get on the form to go to the afterlife, so I just wrote “MAYA AND LIZZIE BEST DEAD PEOPLE” on everything and then I drew some zebras and the guy got mad when I brought it to him and he said, “I guess it’s a life of haunting for you girls,” and I was like, “Okay, fine!” and he was like, “Pick a place, then,” and he brought out this globe and I picked the coolest sounding place and then there was all this crazy light stuff and then we were here!

 

LIZZIE

Why didn’t you wake me up?!

 

MAYA

I dunno. You’re boring. You would have told me to stop stealing mints and fill the paperwork out right.

 

LIZZIE
Yeah, I would’ve! You… stupid.

 

MAYA

You’re stupid!

 

LIZZIE

No, you’re stupid!

 

MAYA

Would a stupid person have picked somewhere very cool for us to go?

 

LIZZIE
Maya, where are we?

 

MAYA
Somewhere cool.

 

LIZZIE
Maya, WHERE ARE WE?!

 

MAYA (proudly)

New Zebraland! It’s in Antarctica.

 

LIZZIE

I don’t think it is… And I don’t think that’s a real place.

 

MAYA

It is, they just spelled it wrong on the globe. They forgot the “b” and the “r.” Silly globe people.

 

LIZZIE

Maya, how do we get home from here?

 

MAYA

I dunno. I think it’d be cooler here anyway. But if you really want to, I guess we can try to get back to Mom and Dad. It’ll be an adventure!

 

LIZZIE

Why aren’t they with us? They were in the car-thingy right in front of us on the Ferris wheel.

 

MAYA

I dunno, maybe there’s another office for the old dead people.

 

LIZZIE

How are we going to find them?

 

MAYA

Who cares about the ‘how?’ It’s about the ‘why!’

 

LIZZIE

Why are you so dumb?

 

MAYA

This is going to be an adventure!

 

LIZZIE

You are the dumbest person ever. I can’t believe we are twins.

 

MAYA

Identical twins, even.

 

LIZZIE
Except for I’m much prettier.

 

MAYA

Nuh-uh!

 

LIZZIE

Ya-huh!

 

MAYA

Nuh-uh!

 

LIZZIE

Ya-huh!

 

MAYA

Nuh-uh!

 

LIZZIE

Ya-huh!

 

MAYA

Nuh-uh!

 

LIZZIE

Whatever. I know I’m the smart one, at least.

 

MAYA

Whatever. Let’s find Mom and Dad.

 

LIZZIE (starting to walk offstage)

Okay, whatever.

 

MAYA (whispered)

But I’m still the pretty one.

 

LIZZIE (turning)

What?

 

MAYA

Nothing. Let’s go!

 

Exit MAYA and LIZZIE. End scene.
Scene 2

A pristine white waiting room. In the back, plush armchairs contain 5-10 ghostssleeping, filling out paperwork, or sitting in the corner, shell-shocked, staring at the wall. A bowl of mints and a computer are on the desk. The RECEPTIONIST, sitting behind the desk, looks exhausted. In front of the desk, puzzling over a globe, are MOM and DAD.

 

MOM

Zimbabwe, maybe? Maya always did have a weakness for “z” names.

 

DAD

You know that Lizzie is much too sensible to let Maya pick someplace like Zimbabwe. In fact, with Liz in charge, all of Africa’s probably off the table. Cross out the whole continent.

 

MOM pulls a Sharpie out of her purse and scribbles out the continent of Africa on the globe.

 

RECEPTIONIST (sleepily)

Hey, other people have to, like, use that.

 

MOM (shoving over the bowl of mints)

Shh, sweetie. People are working. Have a mint.

 

DAD

Do you think they could’ve gone to Pluto or some other planet?

 

RECEPTIONIST

Earthly destinations only.

 

MOM

Have another mint, sweetie.

 

MOM shoves the mint into the RECEPTIONIST’s mouth.

 

DAD

Hey, there’s a place in Denmark called Middelfart. (laughs hysterically) Middelfart!

 

MOM

Hmm, circle it. They’ve always had a weakness for fart humor. Maya’s the exact kind of kid who’d choose a place with a funny name, just because it has a funny name.

 

DAD

That’s exactly what I was thinking.

 

MOM

Hmm. What about (she spins the globe and points at a spot in the Midwest United States) Pardeeville, Wisconsin?

 

DAD

There’s so many possibilities for weirdly named places. And with that being our only lead as to what places, there’s a lot to look through. You see anywhere else that looks promising?

 

MOM (to RECEPTIONIST)

Could we possibly see the paperwork our girls filled out?

 

DAD

That’s genius! Yeah, let’s see the paperwork.

 

RECEPTIONIST (sounding slightly annoyed)

What’re the names, again?

 

MOM

Maya and Elizabeth Carson.

 

RECEPTIONIST (opening and looking through file cabinet)

C, C, C-A, Carson. Carson, Laura, Carson, Arthur, Carson, Maya. Here we go.

 

The RECEPTIONIST removes the form from the file and slides it across the desk.

 

RECEPTIONIST

This is everything either of them filled out.

 

RECEPTIONIST takes out an emory board and begins filing her nails.

 

DAD

It just says MAYA AND LIZZIE BEST DEAD PEOPLE on it.

 

MOM (leaning over to see the paper)

And has doodles of weird looking tigers on it.

 

DAD

I’m not sure those are tigers.

 

MOM

Okay, whatever. The real question, where they are, still isn’t anywhere closer to being answered.

 

DAD (folds the paper and pockets it)

I know. But we’ll figure it out.

 

MOM (spinning globe)

Let’s just keep looking. (to RECEPTIONIST) You can help us!

 

RECEPTIONIST (to MOM)

Uh, yeah, sure. (to audience) Thank God my shift is nearly over.

 

MOM and DAD

Shhhhhhhhhhh.

 

RECEPTIONIST rolls her eyes, drops her head into her hands, and promptly falls asleep.

 

MOM

Poor baby.

 

(MOM walks over to the chairs and pulls a pillow away from a chair in the waiting area containing a sleeping ghost. Walking back to the desk, she puts the RECEPTIONIST’s head on the pillow. While she does this, DAD continues to examine the globe. Lights dim and scene ends as RECEPTIONIST sleeps, and parents continue to look at globe, occasionally scribbling on it or speaking with each other inaudibly.)

Scene 3

 

The scenery is identical to that in Scene 1, the New Zealand mountainside, but the lighting is far darker and the sign is gone. It is evening now. MAYA and LIZZIE come onstage, LIZZIE looking tired, but MAYA as bright and happy as ever.

 

LIZZIE

Maya, we’ve been walking for hours, and we don’t know where we’re going, and I think we’ve gone in a circle, or maybe not, ‘cause this whole mountain looks the same, and we have no idea what we’re going to do, and I’m really frustrated and I want Mom and Dad! (takes a deep breath)

 

MAYA

Be positive!

 

LIZZIE

There is nothing to be positive about.

 

MAYA

It’s pretty here! Be positive about that.

 

LIZZIE

No.

 

MAYA

Yes.

 

LIZZIE

No.

 

MAYA

Yes! Why can’t you ever try to have fun? I mean, we’re in a place called New Zebraland, which is probably the capital of fun!

 

LIZZIE

It’s not called New Zebraland, Maya! It’s not anywhere exciting. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and it’s awful and I hate it.

 

(MAYA, looking slightly hurt, stares at LIZZIE. Undeterred, LIZZIE continues.)

 

LIZZIE

I want to go home. I don’t want to be here, I never wanted to be here, but I didn’t get a choice about any of it, because you do everything! You talk for me, and you act like nothing really matters because you think it’ll all turn out okay, but look around. This is not okay.

 

(MAYA looks horrified. She looks around at the scenery, and then back at her sister. As LIZZIE speaks, MAYA appears more and more upset.)

 

MAYA

I just wanted to do something fun!

 

LIZZIE

You just what? What? You just ruin everything! You never think the things you do might affect anyone else, because you only care about yourself. I don’t want to be here, and (venomously) I especially don’t want to be here with you.

 

MAYA

… Fine.

 

LIZZIE (taken aback)

Fine?

 

MAYA

Yeah. Fine. I’ll go.

 

LIZZIE

Go?

 

(Without answering or acknowledging her sister, MAYA turns and walks offstage, LIZZIE calling her name. LIZZIE stands alone on stage, looking miserable, as the lights dim and scene ends.)

Scene 4

 

The waiting room. MOM and DAD are now sleeping. MOM’s head is on the desk, while DAD is awkwardly draped over the scribbled-on globe. The activity behind them, with other ghosts speaking inaudibly with each other or filling out paperwork, remains. However, a different receptionist, RECEPTIONIST 2, now sits behind the desk, looking sulky and annoyed by his job as he appears to be working on a computer. A GHOST timidly approaches the desk.

 

GHOST (shyly, to RECEPTIONIST 2)

Hello, I passed away last night and I’m interested in choosing a place to haunt?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

Is that a question?

 

GHOST

… No?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2 (rolling his eyes)

Alright then. Just let me get out the globe for you.

 

GHOST (softly)

Um, I think maybe it’s already out? (points to DAD, lying on top of globe)

 

(Not seeing or listening, RECEPTIONIST 2 ducks down and disappears under the desk, apparently searching for the globe.)

 

RECEPTIONIST 2 (muffled)

Where the-(crashing sound)-is that-(crashing sound)-ing globe?

 

GHOST

Sir, I, uh, think it’s right over here?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

Stupid, useless piece of-

 

GHOST (shouting)

DUDE!

 

(RECEPTIONIST 2 stands abruptly, looking angrily at the GHOST. MOM and DAD also jerk awake, lifting their heads in surprise. The other ghosts waiting all look shocked, now watching the scene unfold.)

 

GHOST (suddenly shy again)

I think the globe is, um, right there? (points to DAD, who is gingerly lifting himself of the globe.)

 

RECEPTIONIST 2 (to GHOST)

Why didn’t you say anything!?

 

GHOST
Um…

 

(RECEPTIONIST 2 sees the scribbles on the globe and starts turning bright red, looking apoplectic. He balls his hands into fists and glares.)

 

DAD

Uh, sorry.

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

What do you think you’re doing?!?!

 

MOM

Uh, we’re trying to guess where our daughters are.

 

DAD (reaching in his pocket, picking up the paper, and handing it to RECEPTIONIST 2)

This is the only clue we have.

 

(RECEPTIONIST 2 picks up the piece of paper and looks it over.)

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

Are your daughters by any chance… identical twins? Curly blonde hair, brown eyes, probably about 10 years old, round faces, button noses, died about a day ago?

 

MOM

Yes! Yes, exactly! So you’ve seen them!?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

No.

 

DAD

Clearly you have. Why won’t you tell us about what you’ve seen?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

Because THEY ARE THE WORST! THE! WORST! CHILDREN! EVER!

 

(RECEPTIONIST 2 crumples up the paper and throws it as far away as he can.)

 

MOM

Excuse me?

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

They made an absolute mess of my waiting room, refused to correctly fill out the necessary paperwork, took about half of my mints, yelled about zebras, and getting spirits to a place they’ve never been in their lives is that much more difficult, let me tell you!

 

DAD

Aren’t the mints meant for taking?

 

MOM

That’s the part of the story you’re fixating on?

 

(MOM picks up the balled-up piece of paper and looks at it.)

 

MOM

They’re not tigers that Maya drew, they’re zebras!

 

DAD

We figured it out!

 

MOM

Yes! Let’s go to New Zebraland!

 

DAD

… What exactly is New Zebraland?

 

(Both parents look expectantly at RECEPTIONIST 2.)

 

RECEPTIONIST 2

It’s how the annoying one was convinced you say New Zealand. So, nice job parenting that one.

 

MOM

Can it and send us to New Zebraland!

 

RECEPTIONIST

Whatever gets you out of my office faster. (sliding over a piece of paper) Just sign this and walk through that door.

 

(MOM and DAD sign the paper and run through the exit on one side of the stage.)

 

RECEPTIONIST 2 (sarcastically)

Byeeeeee!

 

While the parents are offstage, the lighting on-stage becomes blindingly bright and flashing. Set is changed while lights blink and flicker wildly to the original mountainside scene, with “GHOSTLY LANDING POINT: NEW ZEALAND” sign now in place. MOM and DAD re-enter.

 

MOM

Whoa! Well, that was… something.

 

DAD (doing a happy dance)

Uh-huh, oh yeah, uh-huh, oh yeah.

 

MOM

What are you doing?

 

DAD

Celebrating. Uh-huh, oh yeah, uh-huh, oh yeah.

 

While DAD dances, LIZZIE runs onstage. and, seeing her father, throws herself at him for a hug.

LIZZIE

Dad! Mom!

 

LIZZIE turns and hugs her mother.

 

MOM

Liz! Sweetie, we’ve missed you!

 

LIZZIE
I’ve missed you too, Mom!

 

DAD

How’d you find us?

 

LIZZIE

Your dancing and Mom’s yelling haven’t gotten any less recognizable since we’ve died.

 

MOM

I WAS NOT YELLING!

 

LIZZIE

Sure.

 

DAD

Wait, where’s your sister?

 

LIZZIE (sullenly)

I dunno.

 

MOM

What do you mean, you don’t know?!

 

LIZZIE

I got really mad at her for bringing us here and I yelled at her and I was mean and then she ran away and I dunno where she is and I feel so bad!

 

LIZZIE wipes a tear away from her face.

 

DAD

We’ll find her!

 

MOM

How? We don’t have any way to tell where she is, do we?

 

LIZZIE

No, but we’ve already gotten into the way Maya’s head works.

 

MOM
What do you mean?

 

LIZZIE

Are there any zebras around here?

 

MOM

I don’t think they’re native to the mountainside.

 

LIZZIE

Then where’s the nearest zoo? That’s where Maya will be, wherever the zebras are.

 

MOM pulls a pamphlet advertising a zoo off the sign and peers through it.

 

MOM

This looks like our most likely bet for where the zebras would be. I just hope you’re right about her being there.

 

LIZZIE

I know my sister too well. This (taking and brandishing the pamphlet) is where she is. I’m positive.

 

DAD

Then let’s go!

 

MOM, DAD, and LIZZIE exit.

Scene 5

 

A crowded zoo. Alive humans wander around throughout the scene, admiring the zebras in their habitat, which is meant to resemble Savannah plains. MAYA sits at the very edge of the stage, looking pensive and staring at the zebras. MOM, DAD, and LIZZIE run onstage, looking around for MAYA. LIZZIE spots her first and runs over, throwing her arms around her sister.

 

LIZZIE

I’m sorry I was mean to you.

 

MAYA
Good. You should be.

 

LIZZIE stares expectantly at MAYA.

 

MAYA

Fiiiiine. I’m sorry too. I should’ve asked you before bringing us here.

 

LIZZIE

Yeah. You should’ve. You stupid.

 

MAYA

You’re stupid.

 

LIZZIE

No, you’re stupid!

 

MAYA (laughing)

No, I’m stupid!

 

LIZZIE

No, I’m stupid!

 

MAYA

Exactly! I’m stupid!

 

LIZZIE

Wait, what?

 

LIZZIE joins in on MAYA’s laughter. MOM and DAD spot them and hurry over. Without speaking, MAYA hugs both of them at once. LIZZIE promptly joins the group hug.

 

Needle In A Haystack

The story of my grandfather retold 70 years later…

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

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

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

 

Bob Hom

 

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

 

Yick Hom

 

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

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

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

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

 

Bob Hom

 

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

 

Yick Hom

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

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

Bob Hom

 

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

Yick Hom

 

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

 

Andrew Yuen

 

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

 

Bob Hom

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

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

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

 

Yick Hom

 

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

 

Epilogue

 

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

 

Mirage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By the time we reached land.

*** it, he was still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was glad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like the ‘E’ names, don’t you?”

“Elise finds them attractive.”

“Yeah, well, now she’s dead.”

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

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

“No, I managed to stay dry.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sitting with you, aren’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you noting in partic–”

“Would you like to read them?”

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

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

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

“Don’t read that part!”

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you shut your condescending mouth?”

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

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

“Declan, you’re–”

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

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

“And another thing–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer me.

“Declan, out with it!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t see anything, Declan–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is the Onyx!”

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

“Declan, I need you to listen to me.”

“Do you see it too?”

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

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

“Why should I be listening to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Lost Star

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

“Any good teachers?”

“Yeah they’re chill.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I tried to stop you…”

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“She ran, she’s gone.”

“Why didn’t you follow her?”

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

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

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

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

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

Kids’ Political Power

 

Children over the age of twelve are more than capable of doing the things eighteen-year-olds can do. Kids have the same abilities as adults, and their power should not be limited by their age. Some kids are still in school and haven’t gotten their full education yet. However, the knowledge that they did learn is still fresh in their brain. Adora Svitak is a TED talker who gave an inspiring speech on what adults can learn from kids. Kids should be able to hold political power and have more responsibility than they do in the present day.

Children have great ideas and are intelligent enough to have their say on who should be in charge. The president is in charge of the kids too so they should be able to vote too.  Adora Svitak stated in her TED Talk that kids have great ideas and one of the things that that make them kids is their ability to dream. They dream of ending hunger, of no one being homeless, and of no more global warming. Kids, with their big imaginations, could end war if they had that power, and people are doubting them because of their age. That’s the difference between kids’ and adults’ imaginations. Adults think of great ideas and then start thinking “that’s impossible,” or “that costs too much.” The website Mashable lists some kids who did extraordinary things. Seventeen-year-old Nithin Tumma found more effective and less harmful cancer treatments. Fifteen-year-old Jack Andraka found a cheap way to detect pancreatic cancer in its earliest stages. Seventeen-year-old Marian Bechtel went to the White House with her mine-detecting device. These are intelligent children whose ideas go beyond adults’.

Adults may tolerate work better than kids do; however, kids have enough capacity to get the job done. I am a child, and I can sit eight hours on end doing work. I feel if I had the option to have political power, work wouldn’t be a problem for me. Adults may have a longer work capacity than kids do. Kids over twelve are able to get the job done as long as they have breaks. This isn’t an incapability of the kids, it’s just a quick obligation that some kids need. If you look at some of the kids doing their homework after school, they can sit down for hours straight flying through papers; this isn’t anything different from what an adult would do.

Children have leadership skills that adults may never have. Kids just come out of school and their leadership skills are so high from practicing and, well, leading their other students in school. In my school, teachers are constantly encouraging leading which makes it impossible to stand in the shadows. Some great leaders of the younger age are like Ruby Bridges and the thousands of children from the Children’s March who led segregation to an end. The parents of these children didn’t want them to go, didn’t want to march, and still, hundreds of thousands of kids from all over the state came and marched. Kids want to rule, they want to be the leaders of their generation. Adults aren’t letting them take the lead.

Kids are capable of being the next leaders of the world. They are intelligent, can work hard, and can be amazing leaders. Many kids in the world have taken on roles that are outstandingly courageous and get so much done. These kids would make great leaders if only they had the power to lead. Kids all over the world have made a difference.

 

 

  • Adora’s Ted talk

 

http://www.ted.com/talks/adora_svitak?language=en

 

  • Mashable

 

mashable.com/2012/11/30/inspirational-kids-2012/

 

Keys

Keys — Life is Just a String of Keys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’re sorry honey

Found this in the garage

Love, Mom and Dad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I raced out of my room and down the stairs.

“C#,” I said laughing.

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

It Will Be Different Soon

You liked me more when I stood up to others

but less when I stood up to you

and I asked you why I was only allowed to

be strong at certain times

and you said that that’s just the way it is when you’re a girl

and I asked what about when I’m a woman

and you said that maybe it will be different then

 

And now I am older

and sometimes I think that maybe I am a woman now

and maybe now it will different for me

but then I get on the subway

and I have to switch train cars

because a man is yelling out obscenities

and telling me what he is going to put in me and where

and people on the train are telling me to get off

instead of telling him to stop

 

but then I go to the park

and a man shoves me down to the dirt

and sticks his hand down my pants

and I have to run as fast as I can

into the movie theater bathroom two blocks away

panting and feeling dirty outside and in

 

but then I go to school

and teachers like it when I am smart

and boys like it when I am sexy

but I can only choose one

because teachers wouldn’t like my crop tops

and boys wouldn’t like it if I had my nose in a book

 

and right now is the oldest I have ever been

and the youngest I will ever be

and I am reminded every day

that I am not a woman yet

because until the world is different

I will not be a woman

and that I will not be a woman

until the world is different

 

and if I am still a girl

why am I being treated like a piece of meat?

It Was An Odd Beast

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

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

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

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

The dad screamed, “That’s our dog!”

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

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

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

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

He grabbed a kitchen knife and slowly opened the door.

“Be careful honey!” said the mother.

“I will,” said the father.

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

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

Dian’s Misadventures

Dian groaned at the florescent lighting, a small, black puff writhing from the awakening from his dream, which had starred a peculiar adventure with a pigeon. They had munched New York hotdogs, snuck into an art gallery, and were smack in the middle of a Daring Escape from an evil animal shelter owner. But as Dian groggily blinked his cerulean eyes, it was clear to him that he was still at Manhattan Kittens, in his little clear box, with his boring, uneventful siblings, the Grey Tom kitten and the Dark Striped Female kitten. They were up to their usual time-passing, lying down and playing with their toys: a battered plush mouse that jangled and a few inches of some maroon yarn. It kept them content, but Dian longed for some excitement. Perhaps there was a pigeon waiting outside the window? Maybe he had sat there for weeks, months, waiting for him? Perhaps it had watched him for a while, saw that he was different from the others, and had forever longed to get to know him? Dian knew, of course, that there was none, but it was disappointing nonetheless to glance out the window and see the sidewalk barren of any potential companion.

“Hey, you. What are you looking out that window for? It never changes,” inquired Dark Striped kitten.

“Nor does anything here,” Dian replied dolefully.

“And you can call me Dian.” Dark Striped looked at him as if he had asked her to refer to him as Twinkleton Bluebottom Ceculous The Third.

“Why?” she queried, puzzled.

“We’ll all get proper names when we’re adopted,” Dark Striped stated it as if being adopted was having dinner arrive.

“But when I was younger–” Dian declared. “When I was like an hour old, someone picked me up by my scruff and said that I was dark as obsidian”

“Are you sure? And even if that story happened, so what? That doesn’t mean Dian is your name.” Dark Striped was stubborn that way. She was perfectly satisfied with lazing around, playing with jingling toy mice, but always had to be correct and practical about things like this. There was no  “Maybe there is something odd and mysterious out there,” or “We should go exploring!” for Dian’s sister.

“What’s obsidian?” Grey Tom had just awoken from his morning nap, his plump belly sprawled across the bedding like a grey, furry puddle.

“I-I think it’s some kind of rock. Someone once came in here with something around their neck that had a shiny rock on it, and someone asked if it was obsidian.” As Dian said this he began to ponder his namesake. Sure, there was the one occasion with the shiny rock, but were there people named Obsidian? Other cats? Dian sighed as he gazed aimlessly out the foggy window. Raindrops dripped down the window, as Dian watched the umbrella-holding New Yorkers, dashing from here to there, all having somewhere to go. Something to do. At that moment, Dian’s ears pricked up, as the bell that hung above the door jangled. At the kitten sticker adorned door stood a tall, thin man in a scruffed leather jacket.

“Um, hello, would you by any chance have a terrier-sized blue sparkly dress I could borrow?” The stranger’s odd request had not gone unnoticed, for the volunteer at the register looked as if he had asked if anyone had seen a ghost named Joseph holding gardening shears.

“Sir, we mostly cater to cats here, and I don’t believe we sell any clothing items for pets.”

Dian was intrigued by the curious stranger, and couldn’t keep a straight face while watching the conversation.

“I see…” The odd guest pursed his lips in thought. “How about a bow?”

The woman at the register gave a look of shock mingled with hidden laughter.The curious kitten was watching the comical event with wide eyes and open ears. As the volunteer told him that there were in fact no sparkly garments of any kind for sale at Manhattan Kittens, the peculiar man nodded and rushed out. Dian was surprised, to say the least, for anyone who came into Manhattan Kittens was almost always a young child and a parent, or if they came alone, an orderly-looking woman. Never had he seen anyone with messy hair, a jacket that looked as if it had been given to an angry Persian cat, wild eyes, and a request of a dress for a terrier. What even was a terrier? As Dian wondered this, he noticed a tall figure who seemed to be talking to a small dog out the window. An excited and curious Dian craned his neck to see that it was Terrier Dress Man. He was pacing, worriedly, and talked, seemingly, to the small dog. Dian wished badly to hear what he was saying, and pressed his ear to the glass of his box.

More people came in Manhattan Kittens, some with children. Dian didn’t get ecstatic like the other kittens, he was wise enough to know that he wasn’t cute and playful enough to be wanted by children, and not graceful and elegant enough for older adults to want him. It usually didn’t bother him, but lately he began to wonder what would happen to him. Was he doomed to stay in the clear box forever? Would he be kitten-napped by some villain to be stroked on his lap in an evil lair? But Dian didn’t have time to worry about that, he had to think of a plan to do something drastic, something big, something adventurous.

Okay, so after I start to meow and whine, somebody is bound to come to the box. Dark Stripes and Grey Tom will be deep in their pre afternoon rest nap, so they won’t be a bother. After a volunteer picks me up and tries to see the problem, I leap out and make a dash for the door.

Dian knew it was risky, he knew it was dangerous, but he knew it was the only way he would ever get out of the clear box. He found himself becoming a bit downcast at the thought of leaving Manhattan Kittens forever. Finally, Dian had mustered up all the courage in his little heart, and began to meow. Not those little, cutesy mews that other kittens give, loud, screeching yowls that everyone in Manhattan Kittens found quite bothersome. A volunteer quickly rushed over, and grabbed Dian by his dark fluffy scruff. Dian hadn’t been held by a person ever since he was given his name. He could feel the rough fabric used to make the Manhattan Kittens tee, the psychedelic sky blue of the shirt and the yellow letters reading MANHATTAN KITTENS giving him a mild headache.

He quickly tried to squirm out of the volunteers arms, and glanced out the window to see Terrier Dress Man still pacing and jabbering on to the unsuspecting dog. The volunteer began to scold Dian, and placed him back in the box, closing the lid. Dian let out a frustrated cry, and pouted around the box.

“Why can’t they realize I need to leave?” Dian began to let out his anger on a sleepy Grey Tom. “It’s like they can’t even think of anything other than themselves!” The mild throbbing in Dian’s head started to feel less like a quiet bell and more like a person with a hammer had taken up residence in his head. He really felt like sulking and having a good long rant, but he so badly wanted to escape. Just then, he heard a mew followed by an awww. He looked around and saw a small, fluffy, dark grey kitten being held by a little girl. The kitten buried its little head in her jacket, as the girl gave a pleading look at her mother, who let out an exasperated sigh and asked a nearby volunteer, “How much is he?” The girl left the store wearing a grin and carrying a kitten. Normally Dian wouldn’t have taken much notice of this; it was really quite a common sight at Manhattan Kittens. But this gave him an idea.

As soon as the next child came in, Dian started up his act. He began to snuggle into the bedding, and as the child came closer, he began to mew and paw at the glass. The child was instantly drawn to Dian’s box, but much to Dark Stripe’s surprise, she had come for Dian.

“Oh he’s so cute!” The girl then opened the box and grabbed Dian, despite the quite clear “WANT TO HOLD A KITTEN? ASK A VOLUNTEER” sticker on the lid.

“Daddy Daddy! I want this one!” The child ran up to a distinguished-looking man, holding a very frazzled Dian.

That one?” The father looked at Dian as if his daughter had chosen a worm for a pet. “But there are so many other nicer, purebred kittens.”

“No!” the girl pouted. “This one!” The father reluctantly agreed, and the girl twirled out of Manhattan Kittens holding a black fluff of kitten. Dian saw in the next door bakery window a familiar, messy haired acquaintance. He couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit guilty wriggling out of his self entitled owner’s arms, and dashing to Pain Incroyable. After all, they had paid for him. But as Dian found himself underneath Terrier Dress’s table, he didn’t regret his decision one bit.

“I’m honestly not sure what to do, Travis! We’re going to need that dress if we want to compete in the Prettiest Pup Pageant and win the $200 prize!” Terrier Dress sighed at the little dog nestled in his jacket pocket.

“Felix, I know you need to pay back your grandmother but maybe you could take her advice? You know, about getting organized, dressing well, and getting, you know, a job?” Travis rolled his eyes at his oblivious owner. “And it’s not that I’m absolutely thrilled at the prospect of dressing up in a glittery dress and bow so that we can pay our rent, but maybe it’s time to live like a normal person and stop trying to make it as a graphic designer. Let’s face it, nobody wants Courier New on their business cards!”

“Um, I don’t think he can hear you.” Dian had decided to try and talk to Travis to see if he could find out more about Terrier Dress — sorry — Felix.

“You got that right” Travis snorted. “Wait a minute–”

“Hi! I’m Dian and I just escaped from that kitten place your owner was just in.”

Travis was a mix between baffled and enraged at this. “Well, what are you doing here?! How long have you been there?”

“Shush, Travis!” Felix said as he flicked his pet’s ear.

Dian whispered “Look, I know it sounds weird but I got this spoiled kid to adopt me to get here!” Dian had not thought the dog would be so skeptical, but as he said his story out loud, Dian realized he sounded insane.

“But why here? To us?”

“Well, you see, I was always kind of bored and lonely in the kitten shop, my siblings were no fun and I had to spend all of my time in this little clear box.”

“So?” Travis seemed puzzled. “Isn’t that what all kittens do? Just wait to be adopted?”

“But I didn’t want to wait in there forever just to be adopted and lie around in some person’s house.” Dian tried very hard to whisper but to still get his point across. “I’m not really like other kittens. And well, you and Felix kinda seemed like the opposite of boring and lonely, and–”

“You want to tag along with me and Felix for a while?” Travis seemed to understand. “Well, you seem like a good cat, but Felix is kind of in a phase right now–”

At that moment, Felix finally noticed the little runaway under the table.

“Well hello there little cat!” Felix picked up Dian and plopped him on his lap. “You must be lost. But you don’t have a tag or anything.” Felix looked at Dian thoughtfully. “I guess you’ll have to stick with us for now” Felix lifted Dian onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry little guy, we’ll get a cage thingy for you.” Travis watched with dismay.

“Are you crazy? You can’t afford to buy pizza toppings! Nevermind have a cat!” Travis gazed up at Felix. “And besides! You already have a pet.”

“Well, come on, we gotta go see if anyone has a dress for a terrier.” Felix’s face lit up. “Wait a minute! We’ll use you, kitten! We can get a dog costume for you! We’ll decorate it as best we can.”

The next few hours were spent clinging onto Felix’s shoulder while they went from costume store to costume store trying to find a dog costume that would fit Dian. There was quite a bit of confusion between Felix and an employee at Kool Kostumes 4 U. They were greeted quite cheerily.

“Hey! I’m Kimberly. Welcome to Kool Kostumes! What can I do for you?”

“Hello. I’m Felix, and we’d like a dog costume.”

“Sure, I can get’cha a dog costume! How old is the kid?”

“If it was for a kid, I would have asked for a kid costume. This costume is for a kitten.”

Now Kimberly was confused. She tilted her head to one side, her curly strawberry blonde hair falling down her shoulder.

“Um… I’m sorry sir, I thought you wanted a dog costume for a child. Not a dog costume for a cat.”

Felix scoffed at this. “Well, by the establishment’s name I assumed I would be provided with a cool costume for me! And the costume I would like is a dog costume for a cat!”

After this, Kimberly told Felix that she was sorry sir, she couldn’t help him, but that the next time they went to Kool Kostumes they’d be given a coupon for a whole $5 dollars off their next purchase! (As long as it was over $45 of course)

Now, as Dian gripped onto Felix’s jacket shoulder while he asked an elderly woman on the sidewalk if she knew of any stores that sold costumes for cats, Dian wondered if he had made the right decision. Had anyone at Manhattan Kittens missed him? Did his siblings care? Did someone walk in minutes after his Daring Escape, asking for a black fluffy kitten with a wish for adventure? Dian grimly remembered that he had never had to worry about anything happening to him in his little clear box. Out in the Big Bad City, there were fast cars, noise, yelling, not to mention he was trusting his little kitten life to a man and dog he had only met hours before.

Dian’s woes were loudly interrupted however, as the elderly woman exclaimed excitedly, “Oh yes! I know a lovely shop that has little outfits for cats on the East Side! It’s called Claire’s Costumes for Cats and Kittens. Here, I’ll give you the address… I’m sure whatever you get will look wonderful on your little cat.” The woman patted Dian’s head, leaving a scowling Travis peeking out of the jacket pocket.

After Felix hopped out of the cab, having paid only $10 of his cab fare, Dian gazed up at the shop in front of them. It had a lilac-colored oval sign, trimmed with a pink lacy pattern. On the lilac oval read,

Claire’s Costumes for Cats and Kittens.

The first C was adorned with a belled kitty collar, and the K with two cat ears and whiskers.

Travis muttered something about how this was no place for Felix, seeing as this looked a very expensive shop, and how they wouldn’t have had to come here if it weren’t for that nuisance of a cat.

“Hello?” Felix said as he opened the door and a little bell jangled, painfully reminding Dian of Manhattan Kittens.

“May I help you?” A young woman in a pale yellow dress with a minimal cat face on it looked at the three of them curiously. Of course, she only knew of Felix and Dian, Travis had buried himself in the jacket pocket, as even he could tell this shop was not welcoming to dogs.

As Dian glanced about he saw that that Claire’s Costumes for Cats and Kittens was just as dainty as the sign. The walls were the same shade of spring lavender, little cat-sized dresses and costumes embellished the walls. Some glittering blues and greens, some silky violet, and one or two that were certainly unsuitable for cats.

“Yes well, I would like a costume for this kitten here.” Felix held out Dian.

“Ah, then you’d like to go to the Kitten Section. Come with me.”

She lead Felix to some lilac shelves that contained garments similar to those in the front of the store, but slightly smaller and more shiny. As she pointed out the right shelves to go to, Dian noticed her long, sharp, sky blue glittery nails that almost look like cat’s claws themselves.

“And of course here we have the shiny, sparkly dresses, if you want her to really stand out, and–”

“Actually,” Felix interrupted patiently. “He is a male cat, I believe.”

“Alright then, there are some tuxedos over there, but our specialty here really is dresses and bows, so if you’re entering a pageant or competition, I’d really buy one of those.”

“Alright, we’ll buy one of those sparkly bows then, and could you tell me where the costumes are? Like, for Halloween?”

As Glitter Nails helped Felix chose a costume that would fit Dian, Travis had a good chuckle inside the jacket pocket.

“Imagine! You’ll have to wear a dog costume! And a bow!”  

Dian took no notice of this, he was far too concerned with what would happen after the pageant. Surely Felix would get tired of him? And Travis wouldn’t blink an eye to see Dian go. Would he have to live on the streets as a stray? Would he have to beg for bread crumbs just to survive? Would he ever find a home? A friend? Or would be be lonely forever?

Felix interrupted Dian’s worries with a flourish, holding up a hanger with a spotted dog costume. It looked a bit big for Dian, but Felix was so ecstatic that Dian didn’t protest when he asked Glitter Nails where he should pay for it. At this moment, however, when everything was looking fine, Travis had had enough of being crammed on the jacket pocket and peeked his complaint filled head out.

He gasped, thirsty for air, “Honestly Felix! What were you thinking? A closed pocket is no place to keep a pet! I could have suffocated! You–”

Glitter nails let out a shriek at Travis’s sudden appearance. “You brought a dog?! This is a place for cats and their owners! Not for filthy dogs!”

Frazzled Felix was more concerned about his purchases than the store’s policies. “Okay… so should I just leave the cash at the counter…?”

Glitter Nails was not amused at this. “Out! You and your pets!”

Felix simply stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before quickly grabbing the costume and bow, and dashing out the door (Don’t worry, he still left his crumpled $32 at the counter).

Felix has made his own Daring Escape, thought Dian as Felix jumped out of their hastily paid for cab and calmly strolled into Central Park.

“Well, at least we got your costume, kitten!” Felix pointed out cheerily.

“Yeah, and all it cost was going to that awful shop, getting kicked out, getting yelled at, and $32!” Travis scolded.

“You know, kitten, we should give you a name.” Felix looked at Dian, thoughtfully. “You know, I can’t just keep calling you Kitten, seeing as you’ll probably be hanging around for a while.”

“My name is Dian!” the little kitten meowed, eagerly. Dian was frustrated when all Felix did was look at him, confused. Right, he can’t hear me, Dian thought, irritated. He would have to show Felix who he was.

“How about… Shadow?” Dian huffed at the suggestion.

“Alright…Raven? Midnight? Asher?” Dian turned his head at all three.

Felix leaned back on the park bench, sighing. “How about Onyx? Phantom? Obsidian?”

Dian joyfully nodded his head. “Yes! That’s it!”

Travis scoffed, “I wish you had found this name giving ability sooner! Maybe I would have a name like Buster or Mahogany.”

“Obsidian it is!” exclaimed Felix proudly.

“Sometimes I wonder where you came from, Obsidian.”

As Felix wondered this, fear shot down Dian’s spine. Is he going to find out I’m a runaway? Will he return me? Dian’s mind whirled.

“Well, wherever you came from, you couldn’t have been that happy there. I reckon you’d have tried to back by now if you were!” He took another bite of his hot dog, the mustard dripping down the napkin onto his wrist. “Its ‘kay, Obsidian. I kinda ran away, too. No one really got me when I was younger, including my family. So as soon as I could leave, I rushed outta there and tried to get some work as a graphic designer.”

Dian gazed at him, amazed at how similar they were.

“Well, it’ll be getting dark soon, so we’d better get going if we want to get to the pageant on time.”

Dian wriggled into the dog costume as Felix stuck the sparkly blue bow on. “I’ve registered you as Dancing Curls, my favorite font, just so you know, Obsidian.”

Dian was starting to get a bit worried about this pageant, seeing as he couldn’t see a thing out of the dog costume’s tiny eye windows. And weren’t the judges observant enough to see that he wasn’t a real dog? Why couldn’t he be more stubborn and complaining like Travis?

“Aaaand now we have Dancing Curls, and her owner, Felix,” an unenthusiastic but booming voice said as an excited Felix ushered Dian on stage.

“Good luck!” hiss-whispered Travis.

“Hello, ladies and gentleman! This is Dancing Curls, my purebred… Schwartz..ing…ton…hound. Yup! And tonight we are going to show you some tricks. Dancing, jump.”

Felix held out a hoop that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Dian did as he was told though, and attempted a jump. As he lept up, he could feel the costume about to rip, and made a tumble-ish, fall-ish landing. All he could do was thank his lucky stars that it was dark, and that the judges didn’t seem to be paying attention all that much. There might be a chance they don’t notice the costume! The audience wasn’t a problem, it was a bored crowd of about 20 people sitting on uncomfortable chairs.

“Um… Dancing! Dance!” Dian tried his best, getting up on his hind legs and attempting to dance about. But his little kitten legs were short, not like a dog’s. And Dian sort of succeeded. He just looked a bit funny. Like a dachshund trying to get a treat from a giraffe. A few audience members chuckled, which had to have counted for something.

“Alrighty then, Dancing, paw.” This Dian could do effortlessly. He lifted up his paw, and high-fived Felix. But as he did, he heard a dreaded rrrrripp, and looked down to see a tuft of soft black fur among his polyester costume fuzz. Felix noticed this as well.

“And that’s all, folks!” Felix briskly picked up Dian, and rushed backstage. “I don’t think they noticed,” Felix comforted.

Dian felt ashamed. He had let Felix down. He knew it.

“Aww… it’s okay, buddy. You did it! You went up on stage, and you did it. Not flawlessly, but you still did it. And trust me, sometimes, that’s okay.”

“Hey, cat,” Travis said, turning to Dian. “You’ve helped Felix today more than I ever could. You did a huge favor for him, and you barely knew him! Do you think I’d have danced around in a costume and bow? No siree.”

Dian was about to reply when Felix called for him, “Dancing! C’mere!”

Dian ran as fast as he could to the stage, next to Felix.  

“And the first place winner is…”  the booming voice paused, dramatically. “Cecelia Holiday, and her corgi, Fluffers.”

A euphoric blonde woman holding a little dog shook hands with Booming Voice and took the golden trophy and a giant check.

“The second place winner is… Lucy Brighten, and her dalmatian, Hero.”

As Lucy took her silver trophy and her check, Dian couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He knew he wasn’t the best, but these things always ended with the Good Guys winning, right? Even though they didn’t know a thing about the other contestants and technically they cheated but…

“And the third place winner is… Felix Silversmith and his Schwartzington, Dancing Curls?”

Dian was just as confused as booming voice. But Felix was just off the wall. His eyes brightened as he was given the smallest bronze trophy, and the smallest check that read $210.

“Thank you, thank you!” he beamed, proud as punch, as Booming Voice led him off the stage onto the grass.

Travis rushed towards them. “You did it!”

Felix unzipped the dog costume, leaving nothing but a very thankful Dian.

“Thanks a bunch, Obsidian,” Felix said as he embraced Dian tightly.

“You know,” he said, holding Dian up. “We oughta find a shorter name for you. How about Dian?”

Dave Is Just a Small Town Boy Living in a Lonely World

The tale of Jeff the llama and Dave the human, the two greatest super heroes ever. Based on a true story.

 

Dave is just small town boy living in a lonely world. Dave is just 12, but he works at his dad’s llama farm. One day a llama went loose. Dave followed, the llama led Dave to a weird cave with glowing crystals just like the cave from the movie Chronicle but NOT THE SAME ONE because copyright infringement. As Dave and the llama walk down the cave, the liquid inside the crystals start to move in like a whirlpool sort of motion. The llama touches the crystal and the crystal turns red. All of a sudden, there is a bang and the llama and Dave fall asleep but not like people in Chronicle because our movie is better. Dave wakes up at the same as the llama, Dave is shocked when the llama actually spoke.

“Ah, my head is killing me,” the llama said.

Dave said, ”You just spoke, actually spoke.”

Llama said, “You can understand me?”

“Si,” Dave replied. “But you’re a llama.”

“I have a name, you know,” said the llama. “Llamas have names, we’re actually a very advanced race, now I have an idea, lets get out of the cave.”

Dave said, “You said had a name, what is the name?”

“My name is Canton Everit Delware the 3rd but you can call me Jeff.”

Dave said, “How can you be talking right now?”

Jeff said, “I don’t know, maybe you’re speaking llama right now.”

“What? Of course I am not, llamas don’t have a language, they just have an assortment of baahs.”

As the least qualified super heroes make their journey (pun not intended to the beginning), they did not notice the gaping hole right in front of them. They continue to walk forward and fall. Llama starts to fly and picks up Dave and they fly out of the hole.

Dave said, “You can fly?!”

Llama said “I can’t fly.”

Dave said, “So then what are you doing right now, falling in style, come on be smart.”

Llama said, “I must show the colony my power.”

Dave said, “Can I come.”

As the two heroes walk into the secret underground colony of the Llamas, they see a huge statue of LL Cool J.

“Why is there a statue of LL Cool J?” Dave said.

“LL Cool J is the creator of the llamas and he is also the best character in NCIS,” Jeff replied.

Dave said, “LL cool J was not the creator of llamas.”

“Think about it, haven’t you ever wondered why there are two l’s in llama,” Jeff replied.

As they were walking, Dave sneezed really hard and lasers came out of his eyes and cut the statue in half. “I can shoot lasers! OUT MY EYES!” Dave said.

“Apparently you can, now it’s time to run.”

“Wait, you can fly!”

“Oh…yeah, BYE,” Jeff said as flies away.

Dave said, “Wait come back, take me with you.”

“I do what I want,” Jeff.

Dave said, “Please help me, plus llamas should help humans, we are a more advanced race.”

“I am a flying llama that likes human TV shows, speaks English and I have another super power later on,” said Jeff.

“How do you know you have another super power?” said Dave.

“The narrator told me,” Jeff said.

”I’ll make the narrator tell what the super power is if you get me out of here,” Dave. The two worst heroes in the universe fly out of danger, well that’s it, they flew out of danger that’s it nothing more nothing less. I know you were expecting something witty but I ran out, wait here I can search something up hold. No, nope, nuh, ah yes finally, ok you ready alright, here it goes, yo mama so fat, when she sits around the house she sits around the house. We’re…we’re really scraping at the bottom of the barrel.

Jeff said, “Dave, since you destroyed the statue of LL Cool J, every single llama in the universe is after you and me so there is only one place we be safe in, that is Hotel California,”

said Dave. “This will be living it up in the Hotel California, what a lovely place, what a lovely place, such a lovely place, such a lovely…”

Shhhhhhh, we already talked about this copyright infringement. Dave and Jeff said together, “Thanks narrator, also thanks custom ink.”

When the heroes walked into their room, they found an expired credit card but the heroes thought that the credit card was perfectly fine. They use the card and wasted all their money on nothing. Without any money, Dave and Jeff go on welfare. All of there friends hated them for taking advantage of a government program.

“Do you think it’s wrong to be on welfare when there are other people that need welfare more than us,” said Jeff.

Dave said, “Hey, we’re super heroes.”

 

Cucumber Gardens

There was a little boy lying in the cucumber garden. He was naked, joints stitched with black sewing thread like a rag doll, and his bald head lolled to the side. As he smiled at Lottie, there was a chunk of cucumber wedged in between his yellow teeth.

Lottie stood above him, squinting in the bright sunlight, her hands on the hips of her blue pinafore. It would be tea-time soon, and she would have to return to the parlor, or Mother would start to worry.

“Hello,” he fumbled with the words as he looked up at her, eyes flat and dark as tar. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lottie. I live here.” She pointed at the sprawling mansion in front of them.

“So do I,” he replied.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do not!” Lottie yelled. “Do not, you stupid liar!” She kicked some dirt into his mouth and watched him sputter and cough, before running off.

When she reached the door she turned back to look and see if he was still there, but he was gone, leaving behind trampled flowers and fallen cucumbers.

***

At teatime she didn’t mention the boy to Mother, only sat and drank her tea, and didn’t even complain when it burned her tongue. She folded her napkin on her lap and didn’t let her elbows touch the table, and still, a praising smile never graced Mother’s lips. Her brow was furrowed as she continuously kept tucking strands of her dark hair behind her ear.

“What’s wrong, Mother?” Lottie asked as she shoveled some blueberry tart on her china plate.

Mother dabbed at her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Nothing, darling. Do you mind if you finish up by yourself? I need to go attend to some business.”

Lottie agreed, because seeing Mother so angry made her very anxious, and Mother kissed her on the forehead with her cold, stiff lips.

Lottie resumed eating while kicking the family cat, Dolly. She would toss Dolly pieces of tart, and kick her in the ribs when she tried to eat it. After a while she grew bored and started aimlessly walking around the manor, dragging her sticky hands across the wallpaper, the wooden planks creaking under her bare toes. When she was crossing the second floor foyer, she heard a noise.

She looked up. The attic door was ajar. Carrying Dolly under one of her arms, she pushed open the door and started to climb up the narrow stairs. The attic wasn’t somewhere she usually liked to play. It was dark and dusty, filled with broken toys and canned foods, old sweaters made by long lost relatives that Lottie would never wear, and animal skins from her father’s hunting escapades.

She coughed and waved away a cloud of dust, glancing around the sun-soaked room.The boy was sitting on a milk crate, his knees tucked under his chin. His grimy fingers were deep in a can of corn.

“You again,” she said. “You need to stay away.”

“But this is my home.” He gestured around at the attic, filled with stacks of old newspapers, mothballs and threadbare blankets. His wrists were covered in deep, bloody welts, the pale flesh of his skin torn to pieces. Lottie grimaced in disgust.

“What’s your name?” She took a step closer, and as she did, a wave of a sour stench hit her. Acrid and sharp, rotting flesh and rubbing alcohol.

“I have none,” he said simply.

Lottie laughed. “That’s just silly. You must have a name – everyone does!”

“Not me.”

Lottie sat on the crate next to him, pinching her nose. “Where did you come from?”

“Here.” He picked up Dolly, who squirmed and hissed at him. “Pretty cat.”

“Don’t touch her, she’s mine.” Lottie tugged at Dolly. The boy’s grip grew tighter, and the cat yowled. “Let go of her!”

With a easy snap, Dolly hung limp in the boy’s hand. Tears sprung to Lottie’s eyes. “You stupid, stupid boy! Look what you’ve done now!” Wiping her cheeks, she grabbed the cat from him. “You stay away from here, and if I see you again, I’ll tell mother!”

“No,” he said, grabbing her arm. She recoiled at his touch, his grip harsh and stronger than one of a usual eight-year-old boy. His fingernails dug into her flesh, ragged and yellow. “You can’t let them know I’m here. Please, Lottie.”

Lottie didn’t know how this boy knew her name, and didn’t like it one bit. “Go away! I hate you!” She ran off, slamming the door behind her, cradling Dolly in her arms. Once she was back downstairs, she allowed herself to cry, blubbering and stroking the cat’s patchy gray fur.

***

When Mother and Father returned home, it was late, and Lottie was still sobbing. She hadn’t eaten supper, and this made her especially more sad, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Mother wiped away her tears and asked what was wrong. Lottie told her everything, embellishing where she felt was necessary, her words garbled and weepy.

Mother gave her a tissue to wipe her tears, and she and Father went into the kitchen to fix her tea and toast.

She hid at the kitchen doorway, watching them talk in hushed voices as she ate her meal. Lottie couldn’t hear them but both looked angry. Mother’s lip was trembling. Father slammed his fist against the kitchen island, and Mother started to cry.

Their voices grew louder and louder until they were screaming, unintelligible words that Lottie couldn’t understand. “You built it, it’s your responsibility!” Mother poked her manicured finger into Father’s chest. “You told me, you told me you got rid of it!”

“Are you blaming me for this thing you created?”

“It was going to be perfect!” Her voice was raw, and she let out a final wail before Father slapped her across the face. Lottie coughed on a chunk of toast and Mother glanced over, blood trickling down her forehead. She sent her up to her bedroom to get washed up and in bed, her eyes wide and wild as a trapped animal.

When Mother came to tuck her into bed, Lottie asked her about what would happen to the boy. “Get some rest,” was all that Mother said.

“What’s going to happen?” Lottie asked. Mother just barely kissed Lottie on the forehead, her lips ghosting over Lottie’s skin, and flitted out the door. Lottie didn’t fall asleep, dripping with cold sweat, and a few hours past midnight she heard the downstairs door open. She crept to the window and opened it slightly.

Mother stood in the front yard, dressed in her nightgown and rainboots, holding a rifle. Father held the boy by the scruff of his neck. He had been beaten badly, bruised and battered, with cuts on his body,

Lottie was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Mother didn’t look as angry as she did before. She appeared more purposeful, determined. She brought the gun to the boy’s forehead as he screamed and pleaded, his hands flailing wildly. Just as her finger pulled the trigger, he shoved the gun so it was in Mother’s direction, hitting her in the arm.

Mother wailed in pain as she collapsed to the ground. Lottie raced out of the room and ran downstairs, to see Father cradling Mother in the groomed green grass. In the distance, she saw the boy, running blindly.

After a moment, Lottie grabbed the gun, the metal cool against her hands. She chased after him. “Lottie,” Father called. “Lottie, come back!”

The boy turned around for a brief second, saw her chasing him, and ran faster. He was much quicker than Lottie with his lanky limbs and long strides, but he was getting tired. They passed the sculpture garden and the swimming pool, and when they reached the gate, he was wheezing.

As Lottie ventured towards him, he held out his hands, bloody and soiled black. “Lottie,” he said. “Lottie.” She pointed the gun, her hands quivering.

“I don’t know you!”

“I was supposed to be you. I was supposed to be better.”

The gunshot rang out so loud Lottie had to cover her ears. She fell to the ground, shutting her eyes tightly as red splattered her. Mother scooped her up and Father stroked her hair, whispering that it was going to be alright. “We love you so much, princess,” Father said to her. “We love you so much.” And they kept murmuring that to her on the way back to the house, that they loved her so much, more than life itself, and that she did so well, and eventually Lottie drifted off to sleep.

The next morning when Lottie woke up, Mother told her that Father would be home soon, and that later they would all go and buy a new cat. “Any kind you’d like,” Mother said, readjusting the makeshift bandage around her arm. She still wore her nightgown, the front covered in dried blood.

Mother took her down to the cucumber gardens. Next to the trellis was a little sapling on a mound of freshly dug dirt. “So we can grow apples,” Mother explained. “We can make apple pie and tart, and you can climb the branches and play.” Lottie smiled and squeezed her Mother’s trembling hand. A strand of black thread lay tangled in the grass.

 

Book Review for Sand Dollar Summer

This book review is about a fiction book called Sand Dollar Summer. I read this book because the blurb sounded interesting and because I had nothing else to read. I thought that this book was definitely more interesting than I imagined it to be. I liked this book because I was able to feel empathy for all of the characters and because I liked the suspenseful ending.

This story is about a girl named Lise with a little brother named Free. They have an awesome life until their mom gets into a car accident. Her doctor says that it would be good to get a change in scenery, so they move to Fiddle Beach for a while. Lise hates it there because there is nothing to do, but her mom wants to stay. Lise meets a man across the island named Ben and they become good friends. Ben is an old man and one of the kids that she meets calls him crazy. There is a huge storm and Lise wants to see if Ben wants to come to the storm shelter to save him…

I liked this book because I felt empathy for the characters. I was able to do this because the author was very descriptive and detailed about how they were feeling. I was always able to really get how they were feeling. I could also really understand what they were sensing. As an example, at the end of the story there is a huge hurricane and Lise wants to save her friend Ben from the storm and ends up in the water trying to get back to shore. She is then saved by her mom’s friend who is driving them to the shelter. The author really describes how Lise is feeling, like how she is scared of the water and I wanted her to be ok. Another example of the author’s good emotional descriptions is that the author was very detailed about Lise’s fear of the ocean and how she is nervous about all the creatures in it.

“I looked out at the miles and miles of nothing but water-moving, churning water-and I realized there could be anything out there, anything at all. Where I could see the bottom, there might be a piece of glass or a sharp shell hidden under the sand waiting to slice my soft feet, and where I couldn’t see the bottom, who knows? … And there was always the pull, the pull of the tide that sucked the sand from beneath you grain by grain, trying to suck you with it.”

 

This quote shows how scary it can be for Lise to be surrounded by ocean. The author also really showed the feelings of all the characters. Even though Free didn’t talk, I was still really able to understand what he was feeling.

Another thing that that I liked about this book was that it had a very suspenseful ending. I don’t want to give anything away. I thought that the ending was very suspenseful and it left me on the edge of my seat. I didn’t want to put the book down. One of the major parts that was really sad was when someone died and an animal died too. Many lives were in danger.

I definitely recommend this book because it is very good with explaining everything and I think that it is very kid friendly. I think that some kids will really relate to this story. I would give this book a five star rating.

Bridge

BRIDGE: A Profile

Scales of tarmac,

riddled with fabrication.

Look! Listen!

Color explodes at a turn,

spindly emerald arms

grasp the industrial monument.

 

A New York Conversation.

Conical personality,

arched with pride.

A web of followers,

thirsty suspending wires,

justifying its foundation.

It is better than you.

Swagger than you.

Connecting hipsters

and businessmen,

 

Callous tourists

from Scandinavia stop and stare.

The first! The best!

Ashamed siblings gasp from afar,

a jaunty character,

a knowledgeable past.

It does not fall

no matter how many elephants

walk across it.

 

BRIDGE: GAP

A bridge between two worlds

above regretful waters

ideas that didn’t make it

friends who left me

swept under the bridge.

 

A bird

one wing white,

the other black

one religion, one god

interpreted differently.

 

A bridge, the agreement

looms overhead.

 

One side,

a red hot passionate place

an era of appreciative nods was over

whoops and cheers were the new best thing.

 

The only kings that reign

rule with a guitar

and don’t care about crowns…

 

Five thoughts away

over passionate purple flagstones

a realm of culture ends.

A new road painted

by the left side of my brain…

 

Here it can add up.

A cherry blossom adorns a mahogany windowsill,

overlooking cerulean skies and turquoise oceans.

Both sides of the equations, equal.

Hospitals filled with cheers, no stillborns.

 

A bridge hangs above both.

A constant in both worlds.

Each side builds their half,

we were confused

when the ends did not meet–

some knew they wouldn’t.

 

Enter at your risk.

Try not to get wrapped up

in the spider webs.

Try not to drown

in the pools of abandoned construction equipment.

 

A ghost project.

A retired idea.

The dove laments–

No Hope. No Hope.

 

Then you decide to jump

the gap, the irregularity

where the project was thrown away.

 

I need to.

I leap the gap in my bridge everyday.

 

BRIDGE: Burning

 

By the light of the burning bridge

a new one is made

 

Two people

can part ways

over a coffee

an unsaid connection was broken between them

 

As they tiptoe apart

disappointed  into the summer sun

they see the rest of the world for the first time

it’s been a long winter.

 

A lover’s bridge burns spectacularly

a dramatic, yet melancholy explosion

it ends quickly, the night enveloped in darkness once more .

 

Two friends

a passionate argument,

a disagreement, too strong a tension

for the bonds of friendship to uphold.

 

Disgusted letdowns.

Growing up and out of this,

growing pains and stretch marks

until something snaps.

 

A friend’s bridge glows an electric blue

and makes no sound as it falls,

dying visions of elementary school,

bus buddies forever…

 

Disappointment lightly dusts the river

where the bridge once stood.

 

Sometimes a bridge has to burn

unnecessarily…

 

Nothing went wrong.

Every minute with you

was full of understanding and horror movies.

marine biologists together

living on opposite sides

of the seas.

 

I will stand on a beach

in San Francisco  

 

And know that on the other side of this big river,

you are reading books in French

and playing soccer.

 

I will stand on a beach

and I will feel the cool ash

of our burned bridge,

between my toes.

Alone

There I was, standing, all alone…

It all started a month ago, June 18, 2014.

I was with my friend, Lexi White. We went to go see Maze Runner. We were standing in line for popcorn and candy, and I saw my ex, Hunter. Lexi hates my ex because we all used to hang out then when Hunter and I started to date she became the third wheel. When Lexi and I got in the theatre we got the PERFECT seats, we always try to get to the movies early.  We sat down and started talking and laughing and then Hunter and his best friend Devin sat right next to us. It went SILENT: you could hear a pin drop. After five minutes I got up and went to the bathroom, I slapped on some perfume, threw on a little lip gloss, and a little bit of breath spray.  It’s not like I miss him, but I still want to look good.  

I ran back to my seat and started talking to Lexi. It started getting awkward when I put my hand in the wrong popcorn bucket and Hunter and I touched hands. The movie started and we all got quiet, once the maze doors closed I got scared and Hunter tried to hold my hand. Once the Grevers got loose and started attacking in the glade Hunter put his arm around me and I snuggled in. After the movie Hunter and I hugged then he left and Lexi and I went to the mall, she started talking to me about what happened in the theatre and seemed pretty mad.

“How’s Hunter?”

“I don’t know, good I guess, why?”

“Just figured you knew.”

“Why?”

“Cause your little snuggle sesh. If you still liked him you could’ve just told me.”

“Why are you getting mad at me?”

“Because I don’t want to be the third wheel again! You’re my best friend and when you were dating Hunter we didn’t hang out, you were always busy with him. I don’t want you guys to start dating again.”

“Well I’m sorry but this isn’t your decision to make. Has it ever occurred to you that it’s not always about you?! It doesn’t matter that you don’t like him, cause I like him, and I’m the one that’s gonna date him, no matter if you like it or not!”

She left the mall and I had to find a way to get home. I was planning on taking the A train home. I went and sat in the Starbucks across the street then I ran into Hunter.

“Where’s Lexi?”

“She left.”

“Why?”

“She got upset with me cause she doesn’t want us dating.”

“We’re dating?”

“I mean we snuggled while watching a movie. It was kind of a date.”

“Yea. Um… Girlfriend.” Trying to move onto another topic.

“Hey where’s Devin?”

“He left, didn’t feel good. Since it’s just you and me, and now we are dating, why don’t I buy you a coffee and have our first official date.”

“I’d like that.”

That night was amazing. We walked in Times Square taking pictures and stuff, it was SO romantic. After that he drove me home, and walked me to my door. My parents were watching T.V.

“Why aren’t you at Lexi’s?” my mom said.

“Um… She didn’t feel good.”

“Then how did you get home?” My dad asked

“I took a train.”

“Cool, well if you want dinner it is on the stove so it should be ready around ten fifteen.”

I went up to my room and texted Lexi, she kept reading and not answering to any of my messages. Finally I ate dinner, my mom and dad asked me how the movie was, I said good. Tonight the dinner table felt super quiet, as if there was a lot of tension, and I KNEW it wasn’t just cause I got home earlier than I was suppose tod. I asked if anything happened, and they were very mellow and said things like “Nothings wrong, nothing at all.” Then would smile.

“How’s Lexi?” my mom asked.

“Fine…why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Your phone went off with a notification, she read your message. What were you talking about?” my dad asked.

“Um…school work, math, you know…stuff like that. Why?”

“I was just asking.” Both my parents smiled.

The next morning it was a cool Saturday morning, I put on my favorite brown saddle jacket and black heel ankle boots and headed outside. I went on a little walk to the swings where I was gonna meet Hunter, I got there a bit early and I saw one of my other ex boyfriends, Ben. He has brown hair with golden highlights, in a manly way, the PERFECT biceps, and has such a great personality. We’re now friends and we sat on the swings and talked, I hadn’t seen him since we broke up last year. He had to run to meet his family for breakfast, and we texted a lot after that moment. Hunter and I were talking about how we are both going to college next year and how our colleges are both only half an hour away so we can visit on weekends. Through out the week we would pass by each other in the hall and meet after school. Lexi still wouldn’t talk to me, till one day.

“Why won’t you talk to me?!” I blurted out in science class.

“You already know, I don’t like your boyfriend.”

“Is there something else?”

“No…”

“Really?”

“Well… There is but, I can’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“What is it!”

“Me and Hunter kissed the night you broke up!”

After that I was the one that couldn’t talk to her. I didn’t talk to Hunter either.

Friday night the door rang and it was Ben, he had a bunch of movies and kettle corn.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good, why?”

“I heard you’re fighting with Lexi.”

“Yea, it’s because-”

“I know why.”

“How who’s talking-”

“No one’s talking about it, I kinda overheard you and Lexi.”

“Oh.”

“I think he should’ve told you.”

“Yea. It would’ve been good information.”

We started to watch a whole bunch of comedies and took pictures and posted on Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, and twitter. The next morning I got a text from Hunter asking about my movie session with Ben, and I fired right back with him and Lexi’s hook up. He backed away and started apologizing and things started getting complicated real fast.

Lexi still didn’t talk to me, and I could do nothing to fix it. Ben wasn’t talking to me cause he thought we were a thing and then I got back together with Hunter. Then Lexi and Ben wanted to get back at me by telling Hunter I hooked up with Isaac and even Hunter wouldn’t talk to me.

After a month I went from popular to loser, everyone thought I was a slut and all my friends stopped talking to me, I ate outside on a bench for lunch and I had NO one to talk to. That night I got a call on the home phone from the ambulance: my parents had gotten in a big car accident. I had to hop onto the train and run five blocks to the accident. They had to spend the night in the hospital.

I had to go to school early in the morning to get one the school bus. During  English class Mr. Smith got a note from our vice principal, I was to report to the office. What had I done?! I’m pretty sure I did nothing! I was told my parents wanted me at the hospital. Mr. Brown, our principal told me he hoped my parents were okay. I hopped on the bus and went straight to my parents room, the doctor told me I had an hour before they… will… pass. I couldn’t believe it. We had a long talk, my mom on my right in a bed, and my dad on my left in his hospital bed. After we talked about their will my mother and father faded fast, tears running down my face and my heart beating slower. I couldn’t believe it, they were gone, and this time, for real. My heart was alive but my soul was gone, or was my soul alive and my heart was gone? Who knows, but I know a part of me was gone.

I had to stay at my house alone because I need to clear out my house to sell it. After a week everything was alright, but my “friends’ wouldn’t even talk to me, the friends knew would be there for my one hundred percent. I started going through my parents stuff. In my moms desk I found a folder that was titled “Birth Certificates and Growing Up.” I opened it up, pages upon pages of paperwork and pictures of me as a child. I found a small envelope in big letters “Baby Pictures.” It was me and a girl in the hospital, about thirty pictures, and eighteen of me and this other baby girl, until the nineteenth one, it was just pictures of me throughout my toddler years. I went through one more envelope titled “Elenore and Elena,” I was wondering who Elena was. Once again pages upon pages of pictures, then I came across paperwork in a large binder clip, the last four pages were information about Lexi. It was like a note written to my mother.

Dear Kayla,

Your daughter Lexi White is doing really great with her adoptive family, but she is having trouble at home. Her parents are fighting every night and it’s affecting her school work, other than that everything is great. From Kerry.

I had a sister. My best friend is my sister. I needed to tell her, but she wouldn’t believe me. I have to bring this stuff to school tomorrow and show her. The next day at the end of school I walked up to her and said straight out,

“We’re sisters.” She obviously didn’t believe me. After I showed her the papers she finally believed me.

“Wow. We’re sisters… I can’t believe it, I knew something was special about our friendship.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about everything,” I said.

“You know, sisters would listen to each other, and take each other’s advice, especially about boys.”

“Are you serious?! We are sisters, I’m trying to say sorry and you won’t forgive me, sisters forgive each other.”

“If you were really my sister you would have taken my advice.”

“And look who mom kept!”

Everyone heard me and Lexi ran out crying, I ran after her, she wouldn’t turn around. My only thing left of my family is Lexi, and she’s gone. Now I’m the most HATED person at Belleview High, and I don’t have anyone to go to. Now I know, the part of me that was missing was my sister, my other half. Now I know why my parents were so quiet. June 18th, 2014. There I was, standing, all alone…

A Void In My Life

An anomaly in my life has and will continue to forever shift the dynamic of my childhood. That is the lack of a father figure in my household. Especially as a male, not having a father that I can talk to about sensitive topics in a male’s life is extremely challenging. This becomes even harder when I see families and children with the exact thing that I lack in my life. What hurts me even more is that they don’t even seem to realize that having a father or somebody that you can talk to in your life is a blessing.

This abnormality was very hard for me to comprehend in my younger ages. I have learned to embrace it as opposed to hate it. I realized that I am blessed beyond imagination to have the family that I have. My mother, my grandmother, my sister, my brother, my puppy, and my grandfather who truly does fill this void in my life and much much beyond.

The absence of a father in my life is ultimately depressing, but what describes the dynamic of my household and my upbringing is the resilience that my family and I share in response to this dearth. This is the value that has really guided my life. The belief that a situation that is depressing or unfortunate, can be turned into great strength.

 

1 to 10

Tossing turning thinking

revision remind rethink rewind reword

and reword

and rework

and swallow and don’t forget to breathe.

Don’t forget to breathe

don’t forget to breathe.

Watch your breathing

and don’t let it spiral

and don’t puff your breathing.

Focus on your heart go 123456789

123456789.

89

789

5689

679.

and one again

it always goes back to one

and square one

base one to homerun

I am ruled by the one.

Number one and

number one and

number one no wait…

two

two  (?)

two is for searching for wishing and lurking

never getting it right.

two is is is the absolute  worst

I Hate two.

two is too long  ..  it runs &  it bleeds & it bleeds and it bleeds out.

two is the cause of my fear

of all thoughts

of that dreaded second place

and second tier

and a benched life I have created  for myself.

and now

three.

three seems redundant

three because two wasn’t enough.

three to satisfy

three to be silenced

and three to hide

to hide behind.

three so there can be someone to shine

three to have a winner

and three so I can lose.

Four is the ‘All American Family’

four takes the focus off me.

it puts it all on him

Four is for splitting

dividing and quitting

and breaking up

Four was the fan favorite and the only thing to ever be exploited.

Four was a perfect storm.

Four for remembering I never really had the attention on me.

Four because I always wanted the attention on me and attracted negative attention when it didn’t               happen.

234

34

34

fi-

I need FIVE

five is the perfect half point and the place it all makes sense again

234 fi- 789

fi- 6789

1234 fi- 789

789

789

Four nervous breaths

and three rushed pants

and two distressed parents

one long night

and still no five.

FIVE 678

23456789

8989

89

89

89.

TEN

racing chasing

feet pacing

hearts beating

And 10

ten again

Ten fingers reaching up towards my ceiling and clenching down against my throat.

Ten white lies rushing into my ears

ten salted tears streaming down my face

not symmetrically though

7 on my left

2 on my right

and one left again

Wrong.

Just be even.

Why doesn’t mom understand

If my tears couldn’t be even how could I expect anything out of my life.

Even I didn’t really understand that.

234567

765432

2 7 2 7 2 7

I just understood that I was on a spectrum

I was a two

And I HATE  two.

123

123

1234

678910

And finally ~five.

swallow and don’t forget to breathe

Don’t forget to breathe

don’t forget to breathe

Watch your breathing

And try to stop the spiral

dont scare your ch

Letters to the Living

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I really want to know what Indigo was talking about. She told me that there was someone in the book named Rex, and he writes plays. She had this look in her eyes when she said it and I knew that she would not let me go until I found out about him.  I know you’re probably wondering, “why do you care that he is a playwright?” Well, I care because when I died I was trying to write a play but I never could find a way to finish it. Sounds bananas right! Well, I couldn’t find a way to end it then, and I’ve decided not to try again now.

“Ok Margo, it’s now or never. You have to do this,” Did I mention that I tend to talk to myself? As I walk over to the book in the center of the room I start to get really excited, and then I start thinking about what they could do to me if they find out what I’m doing. “Well it’s too late to turn back now,” I say to myself. I’m standing right in front of the book and with one swift movement the book is laying open and the name is right there. “Rex Barnes, age 25. What? Indigo said he was 50, well I’m not surprised, she’s terrible at reading,” Was that to mean to say out loud, even if I am alone? “So he is a playwright ! That’s so groovy!” Whoops! I really should not be yelling. Rushing, I take down his address. “53, West End Avenue, Los Angeles,” He lives in LA! This guy is just too cool. Oh, and I wrote down his address so that I can write to him, and no, it’s not wired for a dead girl in the Realm to write to a living guy above, at least I hope it’s not. I mean it’s only weird if i tell him that I’m dead.

“Margo! Are you in here?” Indigo is here! Should I tell her what I did? Nah, it will be my little secret.

“Ya, I’m in here!” I call out.

“Hey Margo, do you want to go down to the truck and practice for tomorrow?” The ‘truck’ is where we go to hangout and practice for shows. Oh, I forgot to mention that I am an actress, and right now Indigo and I are in a play where everyone is reenacting their deaths. It’s pretty cool, but also incredibly morbid.

“Sure, why not? Let me just go change and grab my bag.” I like to practice in costume so that I’m comfortable during the show. “Ok, I’m ready, let’s bounce.” That was weird.

“See you tomorrow!” Indigo just left so I think that I’m going to write this letter.

Dear Rex Barnes,

Wow, this is really weird.

Hello.

I don’t know how to say this without sounding psycho, so I’m just going to go for it.

I’m a student at NYU in Manhattan. For my english class we were all assigned pen pals. I’m not sure how they found you but they did, so I’m going to roll with it.

My name is Margo Vanter, and I’m 23 years young. I’m studying to be a writer and actress. I think a lot about life, and how we all fit in and what our purposes are. I feel that we were all put on this earth for a reason, and I am determined to find my reason and make sure that I fulfil my duty.

If you think this is too weird you don’t have to write back, but it would be cool if you did (that sounded really stalkery).

Your new Pal (get it penpal, new pal),

~Margo Vanter  

I can’t believe he wrote back! I checked my mail, and it was there. I can’t believe it!

Hello Margo Vanter,

This is kind of weird.

I’m not sure how they got my name either, but I am glad they did. You seem like a cool girl.

I am 25, and I am a playwright.

I see where you come from with your whole view on life, and purposes, but I think we’re put on this earth so that we can create our own path, our own morals, our own purpose. I would love to hear more about where your opinions on life come from.

I can’t wait to get to know you more, unless you think I am a total jerk for disagreeing with your view on life (wow that sounds weird).

Your pal,

-Rex Barnes

He seems really groovy, and he wasn’t too freaked out that I somehow got his address, or at least he didn’t show it in his letter. It’s also a really good thing that I didn’t tell him what I really am and made up a little story. It wasn’t completely made up though, so it’s not so bad. I did go to NYU for those things, but we never got pen pals.

“5 minutes till curtain.” Crap! I’m not ready. It’s the second night of our show and there is a wonderful turnout, but that just makes it even worse.

“Margo, were going on in one minute!” Mark shouts. Mark and I are in the same scene. We were both killed that day in Central Park during a be-in. If you don’t know what that is, it’s when we would sit around and hang out, while protesting the Vietnam war.

 

“You were fantastic!!” Jacob screeches excitedly as he runs across the room to me after the show. Jacob is one of my best friends, and a well known dancer with the biggest company in our part of the realm. He and his boyfriend had come to see me backstage before we headed out to dinner.

“I didn’t think I had that in me.” I can’t believe that I got through that. I was so nervous in the beginning, I thought i was going to die all over again on that stage.

“Are you ready to head out?” Sam, Jacob’s boyfriend asks.

 

“Pass me the champagne,” I shouted across the table to Jacob. After we left the theater, Jacob and Sam took me to their new favorite club.

“Thank god we got a booth in the back,” Sam exclaims as Jacob passes me the bottle of champagne.

“Oh Sam, do you remember last time we were here?” Jacob cous,

“Oh, my, gosh, yes,” Sam replies, thinking about the memory.

“Let’s go dance,” Jacob whispers, pulling Sam out of the booth. And I’m alone, great. After about five minutes of waiting for them to come back, well, more like willing them with my mind, I decide that it’s time to go. I throw some money down on the table for my drink, grab the half empty bottle of champagne, and make my way to the front.

“Are you leaving already?” Jacob yells at me as I make my way to the door.

“Ya, I am really sorry, I’m just really tired.” And with that I make my way out the door. As soon as the fresh air hits my face, I know where I am going.

 

Boom “AHHH!” I scream as I fall out of bed. As I get up, I look around. I realize I have no idea how I got home. The last thing I remember is walking out of the club with a bottle of champagne. I guess I finished that bottle, and somehow got home. As I stumble out of my bedroom, I start to feel the pounding in my head from last nights adventures. After I’ve taken two advil and downed a glass of water,  I start looking around my shoebox apartment for what fell. When I finally find it, I laugh quietly to myself because it was just a magnet falling off the fridge.

 

The second I walk into the theater, everyone looks at me with concern in their eyes, and a few people laugh. “What, you’ve never seen a girl walking around with her sunglasses on inside? I’ve seen at least half of you in the same position,” I yell. I still have a pounding headache, which is weird because I took an Advil. Well, it’s not that weird. I always had a feeling that all this “amazing” science doesn’t work. I continued to make my way to the dressing room, to drop my bag, and chill till I have to be on stage.

It’s now five minutes till curtain, and I still feel extremely hungover. I’m starting to think that I had more than just champagne last night. As I walk onto the stage, the room starts to spin. I walk over to my mark and try not to fall in the process. I grab onto Stu, another member in the scene, to keep my balance. I go through the motions of the first scene, sitting on the ground, watching Stu dance around in circles as we laugh. As I sit on the floor watching Stu, I start to feel better. When I get up to join him my legs wobble and I collapsed on the floor with a thud. As I lay there motionless, I hear gasps from the audience, before everything goes black.

 

I hear the humming of an air conditioner, as I slowly wake up and open my eyes. I know I’m at Indigo’s house. “Good you’re awake. Is it too cold in here? You know how I always have the AC on,” Indigo whispers, as she walks in.

“What happened?”

“Well my dear Margo, you must have had a crazy night. You were more than hungover, and the Advil you took made it worse, and so did the spotlight in the theater.”

“What happened to the show. It was the final night?”

“Oh, right, they decided to put the final show off till tomorrow. After you fainted, they decided just to call the show. I mean you were the second act and everyone was really scared, so they thought that everyone would perform better if we postponed the performance.”

“What happened to ‘the show must go on’?”

“I have no idea. I guess that rule no longer applies when you’re dead.”

“Why, because we have all the time in the world?”

 

The minute I got home that night I decided to right back to Rex. I guess I’ve been so busy that I forgot to write back.

Dear Rex,

I guess I see where you are coming from with your view on life. I just think that if you tell yourself that you have to make your own path and create your own propose, then you are putting so much pressure on yourself that I decide to think what I think to make it easier.

It’s not that I’m too lazy to do it your way. Well, I sort of am, but also I grew up in a family of bible thumpers, and my parents thought that if you couldn’t find your purpose in life then you had failed to please god, and the world might just end. I think that that scared me so much that I did it just to make them happy. Also because I don’t really believe in god, if I didn’t think about life the way my parents do then they might disown me, or have my family turn on me. (They’re nice people, it’s just that at times they are scarier than the devil.)

You probably think that I’m a huge coward for not taking control of my life, but again, it makes everything easier.

On an easier topic, what kind of plays do you write? I tried writing a play once, but I couldn’t find a way to wrap it up.

I’d really love to get to know you better.

~Margo Vanter

 

“You better not pass out this time,” Benji says. As we stand behind the curtain I can just feel that the house is full. Apparently word got out about my little spill last night, and now people from all platforms are here to document the final night of the show.

“Oh shut it, Benji. Admit it, you were happy that the show was canceled so early on. I saw you struggling with the new lights and the new curtains backstage.”

“At least I didn’t give myself a bad rep in the biz.”

“What are you talking about?” One little mistake couldn’t do that much damage. And I can always say I was drugged.

“As you must know, word got out about your little fall. Show Magazine called you recluse, unprofessional,” Oh ***. I knew I made a mistake, I just didn’t think it was such a big one.

“Well, let me just set a few things straight. I don’t have a drinking problem. I just get lonely and sometimes it’s the only way to fill that little hole. And I didn’t even drink that much the other night, I was drugged, so it really wasn’t my fault.” I whisper/shout at him, as I turn around and walk away. God, I hate that he gets to me. I will definitely have to set things straight with the press after the show.  

 

Bang. We’re at the point in the scene where Steven has just been introduced. Steven, despite what happened, is not that bad of a guy. Steven joined us a few years ago after a car crash, and with some bargaining and stage makeup, we convinced him to be in the act, for he played a big role in the day. Steven was in the park walking his dog. They had stopped on the same lawn I was on, to play frisbee. He had not been looking where he was going and accidently ran into Danny, who at the impact tripped. Danny’s gun went off. Danny was a member of the police force. He had been on the lawn because an escaped prisoner was reported to have been seen on the lawn. His gun was out because, well, he was after an escaped prisoner. So when he tripped and his gun went off, it fired 4 times.  Stu, Mark, Jan, and I were all killed.

 

Hello Margo Vanter,

I hardly think that your parents would disown you for having different views than them.

Although I see where you are coming from with how it makes everything easier. I do think that if it were supposed to be easy, then there would be some book out there that told us everything we needed to know about everything we needed to know things about.

My plays are mainly realistic fiction, but once in a blue moon, I will write one about fairies or superheros. I have to say those are probably the most fun to see put into action.

I doubt that your play was as bad as you think. I always think mine are terrible until they are done and I see them being acted out. Sometimes even then I think they are terrible. It’s always good to have somebody that you can trust to give you honest feedback, and tell you if it is indeed terrible. If I were you, I would finish the play and give it to a friend that you trust to read it. Even if they say it’s terrible, you can at least say you wrote a play.

If you would like, I can read it and give you feedback. I promise I won’t steal your ideas.

Your pal

-Rex Barnes

 

Is it weird that every time I get a letter from Rex it makes my day so much better, but I know that what I’m doing isn’t fair to him, or me? In his last letter, when he said “If you would like I can read it and give you feedback. I promise I won’t steal your ideas,” I realised that he actually cares about me, and thinks of me as a professional and a friend, a good friend. He thinks that I’m a normal human being. I think that when I found Rex, he was my last real connection with the real world, before I have to fully accept that I can never go back to earth, and I have to move on. Its not fair what I’ve been doing to Rex. But I’m going to send him one last letter.

 

Dear Rex Barnes,

It’s with great pleasure that I’ve been able to have this friendship with you, but I think I need a little break.

A lot has been going on in my life, and I think I need to take a little break from everything. I have loved getting to know you, and seeing the world through your eyes.

I’m going to really miss your letters.

Love always

~Margo Vanter

P.S. Along with this letter I’ve also sent you my play. It would warm my heart if you could take a look at it, and maybe even turn my dreams into a reality. I give you full rights to it, and I hope you do it justice.

A Meaningful Magical Mystery

The clock struck 3:00 pm. The bell rang as students ascended from their seats. Although the teacher dismissed class late, most of Michael’s classmates had already exited the lab, ignoring her requests. The fatigued students lagged behind the rest of class.

Michael trekked through the swamp of sophomores rushing to get home. He looked forward to dismissal, but today was different. His forty five minute periods seemed to drone on for hours. He checked his phone: he had a text from Veronica. “I need you come to the shop now, my shift ended at three.” Michael laughed, recalling an earlier memory of the day which included Veronica and a whoopie cushion.

He grabbed his textbooks from his locker and started to sprint towards the shop. The concrete jungle of Manhattan circulated around him, bustling with pedestrians and cars. The short tempered driver honking at the inattentive walker crossing the street while texting, the dog walker cleaning up his dog’s feces, and the rattle of the few coins in the homeless man’s cup all swirled around him.

As he hurried into the nine story building, he gazed at the dull advertisements from Sleepy’s and Coke which adorned the walls. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button labelled six. The elevator rose to the sixth floor and deposited him into the hallway which led to the shop.

Veronica walked over to him when he stepped out of the elevator. She looked a bit nervous, about what, he could not tell. She asked him why he was late. He shifted the blame to his Science teacher who had delayed the class. He caught a ‘see you later’ as she she hopped in the elevator and pressed the lobby button. And she was gone, he checked his watch. 3:09 pm. He inhaled a deep breath and observed the shop.

Although the lobby was extremely attractive and was recently refurbished, the magic shop was something out of a magician’s fantasy. Not a speck of dust dotted the floor. The store always had a crisp smell, like playing cards fresh out of the box. The air conditioner was on full which left the shop in a refreshing but not cold state. The unopened collection of playing cards dotted the back wall and sets of classic magic tricks such as cups and balls and Chinese linking rings were displayed under the glass table. A whole wall was filled with an enormous book collection, exploring the art of deception and magic.

Behind him, the door chimes ricocheted off one another. An enthusiastic child and a weary supervisor entered the magical shop. “Can I see the new Tallys?” asked the child, referring to the new shipment of playing cards known as Tally-Ho’s.

“Sure,” he replied.

Michael went behind the glass table and pulled down the new shipment of cards and showed them to the child. The child tried out the deck himself, springing the cards from hand to hand with practiced ease. He gave the deck a last fan and handed them back to him. “I’ll take two red and two blue please,” he said.

“No problem, nice moves by the way,” Michael said.

The child smiled. Michael pulled out a bag, neatly placed the four requested decks inside of the bag, and entered in the order into the cash register. “It will be $13.96,” he said.

The supervisor pulled out her wallet and pulled out a $10 bill and a $5 bill which she placed it on the table. The child smiled gleefully and hugged his caretaker. She smiled. He rung up the cash register with a few quick and calculated taps and handed the change back as his first customers walked out of the store.

Customers came and went, some stayed for a while and some left in minutes. Magicians of all ages flourished throughout the shop. The store was most busy around five. He enjoyed talking to other magicians, although he worked at the magic shop for extra money, he had taken a special interest in the art outside of the shop.

About an hour later, Justin showed up at the magic shop. He and Michael were family friends. Their parents knew each other before they were born and had kept in contact. Justin had an interest in magic as well, which is one of the reasons they enjoyed each other’s company as much as they did.

Michael looked down at his watch, it read just before eight. The time had flown by, Justin was still pouring over effects from the store’s magic library. Michael needed to start closing up the shop. He rung up the last of the customers and ushered them out of the shop politely, he saw Justin in the corner looking at the Tarbell book series. Ignoring him, he cleaned up the room, making sure books were lined up properly, pushing in the chairs for the close up table, and sweeping the floor.

“Come on, man, let’s go,” said Michael.

Justin walked out of the shop and waited patiently in the hall for Michael. He took a last look around turned off the lights and reached for the keys to lock the shop. His hand only felt empty space. He groped for the keys around the hook. He flipped the lights back on. The hook was empty.

He searched the room with Justin, under the tables, behind the cash register, and all of the shelves. He looked down at his watch again, 8:19 pm. He needed to be home by nine, it was family movie night. Michael had tried to tell his family that he was too old for movie night but his parents had just laughed and told him to come home early.

He dialed Sam, the head of the magic shop.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice whispered over the phone.

“Hey, I can’t find the keys to lock up the shop and I need to be home in about half an hour,”  Michael, skipping traditional formalities.

“Sure, sure,” Sam said inattentively, “grab the keys from the my office, there should be a pair on my desk.”

He put the phone down on hold and walked towards Sam’s office. He twisted the doorknob. He pushed the rusty knob a little harder, the handle gave and the door opened. Michael observed the office, it seemed to look exactly like a normal office without relation to magic. It contained a standard desk, computer, and lamp. If he had seen the office by itself he would have thought it belonged to a business man. Michael saw the keys, grabbed them, and returned to the phone.

“I found them, thank you,” Michael said into the phone.

“Sure,” said Sam, obviously no longer wanting to be bothered.

Michael put down the phone and ushered Justin out of the store who was babbling on a variation that he had recently created off of a mentalism effect.

Michael closed the shop just as Justin suddenly ceased talking.

An eerie silence filled the air. He turned and saw a dark silhouette which stood about twenty feet away at the end of the hall. The creature seemed to be made of shadows. A dark cloak covered most of its body. It  held a black cane, it carried as if it was more of a weapon than a support system. The cane was curved at the top, almost like a homicidal sickle.

Michael blinked twice, trying to convince himself that he was seeing things. The figure kept staring, He could hear his heart thumping against his ribcage, his adrenalin was pumping rapidly through his veins. He stole a quick glance to his right, where Justin stood, staring at the figure.

He approached a few steps forward, just passing his friend. The figure turned to its left and slithered down the hallway. Michael flinched, then turned around and motioned for Justin to follow him on his endeavour. All the blood had drained from Justin’s face, but he followed attentively.

Michael and Justin turned the corner expecting to see the dark silhouette. It had vanished, erased from existence. They looked back down the hall to find it empty, they stood there, still in shock.

“So,” Justin said to break the silence.

“Should we head home?” asked Michael, still gazing in awe at the spot where the creature stood.

“Sounds good to me,” replied Justin.

They started down the hall, heading toward the door marked ‘Door A.’ Justin reached for the handle, but before he could turn the knob, it erupted in flames. Justin reeled back, falling into Michael, who went down, hard, hitting his head on the floor.

“Oww!” howled Michael.

He turned to his side so he could get a look at Justin. He had fallen down as well, but was currently propped up on his left elbow. They stood up, scoping themselves for bruises. They had luckily escaped fairly unscathed. Michael inspected the door. The door was completely plain. Nothing on the door signaled the eruption of fire. Justin peered over his shoulder, gazing in astonishment at the door.

Justin pushed at the door. It was locked from the other side. Without a knob, they could not try to pick the lock. A ghostly cackle rebounded off the walls. They flinched. They looked at each other and turned the corner, hoping to locate the source of the sound. They turned the corner and found themselves facing the shop door. They walked down the hall toward the door.

“Locked,” said Michael as the tried the door.

They turned around and decided to head toward the elevator. They turned the corner and found the silhouette staring once again at them. Michael’s breath caught in his mouth. Justin was petrified of the demon creature which had been haunting him and Michael. Justin noticed something different, his cane was missing.

“Who are you!” yelled Michael to the hooded figure.

The creature responded by raising an dark black hand in front of the chest. He closed his hand and as he did, his cane appeared in his hand. Michael noticed the tip of the cane ended in a lethal point. The figure brought the cane behind his head and vaulted it at them. The cane was a blur, it seemed hell-bent on skewering the two magicians. The cane buried itself in the wall behind them with a loud thud, narrowly missing Michael’s head. They turned and saw the sleek black cane protruding out of the wall. Justin let out a sigh of relief. They turned back to where the figure was standing. All they saw was an empty hallway, They ran down it to look for the figure, the only trace the creature was his deathly cane.

“We should call the police,” said Michael.

“Agreed,” replied Justin.

They walked down the hall and opened up the magic shop with Sam’s keys. As soon as the two magicians stepped in to the shop, they noticed a dark figure in the back. Justin flipped on the lights.

“Veronica?” said Michael.

“Oh crap!” said Veronica, looking up, obviously not wanting to have been found.

“Why?” asked Justin, confused.

“Well, you guys put a whoopee cushion on my chair, so I thought I might want to return the favor,” said Veronica with a kiddish smile on her face.

“Fair enough,” said Michael.

Michael motioned for everyone to follow him. He walked out of the shop as Justin and Veronica followed. Michael chuckled, he had been running from a figure that scared the crap out of him, he was glad it was just Veronica.

“What’s so funny?” asked Justin, obviously not wanting to forgive and forget.

“Calm down,” said Michael.

Justin turned his attention to Veronica. “How did you do it?” he asked.

“Which part?” asked Veronica.

“The costume?” asked Justin.

“We had some extra close up pads and duct tape,” said Veronica, shrugging.

“The doorknob?” asked Justin curiously.

“A modification of flash paper,” responded Veronica.

“The laugh?” asked Michael.

“Remote speaker,” replied Veronica.

“The keys,” asked Justin.

“I sent one of my friends to pick them up around five,” said Veronica

“Where did you learn how to throw that cane? You could have killed us,” asked Michael, remembering the horrifying experience.

“I didn’t throw anything at you guys,” said Veronica.

They turned to around and saw a hooded black silhouette at the end of the hall.

Gluten Free is NOT a Fad

The gluten-free community has been expanding rapidly. Celiac, allergies to gluten, and gluten sensitivities are becoming more apparent all around the world.  However, there are some issues lately regarding how careful restaurants must be when they claim to serve gluten-free. Cross-contamination is one of the easiest ways to inadvertently ingest gluten. When a restaurant claims that it serves gluten-free food, it doesn’t necessarily mean that it is safe for someone with an allergy to gluten or celiac to eat there. The food that they serve may have originally been gluten-free; however, if one of the chefs were to have used a knife that had been used on something with gluten to cut something gluten-free, there is a chance that the customer could get glutened (ingest gluten). The standards for a restaurant to say that they serve gluten-free should be stricter so that it is safe for people with celiac or an allergy to gluten can eat there safely.

Gluten is a protein that acts like a glue in different foods. Unfortunately, there are some people who are convinced that it is very unhealthy and that if it is cut out of one’s diet, it will be beneficial. They are making life tough for people with celiac and gluten allergies. Miley Cyrus, for example, tweeted, “It’s not about weight it’s about health. Gluten is crapppp [sic] anyway!” Gluten is not bad for you. According to Celiac.org, “Gluten is a general name for the proteins found in wheat (durum, emmer, spelt, farina, farro, KAMUT® khorasan wheat, and einkorn), rye, barley, and triticale. Gluten helps foods maintain their shape, acting as a glue that holds food together.” Gluten is not the thing to avoid. It is the foods that it is in. Some of the foods that have gluten in them are not necessarily the healthiest for you such as bread, pasta, and pastries. However, gluten-free bread, pasta, and pastries can easily be just as bad for you as ones with gluten. If someone is looking to lose weight, a gluten-free diet is not the way.

Being gluten-free has dangerously become a fad which makes it hard for people who are completely gluten-free to eat at restaurants safely. The people going around saying that eating gluten-free is a great way to lose weight are giving restaurants the idea that they do not have to make the gluten-free options completely safe for people with serious food restrictions. This is because those people do not actually need a gluten-free diet for health reasons. The restaurants do not have the same pressure to keep their kitchen clean and cross-contamination free. If a crumb of bread accidentally ends up in the salad of someone on a gluten-free diet to lose weight, they will not be affected. However, for people with the food restriction, they could have very bad reactions that can even lead to anaphylaxis.

This problem needs to be solved. People with a gluten-free diet need to have options and they should be able to trust the restaurants that say they can serve gluten-free. If a restaurant says that it has gluten-free options, they should be safe for people with celiac.

Albeit this is a large problem in the food industry, there are many ways we can solve this issue. For instance, a gluten-free safety assessment can be added to the typical health rating for restaurants that serve GF (gluten-free). Another example is confirming that the staff is well educated and the kitchen is well equipped to prepare gluten-free meals safely if they offer them. This will make it easier for the staff because they will feel more comfortable confirming that their food is safe and it will make the customers feel better trusting the restaurant. Lastly, we can solve this by discouraging gluten-free dieting for weight loss. By educating people and making health assessments, eating out with a gluten-free diet will become a much easier and safer experience.

Shadow

CHAPTER ONE -ORLI

 

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.”

-Helen Keller

 

Serves me right for listening to an online advertisement. Serves me right for being tempted by $600 a day. So here I am.

Her high black heels click toward me, and she purses a mouth rich with pink lipstick. Her eyes are brown and almond-shaped, highlighted with dark gray and lavender eye-makeup. She smooths down her gray pencil skirt and her black suit jacket worn over a ruffled white blouse, and perches on the edge of her desk.

“I’m still not so sure, Mrs. DeVeen,” I say. She smiles warmly.
“Come on, dear, you’re perfect for the job. You know how many people applied? 25. And you’re the best out of all of them.”
“I don’t know…”
She looks steadily at me. “I’m not going to lie to you, Orli. It’s not going to be an easy job. My daughter is… very headstrong. You have to protect her without her even knowing you’re there.”
She sets my resume on the desk. “But I’m confident you can do it.”
“Um, can I ask something?”
Mrs. DeVeen is the very picture of your typical caring-but-responsible business mother. Other than the fact that she’s hiring a bodyguard, or shadow, to keep her daughter alive.
“Sure, sweetie. What is it?”
“Trained assassins. Hired muscle. Ex-veterans. They’ve all applied for the job. Why’d you pick me? I’m a seventeen year old girl.”
She smiles. “For one thing, I think you’d be the best shadow for Vera. You may try to act like an adult, but you are a teenage girl, just her age. A lot easier to hide too. And for another…” she stares deep into my eyes. “If you think so lowly of yourself… why did you apply for the job?”
Because I was bored of working at Emack&Bolio’s. Because I need some sort of way to support me and Leilani until Mom gets out of jail.

But I don’t say any of these things. Mrs. DeVeen nods. “I thought so. You’re hired, honey.”

The Antagonist

We start off in a blank room.  No decorations, nothing.  Only a desk sits in the middle of the room.  In this room, there is a man.  His name is JEREMY TRUSK.  Jeremy stares out at the room, a blank look in his eyes.  He picks up a phone, begins to dial, then hangs up.

 

JEREMY:

Have you ever had writer’s block?  Have you felt the ideas get blocked in your mind?  Like a wall, preventing ideas from coming in?  Well, that’s what I have.  I would like it if I could go to a doctor to diagnose it, because I love it when I get diagnosed with things.  I know that sounds strange, but it’s just the feeling of knowing what’s actually wrong, and that is very comforting to me.

 

JEREMY sits down at the desk and looks exasperated.  Suddenly his boss, CAROLINE, walks in with a stern look on her face.

 

CAROLINE

Jeremy, what the hell?!  I have been waiting seven months for you to write this play.  Seven months!  We could have had an amazing production in that time, but we were waiting for the amazing Jeremy Trusk to come and write us an amazing play that will help get us back to the top.  But no, we have been sinking further and further to the bottom, and this whole time we have just been waiting for you!  And while all this is happening, you have just been sitting here in a black void with absolutely no ideas!

 

JEREMY is lost for words.  He stares at CAROLINE for a second, then sighs.  He looks down at his desk.

 

JEREMY

I know that I have writer’s block.  And I hate it.  I’ve had things like this before, but not on this level, not on this scale.  I’m trying to make something out of nothing.  But my mind is a void, in which all of my ideas are just being sucked into.  I feel like I’m going through some sort of existential crisis.

 

CAROLINE

That may be the case, but if you don’t have anything presented to me by next week, you’re out.

 

JEREMY puts his head against his desk.

 

JEREMY  

I know.  Okay, I’ll think of something.  (Beat) I always do.  

 

CAROLINE nods then walks out, leaving JEREMY alone.

 

SCENE TWO

 

It starts with JEREMY picking up the phone, dialing, then hanging up.  Then he walks into a office and sits across from his therapist, a man named ALAN STYVINSON.  They sit for a second, then talk.

 

ALAN

So, Jeremy, what’s bothering you today?

 

JEREMY

Well, among other things, I think I have an Atypical teratoid rhabdoid tumor.  (Stern look from Alan) I still have writer’s block.

 

ALAN

Really?  The seven month block?  I would have thought that would have passed by now.  Let me explain something to you.  This writer’s block is nothing more than your mind not wanting to accept something that has happened in your life.  These events get buried deep in our brain, and happen to be the only thing we can think about.  That is what causes this writer’s block.  The only thing is, you haven’t told me of any event that would cause this.

 

JEREMY

Well, I’m not sure.  I mean, there are a multitude of things that could be the cause of this terrible writer’s block.  What scale are you looking at?

 

ALAN

Something big enough to cause you guilt and shame, but not something so incredibly terrible that you would notice it everyday.

 

JEREMY

Well, there is one thing.  About two years ago now, I was in a relationship with a girl named Nicole.  Nicole was a nice girl, but I was the problem.  I was having trouble writing this play, and I was becoming more and more narcissistic by the day.  One day, Nicole and I got into a fight and I left.  When I came back, and we drove to her parents’ house upstate.  Suddenly, our car crashed into a gigantic semi and Nicole hit her head badly.  We took her to the hospital, where they said she was going to be fine physically, but mentally she was going to lose a big portion of her memory.  This crushed me, because also I knew how much of a jerk I was to her before.  Then I couldn’t handle it.  I left that day and I can never see her again, because I know that I ruined her life, and that was just too much for me to take.

 

ALAN is speechless.  He just stares at JEREMY for a few minutes.

 

ALAN

That is quite a burden.  That would be the ultimate cause for your writer’s block.  You have to get through this though.  You have to write this.  And once you do that, you can accept it.

 

JEREMY

But if I write it, it will destroy me.  I couldn’t write it. It would ruin me.

 

ALAN

But if you do nothing, you may never be able to write the way you did.  If you do nothing, there’s no chance at a comeback.  If you try, there is a chance.  Your decision.

 

JEREMY looks torn.  Suddenly he gets a look in his eyes.  He knows what to do.

 

SCENE THREE

 

JEREMY is sitting back in the blank room.  He does the phone drill.  He is sitting at his desk, looking at the blank piece of paper.  With the pen in his hand, he begins to write.  Then as if a long time passes, he puts the pen down and stands up.

 

JEREMY

I’ve been writing for three hours now.  My hands feel like they are stumps.  My mind hurts on a whole other level.  Bringing these thoughts back up to the surface is breaking me like a piece of glass.  Of course, I always feel like sickness is breaking me in the same way, but this is different somehow.  I feel like my writer’s block is lifting, but then something is falling, and is going to crash.

 

Suddenly CAROLINE walks in and looks right at JEREMY.

 

CAROLINE

Well, it looks like you’re writing now.  That’s a good sign.  What is this new project that suddenly popped up?

 

JEREMY

Something emotional to me.  A story of a car accident that me and my girlfriend got into.  It’s provocative.

 

CAROLINE

And something provocative is just what we need.  This really might be the thing that takes us to the other level.  It must be really emotional for you.

 

JEREMY

You have no idea.  But the story is shaping to be something quite good.  I feel that this was the thing that was causing my writer’s block.  I feel like I can breathe again.

 

CAROLINE

Well that’s good.  Glad you got out of this period and now you can write freely again.

JEREMY nods and CAROLINE walks out.  Suddenly JEREMY looks up.

 

JEREMY

I just realized something.  Something big.  If I write this play then I will be made out as… the antagonist.  The whole world will see what happened in those days leading up to the accident.  But it’s too late to turn back now.

 

SCENE FOUR

 

JEREMY does the phone drill.  He then looks in an ad for Broadway plays, and he sees an ad for his play.  It reads ROBUST FORCE:  BASED ON A TRUE STORY.

 

JEREMY

I’m very proud of my name.  Robust Force is quite a title.  It shows the seriousness of the play.  That is something I have been worried about these past few months, that the play is too serious, that there is no comedic element to make it more light.  But I can’t do anything now.  I just don’t want this to be a completely dark play with nothing to bring it back.  We’ll see.

 

SCENE FIVE

 

It is opening night.  JEREMY does the phone drill.  He is standing outside the theatre.  CAROLINE comes out and stands next to him.

 

CAROLINE

Well, here we are.  I’m really sorry about the whole writer’s block thing, I was just really stressed.  You’re a really great writer, and I know that you have made us a masterpiece.  You have done us well.  Even though this was hard for you, I’m really glad that you could write this and help get over your inner fear.  That is what I am most glad about.  That you are at peace.

 

JEREMY

Thank you.  That means a lot.

 

CAROLINE

No, thank you.  You are the person who gave this to us.  We are the grateful ones.

 

CAROLINE starts to walk away, but sees that JEREMY is staying behind.

 

CAROLINE

You’re not coming in?

 

JEREMY

I don’t think so.  I think I’m going to stay here.  For now.

 

CAROLINE

Well, thank you.

 

JEREMY

You’re welcome.

 

CAROLINE turns and walks into the theatre.  JEREMY stays back.

 

JEREMY

Well, at this point, I can only hope people like it.

 

JEREMY turns and walks off the stage.

 

SCENE SIX

 

JEREMY picks up his phone and dials NICOLE’s number.  He begins to talk.

 

Hello, Nicole, this is Jeremy.  You probably don’t remember me.  You definitely don’t remember me.  But this is an apology.  An apology for this… this life you’re living.  Although the physical scars are terrible, the emotional scars are the biggest impact.  I feel like your life shattered like the windshield on our car, the fragments sprawled across the pavement, showing what we have lost.  The shattered remnants of your life show have haunted me since that night.  But at the same time, can you hear me?  I know you can hear me, but, are you understanding me? Does this make any sense to you?  This is me talking to you, but you don’t remember me, you can’t remember me.  This is me talking to nothing.  That is what hurts the most.  I don’t think I can do it.  I really can’t.  I’m sorry, Nicole.  I am.  But I can’t be sorry.  Because I don’t have anyone to be sorry to.  And that is what hurts the most.  That I am here, but you are not.  Good bye.

 

THE END

 

Silence

Silence is the loudest sound in the universe.

 

It strikes and bites and bangs and flows.

It seeps and floods through all pores and holes

It brings hope and inflicts the greatest fear

And is within itself time, laughs, footsteps, tears.

 

And then at night when Cinderella’s clock strikes,

The clubs and bars open, restaurants close for the night,

The osprey’s final soar trails down on the black sky,

And silhouettes blend in with the shadows of the night.

 

And finally at dawn, the birds all fly back out,

Hidden but deafening, perched and thinking loud,

And the loudest sound in the universe comes right back ‘round,

Only to die down again, when the silent din plays its sound.

 

And I sit alone, oblivion my axis,

My own voice trivial, and huge, and quiet, and loud, and dusk, and midnight, and dawn. Swallowed, but a friend still to the darkness.

The Element of Surprise

Sulfur- an alien from the planet Quadra-Elemence, a slob, tends to think more of himself, very rebellious, counter-dependent, loves food, wants to be in solitude, but also wants a family 44

 

Helium-  an alien from the planet Quadra-Elemence, a snob, acts very perfect, thinks everything should be perfect, wants to be listened to, group-dependent, always wants things to be her way 38

 

Monster- a corrupt alien from the planet Quadra-Elemence, it has turned into a monster

 

Human/McDonald’s Worker- human is fearful and impatient, McDonald’s Worker doesn’t understand what is going on

 

Scene 1

 

(Helium and Sulfur bickering and yelling)

 

Helium

But we did!

 

Sulfur

Are you trying to get us arrested!?

 

Helium

Ugh! Humans are so ignorant when it comes to real politics! No wonder they are not part of the alliance.

 

Sulfur

Helium!

 

Helium

Let us just tell the police officer what happened.

 

Sulfur

Fine!

 

Helium

FINE!

 

Sulfur

What evs.

 

Helium

It all started when we arrived on New York state, United States of America, Northern Western Hemisphere, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy…

 

Sulfur

(interrupting) Yeah, yeah, yeah.

 

Helium

Anyway, Sulfur and I, the perfect Helium, arrived in New York State. We were sent to your primitive planet to destroy the corrupt people from our own planet, Quadra-Elemence.

 

Sulfur

These broken people from our planets are kinda monsters so no duh we had to come to save your home or what evs.

 

Helium

Here is definitely, truly, and completely what happened… (Helium’s flashback – play elegant piano music)

 

End Scene 1

 

Scene 2

 

Person

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Monster

grrrrrrrrrrrrr! RAAAAAAAAAR! (Monster runs to Person and grabs him/her)

 

Person

SOMEONE! HELP ME!

 

Sulfur

Never fear, Sulfur is here! Man I always wanted to say that! YASSSSSS!

 

Helium

Ugh! Why am I stuck with this sorry excuse for a teammate!

 

Person

AM I BEING SAVED OR WHAT?!

 

Sulfur

Or what! (laughs hysterically)

 

Helium

Sulfur, focus! Corner the monster by trapping it between exactly four of those primitive automobiles!

 

Sulfur

You mean the cars? What evs. (Grabs 4 boxes and traps Monster in a square crookedly)

 

Helium

It is crooked! What is wrong with you! (Runs to boxes to fix them, but the Monster grabs her)

Let go of me! Help!

 

Sulfur

Fine. Hmmmmmm, what should I do?

 

Person and Helium

SAVE US!

 

(end Helium’s flash back end music)

 

End Scene 2

 

Scene 3

 

Helium

And then Mr. Officer, Sulfur left us. As you can see it is all Sulfur’s fault!

 

Sulfur

At least i didn’t get carried away with all of those crazy back flips! You gotta see my side of the story!

 

Helium

At least I’m not grammatically incorrect.

 

Sulfur

Is she talking about I? What evs. When I left I did something important.  (Sulfur’s flashback play crazy drum music)

 

End Scene 3

 

Scene 4

Person and Helium                         

SAVE US!

 

Sulfur

Alright. I think i have an idea. Brb! (runs to McDonald’s)

 

End Scene 4

 

Scene 5

 

McDonald’s Worker

Welcome to McDonald’s. May I take your order?

 

Sulfur

Yeah, I’d like three Big Macs, five twenty-piece chicken nuggets, four double orders of cheese burgers, an extra large cola, and a side of large fries? Oh, and can I have a salad?

 

McDonald’s Worker

That’ll be $500.

 

Sulfur

WHAT!? That’s a rip-off! I’m saving your world, bruh!

 

McDonald’s worker

LIAR! (flashing lights followed by a roar)

(scared) Ok, it’s on the house

 

Sulfur

Thanks! Bye! (runs out of McDonald’s)

 

End Scene 5

 

Scene 6

 

Person and Helium

HELP PLEASE!

 

Sulfur

I’m back, and this time I have a plan!

 

Helium

Don’t tell me you are using your ability.

Monster

ROAR!

 

(Sulfur’s flashback done end music)

 

End Scene 6

 

Scene 7

 

Sulfur

And then I used my ability, which by the way I get from eating. I shot the monster with my smelly gas to make the monster faint! On the other hand Helium sat around doing nothing, so ha! It’s Helium’s fault!

 

Helium

Wow, Sulfur. I’m surprised at how well you thought out your plan, but you are still wrong. What really happened was that you… (Helium’s 2nd flashback play piano music)

 

End Scene 7

 

Scene 8

 

Monster

ROAR! (falls asleep and snores along with Helium and Person.)

 

Sulfur

HAHAHA! I did it! I saved you! All of you! Maybe now you’ll treat me like a real person Helium! Helium? Ummmmmm… are you okay?

 

Helium

(snores louder then wakes up) Huh? What? where am I? YAWN! Man what did you do this time, Sulfur?

 

Person

YAWN! Thanks for saving me, I guess.

 

Helium

Quickly Sulfur, move this human back to where it belongs before the monster wakes up!

 

Sulfur

That’s not fair! Me always get the easy stuff!

 

Helium

You mean “I always get the easy stuff.”

 

Sulfur

No, I mean I always get the easy stuff! ME!

 

Helium

When I said it I meant your sentence was grammatically incorrect! Now go!

 

Person

I don’t have all day!

 

Sulfur

Stay out of it human!

 

(Sulfur and Helium bicker and yell)

 

Monster

(wakes up) YAWN! ROAR!

 

Sulfur

OMG! OMG! OMG!

 

Helium

You mean “Oh my gosh!”

 

Sulfur

What evs.

 

Helium

COME ON! I’ll grab the human with my special ability and you go!

 

(end 2nd Helium flashback end piano)

 

End Scene 8

 

Scene 9

 

Sulfur

Blah, blah, blah. (sarcastically) You used your ability to magically float the person to safety! (spins fingers around in air)

 

Helium

Pshhhhhhh (sticks tongue out)

 

Sulfur

After Helium used her dumb power, I attacked the monster!

 

End Scene 9

 

Scene 10

 

(Sulfur flashback 2 – play drum music)

 

Monster

ROAR!

 

Sulfur

Prepare for the butt kicking of a lifetime! I also always wanted to say that! (fight choreography)

Take that! And that! And that!

Monster

ROAR! (fights back)

 

Sulfur

OUCH! Ugh, that hurt a lot. How do i get into these situations?

 

Monster

ROAR! (fights again)

 

Sulfur

OUCH! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! (fake punch rapid fire) How do you like that monster?!

 

Monster

(coughs then faints)

 

Sulfur

YASSSSSSSSSS!

 

End Scene 10

 

Scene 11

(end Sulfur’s 2nd flashback)

 

Helium

Sulfur! That’s actually pretty interesting! Did you really do that?

 

Sulfur

Yeah.

 

Helium

Sounds like you are more powerful than I thought, Sulfur.

 

Sulfur

Thanks, I mean what evs!

 

Helium

Anyway, Mr. Officer, after that Sulfur and I kind of worked together.

 

Sulfur

What evs.

 

Helium

When i came back…

 

End Scene 11

 

Scene 12

 

(Helium and Sulfur’s flashback play the song “amalgam”)

 

Helium

I’m back! Where is the monster?

 

Sulfur

Right there by the curb. I defeated it by myself!!!!!!

 

Helium

Umm, it does not look defeated Sulfur!

 

Sulfur

Yeah it does! It’s right… (confused) umm, where’d it go? What’d you do with it? (monster sneaks up behind and grabs Sulfur) HELP!

 

Helium

Oh Sulfur. What am I going to do with you?!

 

Sulfur

HELP!

 

Helium

Coming Sulfur. (Takes a breath and slowly walks to the monster not caring at all) Hmmm, what to do at a time like this. Oh wait, Sulfur has disgusting gas powers! If I can get Sulfur something to consume, he can release his noxious gas! (grabs small box) Sulfur catch! (throws to Sulfur)

 

Sulfur

Good idea, bruh! (pretends to eat) HA! Take that monster thing!

 

Monster

BLEH! (lets go of Sulfur)

 

Helium

As Sulfur likes to say, take that foul beast! (fight choreography)

 

Sulfur

Hi-ya! (fake punch from behind)

 

Helium and Sulfur

HA! (fake punch monster faints)

 

End Scene 12

 

Scene 13

 

(end Helium and Sulfur’s flashback end music)

 

Sulfur

And than we defeated the monster and sent it back to our planet! It was soooooo cool!

 

Helium

Yes, I guess it was the human emotion of coolness.

 

Sulfur

Yeah, I guess you could say that.

 

Helium

Anyway, Sulfur, I understand now that it was my fault for leading you in the worst ways and not caring about your opinion. I take full responsibility.

 

Sulfur

No, no, no! It’s my fault, Helium! Um, Helium. I need to tell you something kinda sorta important. I, well, it’s hard to explain. I, I, I’m kinda sorry for never listening to you and never doing what I’m told. I always wanna feel alone so I can do something cool, but I also want to impress people like you. You mean the world to me because you are smart, cool, funny, strong, and just straight out a good leader! I just feel like I need to impress you, but the only way I know how to do that is by being alone and doing what I want. You really inspire me and I’m sorry I always act out. I’m kinda nervous when I’m with you because, because, because, UGH! I don’t know why. I’ve never really felt this way before! I think I feel the human emotion of familyness stuff. I’m explaining this badly. Me feel like her, I mean you, I mean, UGH! Since we don’t really have family on our planet I’m just, hmm. I got it! Helium, do you ever feel lonely? I feel like I like you. Will you be my family, or you don’t have to if you don’t want to. In fact, I don’t want you! You are annoying and bossy! So, go away!

 

Helium

Sulfur, I know what you mean.

 

Sulfur

Really?

 

Helium

Yes, and I enjoy your presence, too. Can we work together?

 

Sulfur

Yes!

 

End Scene 13

 

The End

 

An Exclusive Paradise

The day was bright with sun streaming down onto everything, making it glow. The sky was a rich, rich blue, cloudless and immaculate. The sky matched the town, for the town, too, was immaculate – neat rows of swaying palm trees, sparkling sidewalks, and glittering, golden buildings stretching a hundred feet into the air. The town and sky had a companion in its perfection – the people of the town: their smile, light speech, and laughter were as impeccable as the rest. Never a frown was exchanged in this town, and for this reason the town had its name. This town was Paradise Row.

Evelyn Caberton was one and the same, her smile lighting up her face often, her steps quick and delicate. She never spoke a harsh word, she laughed brightly and frequently, and she was easy to talk to.

Eli Sullivan was exquisite, too, his straw-colored curls bouncing merrily, his blue eyes piercing, his walk easy and loping. He burst out with great guffaws perhaps even more than he grinned, and he seemed to grin more often than he breathed.

There were boundless, if subtle, similarities between the two, yet only one thing linked their families: money. Evidence of their wealth was everywhere: in Lavinia Caberton’s sparkling jewelry case that she opened it intermittently to peer at her reflection, touch up, and stroke her silky hair; in Henry Sullivan’s wallet, thick with crisp $100 bills. Each and every citizen of Paradise Row were connected by their innumerable riches, the money bringing forth the sparkling sidewalks, sweeping palm trees, and golden towers.

Evelyn Caberton only intended to buy a sundae and hurry home to her front porch that day: school was out and there was nothing to do but enjoy herself. So why not?

Eli was less relaxed and slightly annoyed. Books, books, that was all Father talked about these days. If he had to read, why did he have to go to Elizabeth’s Fine Books, the most snobby bookstore in Paradise Row or maybe all of Western California? Oh, who cared about history? I mean, it’s, like, history. Nevertheless, he had grabbed the first book within arm’s reach and turned to find Evelyn.

. . .

Meanwhile, fire raged. Flames rose high from the ground to the sky, stretching for miles along the California coastline. They were ruthless and unceasing, tearing through forests, farmland, and cities without mercy.

A hundred miles east, starving masses were rampaging through farmlands, stealing and pillaging, leaving the farmers with nothing and the thieves with only a little more than that.

Another hundred miles, and mothers and fathers worked far into the night, toiling for hours, finally returning home with worn faces and hands cracked from dust and heat, carrying just barely enough to keep their little children alive.

All the way on the East Coast, the government was riddled with corruption, more and more laws written that would benefit no one but the already most privileged. As the country fell deeper into debt, a hundred more laws were passed in haste to try to prevent an all-out catastrophe, but they did nothing but pull it deeper into calamity.

. . .  

“Hey Evie!” Eli panted, rushing up under the railing of Evelyn’s front porch.“You’ve gotta, gotta see this.”

Evelyn grinned, expecting an ice cream or something even better, like the key to her mother’s private collection of books, which she probably kept because she didn’t want Evelyn to read them, but who cared? They looked amazing and had intriguing titles; if she wanted to read them, why shouldn’t she? “Of what sort, Eli?” She brushed her hair out of her face and sighed gently, standing up and beginning to walk.

“I was gonna take you skating in the first place, but my sister got sick, so…”

“Can’t we still go. Eli. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”  

“This’s better, promise. C’mon.”

“Let us just go to the bookstore, Eli. Or perhaps we ought to go flying.” She adapted a heavy drawl. “Yep, let’s, Eli. Take an airplane up a couple miles and jump off. Surely the clouds will catch us.” There were no clouds in the sky.

Eli looked at her with admiration. She was so smart. She’d take books over movies any day, and she was so witty, always knew how to make him laugh. “Anyway…” he gave a random grin that lit up his face like the sun. “Here, come on.” He grabbed Evelyn’s hand, his face somehow changing to become much less lighthearted, guiding her to the nearest building, which stood a hundred feet tall, made of shining marble and plated with gold. Eli frowned uncharastically.

She brushed her hair away again and gave the same long sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Roof,” Eli said simply. And with that, he tugged on Evelyn’s hand, pulled her through the door, into the shining, golden lobby, all the way to the other side, where the elevator glimmered in its glory.

Evelyn shook her head frantically. “What? Eli, I can’t, Eli!”

“Can too, Everfine Evie-lyne,” he chuckled at the old nickname, “Get ya’ self up there.”

Uneasily, Evelyn pressed the button, stepped into the elevator, and just barely nudged the panel marked R for Roof. As the elevator glided smoothly upward, she gripped the golden handrail until her knuckles were white. If her mother found out… “Eli, think of Ms. Lavinia. I can’t do this.”

“Your mother would just ‘darling’ you a bunch, fix her makeup, and hurry you along. Come on, Evie, she won’t disown you or anything. We’re not leaving Paradise Row or anything crazy like that.” He let out a chuckle, and then resumed his worried frown.

Still a little sick, she nodded. The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors flew open. They were on the roof.

Only 10 stories, it was true, but the height was still breathtaking. On 3 sides, a great metropolis of green and gold stretched out beneath them, trees, parks, shining buildings, the sun casting a fine glow upon everything.

Yet the fourth side–

“Eli, there’s a fire! Eli, it’s blazing. It can’t be more than a few miles away. Oh –” she swept her hair out of her face and began to pace. “… Are we safe, Eli, are we safe?”

Eli wheeled around to face her, his eyes stormy, gesturing to the blazing inferno. “Quiet, Evelyn. It doesn’t matter.

“People are dying out there, the fire’s killed over two hundred already. All people like us, you know, people who have family and friends and a life worth living. But that fire took it all away. Why does it matter if we’re safe?”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? It’s going to travel here, Eli. Sweep through the city and burn me to ashes. We’ve got to get out of here, Eli!”

“No. No, maybe you’re right, but… that’s not why I showed this to ya’, Evie. I showed it to ya’ because I want you to realize something – what a bubble we’re living in.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’ve always had everything we needed. Look out there. They got nothing. Doesn’t it feel wrong, somehow?”

“Maybe… yes. But the question is, why? Why does it matter that we have everything…” she stopped. “Wow.”

“We’re all selfish creeps, all us here in Paradise Row. You’re not alone.”

Evelyn blanched. “Eli! All I meant was… Indeed, I feel that we have more than we’re entitled to, given we’ve done nothing. Nothing at all. Yet there isn’t a way to change that, Eli. I’m not prepared to be some sort of heroine and sacrifice all I have so a few people can get back home.”

The fire raged.

“Sit, Evie.” Evelyn sat nervously beside Eli, the marble roof hot underneath her hands. “Evie, I’ve learned so much, about everything that’s going on out there: The Western California wildfire was arson, ya’ know.  You don’t know the beginning of it, it’s terrible.  But that’s not the only thing, mostly, it’s just how twisted this entire system is, with no one helping anyone at all. No one’s ever given ya’ a hand, ya’ know? and no one ever considered really helping the outside. That’s what I mean when I say we’re all selfish creeps. Paradise Row doesn’t work like that. But I promise… just a simple act of selflessness, it feels like heaven. It creates somethin’. It makes somethin’ whole. Just that simple act.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Yes. You’re right. But think about it, Eli… of course I want to help the people out there. But I can’t! Just think of Mother’s reaction.” Evelyn almost practically heard her mother’s voice and could see her caressing her long, silky hair. “Honey, what a sweet idea. I’ll see if I can spare a twenty for Doctors Without Borders or something of that sort. Would you like a new dress, darling?” The idea made her cringe.

“There’s nothing, huh?”

“Nothing.” Evelyn closed her eyes tight and tried to stop the dreadful idea from taking root. I don’t want to, anyway, she told herself. I want to keep Paradise, and my ice cream sundaes. I want to keep my family. It may be horribly selfish but I can’t let it all go.

Resigned, Eli stood up and walked slowly back into the elevator without a single grin.

. . .

Evelyn walked slowly home, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the catalyst she had seen on the roof. How blind she had been, all her life! Living like this, while people were dying mere miles from her home! But she was certain there was nothing she could do. She lay down on her front porch, sighed, and brushed away her hair. If only, if only. She did want to help those people, truly she did, but there was only one way to do it, and it meant leaving everything behind. She felt rotten for not doing the heroic thing. But time after time it nagged her… what she’d leave behind if she rushed to help the people in the fire, and what it meant for the rest of the world. She closed her eyes and gave a long, long sigh.

And then she heard the scream. High and piercing, it sliced through the sky like a knife, stabbing straight into Evelyn’s chest and making her gasp with pain. No one else seemed to hear it. Yet she knew it was a child, crying out from the fire.

And for some reason, she thought of Eli, and her scream, and her fire.

She ran.

She knew he would be there, and indeed he was, atop the roof. He was pacing back and forth, but he turned around as she walked and ran to her. She shook her head.

“People are dying. People are dying. I can’t…” That could have been you, she thought, but couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. “We have to leave.”

The implications of her proposal began to settle.

“Yeah,” Eli finally said. “Yeah, we gotta be part of the fight. I can’t, like, bear stay here and watch the world sink into ruin.”

Suddenly Evelyn’s own proposal seemed altogether too real. “So that means goodbye? To everything? To our childhood, to our life?”

“Any other suggestions?” Eli said sarcastically.

“No. I just… I wish I could keep this perfect, you know? But hearing that scream, I realized it’s not just a bunch of meaningless lives at stake here. Universes are at stake. Every time someone is born, a whole new universe is created, because everyone’s life is unique, you know? I have my own universe, and I’m right at the center, and you have yours, and they’re all equally important. And that’s not the only thing. I don’t want to end up like my mother, only caring about food and makeup and romance novels. I want to do something, I want to be something.”

Eli stared wonderingly at Evelyn. “Well phrased.”

“I’ll meet you tomorrow. Same place, same time?” Eli nodded. It was decided.

So much was not spoken, but so much more was felt, a thousand feelings whirling around in both of their heads. There were lamentations of a childhood gone, of luxuries resigned. Yet there were deeper feelings, too, of sacrifice and self-worth. They knew they were doing something noble, and it warmed their hearts, because in Paradise Row, these acts were seldom. This act would not benefit them, but it would benefit a thousand different universes. They were doing the stuff of heroes.

. . .

At home that night, Evelyn thought about her decision. It was hasty. It was only briefly discussed. So why did it feel so right, and why did it feel so wrong?

She looked around at her room, the plush, golden rug, the chandelier, the canopy bed. She looked at all the riches. Then she looked beyond the riches and just gazed at the effort and the love that went into making this room so beautiful. Her father (he was almost always away for business) had spent hours here, fixing up the window seat, painting the bookshelves.

In this room, she and her father had read fairy tales and long novels, talked about school, and just killed time, sitting comfortably in the armchairs. Here, she and Eli had played pretend and eaten their first taste of ice cream. She and Willow, her best friend, had giggled here, talking about crushes and books and everything else you could imagine. There was never a worry, never a frown, just content and safety in this room that she would find nowhere else. No worry about paying the bills. No arguments over a too-expensive smartphone. Just peace.

It’s perfect, she thought, and something heavy settled in her chest, some strange, twisted monster. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to pop the bubble. I want to stay forever.

She couldn’t, she couldn’t. She’d go to Eli and explain. Perhaps he’d understand. Perhaps he was feeling the same way.

She snuck out the window of her room, creeping silently, barefoot, across the dewy lawn. The moon shone brightly, casting an eerie glow. In a minute she was on the roof again.

“Eli?”

“Hey, Evie. Ready?”

She took a deep breath. “No. Eli. I can’t.”

He stood still as a stone, unblinking, unmoving.

“I don’t want to leave this place. I don’t want to be the heroine. I don’t want to sacrifice everything, Eli, I don’t, I can’t, and I won’t.”

“Evelyn.” It was the first time he had ever used her full name. “You’ll never know just how much I get ya’.”

Relief flooded through her, coursing through her veins and settling in her stomach. “Thank you, Eli.”

“But there is still one more thing you don’t get.”

Tension arose in her again. “What is it?”

“Come here.” He beckoned. “When my dad dropped me at Elizabeth’s, I just grabbed the first book within arm’s reach, but I guess it was fate, because I happened to pick up this book, A Titanic Struggle by Nicholas Greenfield. The title’s really cool, because it means two things – titanic is like big and strong and powerful, but the S.S. Titanic was this supposedly unsinkable ship that sunk. So it means, like, a heroic struggle on a very sinkable ship.

“Here’s the story. The Titanic, it ran into an iceberg around three in the morning in the middle of April, 1912. More than half the people on the ship died, ‘cause there weren’t enough lifeboats. But it took maybe three hours for the ship to sink all the way, and the engineers were some of the first to know. Well, if they had been sane, they would have immediately jumped into a lifeboat with enough food and stuff for days. They didn’t, though. They got workin’ trying to fix that boat, delaying its fall. Of course it was all for nothing – in vain, and they knew it, because there was no stopping a ship with a huge hole in its stern. And they kept working even as the bow rose up into the air. Every single one of them died, but there’s no tellin’ how many lives they saved, delaying the boat from sinking.

“Do you understand now?”

His words were simple, but she understood. Something hot and powerful coursed through her, making her stand up taller, the idea of such goodness and sacrifice. It propelled her, it warmed her, it filled her with an unreachable desire to do something. “Yes.”

“So, let’s go!”

“No.” Her words were a whisper, barely heard even in the silent night.

Evelyn!” Eli yelled exasperatedly. What is it now? Can you shut up being such a selfish freak?”

“Eli,” she said softly, “I love this place. I love not having a worry in the world. I love having too much money to know what to do with. I love the fact that nobody ever frowns. I love that no one ever worries about paying the bills. The thing is, Eli, this world would be perfect, as perfect as a diamond ring, if the rest of the world didn’t exist.”

“There. Hit the nail on the head. But it does exi–”

“And I want to help it, Eli. With all my heart, but if I do, then I feel…” she trailed off.

“What?”

“I feel as if this is the closest to perfect the world will ever get. I feel if I leave, it’ll pop the bubble that has made us whole, and there will be nothing, nothing, quite perfect left for the world to have. I just cherish the idea that there is still something perfect. But if I leave, there won’t be… not one thing.”

“Oh, Evie,” Eli whispered. “But you’re wrong. There will still be something perfect for the world to have, forever and ever and ever.”

“What is it?” she breathed, and Eli looked at her and smiled.

“I think I know something perfect too,” she said finally, smiling back. And again, Evelyn felt that warm, powerful thing pass through her, that she now knew was belonging, and sacrifice, and love. And she knew, all of a sudden, that no amount of money could create a perfect world. There was something infinitely more powerful and pure, and that was the knowledge that someone cared.

“Are you ready?” Eli said again, his voice swelling with hope, his face lighting up with a brilliant smile.

“I’m ready,” she responded, tossing her hair away one last time and giving a sigh that burst with promise. And they walked, hand in hand, down the stairs and onto the lawn and through the streets and out of a not-so-perfect world.

We never will know what became of them, because, we must admit, they were only children. But they were children with something untouchable, unfeelable, and that was the knowledge of their sacrifice. They had power, and they had strength, and they had faith, and as all of you know, that is all it takes to change the world.

However, perhaps we can infer….

Butterfly

Colors beyond the stone faces,

Love beyond the old facade

Flying above what we can see

Our simple goals

We are blind to beauty

Until its wings

Land on your shoulder on

The cold train,

Then you are scared

Because such miracles

Have become unfamiliar,

And the unfamiliar,

We have learned to

Reject

But sometimes,

The colors are embraced,

By those are who can

Still see,

So that it is

Natural, familiar, and then the

Colors stuck in the grey,

Are set free,

Out into the world,

To once again,

Drift off,

The unknown

And the

Feared.

Necropolis

  1. a cemetery, especially a large one belonging to an ancient city

 

“Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;

Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,

Let’s choose executors and talk of wills”

William Shakespeare, Richard II
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” she let out a blood curdling yell and my bare feet hit the pavement as the screen door slammed. I felt like a thousand panes of glass had shattered in my chest. Panic surged through my knees and crept towards my brain as I realized I couldn’t turn back. At least tonight. My body plummeted against the street again and again until my steps were in rhythm with my short breath. Ten feet. Five feet. The cragged white chainlink fence didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Five feet. Five feet. The space in between us seemed to give in then and I fell at the entrance to the place they keep my father.

The first time I was in a graveyard, I was five years old. I remember staring at my sister’s blotchy face and asking why she was crying. She knelt in front of a stone shinier and less decrepit than the others and her bawling increased like I had upset her. Feelings were a mystery. “He’s gone,” she whimpered. I stood still for a long time until I felt like I had become a tombstone just like the others. Silent but beautiful. I wanted things to stop changing because my life was not a plaything. My eyes closed and I realized that I was happy. Not because my daddy was gone but because time had seemed to stop in the graveyard. The slow pulse of my tiny heart was all I could feel.

Soil and freshly turned earth was my resting place. The night we fought the feeling of undisturbed joy I’d become addicted to came too slowly. At first I only felt like I was writhing in the ocean; my body tumbled in the waves until my throat was sticky with salt and my dripping hair matted together with sand. I fought to break free but I knew it was all my fault. Everything. I could hear my sister saying, “Ash you need to look around sometimes. You’re stuck.”

Ana knows I come here. The people here are my family. I’ve tried to pretend I know him because we see each other every day but his face is a black hole in my mind. All I know is, “Peter Rust- 1960-2007. He is missed by many.” Sometimes I don’t think that’s true. My salty tears and flower petals stand alone.

In my dreams Ana and I are sitting on a park bench. Fragments of white chalk lay strewn about like fallen soldiers. Untouched. We sit silently and I watch an empty swing go back and forth. Back and forth. I knew we were waiting because I’d spent my life waiting for something or someone to come back for me. But nothing ever has.

Suddenly, I lay back in the cemetery with tiny beads of sweat on my forehead. My body ached with memories long forgotten. A mournful bird swept over me, serenading the dead and a fatherless daughter. Strangely I feel less alone than before. My tired feet gently touched the earth as I moved toward the fence again. A cool breeze made the gentle auburn waves that frame my face dance but my skin was cold. The air smelled different than the day before. Little Plains Road was quiet. So were the willows and the passing cars. No radio. Running back the way I’d come the night before made my head swim.

A monstrous Rite-Aid that I’d never noticed before loomed on the corner. Odd. Mrs. Lambert’s porch looked nice which is also odd because she was a registered crazy cat lady with no pride of property. Westine’s Bakery had a crisp new sign up that said, “Cinnamon Buns~ Banana Bread.” Maybe I had never paid attention to anything before. Maybe my sister was right. I told myself that she would forgive me and we would finally be happy. I would stop using a dream as my reality. Inhaling false memories as if they were a drug. Ana might be gone by now and if she wasn’t…I couldn’t decide which was worse. I told her she was the reason we were alone. Even though it was me. It’s always been me.

My door looked decades older than it did when I left last night. When I opened the screen my eyes rested on magnets on the fridge with school pictures of new children growing up. Stories of the life we’d always wanted were everywhere. Mocking me like I had been a mistake. Maybe I was. I choked back tears and turned on the radio. “Bad Blood” came on and I sighed because it seemed that not everything had changed. When the song finished, “Bad Blood” started again. The third time I heard it a little blonde child who came straight from an adorable picture on the fridge ran into the kitchen and started jumping up and down and singing. She wore bright pink velcro shoes that lit up when you stomped. Thin wispy pigtails adorned with rhinestone studded hair bows peeked out of her tiny head. I wanted to yell at her to get out of my house but I couldn’t open my mouth because my eyes were full of longing. I had never had a pigtail tie-er or a pink shoe buyer. She was the girl I had always wanted to be.

“What are you doing here? Why do they keep playing the same song?” I finally sputtered. Her eyes turned cold when she looked at me. Something was different here.

“What do you mean? It’s the only song. I live here. Who are you? I’m Marly and my mommy says that someday I’m gonna to be really tall. Hey! You look like this girl my mommy has a pictu-”

I ran out of the house before Marly could tell me any more. Ana didn’t play pranks. When I approached the white chained fence again I paused for a moment and saw a woman with auburn hair like mine streaked with silver. She kneeled in my spot where the grass had been worn down as if standing in for me. I pushed the gate open and let out a broken scream but the old women only glanced at me and smiled. Her pale blue eyes looked sick with too much pain. That’s when I knew. She was me. My heart pounded as I ran to be beside her. But when I looked up she was gone.

I’d always thought that time stood still in Amersham Cemetery but before now it was only a dream. A state of mind. An escape route made for me to leave this world with those long gone. Denying that the living people in my life would last or meant anything at all. The feeling that I liked a place that haunts too many children’s nightmares came to me quickly and I shuddered because I knew I was truly alone. Time had stopped here but it didn’t wait for me anywhere else. I had driven the living away. Graves lined with stone carved angels made of bones laughed at me.

“Come back,” I whispered to my dad for the first time. Silver rain poured from my eyes and hit his grave. I had always wanted to join him under the ground but now I wanted to be free. I wanted to go somewhere where time had a nice pace. Somewhere I could grow up and the world wouldn’t want to replace me for being a screw up.

The next morning I didn’t want to look at the world. Something inside of me had died when I saw that the world had left me behind without a second thought. I was sure that Ana hadn’t cried for me the way I had always cried for my dad. I realized if I stayed in the graveyard, I would be committing suicide. When I picked up my feet, I tried to ignore the not-so-subtle changes that had occurred in who knows how long. Except that was nearly impossible because my small town seemed to be three times louder than before, with the bustle, I imagined of New York City. It scared me to see all of these unfamiliar faces, melded together like one big gooey chocolate chip cookie. I felt invisible in this world that wasn’t mine. Actually, I always have. There is a pristine traffic light that we never needed before. The pavement was smooth and made for sports cars on my still bare feet. A boy with a strange grey hat stood on the corner handing out newspapers and yelling who knows what. I caught my breath and ran into a home that wasn’t mine.

It was silent in the house, but as I moved inwards I heard a gentle hum echoing out from Ana’s old bedroom. An elderly woman with knobby knees and sunken eyes stared at a tattered frameless picture of a smiling little girl with thin auburn waves. Her pale blue eyes looked happy as they stared with admiration at a tall lanky man with the same reddish brown curls and black framed glasses that shielded his smart blue eyes.

“Come back,” I whispered to my father for the second time. I had spent my whole life looking for him but my life had left me behind. I had nothing. I sunk to my knees beside the woman I knew was Ana. Now I knew I had been wrong. She had cried for me all these years while I had cried for father. Gently, I reached out to embrace her but when my thin fingers gripped her back It felt cold. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I know.” Her exhausted body crumpled and went limp in my arms. Goodbye was all she had needed to move on; past the life that had been lived without me. I murmured again and again that I loved her and I wasn’t going to leave ever again. My intentions were as pure as the tears she had cried for me and I meant it this time. She would have realized but she was already gone.

The last time I was in a graveyard, I stood by a black wall teeming with Ivy and watched Ana lowered to the spot beside Peter Rust. I had spent too much time living through his past life that I hadn’t lived mine. My life seemed over though I’m still 13. I looked down at my still young hands. A cold feeling came to me now that I guessed was fear. I hadn’t been scared of this place before. I hid myself in the back corner in a crevice of the hedge. In another life I would be standing beside her.

Abstract Poem

Swatches of fuchsia

line hallways

made of tears

forgotten colors

tucked away

behind smiling faces

ridden with pain

memories of

a brilliant world

with blues

yellows

peeking through windows

filled with light

sparrows laughing

in meadows

filled with buttercups

that children use

to play pretend

hallowed halls

with nothing

for miles

except screams

and grey

sunlight

Flushed faces

talk to jittery hearts

about wishes

that will never

breathe

Slices of breath

struggle

to the surface

like butter knives

Long brown hair

tangled in the wind

has a mind of its own

deep blue eyes

smirk slyly

as laughter falls

from shy lips

watching moments fall

from windowsills

Poem in the style of Alex Dimitrov

Sometimes god is bipolar

Other times it rains

Her limp hair reminds him of that

I’d much rather mope than sing along to Journey in the shower

Dirt is how I get my best ideas

Who knows why he prepares?

It’s because the last time,

He left the room with bleeding forearms

and we’re all out of disinfectant

The man behind the counter thinks about happiness while he sells bandages

But I think about materialism

Smiley face stickers scare me

I went around making X’s over the eyes

That was my first crack in a crystal clear pane of glass

But I can’t make another crack for a while

There won’t be room for the burden of many cracks to come

I can give you a silver blade from my collection, sure. Promise not to touch the edge?

That way, the shrouded person can walk free of guilt

Guess what?

She’s your Aunt Helen, the one who plays the piano.

Don’t believe me?

Go and look at her birthmark yourself.

A Unanimous Marriage

she lay there, on the cement path

not quite sure why

the chipped slab was so cold in the month of may

the wind blew with a sigh and the trees bent

not unlike a mortician bends over the shell of a soul

scalloped in just the right places

concealing the dread of a person with many secrets

just like the bends and knots in the tall oak tree across the road

 

he started off small, just as everyone else does

not quite sure why

he couldn’t hold on to dreams he had stored in his head

but   

listening to the untold whispers that liars carried through her ears

washing the dreams that he once owned into a river of lost hopes

 

unanimous, they are together.

to clump their misery into a ball

and pitch it off the edge of the eternal abyss called night.

The Party

Lying on my bed in the hospital, I thought back to my origin, the reason I was here. My IV started beeping. A nurse rushed in, a worried look on her face. She adjusted my oxygen mask.

 

“How are you doing?” she asked. I tried to say I was fine, but I couldn’t form the words with my lips. A squeak came out and she nodded, reassured.

 

“I wish I didn’t have to say this, but your condition is bad, and the doctor wants me to give you sleepy milk.”

 

My eyes went wide, sleepy milk meant . . . well I didn’t know. As the warm liquid was pumped into my veins, my eyes grew heavy. I wanted to live. As I fell asleep, words came . . . “Thank you.” And then . . . I was gone.

 

TWO DAYS… BEFORE IT HAPPENED

 

I was locked in my room and I didn’t even know why! I just woke up and I couldn’t open the door. I was a good kid, I did nothing wrong but got punished for being alive.

 

“They locked you in your room again,” my GregBear toy said. I had gotten used to its paranormal features. I walked over to my other GregBear’s Pizzeria toys. For some reason, Boxy the Fox’s head was missing. I also had the other two mascots, Chicar the Duck and Boney the Bunny.

 

“These are my friends,” I started to sob. I was locked in my room, with no freedom and not even a chance to go to my brother’s party in a few days. He was having his party at GregBear’s Pizza, and GregBear was my idol. He was so funny, at least on the TV. He was just really cool, and I wanted to be a TV star one day. I ran to the door and started slamming my hands on it, hoping I could get out. As I banged on it the door slammed into me and I fell still crying. The black started to close in on me from the edges of my vision.

 

“Tomorrow is another day . . . ”

 

I woke up. I was not in my bed, (I was still lying on the floor) but the door was open. I ran out, careful not to make any noise. I saw a clock showing the time, 5 p.m. I went into the living room, hoping to catch a rerun of GregBear and Friends. I then sat down in front of the television just as someone with Boxy the Fox’s head jumped out from behind the couch. My brother was just being his mean self. My heart ran a marathon in seconds and while screaming, I lost consciousness, hearing the words again.

 

“Tomorrow is another day  . . . ”

 

My eyes fluttered open and, through blurred vision, I saw my whole family. Together. Hoping. Crying. I was happy; but I knew.

 

“Hey, you miserable little twerp, get up! It’s your brother’s birthday.” Above me stood my step-dad, who walked away when he saw I was awake. He could be so mean, but he was a drill sergeant in the army, so he was used to yelling at everyone.

 

I got up and walked to my room. I couldn’t wait for going to GregBear’s pizzeria! I pulled on a clean shirt. My brother knew of my GregBear obsession and he liked teasing me about it, but it was his birthday, so he wouldn’t do anything bad or be mean. Right?

 

My step-dad held down the horn in our beat up Volkswagen for ten seconds straight. “You better be ready, you mistake!” he bellowed. “The party starts in twenty minutes! I thought I raised you to be better than this!”

 

I ran out to our car, but not before grabbing my secret, limited edition Mangled the Dog mask. As I stuffed it in my pocket, my brother started stomping around, most likely to find me.

 

The car shot down the street. I watched as the speedometer reached 50, 60 and then 70 miles per hour. In under a minute, we screeched to a stop. There it was, I could almost hear the angels singing and see the aura around it.

 

“Hurry up Phillip,” My brother said smugly, “GregBear’s waiting.”

 

BEEEP. BEEEP. BEEEP.”

 

“He’s still with us.”

 

“Is he going to be okay?”

 

“I can’t say for sure ma’am, his frontal lobe was bitten out by an animatronic bear!”

 

“What are the odds?”

 

“He has about a 15-20% chance of survival, his condition is worse than if he had cancer!”

 

“John! This is because of YOU! Don’t try and slink away! We have the whole thing on tape and you are going to JAIL because of your immature actions”

 

“Now sir, he is your son. You can get him out of jail.”

 

“N-O! He is going and that is final!”

 

I ran straight in. The A/C shot my hair back, but I kept going. No being restrained, no being locked away, no getting scared by jerks, just fun for me!

 

“Hmm . . . ” I muttered under my breath, “Room 3, Room 3 . . . Where is it?”

 

“Hey! Mini-John!” Oh boy. My brother’s friends, ready to tease me. “C’mon, the cake is over here!”

 

I could hear it in their voices. There was no cake, at least, not for me. No fun, at least, not for me. They only came to torment me. Sure, I could call for Dad, but he didn’t even care about me. So, head hung low, I walked over to them and into the room. And, of course, the cake was chocolate, the one thing I was allergic to. I had to admit, my brother had planned a good party, but not for me. They had masks, balloons, colorful lights, streamers and confetti. They even had all-access passes to the arcade, and the stage with the GregBear Band on it.

 

“Phillip. If you can hear me, wiggle your finger.”

 

“BEEEP….BEEEP….BOoooooP.”

 

“We’re losing him!”

 

“Get the EHD!”

 

“No! He could lose all brain power!”

“Well, we can fix that!”

 

“NO, WE CAN’T!”

 

“Phillip! Before you go, I need to say-”

 

“Ma’am, this is a class 4 emergency! We need you to move-”

 

“This is unit 12-4 calling for backup. We have a patient with less than 50 bpm on our hands, over.”

 

“Copy that, sending backup, over and out.”

 

“Well Phillip, we know you love GregBear,” Lloyd, my brother’s friend, said, “So, we got you an all-access pass, too!”

 

On the outside, I kept a straight face, but on the inside, I was screaming with joy. A chance to see my Idol meant that things really were looking up! As we walked to the entrance of the main party room, I heard my brother snickering. He whispered something to Lloyd, and they both had a good laugh, evilly.

 

“Welcome to GregBear’s Band Arena!” a staff member said cheerfully. “We have a great show for you today! So take a seat, and I’ll leave you party animals to yourselves! Uh, but don’t get too close to GregBear, he needs his space too! Heh!”

 

No, don’t go, I wanted to call out to her. Couldn’t she see that sneaky look creeping over my brother’s face? No one seemed to understand that if rules could be broken, teenagers would break them. The lights started flashing as GregBear and his band rolled out. A spotlight landed on each one of them, their fur shining GregBear’s goldish orange, Chicar’s yellow, Boney’s purple and Boxy’s red.

 

“Welcome to our special performance,” GregBear said metallically, “Would the birthday gir . . . boy please come over with at least one friend?”

 

“Hey guys,” my brother said, “How about we all go over to GregBear!”

 

Wait? Did he mean me? Probably not, but . . .

 

Repeat, this is unit 12-4, we need backup, we need backup, over.”

 

“Copy that, we are sending the EMT upstairs right now. Try and wake the patient up, maybe with some meds, over and out.”

 

“Meds! That’s it”

 

“Uh, doctor?”

 

“Yes ma’am?”

 

“Is it normal for a patient to jerk around like that?”

 

“No, call for help! We need the best staff here NOW!”

 

“Unit 12-4 here, EMT has not arrived and patient is having violent spasms! We need a neuroscientist up here, and quick, over and out.”

 

“He’s flat-lining!”

 

“What is happening?”

 

“C’mon Phillip!” Lloyd shouted, “We didn’t get you a pass, just for you to sit there!”

 

What!? They . . . they were being nice . . . to me. I stood up and practically floated towards them on a cloud of happiness.

 

“Yeah Phillip,” my brother smirked, “We want you to get a nice, up-close talk with GregBear!”

 

Before I could get away, I was lifted up by eight sweaty hands and flipped onto my stomach. They pushed me towards GregBear as he said, “Happy birthday JOHN! Let’s sing the best-day song! So join in, and follow along!”

 

GregBear’s teeth chomped, as if it was supposed to look like singing. They gnashed, up, down, up, down. They pushed me so close, I could feel the cool metal of GregBear’s chin on my forehead.

 

“Up a little higher boys!” my brother said, “Now Phillip, give GregBear a little kissy-kissy!”

 

“It’s your best daaaaaay! Today! Birthday! Happy happy happy happy happy happy happy day!”

 

“GregBear will only love you if you love him!”

 

“He’s not in a coma!”

 

“Then how has he flat-lined without brain damage?”

 

“Should we do an MRI?”

 

“Not now! We don’t even know if he’s alive!”

 

“Wait! He’s coming up!”

 

“BEEEP…. BEEEP…. BEEEP…BEEEP.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

“He’s having a heart attack!”

 

“BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP”

 

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”

 

“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!”

 

Time seemed to slow down, probably my fight or flight instincts kicking in. GregBear’s white teeth shined bright under the spotlights, but were tinted a pinkish-red, not from the spotlight. I could see the dulled shine of a rusty exoskeleton through his mouth.

 

“Haaaaave….a great day!”

 

GregBear’s teeth were pointy and sharp, as if he was a killing machine. I was being pushed, inch by inch closer to his mouth. Two hands moved onto the bottoms of my shoes and pushed me forwards while the other six rolled me forward the way a conveyer belt would. I couldn’t give him a kiss even if i wanted to, I was almost in his mouth.

 

“Heh, Heh, HEH! We hope you have a great time today JOHN! We also…”

 

Closer and closer. Why so close? I didn’t know. Under his lips as they moved up, and down towards my head. They would get in so much trouble for doing this. My life flashed before me. So it really did happen! I saw my mom, marrying step-dad. My brother with an evil look as they kissed. My life was horrible, and I was going to die! The rows of razor sharp teeth falling down onto my head. Out of nowhere one pair of hands dropped off my back and I heard a shoving sound.

 

“Oomph!”

 

The other two pairs of hands dropped and I was left hanging from the mouth of a killing machine.

 

“Beeep….beeep”

 

“Ma’am, I think Phillip might be okay.”

 

“Oh! Thank you so much!”

 

“Uh, sir? We, uh, have a situation over here.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“The, uh, other patient, uh, John, is, uh, going into cardiac arrest.”

 

“OH MY GOD!”

“How long?”

 

“Uh, about five minutes?”

 

“This is unit 10-5! We have a SCA-3-5 Emergency, over!”

 

“Copy that, sending backup, try and restart the heart, over and out.”

 

“He was doing so well!”

 

John got catapulted into GregBear’s mouth, as the teeth closed down on my head. Just as the teeth punctured my skin, I saw that GregBear was going to chomp a heart! I could feel my skull shatter, and blood started flying all over the place. Some of it was mine, some John’s. John started shake, as the teeth grabbed hold of my brain, sending grey matter flying. I saw John stop and whisper “I’m sorry!”

I woke up in an white room. I had a massive headache, and nothing was clear. The noise hurt my ears.

 

“We have a heart transplant planned for the older one and the younger one . . .  well, we’ll see how he handles it, maybe run an MRI on him, but there’s not much we can do if he’s missing his frontal lobe.”

 

I thought. The Doctor?

 

“What are the symptoms?”

 

My Mom?

 

The frontal lobe is the part of the brain that controls important cognitive skills in humans, such as emotional expression, problem solving, memory, language and judgment. It is, in essence, the “control panel” of our personality and our ability to communicate. We can try to help but most likely he will have trouble doing those things, he would be considered ‘disabled severely’.”

 

What!?! Part of my . . . top? Was bitten out by a bunch of fake . . . sharp things?? Ugh! I couldn’t think straight, so I just closed my . . . seeing tools? And let sleep claim me?

“How you doing, Phillip?” My doctor was standing next to me.

 

“I…feel okay?”

 

“That’s great! Now, I wanted to let you know what happened, you are NOT a little kid. We want you to know. The bear bit a chunk of your frontal lobe, the control panel of your brain, out of your head. You might feel weird, or have trouble with basic things, but it is all to be expected. We are going to look and see what is going on, and then we might be able to fix it!”

 

What bear? Who, was this man?

 

“What aboot Jonhey?

 

“John? His heart was bitten into, but he got a transplant, and he’s doing fairly well!”

 

There was a strange feeling tugging at my stomach. What was it? I was hungry!

 

“I eem hoongry?”

 

“You’ll be okay…”

 

As I fell asleep, I looked ahead, better times were coming…

 

“Phillip?”

 

Mom!

 

“Mommy!” I shouted

 

“How are you?”

 

“I feel great! What happened?”

 

“You got an MRI,” the doctor butted in, “And we were able to replace the most important parts of your brain.”

 

“Mom?” I said, “I heard some, weird stuff.”

 

“Like what?” she seemed worried

 

“I heard stuff about John a-and me. Doctors and stuff”

 

Mom grabbed me and pulled me into a huge hug.

 

“Oh, honey! You were in such bad condition! You almost had a heart attack!”

 

She didn’t even mention John!

 

“What about John?”

 

She started to sniffle, and then sob. The doctor went over, probably to try and comfort Mom.

 

“Look,” he said, “It happens, and Phillip, well, he’s a great kid! Be happy that he’s . . . still here.”

 

What? I still had no clue what I was hearing.

 

“Mom! What happened to John?”

 

“Well,” she sniffled, “he,” she couldn’t help but choke on her words, “he went into Cardiac Arrest,” Mom sobbed out the words. “His heart stopped.” Her crying didn’t lessen, “and he died.”

 

She started to flat out scream and cry. Her eyes turned into waterfalls. I tried to sit up, but a wire attached to my head stopped me. The doctor cringed, but loosened the wire, so I could move. I grabbed Mom, and tried to help her, comfort her.

 

“Mom,” I whispered to her “I love you. You are the best Mom I could ever have. I know that it’s hard to lose someone, especially John. I thought he was a good guy inside, but I’m still here for you.”

 

My step-dad came in.

 

“Phillip, I’m sorry!” He said, “I’ve been so horrible to you, but you were born a couple months after your mom and I got married, and we weren’t expecting it. I wish I could have helped you grow up, but instead I ruined it. You know I was a drill sergeant in the army, I got used to yelling at people who weren’t family.”

 

He looked at his feet, but there was one more thing I knew he wanted to say.

 

“C’mon dad! Say it!”

 

“I love you.”

 

Toby Pannone is a New Yorker in 7th grade. He can tell you how to get anywhere on the MTA. When he grows up he wants to be a film director and he currently has his own Youtube channel called BIRDIECHANNEL!

 

Works Cited

 

“Frontal Lobe.” Frontal Lobe Anatomy & Pictures. Healthline Networks, Inc., 2 Mar. 2015. Web. 30 July 2015.

Starting School

If you were out in the morning of a weekday, you would see most kids up and getting ready for school by seven a.m. Most schools start at 7:30 to 8 a.m. and this is too early!  Since students wake up early and sleep late, they will probably get tired during school. This will cause them to start daydreaming or even falling asleep during class. This will not help them at school. Schools need to figure out how they can help students get more sleep. One solution is starting school later so then students can get more sleep.

Most kids are already up by seven to get ready for school. In old times, people would get up at six and already be sleeping by seven due to the need of sunlight. But we don’t need to sleep that early now because we have electricity, so the need to wake up early is unnecessary. Today, there are three main reasons why schools start early: making time for after-school activities, leaving more daylight time for kids, and making it safer for teens to walk home after school. But health is more important than school. If you are not healthy, then you wouldn’t go to school in the first place! Therefore, school should start later because sleep will improve health.

You can not focus if you don’t get enough sleep, can you? So that’s why lack of sleep can affect the grades that students get at school. Eight hours is the recommended amount for teens and preteens to sleep, and only about 41% of middle school students and 13% of high school students get that recommended amount of sleep. If you cannot focus on your studies, you cannot do well on exams. According to a study in Harvard (found on harvard.edu), sleep can help your body work such as having better memory and a better focus on learning.  Lack of sleep can also lead students to poor health, and that will cause plenty of absent days in school.

Teens sleep late for two reasons: they can’t fall asleep before 11 p.m. because of their brain shifts and also because of too much homework. Parents think that making their kids sleep earlier will solve the problem of their lack of sleep, but an average teenager can not fall asleep until 11 p.m. (says Dr. Lewin). Since the students are older now, they will get a lot of homework, so that could prevent them from sleeping earlier. According to the National Education Association, the homework time increases each grade by ten minutes. An average twelfth-grader has about 110 more minutes of homework than an average first grader.

Then at the end of the day, most middle-school and high-school students are up doing their homework, studies, and after-school activities. By the time they will be able to go to bed, it’s so late at night! Then they will have less sleep. This will result in accidents, poor health, being stressed and upset, and failing grades. Schools should start later in the day to prevent this and then more students will have more sleep and do better in school.

 

Vanilla Sugar

I keep three packets of vanilla sugar in my room at all times because I’m the type of person who goes to bed at 3:27 a.m. just because I can, and at any given time I should be able to reach into the mahogany drawer on the left hand side of my bed and pull out a packet of vanilla sugar. And I believe that at 3:26 a.m. I should be awake enough to tip toe to the kitchen and grab a carton of whipping cream and make some of the best whipped cream you’ve ever tasted, because the secret is vanilla sugar, and who cares what time it is?

And right now it’s 12:10 a.m. and I have two hours and sixteen minutes to go but I really want some whipped cream and I can’t wait for every second of those two hours and sixteen minutes to pass because not even I can resist my own whipped cream. And the sky blue of my walls matches the color of my eyes and now that I think about it, that’s tacky. My walls should be light grey to match the color of my eternal need for whipped cream because it’s not with passion it’s with longing, and light grey is the international color of rainy days and on rainy days you long for the sun. But I don’t long for the sun. I like the grey days because then I have an excuse to sit in my sky blue room with an elephant onesie and eat whipped cream with a full packet of vanilla sugar.

It’s 12:11 a.m. and I can see the snowflakes outside my grey window and they just remind me of the vanilla sugar that I want, that I need. I’m covered in a light grey throw blanket and the nest of chargers next to me is the main barrier between myself and my three packets of vanilla sugar and if I don’t get up I’m lazy, but if I get the packet out of my drawer I’ll inevitably tip toe to the kitchen and whip up the fluffy white cream and then I’ll have no self control. But if I sprinkle some raspberries on top…

No.

I’m fine with the reruns of Tom & Jerry; I love Tom & Jerry; Tom & Jerry were the first to make me laugh. Tom & Jerry can keep you distracted long enough to forget what you want for a few seconds because you’re caught in the rivalry that you know is ridiculous but you need some ridiculous mammals right now because ridiculous mammals don’t require vanilla sugar to calm you down. Ridiculous rivalries between ridiculous mammals are all I need right now. Because there’s an envelope from the Harvard Admissions Office on my desk chair and it’s staring at me, looming over me, and it’s been there for two days and I can’t manage to do anything but make whipped cream and stuff my pillow cases with vanilla sugar. Because who needs college, right? And I can’t even see how big the envelope is because I don’t know the difference between big envelopes and small envelopes and everyone knows what a big envelope means, but who got to decide what makes an envelope big? I mean, to Tom, a big envelope is a regular sized envelope to us, and who got to decide that? Who has the right to say, “If you got into our pretentious little academy then you get a nice big envelope filled with nice big forms,” and why should I fall into the trap? Why would I ever want to fill out a nice big form? I hate big forms.

Thirteen days ago, I was the type of person who collected stamps and had an extensive knowledge of psychology and brains and thought that maybe I could work with brains; maybe I could be the type of person who helps psychotic people. Eleven days ago, four point oh average London Harris got her acceptance letter. Ten days and twenty three hours ago, I strolled to the deli half a block away from my house, still calm, and bought my first pack of vanilla sugar. Ten days and twenty hours ago I started noticing that mothers look up into my eyes and reflexively pull their children away. And now, as I’m ready to tear open my two hundred and seventeenth packet of vanilla sugar, I can feel this weird vanilla sugar haze seeping from my brain to my eyes and nesting there, whispering “Packet or letter? Packet or letter? Packet or letter?” And I don’t know what’s better: packet or letter? And then suddenly there’s a devil on my left shoulder and an angel on my right and the angel is dressed in a vanilla packet suit and the devil is wearing a maroon Harvard crewneck. They’re climbing into my ears and one’s yelling “packet!” while the other screams “letter!” and  I’m just sitting there while miniature nuisances kill my cochlea. And it sucks. It really, really sucks, because all I want is vanilla sugar. I don’t even care, okay, I don’t even care about Harvard. I just care about the teeny crystalline balls of magic held within this baby blue, two-square-inch, glorious wrapper with a picture of a sugar cookie on it.

I demand my vanilla sugar in its packet like Monday morning teenagers need lattes with two shots of espresso and fake sugar, because real sugar is only for those who appreciate it. Because people who fake the sugar don’t appreciate it. They don’t appreciate it, don’t appreciate it.They don’t understand the joy that you get with sugar in your blood. Insulin levels, glucagon levels rising, trying to fix you. What is wrong with you? Why are your sugar level so high? What is up with your hormones, why aren’t they filtering it out? What are you doing? Where is your fake sugar, your Splenda, Sweet ‘n Low, but I can’t take my lattes with Splenda. What even is Splenda? I need to take my sugar like my life: with a hint of vanilla, not the fake stuff. Appreciate the sugar, okay. Appreciate it like children minus the ickyness, no boogers in vanilla sugar. There’s no Harvard ink font letter in my baby blue vanilla sugar packet of happiness, but pure bliss like high school drop-out gangsters get from drugs minus all those needles because, ew, ouch, no needles, they make me cry crystalline tears that look nothing like what you think vanilla sugar would look like nothing at all because it’s powdery not shiny and I love it, I love vanilla, I love it, love it, love it, look up to it appreciation at its finest

appreciate the vanilla sugar like catholic school children appreciate God

     sweet crystalline crystalline from sugar cane

vanilla beans like string beans but not green or gross

they make my vanilla sugar packets

vanilla sugar soul packets

vanilla sugar heart packets

not your splenda fake sweetener heaven hidden from the real life society that goes on

inside the walls of vanilla sugar wall veins

   take me into your vanilla sugar arms

and  let me melt into your carbohydrate shell

your glucose and sucrose and all the ose-s

sticky summer vanilla bean ice cream

whipped cream vanilla dreams

baby blue packet

like           baby           bonnets

Nilla Wafers probably have

vanilla sugar

completes my soul like a half-moon penumbra

Criminally Unjust: A Tale of Two Justice Systems

Sometime past three o’clock, on a warm July afternoon, Eric Garner stood in front of a Staten Island beauty supply store allegedly selling what are commonly referred to as “loosies” – untaxed cigarettes usually sold for between ten cents and a quarter.  Hulking, black, with a broad chest, the 43-year-old grandfather was often described by friends as the “neighborhood peacemaker”; an amiable giant endowed with a generous, congenial attitude.  With his back arched against the store’s window, he is swiftly circled by a band of NYPD officers. At first the interaction remains unremarkable; one officer, as the video reveals, can be seen indifferently chewing gum as Garner explains the predicament to the small congregation of cops. Ardently waving his arms, a frustrated Garner tells the officers, “every time you see me, you want to mess with me. I’m tired of it. Everyone standing here will tell you I didn’t do nothing.” To be clear, this story of dogged police harassment is one shared by many black men. Garner himself was arrested 31 times since 1980 – with only two charges yielding convictions. If his past history was any indicator, he indeed likely “didn’t do nothing.”

Yet, the exchange takes a hasty, tragic turn; what begins as a relatively peaceful discourse devolves into an Orwellian display of brutality. As Garner continues to complain, officers from both sides of the ring suddenly grab his shoulders, attempting to arrest him — notably without evidence of the so-called “loosies” they were originally seeking. He flinches in surprise, attempting to evade the officers’ forceful grasp. Yet rather than de-escalating the conflict – or giving the visibly shaken Garner a chance to regain composure – Officer Daniel Pantaleo’s muscular arms lock his neck in a chokehold.  Pantaleo constricts him with the authoritarian zeal of Judge Dredd, despite his desperate pleas for air. “I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe,” Garner begs, his consciousness slipping as the officer ceases to relent. For another 23 tortuous seconds, even after Garner falls to the ground, the officer continues to clench his neck, squeezing the life out of a man who two minutes prior was quietly idling in front of a store. When the officer finally subdues his boa-like constraint, the severity of Garner’s condition becomes evident: he lays lifeless on the sidewalk, prolonged oxygen deprivation having caused a massive heart attack.

The events of the now infamous video have evolved to become a symbol of police brutality; a rallying cry for those disaffected with our justice system.  Garner’s last words: “I can’t breathe,” have been adopted as the mantra of recent demonstrations. More importantly, unlike the shooting death of Michael Brown, whose case was enshrouded in a fog of conflicting witnesses and forensic reports, Garner’s death serves as an irrefutable, visceral testament to the violent excesses of law enforcement. Although the Grand Jury investigating Pantaleo’s conduct ultimately acquitted him of wrongdoing, much to the chagrin of civil rights activists, most who watched the video agree, at best, his behavior was an incompetent display of force. For others, the chokehold was a malicious tool of murder, driven by a more sinister undercurrent of racism. Even conservative commentator, Charles Krauthammer — not particularly known for his civil rights bona fides — noted that the grand jury’s decision was “totally incomprehensible.”

For most, Garner’s death has become a lesson in police brutality. Or the need to weed out bad cops. As   New York Police Commissioner, Bill Bratton, said in response to widespread demonstrations, we must remove officers who are “poisoning the well.” Body cameras, demilitarization, and increased regulations are all similar conclusions that have arisen from recent demonstrations and events. But largely absent from the outcry of protesters and public officials, has been the broader context; “the big picture.”  In a frenzy to vilify police officers, we have forgotten that they are not the enemy. Rather, we must acknowledge that bad systems make bad officers.

While it is quite possible that Pantaleo’s chokehold was the product of some sort of primordial sense of racism, it is equally, if not more likely, that his lethal use of force was the result of greater broken systems and broken policies.  We must treat Garner’s death not as the disease, but as a symptom of a broader justice system which increasingly equates poverty with crime.

One must understand that as our nation’s economic inequalities grow, so do the inequalities in our justice system: increasingly, race and class are determinants, not just of one’s income, but of one’s judicial treatment. On the surface America maintains the hallmarks of a healthy democracy: the right to vote, the right to a jury, and the right to an attorney. But underneath this glimmering sheen of equitable justice lies a dark labyrinth of policies and bureaucracies which ensure that we live in a nation of two justice systems: one for the rich and one for the poor.

To understand the magnitude of our increasingly fractured justice system, one does not need to prod particularly hard into the nuances of police behavior and government policy. In fact, many of the most egregious disparities between the treatment of the wealthy and poor are codified directly into our laws; a self-evident reality of our own legal existence.

On one end of the spectrum are crimes linked to poverty. These offenses such as drug possession, jumping turnstiles, loitering, and petty theft are non-violent misdemeanors primarily committed by those in poverty.  Often, these are crimes perpetrated out of necessity and generally have minor, if not negative impact on society.

Take drug possession – by far the most common source of non-violent crime.  In many disadvantaged neighborhoods, the selling and purchasing of drugs is a casual source of employment, where economic and educational opportunity otherwise remains low. Since many low-income households have little access to treatment programs and family support, rates of addiction also remain much higher. Therefore, it would seem that impoverished communities do not have a problem with crime, but rather with social and economic dysfunction. Yet in our near-dystopian penal code, drugs, as well as other non-violent crimes, are not viewed as a multidimensional symptom of entrenched poverty, but rather a scourge of society which must be “cracked down.” Confirming this, the United States Sentencing Commission released a report stating that “in 2012, the average federal prison sentence for a drug offender was almost 6 years.” Perhaps more disturbingly, there are over 2.8 million individuals convicted of non-violent crimes currently incarcerated, heavily skewed towards the poor and minorities.

Yet the draconian gavel of our justice system is not limited to drugs, either. For most poor offenders — whether it is three days or thirty years — their prison careers begin with the most minor offenses conceivable. Imagine being jailed for loitering? For stealing a two dollar can of beer? Or how about swearing in public? Recall Eric Garner: the infraction provoking his death was ultimately the selling of untaxed cigarettes to support himself financially. We must ask ourselves, in a fair and just society, should six children be left fatherless for what amounts to a minor, victimless offense? Can we tolerate a society in which the punishment is no longer reflective of the crime?

For many impoverished communities, the harsh penalties and enforcement of non-violent crime is only the beginning.  When an individual is convicted of a minor poverty-related crime, they are more likely to commit more severe crimes and less likely to find employment after imprisonment. In the violent, gang-ridden albatross that is our prison system, a minor drug offender may quickly become a hardened criminal. In other words, by aggressively prosecuting non-violent crimes, our justice system is effectively sanctioning a sort of vicious prison-poverty feedback loop: poverty leads to minor offenses which leads to imprisonment which in turn leads to greater level of poverty. In Daedelus, sociologists Bruce Western of Harvard and Becky Pettit of the University of Washington concluded that “once a person becomes incarcerated, the experience limits their earning power and their ability to climb out of poverty even decades after their release.” But the mass incarceration of poor, non-violent offenders also irreparably damages future generations.  Recent surveys indicate that “children of prisoners are more likely to live in poverty, to end up on welfare, and to suffer the sorts of serious emotional problems that tend to make holding down jobs more difficult.” In its zealous, authoritarian pursuit of minor crimes, our own justice system is keeping millions of destitute Americans in a state of perpetual suffering, destroying communities and bolstering social dysfunction; the criminalization of poverty.

On the other side of the equation, in the realm of the wealthy, the justice system fails to penalize crime, instead immunizing success and wealth.

At some level, we all implicitly understand that the wealthy will inexorably fare better in a court of law; with a vigorous legal defense team and other resources, one would assume that cases are naturally easier to win. Yet the inequities in our justice system are far more entrenched than merely the quality of legal counsel. As money increasingly dictates politics, the wealthy have built a layered bureaucracy and legal structure designed to insulate their harmful, yet massively profitable, financial practices from the rule of law.

The legal biases inoculating the wealthy are apparent in all stages of the criminal justice system; in arrest rates, convictions, and sentencing, the rich face a system entirely different than their poorer counterparts.  One now infamous Philadelphia study conducted in 2008, revealed that “of 3,475 juvenile delinquents…police referred lower class boys to juvenile court much more often than upper class boys, even for equally serious offenses with similar prior arrest records.”

With sentencing, the Dickensian inequities are equally alarming. Take, for example, the three crimes of robbery, larceny, and burglary; all three, in varying degrees of severity, involve illegally siphoning property from one person to another. Next, take fraud, embezzlement, and income tax evasion; again, all “white-collar” variations of theft. But despite their inherent similarities, one convicted of the former three offenses will, on average, receive twice the sentence of one convicted of the latter three offenses.

The most egregious example of our justice system, however, is in its handling of large corporations. Although it has become cliché, not a single executive of any Wall Street firm, has served or is serving time in connection with the 2008 financial meltdown. Many politicians, commentators, and President Obama himself have justified this by suggesting the offenses of corrupt corporations are merely ethical violations – minor missteps undeserving of prosecution.

But these so-called ethical and “minor missteps” are neither legal nor minor.  The crimes committed by large firms and their employees include concealment of financial transactions aiding terrorists, as was the case with HSBC, the blinding of criminal assets, deliberate tax evasion, large-scale fraud, and sub-prime mortgages, rivaling only the Great Depression in financial damage.  In the wake of the 2008 financial collapse, over 40% of the world’s wealth was lost, crippling the global economy and the American middle class.

Yet not a single prosecution.  A contingent of wanton, avarice-eyed executives single-handedly implode our economy and collectively receive a smaller punishment than a poor man stealing a can of beer.  If the purpose of our justice system is to “seek just punishment for those guilty of unlawful behavior; and to ensure fair and impartial administration of justice for all Americans,” as Attorney General Eric Holder himself wrote, then not only has it failed us, it has embarrassed the sanctity of justice itself.

The American psyche has long revered the justice system, at least symbolically, as a bastion of morality; an impartial arbiter of innocence and guilt. It was the justice system, after all, which desegregated our schools, ended interracial marriage laws, and protected freedom of speech. However, the harsh criminalization of poverty and the inoculation of the wealthy force us to reconsider this unwavering reverence. As impoverished teenagers serve draconian sentences for rolling a marijuana joint, wealthy bankers revel in a binge of unaccountability, demonstrating that the ideals of justice are often a facade for a system dictated by class. Tragically, our justice system has devolved into a virtual caste system where punishment no longer reflects the severity of the crime.

These dangerous trends can no longer be ignored. As the deplorable death of Eric Garner indicates, the stratification of our justice system is a national crisis for which blood is being shed. Garner’s daughter said in response to her father’s death, “justice, to me, is basically doing what’s right.”  With millions of Americans still protesting, and the inequities of our justice system increasingly evident, we must too ask ourselves: “Do we have the will to do what’s right?”

Assassin’s Greed

Jenna climbed through her window. She spent three minutes lying on the floor, trying to pull herself together. That was the most fun she’d had in a month! She was also getting paid twice as much as she ever had been. 20 thousand dollars! For one guy! She pulled herself off the floor — she was exhausted from running from the cops in her high heels. Maybe she should change her footwear — or maybe she shouldn’t. It was so much easier to beat up guards in high-heels than in sneakers or any other type of shoes. She pulled off her suit, then her mask, then her shoes. She climbed into the bed and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Jenna was a selfish person. She didn’t care what anyone else needed. She didn’t care what people thought of her. She stole from people, she killed other people, she acted like a child, except when she had to act like an adult. She did her job, came home, ate candy, played video games, and read kids’ books. Those were fun, and they took her mind off things. The things that scared her the most were the people who tried to tell her to change. She was scared she would listen. She knew what she did was bad, and she knew she was a bad person, but she didn’t want to be a good person. If she became a good person she would have to care about other people. She hated other people. Other people had killed her parents. Other people had made her this way. Sometimes she would curl up on her bed and pretend she was 14 again, before her parents died. She would pretend they were outside the door, talking about how their little girl was ‘growing up so fast.’ They didn’t know how fast.

She taught herself to shoot a gun and fight, in the foster home. The people in foster care hadn’t wanted her to, so they were her first victims. She needed money, so she used her talent to make money. Killing gave her peace, and it was fun. She loved to have fun.

Jenna woke to the sound of a loud jackhammer drilling into the sidewalk. Her sidewalk. She would have thrown a knife at that ***hole, but too many people were watching. They would call the police, the police would arrest her, she would end up in jail, and she would have to spend however long in a cell with other people. And she wouldn’t have her weapons to kill them with. If she had to share a cell with a man, he would probably try to ‘impress her’ by being strong. He wouldn’t understand how strong she actually was. Then one day she’d kick his *** and he’d get mad and attack her. She’d then kick his *** again, then break his neck. And she’d enjoy it.

She stood and stretched. She was getting paid today. First thing she’d have to do was buy more bullets for her gun. Then some more knives, then food. Work always came before personal needs. What she wanted more than anything was to buy her own little island and live there with no one but one servant. Away from all the other people who hated her and wanted her dead just like her parents.

She walked out of her room to make breakfast for herself. She turned the TV on. She always enjoyed watching people react to her jobs.

“Last night, Matthew King was killed as he lay sleeping in his bed. His children, 15-year-old Annie, and five-year-old Jason, found him this morning when he wouldn’t come down for breakfast. Who killed Mr. King? Wherever you are, I hope you can’t sleep at night with what you’ve done.” Jenna had had enough. She changed the channel to the Cartoon Network. One of her favorite cartoons was playing — Adventure Time.

She never really paid attention to family of any of her targets. If the person had 50 kids that all needed him or her, Jenna didn’t care. This was mostly because a lot of her targets didn’t have kids, only spouses, and sometimes siblings. This was probably the first time her target actually had a family.

She didn’t care. The other people hadn’t cared, and neither would she. It wasn’t her job to care, it was her job to kill.

She heard knocking at her door. As fast as she could, she turned the TV off, and was at the door. The man standing outside had a smile on his face.

“Thank you, Ms. Johnstone,” he said, reaching out a hand to her. She shook it and invited him in.

He declined and took out a nice leather wallet.

“Your money’s in there. Check if you want. I know you can find me and I won’t try to cheat you out of your money,” he said with a smile on his face as she reached her hand into the wallet and counted the 500 dollar bills that filled it.

Exactly the right amount. She put the wallet on the table right by the door, shook his hand again, and said she hoped to see him again. She was lying. She hated the man — she hated everyone.

She closed the door behind him and locked all ten of the locks she had installed. She fell onto her couch, smiling. She turned the TV back on. She laughed along with all the characters as they made awful jokes with their stupid humor. They were funny to her – it didn’t matter what anyone else thought of the show. If she liked it, she would watch it.

She heard screaming coming from outside. At first she ignored it — people were always screaming outside. It would stop eventually. But the screaming didn’t stop. It just got louder and louder until Jenna couldn’t hear the show anymore because of all the noise.

She paused it and ran to the window, throwing it open.

“Shut the f*** up before I come out and murder you myself!!” she yelled angrily at the men under the window.

“S-sorry Miss.” They looked like they were trembling.

She had scared them. That was the first time she had scared anyone when not wearing her suit. It felt amazing. She placed a threatening smile on her lips and they trembled harder.

“If I hear you again, I will come out there and break both your necks,” she said darkly, with the same smile on her face. She then slammed the window closed and continued to watch her cartoon.

This episode was about Finn and Jake finding a scavenger hunt that Jake’s father had left behind for them. Jake’s family had taken Finn in when he was a child. This episode made Jenna think.

What she had done last night felt like this episode. Two kids, one adopted and one genuine. She had taken their father from them. She was just like the other people — the people who had taken her father. She had done the same thing to two kids, one who was only five years old.

For the first time in six years, Jenna started to feel something other than sadness, or hatred, or the cold fun that came from killing. She felt regret. She was a murderer. She had ruined a family just like her’s. Maybe they weren’t exactly the same, maybe the Kings were rich and only had one parent, but they had still been a family. And she had ruined it.

She turned her attention back to the cartoon, but it didn’t make her feel happy. It made her feel worse. She changed the channel to Boomerang. Yogi Bear was playing. It didn’t cheer her up. How? She loved Yogi Bear. It just made her feel like a kid.

She wasn’t a kid, was she?

She certainly acted like a kid. She felt like a kid. She did things little kids do. She ate too much candy and got stomach aches, she read picture books, she played video games, she watched cartoons. The only difference she could find between her and a normal kid was that she didn’t have parents to tuck her in at night, or read the picture books to her, or tell her to turn off the TV, or to stop playing video games, or to tell her not to eat so much candy.

Annie and Jason King had that, until she showed up.

She had been paid 20 thousand dollars to destroy a family. And she never failed her jobs. What was going to happen to Annie and Jason? Would they be separated? Were they going to a foster home, just like she had? Would they run? Would they end up like her? Looking for revenge, and enjoying hurting others? She didn’t want that.

She quickly changed the channel back to the news.

“Matthew King left it in his will that his children will stay with their butler. They will be taken care of, and kept safe until Annie grows old enough to inherit her father’s money,” the announcer said.

Jenna gave an audible sigh of relief. They weren’t going to foster care, and they weren’t going to run away like she had. People in foster care rarely cared about the children they had taken in. At least the Kings wouldn’t end up like she had.

She didn’t want anyone to end up like her.

She was a monster. All the people who had told her that she didn’t have to hurt them — they had been right all along.

And she had just realized it.

Pockets

It’s Saturday morning and I wake up to the smell of blueberry pancakes from the kitchen. I yawn, and get out of bed and head towards the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror, see my eye bags, and sigh. I wash my face and greet my mother with a “good morning” and a hug.

“Can I have two pancakes? I’m really hungry.” I ask as I pour myself a cup of milk.

“Yeah. I have to run some errands; I’ll be back soon.”

I stack the pancakes and pour over some syrup. Once I finish, I look around to see if there are any fruits on the counter. I don’t see any. Guess I have to go get some later.

As soon as my mother leaves, I call my best friend, Lily.

“Jules?”

“Hey Lily. What are you doing today?”

“Nothing much. Why?

“We should go shopping.”

“Sure! Does an hour sound okay?”

“Yeah. See you.”

I quickly get dressed and place a few dollars in my pocket, along with my grandmother’s purple crystal. I grab my coat on the way out and lock the door behind me. I breathe in the crisp morning air and walk down the street to the corner store. When I enter, the bell rings above my head. I pick up two apples, a few pears, and a bag of grapes. I take them to the cashier, pay for them, receive my change, and place the coins in my pocket. I say “thanks” and go to the back, where the bathroom is. I get out my small notebook from my pocket and tear out a page from it, seeing that it’s the last. I put the empty notebook back in my pocket, not entirely sure why. I write, “do more of what makes you happy.” on the slip of paper, and leave it on the side of the sink, hoping that someone will see it later in the day, and smile. I leave the bathroom and make my way out of the store, hearing the bell ring once again. When I check my phone, I see that I received a text from Lily 3 minutes ago. I open it and read:

“i’m running late. hav some things i need 2 do.”

I text back, saying,

“no prob. c u.”

I go home and pack a small bag with my wallet, another small notebook, and a pack of gum. I catch up on Pretty Little Liars while I wait. I hear the doorbell buzz and I let Lily in.

“We need to see what the new clothing store sells,” I start. “I’m looking for a dress.”

“Okay, I need a skirt anyways since it’s getting warmer out. It’s not far, right?” she questions.

“No. Walking distance.”

We go out, and on our way to Topshop, Lily nods towards a sign that says “FREE SAMPLES – TAKE ONE!” and a basket of little soap samples in front of Sabon.

“Can we stop and see?” she motioned.

“Fine.”

I take one that has a pretty blue-green color, only to see Lily stuffing her bag with a handful.

“Lily! What are you doing?!” I whisper, as I look around to see if anyone saw.

“Jeez, no one else’s taking them.” Lily rolls her eyes.

We continue our short walk to Topshop, and once we get there, we start our hunt of finding clothes we want. After an hour of rummaging around the sale rack, Lily pulls out a black, pleated skirt and I find a pastel blue, flowy dress.

“Aha!” Lily and I yell in unison. We turn to each other and giggle.

“Let’s go try these on.” I take Lily’s hand and pull her towards the changing room. I go in first, and as soon as I put on the dress, I feel like it’s summer. It fits nicely, and when I checked the price tag, I couldn’t believe my eyes. $20!! Something like this would usually cost me much more. I take out the notebook from my bag and write “you look beautiful!”. I tear out the page, and stick it on the mirror. I change back into my regular clothes, and send a signal to Lily that it was her turn. A few minutes later, she comes out, looking unsure.

“What’s wrong? Did you not like it?” I ask, pointing at the skirt.

“Oh, no. I’m not going to get it.” Lily replies. “It’s just that.. nevermind.”

“Just that what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

I pay for my dress, and as soon as we get outside, Lily exclaims,

“I have to go. I forgot about this thing I need to do today. I’m really sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She ran off before I could reply. Confused, I turn back and head home.

The next afternoon, I emptied out my bag from the day before and realized that my grandmother’s crystal was gone.  I searched everywhere – my bedroom, my closet, my bathroom – but it was no where to be found.

Frustrated, I texted Lily.

L, i can’t find this crystal. its purple, have u seen it?

I get a reply quickly:

  1. do u want me to come over & look w/ u?

I respond happily.

yeah. thanks.

I continued my search as I waited for Lily to come. My face lights up when I hear the doorbell buzz. I let Lily in, and she starts looking in the living room. Where could it be? I thought. I’m pretty sure I took it with me when I went to the store and shopping. Maybe it fell out of my pocket.

I look at my grandmother’s picture and frown, angry at myself. I couldn’t lose the crystal – it’s one of the few things I have in memory of my grandmother before she died last year. I was in school; a regular Tuesday afternoon. I get called down to the office and see my mother sobbing, and that’s when I found out that my grandmother had died. The small crystal was given to me from her on my 12th birthday two years ago.

I move to the entrance to see if I might of dropped it there. Nope. I check my coat pocket, and feel something heavy. I pull the object out to reveal the sparkling crystal.

“Oh! There it is! Li-” I stop. This isn’t my coat pocket. It’s Lily’s. I walk over to the living room, crystal in hand, where Lily is busy searching under the couch.

“Hey. Any luck?” I ask calmly. Lily pops her head out, and shakes her head.

“No, sorry.” She immediately sees the crystal in my hand, and her eyes widen. She continues shakily, “Y-you found it!”

“Yeah, in your coat pocket. Why would you take it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She avoids my eyes.

“Lily, do you know how important this is to me?”

“It’s a stupid crystal. Calm down.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s my grandmother’s.” Tears well up in my eyes. I see Lily’s face soften.

“Juliette, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t know it was her’s.”

“What were you going to do with it?”

“Um, I was going to take it to the jeweler’s and have it smoothed and carved so I could give it to my mom on her birthday.”

“But you knew it was mine. Is that why you needed to go suddenly yesterday?”

“Yeah. I found it in the changing room. But I didn’t know the crystal was special. My mom just lost her job, and-”

“Wait, what? She loved her job! How come you didn’t tell me?” I interrupt.

“I know. I haven’t told anyone. And her favorite color is that shade of purple. I wanted to save up my money to get it done, so I could give it to her.”

“Hold on.” I take out my phone and dial my mother’s number. After two rings, I get a faint “hello?”. I explain my situation, and receive silence.

“Mom? What should I do?”

“Honey, that crystal is very special, but it’s your decision. Do what you think is right.”

I turn around and see Lily on the couch. I look down at the crystal and say,

“Lily, I want you to have it. But please don’t carve it or anything.”

She stands up and hugs me.

“But I think you should go… I need some time alone.” I added.

“Yeah, of course. Thank you though. For this.” Lily lifted the crystal.

As soon as the door closes behind her, I fall back on the couch and sigh.

That night, I get a text from Lily before bed.

“J, me and my mom wanted 2 say thnx again. ily”

I respond with,

“ofc! hope everything turns out well <3”

But half of me still wished I had kept the crystal. I fall asleep hoping I made the right choice.

Happy Face

I was a happy faced girl. Too happy, or not happy enough.

I never really knew how I felt.

I kind of just pretended, not knowing what to feel, crying on birthdays, laughing at funerals. Getting weird looks for my outbursts of emotion,

Like I was the only troubled one.

Except…I knew I wasn’t. Everyone was programmed to a certain extent, but I wasn’t.

I was to live my own life and feel my own way.

People were told how to feel in different situations – sad, anxious, depressed, or happy.

I was the only one who could feel my own way, be my own person, go a different way.

Left if right. Right if left.

A ratio of emotions, that no one…not even I could control. My mind and body would free themselves and feel what they wanted.

I would never be tied down to humanity’s prefixes of an average girl.

I know I’m not the only one…

but for now I will be a happy faced girl, too happy, or not happy enough.

Till The End

I’m falling into the blackness, the blackness surrounding me and engulfing me like fire when it’s engulfing you with flames. I’m falling and I’ve been falling for hours, or that’s what it feels like, but let me start from the beginning of my childhood before I was in a world filled with war and death.

I was born on Earth in 1989 in upstate New York, where I was raised by my father and mother until my mother caught a sickness that was unknown — a sickness that nobody had ever had.

This is the story of me trying to find the source of the unknown sickness.

I was ten when I learned that my mother’s sickness could not be cured. I was heartbroken, but the day that she died, a miracle happened — something impossible — something humans do not believe in. “Aliens.” I had ran out of the hospital when my mother died. I ran straight out of her room and out the doors of the hospital, nobody stopping me. I fell down into the grass crying, my face in my hands, then all of a sudden the darkness of the night is replaced with light. I look to see what it is, and see a ship with blue light hovering over me. “No, it can’t be,” I say to myself. Before I can think anymore, I black out…

I wake up inside of a large area on a very comfortable bed or couch. I try to sit up but see that I’m strapped to the plush seat. I see a room, and a little farther away from me I see another room, and in that room I hear a lot of voices. I call for someone and hear silence overcome the room in front of me. Someone comes out — an alien girl or woman. She has a blue face with brown hair. She comes over to me and says, “You’re up, young one.” I’m very surprised that this thing, this alien, is speaking a human language.

“Where am I?” I ask with a slight sputter.

“You’re in space, young one, but we will land soon.”

I wait for an hour or so and fall asleep, and when I wake up I’m in a shipyard on this sand planet. I try to sit up and see that I’m not strapped to the bed anymore. I get up and jump onto the ground, immediately feeling pins and needles. I walk to the door where the aliens were before and see that nobody is there. I go inside the room and see that the walls are covered with guns and other weapons of all sizes. I grab a pistol and a handleless blade of some kind and put them in my pockets. I creep to the exit of the ship and see that nobody’s there. I push a button, opening the door. The shipyard has many different types of ships, some very different from the one that I had been in. I carefully creep out the door and jump onto the sand. “Wohh,” I say. It feels so different walking on a planet that isn’t earth. I walk behind ships, making sure nobody sees me. I walk through the shipyard and into the city. The city’s buildings are very different from the buildings on earth. These buildings are made completely out of diamond and other very different materials. I walk through the city seeing many different beings. I feel like they are all watching me because I’m a human, something they are not. I walk into an alleyway into a set of houses and see that it’s a dead end. I turn around to see a gang of aliens with guns and knives. Oh no, I think, do I really have to die today? The aliens come toward me, teeth showing. Then a miracle happens — the alien girl from the ship comes out of nowhere and slices the alien’s necks.

”You ran away,” the alien says.

“Ya,” I say. ”I didn’t know who you were.”

“Perhaps I should have explained to you who I am. Come with me — I need to take you somewhere safe.”

So I go with her to a small building in the corner of town. She explains that she is here to protect me from the aliens that had cornered me in the alleyway. She explains that they are the aliens who know about the sickness that had killed my mother, and they might have been the aliens who had killed my mother. I now know the alien girls name — it’s Nishinida. I now have a friend — someone that will help me find the sickness. We leave in the night to go get food and other materials. We stop at a grocery store of some kind. The grocery store has many different types of foods that I’ve never seen before. The fish are very creepy they have three eyes or two heads. Nishinida gets one of those three eyed fishes and some weird long reptilian-looking animal that is still flipping around when the fish guy gives it to us. As we leave, Nishinida tells me that we needed to make another stop. I follow her to a clothing store. “If you’re going to stay, you’re going to have to stay in fashion,” she says.

I go inside and see what she means. The clothes here are nothing like the clothes that I am wearing. I grab a sheath from a rack holding weapon accessories and show it to Nishinida. “You need clothes that fit this galaxy, you can have the sheath but clothes will help you blend in and make it hard for the aliens to find you and kill you,” she said. I walk around, trying to find something that fits, trying on big clothes, making me feel stupid and awkward. I finally find something that I like that fits — it’s a green jacket with gloves that have knives that come out of the knuckles, kinda like wolverine from the X Men. I settle with the outfit and take it to Nishinida. She stares at it for a little while and then takes it and puts it on the cashier’s desk. We leave the clothing store with my new outfit and go to the small house.

 

I wake up with my face on the floor and my legs in a chair — a very awkward pose for sleep but I guess I haven’t ever really slept in a chair. I smell smells coming from the kitchen. Nishinida’s making breakfast. It makes me think of my mother’s cooking. She’s probably making some alien breakfast and I’m hungry but I have no idea what the food tastes like so I’m not that interested in eating. I walk into the kitchen and find that she’s not making an alien breakfast — she’s making pancakes.

“Yum,” I say when I walk over to her.

“You’re up.”

“Uhh, ya,” I said.

“Well, breakfast’s ready.”

“K.” I sit down and eat my pancakes when I suddenly ask Nishinida how she knows that my mother is dead. “Some things you don’t want to know, John, but I can tell you something — the aliens are after you cause you have a power to destroy their kind and they think you want to.”

“Holy ***, me? How do I have an alien power?”

“You’re the alien, John, not anyone else.”

“Whatever,” I say.

“They killed your mother for the same reason.” I look at her like she’s crazy because my mother died from a sickness, not because of some crazy gang of crazy aliens.

“What are we going to do today?” I ask.

“I want to investigate where the aliens’ hideout is.”

And that’s what we did. We went into the city to try to kidnap the enemy aliens. We went into the city and stayed in the most well-known spots so the enemy aliens would come at us. We went to at least five different places before we actually realized that the aliens were following us, but when we realized we made sure that it looked like we didn’t know that they were following us. We went into a dead end so we could fight the aliens. Sure enough, the aliens were following us. They cornered us in the alleyway, their guns pulled out. We pulled our guns out too.

“Don’t kill one,” Nishinida whispers to me.

I grip my pistol tightly and press my finger against the trigger. The bullet speeds towards one of the aliens’ heads. It goes through the head, making him drop to the ground dead. Nishinida has killed at least two aliens while I killed that one, leaving two left. I shoot the alien on the right. Nishida jumps on the other alien and puts the alien’s hands on its back. She grabs handcuffs from her pocket and puts them on the alien’s wrists and throws him in a chair. She speaks in an alien language to the alien while she grabs a knife from her belt. She questions the alien about many different things and in the end she lets him go.

She says, “The hideout is 100 miles away from this planet.”

We run to the ship and jump in it, the employees of the shipyard trying to stop us from taking off. We get through all the craziness and we are in space. I see that the hideout looks like a giant metal planet in space. As we get closer to it, I see how big it actually is. It’s two times the size of the planet we were just on. We fly to the top of the hideout and land there. We jump out and a bunch of aliens come at us and start shooting us. I shoot back at them, killing one, but there are maybe ten or so. Nishinida throws a grenade from her belt, killing all ten of the aliens.

“We have to blow up the hideout,” Nishinida says, and she hands me a giant explosive.

I put it on the opposite side of the hideout from where I am, and then I see Nishinida’s ship lifting up off of the planet with Nishinida in the ship just as I start the device. I run as far away from the explosive as I can waiting for it to explode. Booom. I get pushed into space at the impact and this is where I’m falling into nothingness, into blackness, into the darkness of space.

Twisted

In the gymnasium, I’m barely breathing in the thin air. I’m next, I’m next, I’m next, I’M NEXT!!! That’s what’s going through my mind, mostly because I’M NEXT. When I hear the whistle blow I take my time moving through the cones, slowly. The stick between my fingers feel like it’s melting but it’s glued to my hands. Almost there, 3, still going, 2, you can make it, 1…I made it!! Yes, and I got 100. I run to go sit down and give my friend a high five. As I watch everybody else take their test I’m on the bench with my legs crossed. I ask to go to the bathroom but Mr. Roman tells me that there are three minutes of class left.

He says, “C’mon, Unique, you can hold it.”

“Okay,” I respond.

We are lining up to go into the elevator, now I’m in the back struggling. Then I hear wires shrieking, and everybody’s chatter.

My friend Alicia asks me, “What happened?”

My response is a shrug. The teacher calmly informs everybody the elevator is stuck. Everybody starts to chatter again, so now the elevator is filled with a bunch of 7th graders talking. It’s like we’re standing in the middle of the Sahara desert and they talk and talk and talk and TALK!!!

About five minutes later everybody pulls out work and the loud talking turns into a loud whisper.

Me and my friend are in the back doing math homework. The best part of it is the answers are in the back. While the teacher was on the phone with another teacher, we peeked at the answers in the back of the book so I’m 100% sure I’m correct. As this happened I was distributing gum to the back row. Later the idiot boy that stuck his pen into the side of the button (that made the elevator stop) came over to me and Alicia.

“ Can I have gum and what’s the answer to number 4?” he asks flipping pages.

“So you get everybody stuck in this hot, smelly, stinky elevator and you have the nerve to come over here and ask for the answers!”

He looks embarrassed so I feel bad so I give him gum and tell him the answers are in the back. Then he gets a little smirk and starts to blush. I roll my eyes and smirk.

It feels like years, but sadly its been minutes. My friend and I are having a little argument about what the correct answers are for English. We ask Emily, the girl next to us, what she got for the answer. Emily and I got the same answers.

“Ha, told you,” I tease.

“Sometimes you can be a real pain, Unique.”

“I know that’s one of the many reasons people love me,” I stick out my tongue at her and she sticks hers back a me. Then we start to laugh.

For a moment the elevator is completely silent, so silent you could hear a feather drop.

Then everybody hears jingling of keys outside the elevator. Everyone packs up so I do the same. Then the elevator doors open. Our jaws DROP!!

**********************

The teacher stepped out then back in. Everybody was confused. The P.E. teacher pushed his hand out into the other world. His hand turned orange, everybody slowly backed away from the elevator doors.The teacher calmly put one foot out, then the next.

The hallway is no longer a hallway. It looks like we’re in the middle of a meadow. But it’s weird because the leaves aren’t green they’re blue, the trunks of the trees aren’t brown they’re yellow , the grass isn’t green it’s pink and the sunflowers aren’t yellow they’re purple!! The sky was the only normal thing about it. The aroma fills the air smelling of lollipops, gummy bears, gum drops,  sprinkles, candy canes, caramel, and CHOCOLATE!!!

As I ran out Alicia yelled my name and reached for me. It was too late. My body lunged into this unknown world hoping there was a bathroom near…but I guess not. I stood in the middle of this world and it spun around me slowly but yet quickly.

My entire outfit changed, my pants turned into a white jumper with a skirt, and I had on brown and white stripped knee high socks with a brown shirt.

“You look so pale! Are you okay?”Alicia asked me as she walked out the elevator and her outfit slowly changing.

“Yeah I’m fine. I’m just shocked by this world.”

My entire class walked out one by one, slowly.

“Tell me about it. I mean there’s nothing here. No food, buildings, service, PEOPLE!!!” Alicia said with a pouty face

“I know and are these outfits serious? I mean I look like an oompa loompa.”

“Yeah but seriously what’s with the two pony tails. My hair doesn’t even reach up to my elbow. I mean what am I three?”

“Yeah, thats not the worst part.”

“ What do you mean,” Alicia said with a puzzled face

“I mean the elevator doors are gone, our bags disappeared, and no phones anywhere to be found. How will we get out of here?”

“I don’t know,” Alicia said with tears in her eyes.

“I hope it’s soon because I really have to pee.”

 

I walked away and trekked up to Mr. Roman. He’s a tall, young teacher that can be funny sometimes but serious other times.

I tapped his shoulder three times gently. He didn’t respond. Again a little harder. Still no response. Finally, a lot harder, Mr. Roman whips his head around so quickly that his neck looks as if his head would snap.

“WHAT,” he says with his face reddening.

“Whoa! Calm down.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s ok,” I said.

“Well hey. What’s up?”

“I was going to ask how we are going to get out of here.”

“Oh, well that’s what I was thinking about. Do you have an idea?”

“Me?” I said with a shocked face

“It was just a thought.”

“Ok,” I turned around and walked back to Alicia. She turned to look at me with a perplexed face.

“So, what did he say?”

“He has no idea. He practically spat in my face.”

“Wow, well guess we’re stuck here,”Alicia said rolling her eyes.

“I guess so.”

 

Soon everybody turns their head to a loud horn sound. Then birds fly out from the trees in a distance. Mr. Roman tells everybody to find a partner, stay close, and to follow him. Alicia and I connect immediately, then I feel an extra arm attach onto mine. I look to my left and there he is– Zayne. He looks at me with a big cheesy smile showing his perfectly white teeth.

“Let go of me you neanderthal.”

“Wasn’t ‘idiot’ bad enough?” Zayne said, putting his hands up in defence.

“Well, not if you’re both,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

“Hey. Why are you so–,” He stopped as he saw something in the distance. As I looked in the same direction as him and I saw what he saw. It was unbelievable, I never saw anything like it in my life. He looked at me and I looked back at him, everybody is looking at this unknown creature.

I saw an over-sized emu bird, that was maybe bigger than an elephant. Its colors were unusual. At about 10ft tall this bird had cerulean and electric lime brightly colored feathers.

“Do you know what that is?” he said breaking the long silence.

“No, what it is?” I said, with a sarcastic face.

“That’s an elephant bird. It went extinct in the 17th century. Their closest relative is an ostrich. They were only found on the island of Madagascar. They’re up to 10ft tall and can weigh up to 1,100 pounds!”

“Whoa! How do you know all of these facts about the bird?”

“My dad has been an archaeologist for 7 years and you learn a few things when that’s all he talks about,” he said and we both laughed.

“And your mom?” I asked.

His face got sober and so did mine.

“My mom died 3 years ago in a car crash. Me and my dad survived but she didn’t. We pulled out of the driveway and she was just reaching for her seatbelt. A drunk driver was going super fast and her air bag didn’t inflate in time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said quickly.

“Oh yeah, let’s go back and find Alicia and the group.” I spun around so quick that the scent of my hair filled the air. “Where did our class go?”

“They were here just a second ago.”

We both ran around the field, to the edge of the woods, and down the hill to a yellow pond with purple ripples and they were nowhere to be seen.

 

********************

 

We’ve been walking for about an hour and I felt that we passed the same tree about seven times already.  I was hungry, my feet hurt, and there was an annoying buzzing sound that was driving me crazy. We passed the same tree an eighth time around, suddenly the air started to smell of sweet, fluffy, cotton candy. A magical bright pink fruit appeared on the tree. I watched more fruit grow. A wooden post on the tree said a “EAT ME”. I turned around and Zayne was gone. I looked back at the tree and saw Zayne reaching for the fruit. I ran over to him and slapped the fruit out of his hand. The ground began to shake when it fell, it sank deep and a headstone popped up. ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Peach R.I.P’ it read.

“Look what you did!” yelled Zayne.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“I’m just hungry and there’s nothing to eat–unless you have something to eat and you’re not sharing.”

“Why do you always think I have something? What am I a store?”

“Every time at lunch you have like a chocolate bar or some kind or candy.”

“You’re so smart,” I said sarcastically, “don’t you think if I had something to eat I would’ve probably ate it already?”

“Yeah but you have sharing issues. You could of eaten it behind my back and I couldn’t of known. Ever since I met you you never gave me anything.”

“Everyday you always ask me for my stuff and I always give you. I’ll admit I hate sharing but I do it anyways.” I said getting frustrated.

“No, you don’t. What have you ever given me?”

“I gave you gum in the elevator,and at lunch I gave you Starburst, Gushers, Kit Kat, Skittles, Nerds and a piece of my Hershey bar.”

“Oh whatever. I’m still eating the fruit,” he scampered to the tree, grabbed the fruit, and took a big bite.

He had a savory look on his face, like he took a bite out of heaven. He watched me and and I watched him take another bite, then another, then another. He spat out the pit of the fuzzy wuzzy peach. The seed sank deep into the soil, a mini storm cloud appeared and started raining on the pit. A pink leaf popped out of the ground and slowly grew into a tree.

I walk away from him so he sprints over to me and I roll my eyes.

“Unique? Unique help me,” I turn around and see no one. Once again I hear my name

“Unique!” I look up to see Zayne slowly floating up.

“This isn’t funny!”

He grabs onto a tree and I start laughing. However, this tree doesn’t look like any ordinary tree that you would normally see back in the city. Its big like a skyscraper and it looks kinda perfect. The trunk is smooth, like a goldenrod color with no bumps or branches. The trunk is the size of the elevator in Barclays Center, the leaves were as thick as a Narnia book.

“Ok. Well instead of staring at this tree, can you help instead?”

Suddenly I see a head pop out of the tree Zayne is holding on tightly to. I look more closely at it, but it disappears.

<!–nextpage–>

“What are you looking at? Can you please help me?” Zayne says screaming, breaking my thoughts.

“Sorry. I thought I saw something.” I looked around to see if I could find a vine of some sort to pull him down. I looked under a bush to see if any vine was there, then looked behind a tree, and in a burrow.

“Look under the bush,” Zayne yelled.

“I looked already,” I hollered back

“Just check again maybe you missed something.”

I rolled my eyes and stomped over to the bush thinking about how arrogant he is. I bent down again, there it was…a rope. A golden orange rope that looked short and wouldn’t be able to reach Zayne.I picked it up, showed it to Zayne, and yelled, “It’s not long enough.”

“Just throw it and I’ll try to catch it,” he yelled.

My first attempt was not successful. I tried two more times and every time it was a fail.

“It’s not working. You don’t listen at all, all you do is bitch. You think that you’re better than everybody else and can do whatever you want. Sometimes it’s not all about you.You should consider–”

“Shh.” Zayne says putting his index finger up to his lips.

I rolled my eyes, “Who are you talking to, this is exactly what–”

“Shh.” He says in an intense voice as if he’s getting agitated.

I gave him that ‘I’m gonna kill you look’. He then pointed at the tree and I see a pair of bright blue eyes in the tree, staring at us, listening to our conversation, and watching our every move. Zayne slowly crawls the tree branch, then he falls flat on his face about five feet onto grass. The bright blue eyes suddenly disappear.

“Great, you scared it away,” I said resentfully

“How about a ‘Zayne are you okay?’” He said lifting up his head. I chuckle and run over to help him up.

“Hmm, must of wore off,” he says examining himself.

When he’s up on his feet we both stared into the fascinating tree that has a magical creature living in it. Suddenly I see a tail that is about one foot long with a poof the size of a baby’s fist at the end of it. Then we hear mumbling, and I nudge Zayne in the side and point over to the tail. The tail suddenly disappears behind the magical tree. Zayne and I approach the tree slowly and quietly, then we here more mumbling. I motion Zayne to stay here and I walk slowly over to the tree. I jump out where I heard mumbling and so did this mysterious creature, we then both leap backward with a shocked look on our faces.

I got a closer look at the creature, those weren’t the eyes I saw in the tree. This one had electric lime colored eyes. I stared intensely into them. Then the creature spoke:

“Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get here? Why are you invading our land? You don’t belong here.” The creature went on and on with more questions. Suddenly another one appeared, this one didn’t look as bad as the first. This one had bright blue eyes, I’m positive these were the eyes I saw, they were bright blue eyes that could hypnotize you if you stare into them too long. They looked the same except their eyes. They had an orange-yellowish color with a high tabletop hair cut. They were only about three feet tall, and skinny legs with three toes. The creature that was asking me all these questions stared at me like it was looking for answers.

I felt like I was standing there a bit too long. All of a sudden I got this weird feeling like I had to let something go. Then I remembered I have to pee!

I feel my warm face turning cold like a pale color. I asked if there was a restroom near. The creature pointed to box the size of a porta potty maybe three times bigger, that wasn’t there before. I stared back at the creature like he was crazy.

“What is that?”

“A bathroom” he said with a straight face and a Scottish accent.

“So, you’re telling me I have to go in that?”

He nodded, “It looks better on the inside, than the out,”

I walked slowly to the porta potty. I walked in and it was the most amazing bathroom in the world (bathrooms aren’t really that big in my house). It wasn’t just a regular toilet. This toilet hung on chains. The toilet paper was glowing like a glow stick that you buy at a carnival, and the holder was a skeleton that matched the toilet paper.

Using the bathroom just came naturally to me. I didn’t have to think about anything else. Only that was on my mind. I had a little fun on the toilet when I started to use it the toilet started swinging back and forth. Finally, when I had my fun I went to wash my hands. The water was fine at first, then it became scorching hot so I rapidly pulled my hands back, putting them to my sides. Soon the water started turning grey, then black. The water wasn’t water anymore, it became a figure. It slowly creeped out of the faucet as I backed away. I tried pulling open the door, but it was stuck! I pulled harder with all my force. A big black monster appeared from the sink and stood before me. He was about seven times bigger, wider, and stronger than me. Again I tried opening the door, but instead of pulling I pushed, it still didn’t work. I let out a colossal scream so loud the monster had to shield its ears with his hands.

The black monster grabbed me and yelled, “What are you and what are doing in my world?” That word stood out to me, ‘my world.’ Was it really ‘his’ world? Was he just saying that to scare me? I could hear Zayne knocking on the door and yelling my name. I tried to move quickly to the door, but the monster grabbed me again. I felt like a hamster being squeezed by a one-year-old baby. All of a sudden, I see a white figure creeping on the monster’s shoulder. My eyes suddenly shift over the monster’s shoulder and I see a small white cat, about the size of my palm, watching me with its huge eyes.

“Meow, who are you?” the cat said with a sweet baby voice.

My eyes suddenly grew as big as the cats and I watched the cat yawn and its eyes focused back on me and the cat spoke again.

“Meow, do you speak English?”

“Uhh, yes.”

“Meow, then answer me.”

When I heard a louder knock, my head quickly shifted to the door, Zayne came bursting in shouting my name. He hurtled toward me and the monster who held on to me so tight. Zayne hopped upon the monster’s back and tried to take him down. The monster dropped me onto the hard marble floor. I realized the cat jumped off his shoulder and was looking at me from under the sink. I thought about how close the monster was to his cat (it was a cute cat). I crawled over to the cat, snatched its small body, and grabbed it by its paws so it wouldn’t try to scratch me. The cat gave a loud cry and the monster snapped his neck so hard he fell onto the marble floor.

The cat’s eyes suddenly grew bigger and bigger as he realized the monster wasn’t moving. The room grew dark, abruptly a portal showed up. It wasn’t a regular portal, it looked like a black hole. It looked liked the milky way galaxy all swirled into one hole. It was really pretty.The cat quickly jumped out of my hands and onto the monster’s huge chess. He meowed, and meowed, and meowed. Zayne walked slowly step-by-step to the portal. I nabbed his upper arm and yanked it so hard he tripped backward.

“What are you doing?” I said with an annoyed voice.

“What if thats the way home?” he said with a little innocence on his face.

“Yeah, but what if it’s not?”

“Then it’s not,” he said walking closer to me. Unexpectedly he grabbed my face and his lips met mine. I didn’t realize it at first, but he was kissing me. It lasted about ten seconds, he then picked me up and jumped into the portal. The trip was about three minutes of screaming and flailing. Then, by surprise, we both rolled onto the grass. When I stopped on my back and was breathing hard, I quickly realized where we were. We were back in New York, specifically in Central Park. I look at Zayne and he was laying there on the ground daydreaming. A dog jumped on me and started barking at me and licking my face. I became conscious of whose dog this is. It was Alicia’s, I quickly jumped up and saw Alicia running toward me. I ran to her as well. We gave the tightest hug we possibly could.

“Oh my gosh! Where were you? The class went bonkers looking for you guys.” There was a pause. She pointed at Zayne “What’s wrong with him?”

“Honestly, I really don’t know.”

“Where’s the rest of the class?”

“Do you know what time it is?” She pulled out her phone and showed me the time. It was approximately 6:00pm.

“Oh. Well I just want to go home and sleep.”

I was back in my regular clothes, my black pants, a white and red shirt, and my red sneakers. I pulled out my phone to text my mom. Alicia walked toward Zayne and I heard everything they said.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Zayne took a long sigh. “I kissed her,” he said with his eyes staring up into the bluest sky, with his hand resting on his stomach.

“Oh wow.”

“Yeah.”

Ghost

The road is dark. But the bright headlights light up the road. Or, you know, the part of the road I can see. There are patches of crumbling asphalt, and parts of rocky gravel, and strips of dusty sand. All I can see are tumbling rocks to my left. All I can see are crumbling rocks to my right. The open window lets in the cool night air. The headlights light up the pear cactus, and as I pass them, the shadows follow in the opposite direction. The scraggly landscape of the Texas hill country goes on for miles and miles until it goes so far into the dark that I can see no more.

I drive into a patch of fog. This is what the people warned me about. The fog blocks my view, as if it was out to get me. It’s staring at me, using the light of my headlight to see. But maybe the fog is too thick. At least I can hope so. I’m not scared, I tell myself. I keep repeating it until it’s finally true. But the seed of the fear just keeps coming back, growing stronger as that fog gets thicker.

The windy road continues uphill. The gravel under the firm wheels of my car make a rumbling sound. The crickets chirp and the katydids trill. The chorus of the night time swells and then lingers, but soon the sounds swell again.

The further I go, the darker it seems to get. If that’s even possible. Just when I feel like I can’t stay here any longer, trapped in this car, the headlights illuminate a little wooden house. It looks…somewhat inviting. I guess? I had expected something more supportive for an actual visitor.

I park the car a couple feet away from the front porch. There are two deck chairs with beaten down cushions, and an old rocking chair that is falling apart. It’s missing a couple of bars in the back and a patch in the seat. I sling on my backpack and walk around to the back of the car. I pop the trunk and heave out my old suitcase. I drag it up to the front porch. I stick my hand into the biggest pocket of my green cargo pants, and I find an envelope that reads To David, Love Mom and Dad. I rip it open and grab the little key. I jam it into the lock on the door, but the force of the my arm into the door makes it open anyway.

I step inside, and a storm of dust immediately hits my face. I brush it off and continue into the room. I flip the switch on the wall to the right of me, but the light doesn’t turn on. There is a fireplace on the wall of the main room. I step onto the porch and grab the loose pieces of the rocking chair. Once I’m inside again, I toss them into the little fireplace. But I need some dry kindling. There is a pile of newspapers next to the fireplace dated as old as 1984. I strike a match and coax out the flames from the dry paper. A flame bursts into light and illuminates the room. Now I can see.

There is a closed window on the far wall, and I walk over and open it for some fresh air. There is a couch that has moth-eaten cushions, and a little armchair with a sunken seat cushion. I sit down in it, and it collapses below me. The wind is knocked out of me, but when I regain my breath I sit up and wander around the room. It’s small and maybe it used to be quaint but it seems like now the inviting element of it is drowning in a tangle of cobwebs and dust. The mantle is empty except for a lonely, bent nail. There’s a beat up gas stove in the corner of the room, next to a porcelain sink that’s in desperate need of a wash down. I reread the letter from my parents. It says:

Dearest Darling David,

So sorry to kick you out. We hope you enjoy this little getaway! Give us a call! Love you.

Love, Mom and Dad

So this is a getaway. I had achieved a getaway from my mom and dad, thankfully. But now I would like to get away from this getaway that I had used to get away. It wasn’t always this bad. I used to be optimistic and cheerful. But after New York, that all went downhill.

I had just moved into a little apartment in New York. It was a nice little place, small rooms, small furniture, a small bed, but the rent was small too. I had always dreamed of being an author, and I got an amazing publishing offer from New York. So I packed up my home in Houston,  Texas, and moved to the Big Apple. But then the publisher dropped me because I was writing memoirs and that’s not what they were looking for. I couldn’t pay the bills for the apartment. I booked the next flight back to Houston, and drove down to Galveston, where my parents had a little beach house. But then they had just decided to take off to Paris for a vacation, and they started renting out their beach house. Which meant that I had to leave. At least they left me with a week in this house. So I left Galveston and drove into the night. And here I am. I had anticipated some nice, peaceful cabin that I could stay in. And now I am left with just a little shack that will collapse with the push of a finger.

I sit up. A yawn escapes my mouth, and I realize how tired I am after driving all night. I wander through the door closest to me, right next to the fireplace, and it’s a little bedroom. There is small iron cot with a thin mattress and tattered sheets. Moth-eaten curtains billow in the soft night air. The moon and a million stars wink at me through the window. Maybe this is a peaceful getaway after all.

I change into pajamas and slip into bed. It’s a good thing that it’s summertime, otherwise the thin sheets wouldn’t be enough. The drowsiness washes over me the second my head hits the pillow. But sleep does not come.

15 minutes, and sleep does not come. 30 minutes and sleep does not come. 1 hour and sleep does not come. No matter what, I can’t sleep.

So I surrender to the only thing I can: reading. I stand up and hobble over to my backpack. I rummage around for my book, but I can’t find it anywhere. I look in my suitcase too, and finally I give up and assume that I left it at Mom and Dad’s. Maybe there’s a book somewhere in the house that I can read.

I scurry up to the main room, and search for a book. The first one I see is sitting alone on the mantle above the fireplace. I pick it up. The dusty, red leather cover is faded and worn, and I read the title. But it is so faded that I can’t make out any words.

My desperation to end the boredom overpowers me, and I lift up the book and carry it to my room. I lay down on my couch, and the rusty springs sigh below me as I settle in. I crack the spine of the book and flip to the first page.

The road is dark. But the bright headlights light it up. That is, the parts of the road that David can see. The broken up road guides David through the hill country.

David drives into a patch of fog. His breath becomes fast, his heart skips a beat. I’m not scared, David tells himself. He keeps repeating this. And finally he believes it’s true. But he could not be more wrong.

I must be imagining this. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. This can’t be about me. It’s just another David, another person driving at night…in the same place…with the same name. It’s not probable. Not possible. Right?

David arrives at the little cabin his parents had rented for him. It is small, and he begins to feel disappointed. He starts a fire in the living room. That holds it off. For now.

My heart stops beating in my chest. My short breaths come through loud and wheezing, and the sound pierces the silence of the night. This story is about me. But I have to keep reading. I flip to the next page.

David looks over the house, and becomes tired. So he lies down in bed. But the spirit is keeping him awake. Of course, he can’t see it. And David has no idea that it is the one keeping him up. But it plants itself in his subconscious until he is unable to fall asleep. David tosses and turns until he decides to read a book.

What spirit is this book talking about? A feeling of fear creeps through my body, speeding my heart beat, making me shake all over. This simply cannot be happening. It’s not possible.

David creeps up to the large room and picks up the closest book. He opens it up. And after the first sentence, his face drains of color. He realizes that this book is about him.

I start shaking wildly. Maybe this is just a dream. I flip the page.

<!–nextpage–>

David turns the page. He feels a chill creep up his spine, and shivers until it is gone.

I instantly feel goosebumps popping up on my back and arms. My blue flannel pajamas are thin, and they can’t protect me from the cold. I close the window and grab my jacket. I stoke the fire, and start to feel a little warmer. I can’t read anymore. Because whatever happens in the book actually happens in real life. If anything bad happens in the book but I don’t read it, maybe it won’t come true. But what if that’s not the case? What if it will happen anyway? I finally decide to keep reading, because if it will happen anyway, it’s best to know.

David sits up. He had closed the window, but that doesn’t stop him. No, the spirit will always come back to haunt this house anyway.

What? What spirit? Is it the same spirit that supposedly kept me awake?

David has no idea of what he shares this house with. It is something that has been here in this house for years, rooted in the dirt beneath it, howling in the wind around it, shining in the moon above it, part of the very bones of the house itself.

David reads on, unaware of what his future holds. David–

No. I can’t read anymore. I don’t know what this is, or if it’s even real. I just don’t know anymore. My brain is tired, my stomach is growling, my head is throbbing, my heart is pounding. I never should have opened that book.

I stand up and stretch my arms. I need to do something to get my mind off of the book. So I grab my backpack from the corner of the living room and lift it onto the table. I unzip it and search through it, past my red composition notebook, laptop, wallet, water bottle, and finally locate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was in a ziplock bag. I devour it in a second. But I’m still hungry. I search my bag for anything else I might be able to eat. But there is nothing.

There are so many things I can do to pass the time. Maybe I can write, plan out what I would do when I left this house, even just look out the window at the stars. And yet everything feels useless, everything, that is, except reading the book. It seems to be pulling me in, dragging me by an invisible rope that I can’t seem to sever. So I just give in to reading it.

David tries to keep his mind off of the book. It scares him. It is everything that he fears. He values being alone, and the idea that something has been watching him just scares him to death. The book draws him in by a force that can be explained by nothing else except the close relation that he has to it. And it is closer than it seems.

I can’t read this anymore. I just can’t. I slam the book shut, and throw it into the smoky embers of the dying fire. I am too tired to do anything else. At least the book accomplished that. I walk into the bedroom and the most ghastly thing meets my eyes.

There’s a creature. It’s sitting in the chair, hunched over the desk, it’s head resting on a notebook, open to a page of messy writing. His hand is holding a pencil, whittled down to no more than a piece of lead. I can’t explain it. It looks…human. But it is like a human that’s been sitting at that desk for years, hunched over so much that it’s spine had stayed that way, and it had never stopped to eat anything or to even stretch since the moment it sat down. Its skin is grey and covered in wrinkles, as if it’s a shirt that was carelessly shoved into the back of a drawer. He has a tangled mess of white hair sitting atop his almost bald head. He is wearing blue flannel pajamas with various holes in them, and covered in spots. But the back of the pajama shirt is almost white as if the sun has been beating down on it for years.

My heart beats. Why is it wearing my pajamas? I must be imagining this. This whole night, the book, the creature, has all just been a dream? And yet…it feels so real, so vivid, that I can’t imagine it being something created by my mind.

I turn on my heel and the floorboard creaks below me. The man-creature-thing hears it and looks up. His sagging, long head turns and he faces me. His face is the scariest of it all. He has milky blue eyes, like beads. His eye sockets are deep, and the shadow makes them feel like an endless black hole. The bags under his eyes are dark and droopy, as if he hasn’t slept in days or longer. He stares at me for a while and then groans. It’s loud and deep. The sound gets louder and louder, and then it stops. And the only thing that I feel I can do is walk over to him…it…whatever it is.

I walk over to it, slowly, treading carefully so that I don’t startle it more. I hold it’s gaze, milky blue eyes locked in mine, a staring contest for the record book. I am closer to it now, an arms length away. I could touch it. And now I see the details in his face, wrinkles on his forehead from years of worry, a hairline so far back that it disappears behind his head, white, chapped lips that haven’t seen a bite of food in ages. And I hold his gaze, steady, personally, as if I’m looking at myself in a mirror.

Questions race through my mind. What is it? How did it get here? Why does it look as if it hasn’t moved in years, but it wasn’t here when I arrived? And what is it writing?

The only thing I can do is just move closer, and closer, until finally I am near enough that there is no more than an inch between us. I grab the closest thing I can to me, which happens to be the key to the house. It is sitting on the desk, and I can reach it if I stretch. I lengthen my fingers and flick the key into my hand, never breaking the gaze of the creature. I toss the key to the other side of the room, and the creature’s head whips around to find the source of the noise. And I use that fraction of a second to grab the notebook from below it’s head. It starts moaning again when it sees that the book is gone, and I dart out of the room and close the door. I sit on the couch and look over the notebook. It’s a red composition notebook, and on the cover it says Property of David Lancaster.

No. Not again. I can’t have more of this. I have no idea of how it all got here, the book, the creature, now this, and I’m not willing to take on any more. But I know that there’s no way I can just look over this book and then set it down. I have to open it up. I have to. So I open it and begin to read.

“The road is dark. But the bright headlights light up the road. Or, you know, what part of the road I can see. There are patches of crumbling asphalt, and parts of rocky gravel, and strips dusty sand. All I can see are tumbling rocks to my left. All I can see are crumbling rocks to my right.”

Somehow, for some reason, I knew it was going to say this. So I skip ahead to the part that I know I will find.

“I lay down on my bed, and the rusty springs sigh below me as I settle in. I crack the spine of the book and flip to the first page. The road is dark. But the bright headlights light up the road. That is, the parts of the road that David can see. The broken up road guides David through the hill country. David drives into a patch of fog. His breath becomes fast, his heart skips a beat. He tells himself that everything is okay. I’m not scared David tells himself. He keeps repeating this. And finally he believes it’s true. but he could not be more wrong.”

I know who this creature is. He was just someone who had had a terrible experience in a new city. He stumbled upon an old home, just trying to take some time where there would be no stress, where there would be no trouble. He stayed at the house, but trouble was the only thing that came. A book began to mimic his life, and he was left in fear, never leaving the house. And this notebook…it’s…it’s the man reciting his story. It’s David revealing the details of what happened that one night in that little house.

I grip the notebook as I slide back to my room. But the creature is gone. I sit at the desk with nothing to do. But an idea pops into my mind. I could…write my story. So everyone would hear. I could even publish it in New York! So I heave a sigh, grab a pencil, and start writing in my little red composition notebook. I had a strange feeling that I wouldn’t stop to stretch for a while.

 

That Something I Thought Was Worthy

“This is the time to fight for something. While you are in my class, you will have to work your butt off trying to show me what you can do…the world what you can do. For this year’s project, note that I said year, you will have to find something that you want, and write to me on why you believe you want this thing. Now, let me tell you, this will be a huge project, and you are going to receive a huge grade that will change your life! Do not let me down!”

The bell rings, and Mrs. Olsen nods for all of us to get lost. I honestly find this project ridiculous. I mean, what is something I would want that badly? I mean, Martin Luther King wanted voting rights. That’s something huge. Me, I fight for what color shoes I should wear each day.

But that’s not the worst part about it. I expected to do amazing. My family, all of my family never let their parents down. My mother went to Harvard, and now she’s a lawyer. My dad went to Princeton, and he owns a business. My big brother yearns to be an engineer, and he already has some scholarship money for MIT.

Who will I be? What will my parents say if I get a thirty on a quiz, or a sixty seven? Will I be ashamed? Will I hate myself forever? Will I want to be a foster kid? I don’t know.

I have to do this project and I have to show that I can be my mother or father, or brother. I have to continue this legacy. I can’t “ignore the beautiful potential that I have.” I imagine mom inside of my head, smiling at me, and rubbing my back.

Walking home, I feel like an inspector, waiting for the next wrong move. My eyes grow huge with every falling leaf on the floor.

I am finally home. I knock on the door, and see my Mom on the other side. I smile, and go inside.

“What happened at school today?” Mom asks.

“Nothing. Just a project,” I say.

“Mmm. Well, I trust that you will do amazing. Not good, or great. Amazing.”

“Thanks, Mom.”She smiles, and goes to the kitchen. I follow her. I sit at the table, and watch her cook. I happen to look out the window. I see my mom’s old plant. It looks like it’s wilting. Mom completely ignores it. It’s as if it could survive on its own. No one to hold. I go to the window, and touch the plant. It’s not dead yet. It’s almost dead, but not quite. Mom is cooking with all of her kitchen stuff. She has an apron, a hat and everything. She stands up straight, and walks only when she has to. Unlike me, when I see a burning stove, I run to that stove and try to solve the problem. With mom, she know how to do everything, and nothing ever goes wrong. I feel like the opposite of what she is. She knows what to do, and knows that it will never go wrong. With me, I have to hope it never goes wrong.

I eye the plant more closely, and I see something. It’s will to live. I see how hard it tries. I touch it’s rough surface, and see how hard it is to pick its little leaf up. I see the brown-black edges of the leaf, and I see how old the soil looks. I want to help it. I can help it. With my history project. This is what I was meant for. I look at Mom.

 

“Hey Mom, do you need this plant?” I ask.

“No. Why is it still there? I told Thomas to throw it out,” Mom says.

I am hurt. I’m glad my brother forgot to throw it out.

“Teresa? Dear, why do you look hurt?” Mom asks.

“Why would you ever think of throwing it out?” I ask.

“It’s about to drop dead.”

“But it’s only wilting. Don’t you see the potential it has? Don’t ignore it.”

“Teresa, take the stupid plant if you want to, alright?”

“Thank you. I will make this a beautiful plant. You’ll see.”

I walk to my room, and I hear Mom sigh in the background. I will prove my mother wrong, and show my family how good I am. I stomp into my brother’s room, and go inside. I look at all the awards he has gotten from his engineer stuff. He basically has his future planted out. I look down at my plant, and smile.

“What are you doing here, Teresa?”

I turn around, and see my brother with a friends, and they both look at me. Thomas. He just has to ruin everything.

“I asked you a question,” Thomas says, with anger.

“Um, I need paper,” I answer.

“Go to the printer room.”

“There is no paper in the printer.” That’s a lie. I filled it this morning.

“Liar. We were just there. There’s a whole stack of paper.”

“Ooh! Right. My bad. Well, can I get paper?”

“Ugh, fine! Just get out of my room!”

He hands me paper, and takes my arm and tries to pull me out of the room.  I lose balance, and I feel the plant almost falling down. No! I have to save the plant. It can’t die now. I take my right arm, and punch him in the arm. That was really his face. Uh-oh.

“Ow. Ow. Why did you do that?” Thomas screams, and closes his door shut. I look down at my plant. The plant is the only thing that matters now.

I run to my room, and close the door. I place my plant on my desk, and sit down on my chair. I try to find some way to make the plant unique. A name! Perfect, a name. George. George. That’s a cool name for a plant. I’m hoping. I run to the sink, and see my brother at the sink with a napkin to his nose. Great.

I walk past him, and open a cabinet for water. I use a nearby marker, and label it ‘George.’

I fill the cup with water, and I walk back to my room.

“You are weird. You know that?”

I am sitting down in my room, when I see my brother’s friend in the doorway.

“Um, what do you want?” I ask.

“That plant pot. It has a name,” he says.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Plants don’t have names.”

“They can have whatever they want to have. Stop being a jerk. Why don’t you go check on my brother’s broken nose instead of on my plant, okay buddy?”

“Alright. I’m sorry. My name’s Frank.”

“Well Frank, next time pick on something breathing like you.”

“What are you-”

“Leave me alone.”

“Okay, weirdo.”

He just called me a weirdo. For loving plants! Well, if weirdos care for all of the world, then yeah, I’m a weirdo.

The windows turn dark, and George looks tired. I smile at him one more time, and climb into bed.

When I wake up, George isn’t here. I get up fast. Where is George?

Where

is

George?

I run to the kitchen and see a plant by the window. George. Thank goodness.

I go to the window, pick up George, and sit down.

Mom shakes me awake. I’m on the kitchen counter. I hold George in my hands.

“Teresa? What happened?” Mom asks.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“You were sleeping with a plant.”

“Oh, George? He doesn’t mind.”

“George? Are you going through a mental state?”

“No. Why would you say that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You will have to have breakfast at school instead. I’m running late for work.”

“Okay.”

I go to my room with George in my hands. I wear sweats and go to get my bookbag. I get my coat, and walk out the door. George still in my hands.

—-

I’m finally in school. I see my friend Laura. She smiles.

I go to her and sit at the table for breakfast.

“So, what’s new?” She asks.

“Nothing much,” I say.

Laura smiles, and pulls out a container of salad. I freeze. Salad. That’s a plant. Why are we eating plants? Lettuce. How could she?

Laura takes a fork and grinds the lettuce. A murderer. My friend?

She holds her fork, and picks some lettuce up with it. I take my hand and knock her fork down. She jumps and looks at me with a startled expression. I look at her and give a nervous smile.

“What was that for?” Laura yelled.

“Um, you can’t eat plants. You were killing that plant,” I said.

“You can eat lettuce, Teresa! They are given to us by grocery stores! You can buy them to eat! Why are you suddenly this care-for-the-plant girl?”

I take off my bookbag. I open it and see George falling apart. One leaf fell off. I gasp. Laura looks at me. She walks over and looks at my plant. She rolls her eyes.

“Seriously?”  She says.

“Um, yeah. Hello, plants are people too,” I say.

“No, they are not! Do they have legs?”

“No-”

“Then they aren’t people.”

“Laura! I don’t think I know you anymore. I think we need a break.”

“Are you serious? Teresa, you’re crazy.”

I’m crazy. I’m crazy, and she just said plants aren’t people. Yeah, okay Laura. Two can play at that game.

“I’m not crazy,” I start, “You’re just too selfish to look around at the beauty all around you.” I pull my plant out. “This poor thing can’t survive on its own.” I suddenly looks down, and notice how it looks worse. “Oh no. Give me water, now!”

Laura looks puzzled.

“Don’t just stand there like a statue! Help me!” I yell.

“I-I don’t know…” Laura starts.

“I said help me! What don’t you understand Laura?”

She goes in her bag, and gets some water. She holds it to herself.

“Laura, my best friend. Give me the water,” I say.

She shakes her head.

“Ugh!” I say.

I reach across the table, and grab the water bottle. Laura looks a little mad. I uncap the bottle and pour it on the plant. The soil gets wet, and I sigh relief. Laura grabs the water bottle from me, and walks away.

I think I might have lost a friend.

I think I really hurt my brother.

I think I freaked out his lame friend.

Just for wanting to save a plant.

Wow.

Mrs. Olsen looks happy. I never know why. I take out my plant. I get the weird stare.

“Aww. Teresa has a plant as a friend since there are no humans who want to be her friend.”

I look behind me, and Maya Maystein laughs. I roll my eyes.

Mrs. Olsen says, “Everybody, half the class work on the year project, and half the class work on the actual lesson. Work!”

I get out some paper, and look at George. I write some details on how I will decide to save George. Mrs. Olsen looks at me. Then she walks to me.

“Hello, Mrs. Olsen.” I say.

“What are you doing, Teresa?” she says.

“Oh, I am writing about how I will save my plant from dying.”

“That is something revolutionary?”

“I believe so. Saving an organism-”

“That is not a real person, not something MLK would have fought for, dear.”

“But death-”

“That is not a person you are trying to save.”

“Mrs. Olsen-”

“Teresa, find another project.”

I am shocked. Saving a plant is a big deal! That woman!

“I believe this is a good project, Mrs. Olsen” I say, standing up.

“Then you can write how in detention,” she says.

I put my head down. I feel tears in my eyes. Oh, brother.

 

I walk into the room. Dread is running through me. The walls are cracked. The chairs are old. The tables have eraser shavings all over them. The walls are painted blue, a sad color. Depression. A kid picking his nose. Ugh! I can’t do this. I cannot.

The teacher opens eyes wide. Yeah, I haven’t been here. Ever.

“Um, Teresa, are you sure you’re in here?” the teacher asks.

“Y-yeah. Mrs. Olsen,” I say.

The teacher checks her lists, and sees I’m in the correct spot. I wished those blue eyes would tell me to leave this room.

The teacher is on the phone contacting my mother. She looks at me. The gets up and walks out the room. She comes out five minutes later.

In five minutes, I hear my mother yell in the hallway.

“This is unbelievable! I want my daughter…yes! I’m getting her, okay… okay.”

I put my head down. Oh, mother. She comes into the room. Did I pack George? Yeah. He’s in my bag. I stand up. She glares at me. Great. The face of shame.

—-

“I cannot believe you screwed up your project. I told you to do amazing, but-” Mom starts. We are in the kitchen. I sit on the table. As long as I listen, she doesn’t really care what I do.

“Maybe you’re setting too high a bar,” I said.

She’s puzzled.

“Too high a bar? Your brother already has money to go to MIT. It’s humanly possible, Teresa!”

“I get it. Thomas is this big shot. But do you ever think of helping me?”

“I never got helped. It was me, or fail.”

“Yeah, yeah, the world sucks. I know.”

“Teresa, you better look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care, if this is what you

produce.”

Bam. She shot me. I end up becoming silent. I do care. But Mom doesn’t get it. She never did. I guess she wants me to be the next huge thing.

I look at her. I jump off the table, and get my bag and get out to go to the hallway. I open my bag. I forgot George. I forgot George. I forgot him.

—-

“Teresa, are you okay?” Thomas says, peeking out of his room.

I hadn’t realized I was on the floor leaning against the wall.

“What do you care?” I mumble.

He chuckles.

“I care about my sister. I do.”

I look at him. I motion for him to sit next to me. He pretends to think about it, then sits next to me.

“So, how does it feel to be the next big thing?” I ask.

“Ugh, awful. Mom and Dad are always on my back. ‘Not good, not great, but amazing!’’” Thomas says.

I laugh.

“Yeah. I went to detention. My history project sucks.”

“Oh, then you are already dead.”

I look down at the ground.

Thomas lightly hits my shoulder.

“Hey, that’s a joke,” Thomas says.

“No, it’s true,” I say.

“Just do a better history project. Show Mrs. Olsen that Teresa can take a punch.”

I look at him. He’s right. Mrs. Olsen hasn’t seen the last of Teresa.

“You’re right,” I say.

“Yeah?” He asks.

I look at my hands. I stand up. I hold out my hand for Thomas to get up. He takes it and stands up. I smile. Teeth showing and everything. George is just a plant. I have more important things to worry about. Bad things happened because of George. I need to break free. I will break free.

“Yeah,” I finally answer him. I hug him, and run to my room.

My computer is opened, I’m typing. Typing. Finding something new. Going somewhere else. Finding the something that’s worth obsessing over.

Cassiel

How odd it was

her skin growing hollow

a sheepskin drum

hungry in the night.

 

And the days were hers alone.

Days of quiet

steps along hardwood.

Days sprawled across her funeral pyre

shielded from the dull morning light,

Dido,

clutching her lover’s knife

as she watched the ships set sail.

 

Her hands fumbled with one another curiously

ardently

Her back pressed against the cool glass

Ariadne,

wandering across her island prison

feeling the sand between her toes

 

Her hair fanned out about her head

She stood.

Her toes pressing against the porcelain floor

Venus,

rising from the sea

sheathed in ivory foam.

How odd it was

Especially Not You

Alaina Wynn remembered the last time she was really, actually happy. It was because of a vague and distant memory, of an eight-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy.

It was Alaina and Bear, and it always had been. Forever, Alaina and Bear, Bear and Alaina. They spent every summer at Bear’s house in Essex, NY, a tiny town in the Adirondack Mountains, and at the end of the season they would go their separate ways— Alaina to Manhattan, and Bear to his home in Pennsylvania.

There was a field, and it was a field was full of wildflowers, yellow and purple and white clouds on a sky of tall grass. Bear’s family never tended this field, and the children liked it that way. They would lie there for hours, but that night, in Alaina’s memory, there was a storm, and Alaina loved storms. So she took Bear by the hand and led him into the field, and they lay there, holding hands. The rain started, and the thunder, and even the lightning, but they didn’t move a muscle, counting the seconds between the thunder and lightning. When their parents found them in the morning, frantic and scared, the wildflowers had all wilted. It might have been the heaviness of the rain, or maybe lightning had struck, but they never grew back.

Neither Alaina or Bear remembered the first three summers, nor did anyone expect them to. Their moms, Georgia and Sasha, met while pregnant with the both of them. They both had strange urges to bet money— and how many pregnant women can you spot at a casino? So they became friends, bonding over their mutual love of cats and 80’s pop. They both gave birth June 25th, in the same hospital. They knew at that moment that their children would be best friends for life. They were big believers in miracles. Alaina turned out not to be.

The families spent every summer after that in Bear’s parents’ country house in the Adirondack mountains. The children were summer friends, never managing to keep in touch over the year. There was a magic that only existed in the woods behind the house, and the field in front of the woods. They would stay up late whispering every night, telling stories about their school years. Bear talked more, Alaina listening in silence. He told her about his friend Thomas, and how they always ate lunch together by themselves because no one would sit with them. Alaina was always a mystery to Bear. He knew her best in the world, and somehow didn’t know her at all.

This went up until the twelfth summer, when Sasha — Alaina’s mom — decided it would be better to have the two sleep in separate rooms. Georgia — Bear’s mom — was completely against it, but Sasha always won, so Alaina left the little room with the blue walls and the two twin beds and moved down the hall to the guest bedroom, with the yellow walls and the one queen bed. Bear missed waking up and seeing the black curls on the pillow next to him.

For the next four summers, everything changed. Braces went on and came off, awkward stages came and went. Bear and Alaina drifted far, far apart. When they were thirteen, Alaina went to summer camp for the entire summer. It seemed to Bear that she didn’t care anymore, that their summers didn’t matter to her. So summer fourteen he decided to bring along his one and only friend, Alex. He wished that Alaina would come, that she could see that he wasn’t alone without her.

And she did come. Her eyes were black all around, a mess of charcoal eyeliner, a black chaotic blur. It contrasted with the deep green of her eyes, making them brighter and yet masking them. He saw her ripped shirt and tiny shorts, her army jacket and combat boots. It was a change he didn’t expect from such a happy person. It made her look dark and sad. He wanted to hug her and tell her all his secrets. He wanted her to tell him everything, too. But she didn’t talk to him. She didn’t even look at him.

“ALAINA!” he wanted to scream, “IT’S ME, BEAR!” But he didn’t. He ignored her right back, as hard as it was. Anyway, he had Alex. Alaina spent all her time in her room. Sometimes he saw her curled up with a book. He often took walks alone in the woods, revisiting the trees he climbed with Alaina, or the rock clusters they had explored.

One time he came back and saw Alaina and Alex sitting in the living room, laughing. She didn’t even have her book. Bear didn’t think anything of it— in fact he was glad that his two best friends were bonding. But for some reason, when he came in, the laughing stopped. So, seeing he wasn’t wanted, he left. Twenty minutes later, his mom called for dinner, so he went to find Alex and Alaina. They weren’t in the living room, so he checked the field.

“ALAINA!”, he called. “ALEX! he heard shuffling in the tall grass about 20 feet in front of him. He ran to it, hoping to see his friends. And he did. He saw Alex, with lipstick on his mouth and face, and he saw the shadow of a girl he once knew running into the woods. He ran as fast as he could after her, flashing Alex the most scornful look he could muster up as he went. He ran purposefully, knowing exactly where to go. He ran down the path until there was no path. He ran until he reached a large rock, covered in moss and fungus. He stopped all of a sudden, knowing she was there but still somehow surprised to see her.

“Do you ever think about this rock?” she asked.

“Alaina—”

“Do you? I mean, we spent our childhood on this rock. We don’t even know its name! We never even asked.”

“You’re insane,” he told her.

“No, I’m not. Just curious. Like, come here,” she grabbed his arm and pulled him down next to her. They lay on the rock, face to face. Bear felt her breath brushing against him.

“You see this mushroom? To someone, this mushroom is a tree. And this is their grass, and we’re killing it. Did you ever think about that? We’re so oblivious to everything around us, that we don’t even realize that we’re destroying an entire ecosystem.”

“Alaina, stop,” Bear insisted, sitting up.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, still talking to the space next to her.

“Don’t give me that. You knew what this would do to me. You know how I feel. Why? Why would you do this to me?”

“You don’t love me, Bear.”

“I do, Alaina. You really think he loves you and I don’t?”

“He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. I kissed him, that’s it. You don’t need love to kiss someone.” Her head was down, but she didn’t seem ashamed.

“You really think that’s the point here?”

“No, Bear, that’s not the point here. But you don’t know what love is. I love you because you are summer, and innocent and kind. But you can’t love me. No one can love me.”

“I do love you, Alaina. Why don’t you believe me?” he pushed.

“What do you know about me? You know me here, and here I am not me. You don’t know me at all,” she said, sitting up suddenly.

“You’re my best friend. I know everything about you!”

She laughed. “Wait, you’re serious? What do you know, tell me, if we haven’t had a straight conversation since I moved out of the room. No one knows me, especially not you.”

He paused, realizing how true this was. She was a mystery to him, and yet he knew that he loved her like he had never loved anyone before. She stood up and walked away, her bare feet skipping gracefully and purposefully over twigs and rocks, leaving him to murder the tiny mushroom people alone.

A Concentration Camp Poem

They shove hundreds

Hundreds of us onto a train

A train that leads us away

Away into the darkness.

 

The ride lasts days

Days that are filled with horror

Horror of slowly dying

Dying on the train

 

We arrive in the cold

cold except for the fire

fire and the smell

the smell of burning bodies

 

I stare at the people

people with guns

guns that glint from the light of the moon

the moon that shines down on us

 

Men to the left and women to the right

right to the front of the right line

the line of hundreds of us

of us humans, just like them

 

10 more people until me

me, little me, just 14 years old

old and young stand together

together in the darkness

 

I stand in front now

now I wait to be sorted

sorted by these men

these men who took me away

 

He flicks his baton, and they take my shoulders

my shoulders sting from their force

their force that pulls me towards a building

a building that can mean no good things.

 

I wait on another line,

a line to get my head shaved

shaved of my red curls

curls that I’ve grown to love

 

I’m tattooed

tattooed a number sequence

a sequence that will be my name

my name that isn’t what it was

 

They drag me to a bunker

a bunker where I will stay

stay until I die here

here in this place where I will die

 

I sit on a bunker as a boy walks in

into this hell hole and he gets pushed on my bed

my bed that I will be sharing with so many others, and this boy

this boy who blinks and tries not to cry

 

The nakedness does not bother me at all

all of us are naked, but they give us uniforms

uniforms that fit me, but are too big on others

other people’s uniforms are too small

 

They tell us to sleep

sleep is out of the question

so I question the boy about his life

his life that was taken from him

 

I ask what color hair he had

he had quiffed brown hair that he loved

that he loved as much as I loved my red

red blood drips on the floor as we talk

 

The boy asks my age

my age that was taken away

away from all of us

us here in this awful place

 

We get split up during the day

the day of labor

labor almost too hard

too hard for someone like me

 

I carry bodies

bodies of the dead

dead people that could have been me

me or anyone else who survived

 

At night I talk to the boy again

again we share our pasts

our pasts that we miss

we miss our lives

 

I could die today

today anyone could die

dying isn’t scary anymore

anymore time here will kill me

 

I spend all day working

working to keep alive

alive, but I’m slowly dying

dying all alone

 

I tell the boy we can’t be friends

friends will give me weakness

weakness I cannot risk to have

to have here in this awful place

 

He says that we are not friends

not friends just acquaintances

acquaintances we will be

be wary here in this place of death

 

We awake to hear the screams

screams of so many like us

like us they suffer

suffer and die alone

 

I know that I will die soon

soon enough I will starve

starve to death slowly

slowly isn’t the way I want to die

 

I am getting thinner every day

days and days pass by

by and by I grow weak

weak and sad all alone

 

People keep leaving

leaving and never coming back

back here into this hell

hell is not enough to describe this

 

I am working when they kill the boy

the boy who I have grown to know

knowing that I cannot cry for him

for him I make a grave

 

I sit with many others on the bed

the bed that is missing my friend

my friend who I lost today

today many people died

 

Should I kill myself I wonder

I wonder if this will ever end

end of all inferiors will happen

happen here today

 

I am piling up burned bodies

bodies that I recognize

I recognize the boy’s brown eyes

eyes that I close with my fingers

 

I know what I have to do

doing this will end my life

a life I have grown to hate

hate as much as the men who did this

 

The boy has reminded me

me, I am me, I can do this

this thing that will cause my death

death to be by the side of my friend

 

A guard tells me to work

work is something I won’t do now

now as I deny his orders

he orders another man to shoot me

 

I take the bullet willingly

willingly ready to die

dying will be peaceful

peacefully I fall and close my eyes

 

Darkness is all around me now

 

I open my eyes

my eyes adjust

adjust to the light

light that shines

shines through the eyes

 

the eyes of the boy.

Shadow To Your Silhouette

You stood with your back to the sunset

Your bold silhouette cutting a piece of color from the brilliant blood orange sky

I snapped a picture, the one behind the shutter

I was the shadow of your silhouette

Then the sun slipped into the simmering sea

Like a delicate egg being hardboiled

And we became crepuscular

The twilight blended my shadow and your silhouette

Almost as well as photoshop blended your face into the background

Why can’t photos fade along with memory?

Slicing deeper than papercuts when they spill from dusty boxes

Deeper than the scars running like pale pink lace across your wrists

You fall with your back to the ground

Your broken silhouette cutting a piece of color from my life

 

Their Beloved

The moon is just starting to peek out over low-rise denim horizon and the sparks from the fire pop and crackle near my feet. Her knees are bruised and knobby, pulled up to her chin like an old blanket. The spiderweb of her hair waves in the soft breezes that blow off the ocean that I like to think are made from sailor’s salty tales and mermaid’s murderous secrets. She isn’t looking at me so she doesn’t notice me writing poetry about her and taking her all in like my eyes are at an all-you-can-eat buffet and she is the meal. If she were to catch me I think she’d scold with her brown eyes shining like fresh gingerbread and then lean back and laugh so the world would listen in that great booming way of hers. She drags a creased hand across her calfs and chews on the inside of her cheeks like gum. You should see the cavern of her mouth, it’s all ripped and rugged like a torn muscle. The stars overhead are reflected in the dancing water that sprays us after the waves bounce. She grins and I can see her small jewel teeth and then she grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Her hands are calloused and rosy from the nighttime cold and she rubs them on my arm and pleads me to come with her. She sprints down the muddy sand and trips on the footprints that sink and fade with the outgoing tide. She kicks off her sneakers and pulls her knotted hair from its braid where it still held saltwater and pink morning air from the first swim of the day. She turns back to me and her eyes are polished pennies dropped out of a tourist’s pocket, out of place on the dirty sidewalk. Her grip is strong but sweet and she holds me like you would hold someone after they cry and pour their heart out, careful but hard so as not to let them slip away. She stops at the edge of the black water and cries out when it reaches her toes. I laugh with her and let the sea numb my feet and ankles. She spins like a broken carousel until she falls lazily into the shallows. She pulls me down to sit beside her. Oh, but when she looks at me I feel like a prize. The water is cold and goosepimples my arms but I never want to leave her side.

Andrea Perspective

Our king is growing old, like the pale yellow flower that used to grow on my bedroom windowsill. I pay close attention to our king. I can do that because he is also my father.

Choosing Day is less than a month away, the sacred day when our king will choose which of his children will take the throne once he has passed away. My father is named Benjamin. My name is Andrea and I was born two minutes after my brother Serious and three minutes before my sister Sae. We are triplets.

Tonight will be the Feast of June. Every month we have a big feast, just us four. We only get to have that on these special days. We catch up on our lives. We barely get to see each other during normal days. We do have to run a palace after all. Our kingdom is obsessing over which one of us triplets will be chosen to wear the crown at the coronation celebration.

 

Our red-carpeted stairwells are wide, with solid gold banisters and steps. That evening I rush to get to the Feast of June in time. I run from my bedroom to the stairs while pinning my long brown hair back on the side of my head. I reach the the stairwell and stop to make sure that the pin is secure in my hair. I’ve never really walked down the stairs— I usually slide down the long gold banister. It is easier (and way more fun). Without a moment’s hesitation, I jump up onto the railing and slide quickly down. I can see Sae sliding down the banister ahead of me, her black braids flying out behind her.

“Beat you!” a shout from below calls. I recognize it as my brother Serious’s voice. He wants to win everything.

“I’ll get you next time,” says Sae. They must have been racing each other. They do that often.

Finally I reach the bottom and I jump off the railing to an extraordinary sight. The table has the greatest amount of food that it has ever had. My favorite part is the huge chocolate fountain in the middle of the table. The table has a green silk tablecloth that magically cleans up any mess that is dropped or spilled on it. I sit in my place next to Serious and across from father.

“We have much to discuss, my children,” says father, his eyes never leaving his plate. He is a very tall man with a long beard and a silky purple robe.

“We always do,” says Serious.

“This is more important than usual,” says father. “As you know, I am growing old and I must decide which one of you is to take the throne when I am gone.”

He sucks in his breath at this moment, like he is afraid of what will become of the palace once he is gone.

“So…” says Sae eager to find out what Father will say next. I glare at her.

Father glares at her as well.

“So,” he says. “I have arranged a competition over who will get the throne. You will each get one apprentice of your choice to help you find the most valuable thing in the world.”

“So,” Father continues. “By tomorrow you must choose your apprentice. You will leave at noon and must be back on July 8th, the day before Choosing Day. If you do not return by then we will assume that you are…dead.” Father pauses and laces his fingers together. He looks down. We all do.

Finally, he says, “Does anyone have any questions?”

“What if we want to do it alone?,” asks Serious.

“That would be fine,” says father. “But you might want some help.”

“What if we can’t find the most valuable thing in the world?” Sae asks.

“Remember it doesn’t have to be a thing,” says father.

Serious rubs his black goatee. We eat the rest of our dinner in silence. When it is time for the chocolate fountain, I grab a strawberry in each hand and dip it inside the fountain. Chocolate covers my hands. I rush upstairs. Sae follows me upstairs. When I reach the fourth floor, I go to my bedroom. My bedroom has light green walls and a bed with a purple lace canopy. I lie down on my bed and eat my strawberries, then lick my fingers. My flowy white dress feels uncomfortable but, I am too tired to change clothes. I have too much to think about. Who will I choose to be my apprentice? What the heck is the most valuable thing in the world?

I don’t know.

My servant and friend Serenity comes into my room with two glasses of orange juice. She takes one and hands it to me. Then she sits down next to me.

“I was exploring the sewing room. There was a roll of fabric that had hundreds of pictures of you on it. Isn’t that cool!” Serenity finishes off her orange juice and then looks at me closely.

“Hey, are you alright?” Serenity asks.

I can’t hear her words. Exploration, fabric, faces, me? Then I sit up straight in bed knocking over my full glass of juice.

“Serenity, how would you like to go on an adventure?” I ask with confidence, hoping secretly that she will agree.

“An adventure, what kind?” Serenity peers at me from behind a lock of curly blond hair.

“You’ll find out,” I grumble, suddenly angry at father.

Father puts my life in danger and then he puts my best friend’s life in danger, along with my brother’s and sister’s lives, and he doesn’t care. I hope my face isn’t getting red because that would be embarrassing but I feel that way. Anger is boiling inside me like the boiling tomato mushroom bisque my beautiful Mother used to make before she left me and Sae and Serious when we had just turned five. I cry because I want the competition to end and I cry for my mother who would never ever put me in danger like this. Father is just greedy— that’s why he wants us to risk our lives to find him the most valuable thing in the world. There is only one problem— I want the crown. Serenity watches me carefully.

I hop out of bed and motion for her to follow me. I grab my bow and high five knives and Serenity’s dagger. Then I grab my magical cornucopia and throw it all into a neon blue duffel bag, along with some clothes and two winter coats. Finally, I grab a map of the world and hand the duffel bag to Serenity. We walk out of my room. I know that I have to leave to go on the journey now. Literally now, because I can’t stand to be in the same house as Father any longer.

“We are going to get an early start on the journey,” I say. I scribble a note on some old stationary that Father gave me years ago.

 

Dear Father,

 

I am leaving early for the journey. Serenity is coming.

 

Don’t worry about me,

Andrea

P.S. I am taking two horses.

 

I am scared. I can’t hide how I feel as Serenity and I walk through the dark, empty halls. I scan the halls, hoping that no one will find us. In the Apothecary I grab a bag full of healing medicine and two blankets. One is thin, made from wool and the other is thick with cotton. They are both brown. Good camouflage colors. Finally, I reach the stables. Beyond the stables are the woods. That is where I must start this hazardous journey. Woods surround all of the castle so I have no other place to start.  I coax Ginger, the horse, out of her stall. She climbs out without fighting and I motion for Serenity to climb on. I hand her the duffle bag. Then, I coax another horse, Chip, out of his stall and I climb on. On our way out I get two hay stuffed pillows from the corner and a bag of horse feed. I follow Serenity into the forest. Her horse, Ginger, is the color of the ripe peaches that Mother used to plant in our orchard. Now that Mother has left us there are no more peaches in our orchard, only the dry, hard apples that I always forget to pick. I stop to pick a bag of them to feed to the horses. Then my black and white horse carries me away.

While we are riding, I explain the whole idea to Serenity and thank her for not asking questions while I was packing up. I slowly start to get tired and I find a nice clearing that Serenity and I can spend the night in. We set up the sleeping bags and pillows and tie both horses to a big brown oak. I feed the horses an apple each and then fall asleep.

 

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. Serenity is already awake. I see that she untied the horses. I reach into the duffel bag and pull out the cornucopia. I raise it into the air and it barfs out four pieces of bacon and two waffles and a spray can of ReddiWhip. I pull out two plates and put the food on them. The food tastes really good.

Soon after we eat, I get on Chip’s back and tie the duffel bag around his neck. Serenity climbs on Ginger and we set off.

We follow a narrow path that goes into the woods deeper and deeper. I don’t know what I am searching for. I don’t know if I will find anything.

“Any ideas?” I asked Serenity.

“Not really,” she says.

All of a sudden, we hear a crack, and a trio of monsters comes running out of the woods. I recognize them as Grougs. Serious hunts them in the woods all the time. They all have green skin and silver clubs with spikes, their orange hair braided with weapons.

Serenity screams. We jump off our horses and draw our weapons. Serenity’s is a faded grey dagger with the symbol of our land on it. Mine is my bow and arrow. I step forward to stab the first Groug in the stomach while Serenity takes on the second one. I lunge at the Groug. It throws a handful of copper knifes my way. I cry out and back away. One of the knives brushes against my fingers. A burning sensation starts in my fingers and runs throughout my whole body. I have never told anyone this but, I have a terrible weakness. Any time copper touches my skin it burns my blood. I almost fall back but, stand my ground. I set my bow with a death arrow and shoot it into the Grougs stomach just as I fall back onto the dirt floor. The last thing I hear is Serenity’s wail before I pass out.

I immediately start to have a vision. I am sitting at my place in the dining hall at the castle. My father and brother and sister are there, too.

“I’m trusting you with the last of my transportation coins,” he says. Father has never mentioned those before. He hands each of us two faded gold coins. I take mine and roll them around in my hands.

“When you need them most, you can transport yourself or someone else to the castle or somewhere else as long as you think of the place in your head,” says father. I can barely think about that when the dream fades and I wake to find myself laying in the dirt. The transportation coins are in my hand but I don’t care much about them because Serenity is next to me and blood is pouring out of her. She is about to die.

I know that I have to act quickly. I grab a bandage from the apothecary bag and slide it over the tremendous hole that has appeared in her stomach. I wrap it around several times and hold it against her stomach. I check her pulse; fading but still there.

“Serenity,” I breathe softly. She can’t hear me. I look around. The Grougs took everything except for Chip the Horse and the apothecary bag. And to make it even worse a slow rain has started.

We have to find shelter.  Someone must live around here. I slowly lift Serenity up and slide her onto the back of a horse. Only then do I remember the transportation coins. Where are they? I search the grounds and find them hidden by a large orange leaf. I take the coins and the leaf and sit on a large rock. I must write a note to father. I take the cool black sap from a large tree and draw with my fingers a note to Father on the orange leaf. The writing is shaky but, readable.

 

Dear Father,

 

Take care of Serenity. I am okay.

 

See you soon,

Andrea

 

Then I slip one of the transportation coins into her palm and she fades away into the shadows.

Without looking back, I climb on Chip and ride deeper into the forest and away from where I hope Serenity will end up. Then I think of food. How am I going to eat without the magical cornucopia? The only other person who has one in the world is my mother but, I know I’ll never see her again. I tug on Chip’s saddle, forcing him to move forward farther into the woods. I stepped hard on a piece of wood and it made a loud snapping sound. I know that I might have alerted any nearby wildlife but, I don’t care. I suddenly feel so alone in this world. I thought Serenity was just slowing me down but I didn’t realize how much I actually needed her to help me with this quest. I wonder what day it is because I want to know how many days I have left. I feel the circular transportation coin in my jean pocket as I walk along the forest path. I wonder if I will ever make it home to the castle. I just have hope that the transportation coins actually work because I would feel even worse if I had done my friend wrong as well as myself.

Chip neighs loudly and stops abruptly. Then, I see why. We have come to a perfect square clearing. There are no trees. Just a perfect little cottage with a stone path and ripe peach trees surrounding it except for the path. Then I see her. A beautiful young-ish woman with a flowing golden braid and a white dress that sparkles in the afternoon sun. She has a basket around one of her arms and is picking yellow peaches off branches in her orchard. When she sees me she disappears into her house and slams the door. There is something about this woman that seems familiar and I know immediately that she is someone that I know.

“Ma’am!” I call out. “Hello, ma’am!”

I tie Chip to one of the largest peach trees and walk up to the door. I knock gently, crossing my fingers. Maybe this woman can help me and get me food. Maybe she could… My thoughts are suddenly interrupted. The same lady swings open the door and starts shouting at me until a girl’s soft voice stops her.

“It’s okay, Mother,” the girl’s voice says behind the woman. “This one is a friend.”

I do not know how to react to this until the woman with the golden hair suddenly grabs me hardly and pulls me into a tight long hug. When she finally looks up her eyes are streaked with tears and her smile is bigger than ever. I finally realize who it is. I can’t believe it. Just when I thought I would never find her, I know who this person is.

“Andrea?” my mother asks. “Is that you?”

I can barely choke out an answer. Then my mother invites me inside and I see who the girl is. Black braids and all with her brown oak bow slung across her back.

“Thank you Sae,” I tell her as I move about the kitchen.

“It’s my pleasure,” Sae says as she follows me into the kitchen. A flat circle of dough lays underneath a pink faded rolling pin on the dining table. The kitchen is very neat with blue and yellow wallpaper, striped.

“But I have news to tell you sister… it is just us now,” Sae says.

“Father?” I ask, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

“No, Serious. He cursed at a hawk so the hawk stabbed him through the neck.”

I put my head down and shed a few tears, then I remember that now we have less competition. I tell this to Sae.

“I have been thinking of that as well. I think we should take our Mother back as the prize and rule as siblings in cohorts.”

“That could be a good idea— Father won’t object as long as we are safe.”

Mother comes into the kitchen.

“So, it’s settled,” Sae says. “ Mother, we are bringing you back to the castle.”

Mother sucks in her breath. “I don’t know if I would like to go back to the castle. I might want to stay here in the peace and quiet. Of course, I would love some company so, if you want to stay with…” Sae cuts Mother off.

“Sorry,” she says. “Andrea and I have to do our duty at the castle so, you either come with us willingly or we shove you into a cloth sack and drag you.”

We all stare at Mother. I know Sae was kidding. We would never do that.

“How will we even get to the castle?” Mother asks, doubting us.

Sae says, “No idea” the same time I say “Transportation coins.”

“What the heck are transportation coins?” ask Sae and Mother at the same time.

I feel light-headed again. “Sae, you didn’t get them?”

“No I did, just joking,” she answers. At least now we have a way to get home. Sae and I go back to staring at Mother expectantly.

“I will have my answer by morning,” says Mother. “You can spend the night.”

“I lost track of time, so what day is it?” I ask. “Do we have enough time?”

“Yeah, today is July 6th.”

Sae gives me a tour of Mother’s house while Mother speaks gently to the cornucopia that she will need extra food because she has guests.

There is one bedroom, a cozy living room, the kitchen, and a small basement. Behind the house there is a large lake that I never noticed.

“I’ll show you my mad rowing skills after dinner,” says Sae.

I can hear the cornucopia in the distance. It is spitting out food for dinner.

“Great,” I say to Sae. “But, think about it. What if Mother doesn’t want to come with us?”

“She will.” That is Sae’s only answer. I still have doubts.

Before I know it, Mother is calling us for dinner. It is delicious— duck with peas and carrots. I try to bring up conversation but we’ve all had a tiring day so it doesn’t work.

“Make sure you have a decision by morning,” says Sae as Mother ushers us out of the living room and into the basement where there are sleeping bags set up, “Because Andrea and I—” she smiles at me her biggest smile, which is very unlike her. Suspicious even. “—have to go back to the castle!” Sae smiles again and goes to the basement.

Now I am scared because I have a feeling that I know what Sae is going to do to me. These will be her steps to ruling the kingdom:

  1. Leave in the middle of the night for the castle without me or our mother.
  2. Once she gets to the castle she will pretend that I am dead so that she can take the crown.
  3. Then she will kill Father so he can’t change anything when I come back to the castle with mother.
  4. She will rule forever and break into our life lasting potions so that she can live forever.

That would be very bad because we are only supposed to take a teaspoon of life lasting potion every five years so we don’t go crazy. The last dose I had was when we were fifteen. If we do not get killed we should live to about 690 right now. Who knows how long when we take another dose at 20.

I swallow hard. Then I stop freaking out. This is Sae I’m talking about! The same Sae that stood guard while I stole Reddi Whip from the castle kitchen. The same Sae that spent hours with me in the huge tree house that father’s handyman built for us so we could play games. The same Sae who always wins when we have “who can slide down the rails the fastest” challenges. I fight back a tear. The same Sae who was my loving sister before Father broke us apart in this terrible battle for the crown.

I realize that I am still standing in the middle of the hallway and quickly and quietly go down the stairs to the basement. I see that Sae is getting settled in her sleeping bag. I crawl into mine next to her. I would like to stay up and ask Sae about her plan but my tired eyes fail me. I am asleep in seconds.

I jump immediately when I hear a rustle in the sleeping bag next to mine.  My eyes open and Sae is not there. I run through the fields near mother’s house around to the lake and back up the valley. The cold night air stings my arms and legs but, I can’t stop. I have gone about a half mile before I collapse onto the grass, panting hard. I try to get back up. I need to do this for Sae. I grasp strands of grass and push myself forward.

“Sae,” I  whisper into the cold night air. “Sae.” I scream it this time. I am sure that I have gone insane.

“SAE!” I screech. Then I am running. I am running to the castle to find my sister and bring her back and—

I stop myself. Then I reach into my pocket and get a transportation coin. Now I have a plan. I will transport myself to the cottage to get Mother then I will transport both of us to the castle to get Sae. That is of course, if Mother agrees to going to the castle.

I hold out the transportation coin and think “Mother’s cottage” in my mind. Then before I know it I am gone.

I arrive back at the house. I am about to rush into the house when I hear a loud splash coming from the lake behind the house. I went around back.

And I had to start crying because there was Sae. There was Sae in her dark blue pajamas swimming in the lake. She smiles and I dive in to join her. I splash her and she splashes me back and I tell her how worried I was and for once she listens. You know those moments that you wish could last forever? Yeah, this was one of those. As I swam around in the lake with Sae I forgot about everything that really mattered and just swam and laughed. Sae was my sister and I thought that she had taken the dark side.

“I love you, Sae,” I say.

“I love you too, Andrea,” says Sae.

As we hug, a sharp arrow skims the side of my ear and I jump to attention. I regret the decision I make to look where the arrow came from.

There is Father up atop the hill with all of 50,00 troop lined for battle.

“Where is Serious?” Father looks concerned.

“He’s dead,” I explain to him.

“What!?” Father looks astounded. “You know he was my favorite! He had to rule!”

Fathers words sting me as they hit my ear. Then Father raises his bow.

“You killed him.” Father accuses us. I am surprised that he is crying. “You killed him!”

“Father, no,” Sae can barely correct.

There is no mercy in Father’s eyes as he yells to the 50,000 troops, “CHARGE!”

I can barely think or speak or anything when Sae is pulling me out of the lake to the dock. Then we ran away from the lake and the forest until Sae mutters one single word.

“Mother.”

Then we run back to the cabin because we must save Mother. I close my eyes and power through the strong July wind. I am only about 30 feet from the cabin when I realize that the cabin is on fire. The beautiful peach trees go up in flames and all of Mother’s things are being thrown into the lake while a handcuffed Mother is being pushed onto the front lawn. Mother looks very calm. Sae and I are hiding behind the last peach tree. I grasp Sae’s hand.

“Aaliyah,” says Father. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Benjamin,” Mother says, copying father’s calm tone. “I am glad that you could make the trip.”

“I am so terribly sorry, Aaliyah,” says Father. “But, I am going to have to kill you, because you assisted my daughters after they killed my favorite child.”

I gasp loudly and Sae covers my mouth with her hand.

“If that is what’s best,” says Mother still calm. “Then by all means, kill me.”

This seems to catch Father off guard.

“Then I must kill you,” he states.

Father raises a long shiny silver sword and is about to stab it into Mother’s heart when Sae jumps forward and kicks his chin. Sae nods to me and I jump to action. I remember the Kung Fu lessons that Mother taught us when we were three. I side kick Father in the leg and he falls to the ground. Then I slam my foot as hard as I can into his nose.

“Don’t hurt me!” Father screams. “If you kill me, the whole kingdom will riot!”

“And why is that?” asks Mother.

Father hesitates a little but, then says, “Because I am their rightful leader.”

“Their rightful leader, eh?” I wonder what Mother’s strategy is. None of us can argue that Father isn’t the rightful leader because he was born into the position.

Mother is screaming now. “You married into the throne. I WAS THE RIGHTFUL LEADER!”

I gasp again. Mother?! So Father was never the ruler of our land. He never had the right to send us to find the most valuable thing in the world. He is the cause of his favorite child’s death.

Mother speaks again, quieter this time. “The only reason you married me was so you could be royalty, and look what you’ve done to your kingdom. You’re not a leader. You’re a coward. And we have the power to kill you more than you have the power to kill me.”

I stand behind Mother on one side and Sae takes the other. The troops march to stand behind all of us.

I don’t want to see Father die. Then again I would much rather not see him live. So Sae pokes the pressure points that make him freeze up and we throw him into the lake.

“We did it,” says mother, breathless from the exciting events. The morning sunrise is a gorgeous orange color. We are united, a whole. We are fighters and Kung Fu artists and strategists. And we stand together in the sunlight watching the sun set over the lake.

EPILOGUE— 3 years later

The hot sun beats down on my neck while I unload a large box of purple paint.

“We didn’t order that much!” Sae complains.

It is three years since the death of our Father, and we have turned the castle into a sleepaway camp for village children. Each of the bedrooms serve as bunk cabins and the kids can play in the field and eat s’mores prepared by our kitchen staff. Sae and I are the head counselors. We decide what campers do during the day. Today, the main activity is painting a garden scene. However, we are afraid that we ordered too much paint.

“You’re right,” I said. “We only said one box of lime green.”

“We’ll manage,” says Sae.

We finish unloading the paint and carry it to the backyard. The village kids are already waiting to paint when Sae and I get out to the garden. I set up an easel for each of them while Sae passes out brushes and palettes.

While they paint, Sae and I talk.

“Do you ever miss Father?” Sae asks me.

“No,” I snap. Sae gives me a curious look.

“Fine,” I say finally. “I do. But only sometimes. Most of the time I am totally fine without him because he said that Serious was his favorite and he let Serenity die!”

It’s true. When Serenity got back to the castle with the help of one of my transportation coins, Father ignored her and focused on getting in contact with Serious. At least I still had Sae and Mother.

When everyone was finished painting we sent them to their cabins for Shower Hour. Then they would go to lunch in the palace dining room. During the afternoon, we take them to swim in Mother’s lake. Sae and I drove early to go to see Mother and set up for swimming. As we drive, Sae and I talk.

“I can’t wait to go swimming!” said Sae. I smiled.

“Yeah, me too.”

Hemorrhaged Hope

I wanted to live wrapped in a box

locked away from jigsaws and buttons

doors that slam and peppers that burn

I wished I would find appreciation in the veins

of leaves

of the ice on my sleeves when I walked

streets of blackened snow

I fancied I’d look up one day

and see orbs that shined brighter

than electrical lampposts

I had the will to cut away the pavement

that made my feet hurt as they pounded

hurtling me past figures that leeched eagerness

I tried to see past metaphysical maybes that

made my head burn and cry out strings of lost thought

lost imagination

lost longings

It all came crashing down on me

and everything unfurled and churned

and spun up a storm of failure and

danger

and

lust for clear skin

need for praise

eager for approval of yesterday’s French braids

agile ankles

longer lashes

I left my mind in a maze

and reality in bed

because of what she said

I ripped off my braces because they didn’t match

my painted nails

I tied my shoes with one loop because two

had less finesse

And I forgot that people are animals

and I didn’t know what I was

and I should have

but I didn’t care because

she said I didn’t have to

I still wanted sweet peppers

and puzzles

and the intricacies of leaves

and celestial somethings

I just got distracted for a while

Food Entry 5

Food Entry 5:

On the second weekend of May, my mom and I ventured downtown to have brunch. Eating out with my mom is a pretty rare occasion because 1) my mom loves to cook and 2) our schedules completely clash, so when we do have the chance to eat together, I try to make the very most of it. Saturday was the first day I really felt like spring had made its transition into summer, even though it was only May. I had woken up with my hair plastered to my face and a dampness that seemed to surround my entire room. Shorts weather had come upon us and with it, the use of Air Conditioning. As my mom and I exited our building, steam clouded my glasses and the air felt as if it was trying to push me down onto the burning hot concrete. I squicked as I sat down on the hot black seat of my car, and immediately lowered the windows down, all the way. I decided that I was in the mood for a good iced tea. The nice thing about my neighborhood is that it is filled with trees that provide a good amount of shade, but as my mom and I got closer to our destination, the only thing that shaded us from the scorching sun were scattered buildings.

Shortly after finding a parking space, we headed to Jack’s Wife Freda, a small restaurant with a really big line. While we waited in line my mom and I chatted about school, the weather, and our summer plans. A good thing about my mom is that she is never lacking in conversation. Even if she has nothing new to say, she manages to find a subject, relevant or not, to discuss. That day the topic landed on Greece. Every summer since I was little my mom and I have gone on trips. This summer the destination was Greece and I was more than excited to venture there. My mom told me that the island of Santorini had the most beautiful sunsets in the world, and that the city’s architecture was also amazing. I was daydreaming of our trip when “Young, table for two” was called from the hostess and we then shortly entered the restaurant.

Filled with only a couple of tables, Jack’s Wife Freda was as homey as I had expected AND even better…it was air conditioned! I looked at the menu and ordered a large iced tea and eggs with mixed vegetables. My cold drink arrived, brimming with ice cubes and raindrops of water dripping down the side. As I brought the drink to my lips I felt a cool trickle of sweet tea run down my throat, refrigerating my body. I smiled and looked down at my newly arrived eggs, with a beautiful array of vegetables sitting by their side sparkling with carrots, spinach, tomatoes, green and yellow peppers, all the colors I hoped the Santorini sunset would hold. As I bit into my eggs, steam clouded my mouth, but instead of being annoyed by the heat, I devoured it. Every bite of egg was followed with a cool sip of iced tea, the perfect combination. As the iced tea washed a smile onto my face, I realized I had finally found the perfect spot to cool off from NYC’s summer heat. There are a couple ways to make New York bearable in this season that I’ve picked up over the years: Good food, shade, and dreaming of a far away place.

After finishing my meal, every last bite, my mom asked for the check. We soon rose up from our table and took a step from the cool room into the sticky outside. I could feel the cloud of heat hanging over my head, but this time a slight breeze whistled through my hair, cooling my brain and making me think about the island and those Santorini eggs.

Yellow Paint

When I was assigned to do a report on Vincent Van Gogh for school, I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy. Then, I started to research him.

Turns out, the old dude ate yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness to be inside of him. Yellow is a happy color, and it always has been. He thought that eating the paint would make him happy.
You obviously must be desperate for happiness to do that because the paint can damage your insides, instead of making them happy. But if you want happiness so badly, you’ll do anything. He ate the toxic yellow paint, only to have it hurt him and not help. It’s really not that crazy if you think about it. Back then, they didn’t know as much. Yellow is linked to happiness, so why wouldn’t eating yellow paint also be linked to happiness? It makes perfect sense.

I’m sure everybody has been at the point where they wanted to eat yellow paint, or their version of yellow paint.
Think about how depressed you’d have to be to swallow poisonous paint. It almost seems unreal that someone would put that kind of thing into their bodies, hoping it would make everything better, but really digging a hole so deep no ladder could help get them out.

The yellow paint – he wanted it to help him, but it did the opposite. Some might say it’s his own fault, but he wanted happiness. Can’t blame the guy for wanting happiness.

Problems=Anger=Change

Prologue

School. Lots of stories have been written about school. Lots of kids do not like school. Few do. Teachers give orders. Students listen. If students don’t listen they are either chastised or warned not to do whatever they did again. If they do do it again, they are sent to the principal’s office. The principal is feared by all in the school – by teachers, students, and even kitchen staff and maintenance. But what if, just what if, a kid was sent to the principal’s office, and didn’t listen or show respect. Then who would the principal tell? What would he/she do? They would probably call the child’s parents. That would be the end of that. The child would be taken home, yelled at, and probably harshly punished. But what if the child didn’t listen to his parents? Bad things would happen to the child.

Now forget everything I just told you for one second. How do armies win wars? Yes, guns and armor, and bases, and strategy, and heart, and all that. But besides heart, and guns, and strategy, you need numbers. Yes. Even though the Spartans only were 300 and the Persians were many more, the Spartans still put up a good fight. Now I don’t mean to give you guys a history lesson but what I’m trying to say is that they lost because they had every requirement but one. Numbers. Numbers cost the Spartans the battle. My point is numbers wins.

But remember those school kids? How come they are losing the battle if they are far ahead in numbers? Something’s not right.

Chapter 1

Here is an example of what I mean. In an unknown town in NJ, there is a school. 217 kids, 10 teachers, 6 maintenance people, one P.E. coach, one music teacher, a drama dude, one assistant principal, and one principal.

Here is an example of a class. Ms. Kqwedvbbcvcd3sdfhdv, Ms. K for short, teaches the students in room 309. 1 teacher, 21 kids. The kids are Tamry, Ben, Tim A, Tim C, Ivy, Lil Mike, Christopher, Mason, Ethan, Emily Q, Emily P, Juan, Alberto, Madison, Alex, Ava, Prudence, (Prude for short,) William Febloquentz, Laury, (Pronounced Looouuury,) Olivia, and, Gertrude.

Now, don’t you think that’s a lot of kids for just one Ms. K?  But, before I get into the story, I have to catch up on the drama.

So, for starters, Juan got into a fight with Tamry and Christopher, Laury and Emily P still have their ongoing feud do to the fact that Emily P spilled her milk on Laury’s “best piece of art ever,” during free time, and even though Emily P says it was an accident Laury “knows” that she did it because Emily P wants her to eternally suffer, and Alex and Prudence are still mad at Alberto and Madison for stealing their ideas in the make your own holiday project back in October. Lil Mike and William are still upset because they think Gertrude cheated them out of their victory at the science fair because Emily Q paid her to make sure her and Ivy would win no matter what she did. And there’s a rumor that Ben is with Olivia.

Now that we got that stuff out of the way, let’s get down to business.

Chapter 2

So, it’s a Monday morning. Bell rings at 7:57, to give the kids a couple minutes to get to class. Class starts at 8. Our story starts at 7:55.  Ben is flirting with Olivia, Emily P and Laury won’t stop fighting, (“You hate me!”) Tamry is fighting with Christopher, and of course Gertrude got into another fist fight with Lil Mike. After all this, it’s 8. Bell rings. Prude manages to break up Gertrude and Lil Mike’s fight. Class starts. They all sit down despite their conflicts. Ms. K comes in and says, “Settle down. Alright good moooorning class.”

“Good morning, Ms. K.”

“So class, was homework easy or what? I tell you kids I’m always right!”

“Actually Ms. K, no one’s always right,” said Lil Mike.

“Lil Mike, I was being SARCASTIC. By the way, what happened to your eye?”

“Well, why don’t you ask Gertrude!”

“Oh shut up, it was Emily Q!”

“Don’t you go blaming me!”

“Class!”

There was suddenly silence. The silence was broken when Lil Mike said, “Stupid girls.” Unfortunately Gertrude heard this, stood up and practically yelled, “Oh shut up, boys aren’t better! At fighting at least.”

“THAT’S IT!” Lil Mike jumped up from his seat but before he could get to Gertrude, Ms. K intervened.

“ENOUGH!” This time she yelled so loud everyone froze in their spots. Gertrude and lil Mike sat down. Everyone thought the same thing. “Uhhh, not again. Ms. K is so annoying.”

Chapter 3

RING! RIIIIIIIIING! RING RING RING! Finally! Everyone thought. Lunch!

Everyone went down to lunch, rushing past each other as if in the lunch room was Babe Ruth giving out free autographs. When they got there they all moaned. A huge line AGAIN. All the other classes beat them there. Ms. White’s class, Ms. Nolan’s class, and of course, Ms. Robertson’s class were all in line. Finally Ms. K’s class got to the front. Chef Brett said, “Late again!” in his smiley doesn’t-really-mean-it voice. Then, similarly to the way Lil Mike said “stupid girls,” he said, “Losers.” Mason and Lil Mike both looked at each other and gave each other the “I wanna kill this guy” look. They would’ve killed him if he wasn’t bigger, smellier and more powerful than them.

Mason and Lil Mike sat down together.

“Don’t you think it’s not fair the way she treats us?” said Lil Mike as he stuffed a hamburger in his mouth.

“Yeah Gertrude is such a j-”

“No, not her, even though she can be a jerk-”

“THANK YOU!” Lil Mike yelled. “Thats exactly what I’m saying. Wait,” said LM, “Then who’s the she?”

“You tell me!” said Mason.

Lil Mike took a second and then said, “Oh. Ms. K. I hate her too. You know, why don’t we do something about her. She’s so mean, and just makes our problems worse, and while she’s not doing that, she’s yelling at us!”

“Well maybe you’re right – maybe we should do something about it. I mean, if we really needed to, there are way more of us than her, so if we REALLY needed to, overthrowing her would not be a problem.”

Lil Mike then had that look that people get midway through TV shows implying that a mystery has been solved. Then Lil Mike said, “Let’s do it!”

Mason then said, laughing, “I wish,” as he took as sip of his lemonade.

“What! You said it yourself! If we could do this the right way, no one would ever know! We would have the best day-”

“Day! Year! We could do it to all the teachers as long as we have enough people.”

Lil Mike grinned. “We must gather the army.”

Chapter 4

The army started with Lil Mike and Mason. Then William F joined due to his everlasting friendship with LM, and then came Ben, who shortly was followed by his GF Olivia. Now there were 5. They needed at least 10 from each class. After that they would hope others would join. Some would oppose. More would accept. Alex, Prude, Juan, Emily P, and Alberto made it 10. That was enough for them, because they knew 75% of the grade would accept, as I already said. I was just reviewing for those of you that don’t really pay attention or just skim over my story.

After lunch was recess, and after recess was history. Now personally I like history, but it’s hard to like history when your teacher isn’t exactly “into” it. If you don’t get what I’m saying, Ms. K hates history, so it’s SO boring. The ten students had a plan. They were just waiting for the perfect time.

Chapter 5

(This is the one y’all been waiting for! Hopefully…oh look at that – it wasn’t!)

“Alright class, the following packet has questions from the reading that you were supposed to have read.” She gave Tim A a stare. “You read it right?” she said with an evil grin.

“Yes ma’m,” he said in a serious way.

Then as the children were working she said “Ok kids, so behave I’m gonna go use the restroom, now don’t you go causin’ any trouble, got that?”

“Yes Ms. K.”

Ok, pause. Why do teachers always say restroom? Just say bathroom, cause restroom sounds like you’re going to a room where you take a nap. When I was 6 my teacher said she was going to the restroom, and I thought she was going to a room where a bunch of teachers take a nap on the colorful round chairs, kinda like a teacher’s lounge. To this day when someone says restroom, that is what I think of – my first grade teacher sitting on that colorful round chair.

ANYWAYS.

When Ms. K left, the class waited a moment and then… BOOM, constant talking.

“So did you see that post Emily Q made…”

“And like the homework last night was so confusing.”

“OMG, who is going to eat those hamburgers like what if Chef Brett just pooped and then put it on a hamburger bun!”

“I read that’s what they do at Burger King on Wikipedia!”

Lil Mike shot Mason a look. They were both considering if they wanted to do it now, or not, and if so, how would they “execute their plan,” to get Ms. K out of their lives and freedom into them. William F gave LM the same look. LM got up, gave both of them the “follow me to the front of the classroom” look, and they did. At the front of the classroom LM said to both of them, “If we wanna get this to work, we need to get her at a time where she’s acting like the bad Ms. K we know she is. Cause if we do it now, less people will get on board, plus we won’t really be AS into it as we know we can be.”

“Point,” said William F.

Mason then said “But I wanna do this soon! I mean you’re right, now’s not the time, but let’s aim for by the end of the week at least.”

“Done,” they both said.

Chapter 6

Tuesday

Now it’s Tuesday. Yay. We are one day closer to the REBELLION, even though, for all you know it could be today (Tuesday). Notice I said you, because I know when it will be, or at least I can decide.

Bell rings.

Everyone goes in. For some reason it was one of those blehhhh days where nobody had energy to do anything, including work or talk. One of those days where you just watch a couple episodes of a show or a movie, and then take a long nap. But instead it’s a Tuesday, so you gotta go to school. Ms. K obviously wasn’t feeling like the students were.

“Ok class, are we all settled?”

“Well I wanna go back to bed and-”

“That was a rhetorical question, Alex,” Ms. K said in a don’t-get-me-started way.

After a horrific first period full of yelling, it was off to music, which kind of made everybody’s day a tad brighter because like who doesn’t Mr. Freedberg? But it didn’t last long, because guess what was next? HISTORY. Uhhhh. That kind of cancelled out the funness of Mr Freedberg (if you know what I mean) and sent everybody back to the blehhh mood. Periods four and five were just like period one. Boring and long. Lunch was at 1 instead of 12:30 because of a lunch swap, and this made everyone starving.

During period 6 Mason, LM, and William F had an emergency meeting.

“What’s this all about?” Said William F.

“Should we do it now?”‘ Said Mason.

“Do wha- oh. Maybe.”

“Think about it” Said LM.

“Everyone‘s hungry. People can do crazy things when they’re hungry, like beat up teachers and put them in closets.”

“Good point.” Said LM.

Mason nods.

The decisions is made.

They will do it now.

Chapter 7

The act

“Little Mike, could you please sit down,” said Ms. K. “You too Mason, and William F please sit down.”

As Mason and William F went to sit down, LM put his arm out, as if restricting them. He gave them the I-got-this look.

“No Ms. K, I refuse to sit down,” he stomped.

Ms. K looked furious, “William Jason Feidelberg, you sit down RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME!”

Little Mike’s face turned an extremely dark shade of red. “No I will not listen to you anymore! I am sick to death listening to teachers! My parents and mentors have always told me to, but they are wrong. I will not take orders from some frauds! You think you know how we feel but…”

“MICHAEL, SIT NOW!”

“NO YOU SIT DOWN! I WILL NOT TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU! Think about it. There are more of us than you. A revolution could happen any second now. You teachers are just lucky we waited this long but now the time is upon us! PUT HER IN THE CLOSET!”

“Mike, there isn’t a closet,” said Mason in a lowish voice so only the three of them could here. “

Then tie her up and put her on her desk!”

At least 6 students got up and charged at her, only to realize there wasn’t much to tie her up with, so they just made a big dog pile with her on the bottom. They then put duct tape on her mouth, and had people guarding the door, so everyone couldn’t hear her yelling and misery. They then hit her head on a chair to knock her out. The revolution had begun.

This was War.

Chapter 8

War

After LM took in all this, he asked the people at the door, so he could “take care of some business.”

LM went down to the cafeteria, wear other kids were eating, and he found Chef Brett.

“Hey shortie, how’s it been?” he said with one of those evil smiles.

LM responded by pulling out a yard stick from behind his back and saying “Your food sucks!”

Then he whacked him in the head with the yardstick various times until he was on the ground. After Little Mike was done with his beating, he ran upstairs, and told his army the news. They were amazed.

“Kids, can you quiet down! I can hear you from the 5th floor!” said Mr. Roberts, an eighth grade history teacher, known for his dreadful ‘Roberts’ stare. So LM smacked him in his belly button with the yardstick. Then they threw him in the room and shut the door. They tied him up next to Ms. K using duct tape they stole from the art room. They stole Ms. K and Mr. Robert’s phones so that A: they couldn’t call the cops, and B: so that the kids could play with awesome smart phones.

LM had an idea that he told Mason and Will F. You’ll have to wait and see what it was.

Across the hall was room 304. If there was ever going to be a room that would find out about this, it was 304. As Mason and Will F walked behind him into 304, LM kicked open the door like in all the movies and it was awesome! He walked in, interrupting their math class. Ms. Beomonte gave him the “Who do you think you are!” look.

“You teachers have bossed us around for two long! This ends NOW! Charge!”

LM pointed to her with his half meter stick. The 304 kids piled on her and the next thing LM knew she was tied up back in 303 (their homeroom.) So now Mr. Roberts, Ms. K, and Ms. B were all tied up, and Chef Brett was on the kitchen floor. Speaking of Chef Brett, LM knew Chef Brett wouldn’t be knocked out forever.

Time to bring him up to the third floor.

Chapter 9: Special delivery

LM and a couple other kids (not Mason and Will F. because they were left in charge of 303), went down the stairs to carry Chef Brett into the elevator, and then up to 303. If they ran into any teachers in the elevator, well…let’s just say they brought the duct tape. The trip downstairs went smoothly, but when they got to the kitchen Chef Brett had gotten up and was talking to Mr. Drozlesfinklesteinelzstrerererdythe, Mr. Droz for short.

“So, I tell you, this kid in Ms. K’s class, Michael I think, comes up to me and whacks me in the head with a half meter stick!” Chef Brett was practically jumping up and down in fury and shock.

“Listen Chef,” said Mr Droz, “I think, you’re crazy. You’re telling me a little kid beat a 36 year old with a half meter stick? I think you slipped on some of your sauce, banged your head had some crazy dream, because apparently 36 year old chefs have crazy dreams! Now I have a class to teach!”

“But wait, really, I’m not lying! Really!”

“Bye Chef.”

Chef Brett then sat down on his little chef dude chair.

“Looks like no one believes you, Chef.”

“You! You little rascal! Imma teach you a-” BANG.

Gertrude hit Chef Brett in the back of his head, and then tried to spit on him but some how failed and made this weird gagging noise and kind of regurgitated some mucus.

“Good job ‘Trude. Why don’t you go find a garbage can.”

Then ‘Trude ran towards the can and puked some more. Then LM and the Tims’s dragged Chef Brett into the elevator and went up to the 3rd floor to add him to their collection.

Chapter 10: We Shall Learn

Now kids, what you just heard is not a true story.

Because if it was we would be in a free kingdom of glory.

But since it’s not we’re stuck with this.

A crazy old world keeping thoughts in the air, waiting for someone to take a deep breath.

St. Mark’s Place

Everyday after I come home after school, my mother always asks, “Any new grade to show me?” She never seems to understand that I would have to hand in a paper in order to get a grade. My mother is completely immersed in my academic life. She is always eager for my next A or waiting for my teacher’s latest comment on my essay. She checks my grades every night on the computer and talks to me about the A- that I received on a test, telling me to study more or to ensure that my grades would not continue to drop below a 95. Although I am still only a freshman, she countlessly reminds me that I should aim for valedictorian for my senior year and to think about ways to get into Harvard. This year, she tried to enroll me and my friends into multiple summer programs, which included a medical sleepaway camp and community service programs. My friends, thankfully, were not too excited about that idea.

My mother sees my friends as more of a hinderance to my academic life. She seems to think that they do not care about their future simply because they do not put in extra effort to get straight A’s. On the other hand, my friends would probably say that my mother is too strict and absolutely crazy. They describe her as one of those stereotypical Asian moms. My friends are the type of people that enjoy going to parties, being on their own, and, in general, doing things that their parents would not approve. In a sense, they’re what every other teenager aspires to be. They’re confident, bold, and independent, and those are only some of the qualities that I admire about them.

Many times, my friends and I would fantasize about getting piercings and tattoos and dyeing our hair crazy colors. I remember numerous text messages we sent of photos of only people with our desired look: gauges, facial piercings, a mix between adorable and edgy fashion. On Tumblr or other social media, I often find myself wanting to dress like these other girls and making them my style, but I always feel the need to hide my clothes from my parents. It’s not that I’m showing too much skin or that I simply look over the top. I’m really more concerned with how everyone, including my mom, always thinks that I want to copy my friends or that they have changed me negatively. Even though we continuously want to change our image, we could never go through with our plan because of our parents.  If we dyed all of our hair, the result would be too obvious to hide, and we were not willing to completely disobey our parents with tattoos, so my last option was to get a piercing.

I thought about the piercing for weeks. I was worried about how much it would hurt, whether or not it would heal in time for me to play volleyball and softball, but most importantly, how long I would be able to keep the piercing a secret from my mom. My friend, Lily, had already explained to me how much her cartilage piercing hurt during recovery, and pain was my biggest fear. Before getting the piercing, I thought a lot about how I might need my mother’s consent. I read numerous articles about St. Marks and underage piercings, so I wasn’t sure if I could even get it done. My friends and I even thought about going with Lily’s mom, so we could tell the piercer that I was adopted. I have always envied my friend for having one of those “cool” moms. She can talk to her mother about her boyfriends, parties, and fashion. Her mother even went to the piercer with her daughter. My mother, on the other hand, made fun of the idea of having multiple piercings. She believes that I should look more ladylike and less crazy. She says that she only let me dye my hair and go to parties so I wouldn’t do the same in college. I guess she thinks that if I have all my experiences in high school, I won’t need to have any more in the future.

On this day, Lily and I met up with our friend Nick. I told my mom that I was going to a Key Club event so I could be sure she wouldn’t call. I looked up multiple times the directions to St. Marks and for awhile, even got a bit lost when we exited the station. The street immediately made us feel apprehensive, especially when we stepped in front of the piercing shop. The clothing shops had the look of abandoned factories, and the workers all had either tattoos, huge gauges, or dyed hair. The three of us paused, waiting for someone to make the first move and go into the store. I was mostly afraid of looking like a poser since I felt that I didn’t belong at such an edgy place. I mean, all around me were six-inch platform creepers and leather chokers with spikes. Lily seemed to feel more at home at St. Marks. She wore clothes from Trash and Vaudeville and looked like the type of person that would fit in; multiple people have even mistaken her for Avril Lavigne. However, when it came time to actually get the piercing, she was as intimidated as I was. This first place we visited agreed to do it at first, but the piercer rejected us since I didn’t bring an ID. Disappointed, we walked further down the street in hopes to find another place. Luckily, as I was talking about the piercing, a shady man on the street jumped out from his small store to call me over. He was completely bundled up from head to toe in winter clothes. I couldn’t even tell where he was from because of his accent. It definitely wasn’t American though. He was willing to pierce my ear without an ID. I didn’t trust this bundled man at first, but in the end, agreed to let him pierce my ear since I felt that it was only option.

As I sat in the chair, I looked around to see dozens of photos of the people the bundled man had pierced before. His shop was tiny, probably even smaller than my bedroom. Lily even had to sit on Nick, sharing a single chair. There was no front desk or display case like the first store we went into and for heating, the bundled man worked around a small portable heater. He pulled out a couple studs for me to choose the design I wanted, but when I asked if I could get a ring, he strangely refused and tried telling me that using the gun piercer was better. (It wasn’t.) It seemed as if he wasn’t qualified to use a needle, so I didn’t mention it a second time. I thought about backing out multiple times. However, I couldn’t after dragging my two friends into the city. The bundled man was already marking my ear with a sharpie, and I was too afraid to even tell him to stop. I looked over at my friends, who were busy filming me for Snapchat, as I was experiencing the greatest fear of the entire trip. I thought over my decision multiple times in the short moment the bundled man was preparing to pierce my ear. Before I knew it, it was done. Strangely, I no longer felt worried about the pain or hiding the piercing from my mom. All of a sudden, the piercing wasn’t a big deal to me, and I even decided to get a second one.

After I got it done, I came back home confident that my mom would never see my piercing. In the first couple weeks, I had to cup my ear whenever she hugged me in case she would hit it in the process. She did that twice until I learned to protect it. I specifically got the piercing on my left ear since my hair would cover it. However, sometimes I even forget that it’s there, and I have to quickly take my hair out of a ponytail when she walks into the room. (The only person in my house that knows I have a piercing is my sister. She tends to keep all of my secrets and normally doesn’t judge the things I do, even if she thinks that they’re mistakes.) With my friends, I tend to show off the fact that I have multiple piercings by getting a matching earring with Lily and having my friends wait longer because I have to take out six earrings before the softball game. With them, I don’t have to worry; I simply get to be myself.

The Journey (Excerpt)

Prologue 1:  The Book

In NYC on April 13th,  2250, a man sat down on a park bench.

He had a book.

It was old.

It was from a museum.

And he had stolen it.

The book was dug up by an ancient book collector. His collection was a museum. The man had stolen from the museum.

The book had a title.

“The Book of Nick the Prophet.”

Inside a pouch, the man felt a crystal. He pulled it out and then the explosion happened.

 

Prologue 2: The End

At every nuclear facility there was an error. All bombs were set off.

Radiation was everywhere.

75% of the world died. Others were mutated.

Shaqueesha-lina had been released.

250 years later…

 

Chapter 1: Lawrence the teller

Ten-year-old Gale Hersh sat down during Teller Day. Every month, the kids of Park Valley had to go learn what they needed to know from Teller Lawrence. It was the most boring day of the whole month.

Gale spent the rest of his days doing his chores or playing around or hanging out at the orphanage. His job was to help the mayor. He served him food did chores and comforted him.

Gale considered himself lucky that he was not born a big person. The big people were born in the form of flying beasts. They had their wings and tails cut off. They were given special therapy that turned them human. Most of the people were normal height. Some said all humans used to be big people. And, the big people were not always born with wings and tails. People said that it was bad air. Some called the air: radiation.

“And,” continued Lawrence, “You should not be curious about the outside. Any fool who does that will die of the dangers.”

Gale stood up. Anger rushed through him.

“My father was not a fool!”

“Y0ur father’s curiosity is what killed him and your mother,” Lawrence said with a harsh stare.

Gale sat back down. When Gale was only two years old, his father fell in the lake. But then, his father learned how to swim. He tried various ways of doing it. Then he decided to show it to Gale’s mother. When they left to go, they never returned. Everyone said they drowned.

Gale lived at the town orphanage. He was not very lonely. He had his best friend, Damon Spikes.

But Gale was haunted by living without parents. He had a huge fear of water. But he never really knew them, so it did not really matter. He had always pictured his father being a very wise and brave man.

And Teller Lawrence was not going to change his opinion.

Chapter 2: The mayor’s guest

Gale sat next to the mayor’s daughter, Anastasia Gutentag, during tea time. Gale had no chores to do around the mansion, so he was able to join the mayor for tea. Technically, this was the reason why Gale had picked the job.

The mayor was one of the big people. People referred to the bigger people as draco magnus. In fact, the name for the people his height was magnitudine exiguus. The mayor’s daughter was also a draco magnus. Anastasia was tall with hair so dark that it made Gale’s blond hair look white.

The mayor burst in. His big belly was right in front of him. Behind him was another draco magnus. He had black curly hair and big bulging muscles. Gale shivered a little at the sight of him. But the look in his eyes was very friendly.

“Anastasia, Gale,” said the mayor in his booming voice. “I would like you to meet Carter Carlston. He was on his own in the woods, living in a hut. Last night, he happened to come upon our town. He will stay with me for now until we find a place for him.”

A sudden question burst into Gale’s mind.

“How big is the park?”

The mayor stared at him for a while, and then added, “Too big for us to know.”

Two and a half centuries ago, the ancestors of the town escaped the cruelty of the world. They fled to the park and settled down.

Gale looked over at Carter. Carter smiled at him. It was hard for Gale to imagine what life would be like without the straightness of the town.

Maybe that life wasn’t so bad. But Gale wasn’t going to be interested anytime soon.

Chapter 3: The Familiar Eyes

Gale hobbled back to the orphanage where he ran into his best friend, Damon Spikes.

“Hey,” Damon said.

Gale suppressed a smile and went to bed with no supper and passed out. He was exhausted from a big day.

*******************************************************

That night Gale dreamed that a man was talking to him. He couldn’t make out the features that well. He seemed familiar.

He was saying one sentence.

“I am coming.”

********************************************************

The next day, Damon shook Gale awake.

“You have to check this out,” he said.

Gale yawned and followed him outside. The whole town was gathered around a man. He had brown hair so bright it was almost blonde. He had a big beard that went to his chest. He had a gray cloak and a big tree branch for a staff. Gale wondered why he had a staff when he did not need one. But his eyes, they were so familiar. But Gale could not remember where he had seen them before.

“SILENCE!!” cried the mayor. Then he turned to the man. “Speak.”

“I am Admiratio,” said the man. “I have come with an offer. I know the way out of the park.”

“Nonsense!” cried the chief of the guard. Right next to him was his 11-year-old daughter, Ashley Jakes.

“But, I have been outside,” Admiratio continued. “And I will take anyone who wants to go with me.”

“You have no right to say that to my people!” shouted the mayor. “I make the laws!”

“Only an idiot would go with you!” shouted Teller Lawrence.

“Then I am an idiot!” shouted Anastasia. She stepped forward. “I would like to come.”

“Me too,” said Carter. He stepped forward. “Anyone else?”

A bunch of people stepped forward. Gale found himself walking towards the man, too.

Part of him thought, What am I doing? but the the other part was ready for an adventure.

Chapter 4: Taking The Leave

Gale sat down in his bed while Damon bragged about going on the trip. Actually, the only people who were staying were the orphans besides Gale and Damon, two families, the chief guard (even though his family was going), the mayor, and Lawrence. Everyone else was coming. Gale was already starting to regret that he wanted to go. But, he wanted to learn more about the Admiratio dude.

He decided to rest on it.

**********************************************

Damon shook him awake at 5:00.

“Dude, they are leaving,” he said in a hushed voice.

Gale thought of turning down. But staying was not an option anymore.

Gale took a pack and stuffed some useless things. He did not have anything to use to sleep on, so he hoped that the ground was soft. He already had a list of what he had packed.

  • Two canteens of water

 

  • A picture of his family

 

  • His dad’s old clothes

It wasn’t much, but Gale thought it was enough for him. He followed Damon to where the group that was leaving was.

He looked over to the big huddle of people. He squeezed in.

Admiratio was standing at the edge of the road. He bonked his cane into the ground five times.

“Attention please!” he shouted. “I know this this has come quickly, but we are going to leave. I cannot guarantee all of your lives. This will be a brutal trip. And once you leave, there is no coming back.”

There was some noise in the crowd and Gale stood on his tiptoes to see the man. He fell down onto one of the girl scouts. They were three sisters, Whitney, Britney, and Mary. They were orphans but stayed with Fisher Joe’s wife. All they did was go around selling cookies. They were kind of wimpy in Gale’s opinion. He doubted that they would last the journey. There was also Fisher Joe’s family, Grocer Tom’s family, Farmer Frank’s family, Baker Bob’s family, Blacksmith Ivan’s family, Butcher Biff’s family, Alistair, who was the brother of the chief of guard and his family, Doc West, Old Man Flounder, Anastasia Gutentag, Carter Carlston, Gale, Damon and Admiratio. Gale looked around for the kids. There was him, Damon, the girl scouts, Grocer Tom’s kids, Hazel and Don Kotouc. Malcolm, Fisher Joe’s nerdy son and his two rhinoceros shaped siblings Butch and Butchina, Joey and Johnny, Alistar’s sons, Ashley Jakes who was with Alistar, Bo, who was Baker Bob’s son and his baby brother, Bobby Perkinson, Butcher Biff’s son, Griff, and Blacksmith Ivan’s little brother, Harry.

In other words, there were a lot of people coming. Gale watched as Admiratio led everyone down the road leaving the town. He followed. This was his last time seeing the place he called home.

Chapter 5: Carter

Gale stayed close to Damon as the huge group marched down the big paved road.

He was being squished by the crowd. He tried to push out, but it was impossible. He had no strength. He was the weak kind of kid.

Someone tapped Gale on the  shoulder. It was Carter.

“Hey,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Um….hey.” Carter was about two times the size of Gale. It was like comparing yourself to a statue.

“So, I realized you and your friend hadn’t brought something to sleep in. I thought I might invite you two into Anastasia and my tent.”

Gale did not know what to say. He wasn’t good with talking. He smiled and gave a thumbs up.

***********************************************************

That night, Gale and Damon huddled in the sleeping bag. It was draco magnus size, so there was plenty of room for the both of them. They played cards in the tent while Carter and Anastasia were deep in chatter.

“Where do you think that weird dude is going to take us?” Damon asked.

“I don’t know,” Gale replied.

“What do you think the outside world is like?” Damon asked again.

“I don’t know,” Gale replied again.

Gale curled up and put his head down on the pillow. Homesickness was barking at his feet. He wished his father was with him.

But I am, a voice replied.

Gale looked around. He must have been seeing things.

Chapter 6: The Butcher’s Fall

The next day, Gale and Damon kept close to Carter. He felt like a big brother to Gale. Anastasia had her arm around Carter. Was it just him, or could Gale see something coming between them?

Gale walked and looked around at the trees. They were walking down the same boring road. Gale hoped that it would end.

After a while they came to two men standing by a path that led off the road. The first man was man made out of clay. Literally made completely out of clay. The next one wore spandex that stretched over his bulky muscles. The words “I am Batman” were written all over his clothes. He was wearing a biker’s helmet. And he had no face. Just a big black pit. They were very mysterious looking.

Admiratio walked right up to them. Everyone gasped as he shook hands with them. He turned around and smiled.

“I know you are all shocked,” he said. “These are my…well…you could call them my colleagues. They would not like to reveal their names just yet.”

He smiled again and then gestured to the side path.

“This is the way out,” he said and then smiled for the third time.

Butcher Biff cut in.

“Now wait a minute. That path does not look very safe.”

Biff had a point. The side path went along a steep ridge. It was made out of sand and had little shrubbery. At the bottom of the ridge there was a cloud of gases.

“The only unsafe part is those gases. They are full of bad chemicals,” Admiratio said, looking annoyed.

“I don’t beeleev nuttin,” Biff said, crossing his arms.

“Then maybe you should test it out,” Admiratio said.

“Shu,” answered Biff. He walked over to the path.

“Be careful of the light sand. It’s slippery,” Admiratio called.

“Wudeva,” he said.

Biff stepped onto the path and started walking. And sure enough, it was safe.

“What is down there?” Biff asked, pointing to the clouds of gases.

“Toxic waste. Remember not to step on the light sand,” Admiratio reminded him.

Biff took a step forward.

“What the hell are you doing!” Admiratio yelled.

“I don’t believe you,” Biff said.

He stepped onto the light sand. He slipped a little. His legs went under him and he went flying into the clouds of gases.

For a long moment everyone stood there in shock. Screams echoed through the woods. Gales stomach flipped. This was the first time he had ever seen someone die.

“We must continue,” Admiratio said.

Gale started down the path, not knowing what was going to lie ahead.

Chapter 7: The Storm

As Gale continued down the path, he felt sicker and sicker. He kept seeing the scared look on the butcher’s face before he died. The others seemed sad, but not as surprised. Gale tried to keep as close to Carter as possible. Damon was somewhere behind them. Gale looked behind at Doc West. The old man was humbling around with his heavy backpack. Griff was running towards them.

He grabbed Doc West’s backpack.

“Out of my way, you stupid old man!” he shouted. He flung the backpack towards the edge.

The pack slipped off Doc West’s shoulders. It rolled down to the gases. Doc West stared at Griff. Griff just pushed past the old man.

Gale stared at the teenager. Griff stared back at Gale.

“What are you looking at. Butthead!” he shouted at Gale. Carter tapped Griff on the shoulder.

Griff looked up. Carter was a foot and a half taller.

“Pick on someone your own size,” Carter said. He pushed Griff ahead. Then he turned to Doc West.

“Are you okay?” he asked the old man.

“I am fine,” Doc West replied. “I am fine with sleeping on the ground.”

Carter started walking faster. Gale ran to keep up with them. They found Admiratio perched atop a cliff. He was staring out at the gases. Gale followed his eyes. Admiratio was staring at a huge cloud of gases forming.

“There’s going to be a storm tonight,” he said. “Everybody should take shelter.”

“How bad is it?” Gale asked.

“Deadly,” Admiratio responded.

***********************************************************************

That night, everyone was frantic. The storm was coming closer and closer. Gale was helping Carter set up the tent. Damon was panicking. Anastasia was sitting on the rocks with Blacksmith Ivan, staring at eachother.

Gale could see Carter looking at Ivan with jealousy. Gale felt bad for Carter, but he knew it was not his business.

Doc West was invited into Carter’s tent because he had no supplies. They ate dinner by the fire. Then Admiratio said that everyone had to be in their tents until the storm was over. Gale took one last look at the outside and then crawled into the tent.

He lay there next to Damon for a while. Waiting and waiting for the storm to come.

Then he realized someone was missing.

“Where is Anastasia?” he asked.

“With the blacksmith,” Carter yawned.

Gale lay back down for a few more minutes.

“Oh, crap,” Doc West said.

“What is it?” Gale asked.

“I forgot to use the bathroom,” he replied.

“Just hold it in,” Carter said.

Gale lay back down for another few minutes. Then Doc West started whining.

“Shut up or I will beat the crap out of you!” shouted a voice from another tent, probably Griff’s.

The wind was battering the tent. Doc West got up.

“Where are you going?” Gale asked.

“I really have to pee,”  Doc West said.

“You can’t go out! Admiratio said you will get hurt!” Gale shouted.

“I am going to get hurt if I have to hold in my pee any longer.”

Doc West left the tent and ran into the storm. Screaming filled the air. Then Gale heard the tent door open and someone come in and scream. Gale covered his ears and went to sleep.

Chapter 8: On Top Of The World

Gale woke up shaking from the night before. He even thought that he was dead for a moment. Then he pushed himself up and got out of his sleeping bag. Damon was still fast asleep. Gale opened the flap and squeezed out of the tent. When he was outside, he gasped. The whole site was covered with sand. Admiratio was perched on a rock.

“What the heck happened?” Gale asked.

“The wind, it turned over the entire mountain,” Admiratio responded. “We must leave now.”

Admiratio started rousing the groups up and telling them to go. Gale walked over to help Carter.

“How is Doc West?” Gale asked.

“I do not know,” Carter responded. “He is badly hurt”

Gale shook Doc West.

“Uhhh,” muttered the old man.

“Are you okay?” Gale asked.

“Leave me,” Doc West moaned.

Gale stared at Carter.

“We have no choice,” he said. “We must ditch the tent.”

Gale roused Damon. The two of the got their belongings and left the tent. Carter followed after them.

Gale felt very guilty about having to leave Doc West. But he knew it was hopeless. He still felt less sickened than the time he saw the butcher die. It confused him.

Everyone crowded around Admiratio. People yelled at him about the sandstorm. The clay man and the no face man were pushing the people away.

“Guys, guys,” Admiratio said. “We must continue. You cannot stop now. I never guaranteed your safety. We must take the secret mountain path.”

“The heck is that?” asked grocer tom.

“I am forbidden to show you the next path coming up, so you guys must be blindfolded.”

The people had no choice.They had to do what admiratio said.

Everyone was split into groups. Gale and Damon were separated.

Gale was put with carter and a bunch of others. Their leader was the no face dude.

“Hey you, blondie,” someone said behind him. It was Fisher Joe’s ten year old son, Malcolm. Malcolm was a nerdy and skinny kid with glasses.

“Yeah?” Gale asked.

“Is that giant dude your brother?”

“Malcolm.” It was Ashley, Alistar’s niece and the chief of guard’s 11 year old daughter. She elbowed malcolm in the side.

The man with no face blindfolded them and tied their waists to a rope.

All of a sudden, Gale felt himself being dragged by a rope. For the next two hours, he found himself being pulled from place to place.

After a while he had his blinds taken off.

He was on top of a mountain. Next to him was Malcolm on his knees. He was staring at the view.

“How high is this mountain?” he asked.

The man without a face didn’t answer.

“Where are we?” Ashley asked.

Admiratio caught up with them. He pointed ahead to the other side of the mountain. The mountain led down to a bunch of forestland.

“That,” he said, “once was downtown Manhattan.”

Carter was gasping at the view. Gale stood with Ashley and Malcolm. This was a view to remember.

The clay man caught up with his group and then Admiratio said they had to get to their site before sunset. Gale continued walking with Carter, Ashley and Malcolm. They walked for hours down a steep path to almost the bottom of the mountain. They finally arrived at a flat space for camp.

That night at the fire, Admiratio said that the next day they would have to split up into sectors of people to cross the bridge. Afterward, they would continue with the groups they were blindfolded with.

For the walk to the bridge, Gale was with  Griff, Baker Bob’s son Bo, and Biff’s wife/Griff’s mom, Nancy. It wasn’t the best group to be stuck with, but Gale knew it would be okay once he got to walk with Carter again.

That night Gale lay down outside next to Carter. He had no idea what was to come the next day.

Chapter 9: The Swing

Gale woke up the next day around 5:00 in the morning. He looked just to see the no face man get his group and have them start walking. Admiratio had already gotten up even earlier to stay at the end of the group.

The leaving group contained Damon, Blacksmith Ivan and his little brother Harry, Fisher Joe and his kids Butch and Butchina, Grocer Tom, his wife, and his two kids Hazel and Don.

After they left, Gale crawled over to the fire and watched it sparkle. People began to go to the fire and and eat breakfast. At 7:00, the clay man got his group and they started walking.

His group contained Carter, Anastasia, Old Man Flounder, Fisher Joe’s wife and Malcolm, the three girl scouts, Baker Bob and his wife, their baby, Alistair, his sons Johnny and Joey, and Ashley.

Gale stayed there for a while. He watched everyone sit there for a while. Then it was 9:00, Gale and his group had to head over towards the bridge.

On the way there, Griff was silent, Nancy was whining and saying that she would die, and Bo was panting. Gale was just walking, waiting for the walk to be over. His group was taking forever.

Gale just stared out while listening to the boring bickering.

“We’ll all die!!!” Nancy shouted.

“Shut up, Mom!” Griff shouted.

“I am tired,” Bo said.

“Shut up, fat kid!” Griff shouted.

“Can you guys quit it?” Gale said in an annoyed tone.

“Shut up, short boy!”

Gale listened to Nancy complain for a while and then just spaced out.

Then he heard a scream.

“Mom, what the F**K!” Griff shouted.

Gale looked to see Nancy flinging herself off the mountain. She screamed as she fell below. Gale was horrified. That was already the third death do far. The thought shivered him.

*************************************************************************

Ashley’s group was lagging behind. They had entered some traffic of boulders. The other group could have caught up with them by now. Hopefully they hadn’t.

Finally, they had reached the bridge. It was just a log standing over one deep chasm. The fall probably meant death. Ashley’s stomach did a dance.

Of course, as usual, Ashley was last. Was it her or did the bridge look loose?

Everyone was waiting as she walked across. She tried to focus on the other side. But then she heard the cracking sound.

**********************************************************

Gale continued with Griff and Bo until they came to a big barren space. They arrived just in time to see Ashley on the cracking bridge, running to the other side.

The bridge collapsed just as ashley reached the other side.

“Ahhh!!! I am not giving up!!!” shouted Griff. He pushed Gale down and started running.

Gale got up and dashed right after him. Bo tried to catch up but fell on his face.

Sweat poured down Gale. He was burning. His whole body throbbed. He was actually running pretty fast. He was almost at the same distance as Griff.

Gale noticed some vines hanging across the cavern. He threw himself to the edge. He was falling. He held his hands out, grabbing for something. He caught a vine. He felt himself swinging towards the other side.

He missed and swung back towards Griff. Griff lunged at him but missed and was sent hurtling to the darkness below. Gale swung back. The vine was then uprooted from the cliff. Gale went flying to the other side and Ashley caught him by his shirt. She was panting heavily.

“That was close,” she said.

Bo yelled from the other side. Butcher Bob and his wife Roberta stared across at their son.

“Oh, no! All those people stuck at the other end,” exclaimed Old Man Flounder.

“I am sorry,” said Admiratio. “But we must continue.”

“I am staying to wait for Bo and the others,” said Roberta.

“Me too,” said Bob stubbornly.

“I will stay and wait until nightfall,” said Old Man Flounder.

“I am telling you, you should come with us,” said Admiratio.

“Shut up!” screamed Bob.

“Fine!” Yelled Admiratio.

The group followed him away.

Gale still was recovering from what had just happened. He went along as Admiratio led the group into a woodsy area.

Gale was then grouped with Carter, Ashley and Malcolm.
Gale did not know what to think of Griff’s death, nor the others.

Chapter 10: The Bees

Everyone continued on in silence. Malcolm kept adjusting his glasses. Ashley was playing with her hair. Carter had his head down in silence.

Gale tried to get a glimpse of damon. He was up ahead with his arm around Harry, Blacksmith Ivan’s little brother. Anastasia was with Blacksmith Ivan.

Gale looked up at Carter. The two of them were both jealous.

After a while, Amiratio told everyone to set up camp.

Gale found a spot to sleep. Carter went over to talk to Anastasia and Damon. Gale wanted to be alone.

He looked over at Ashley with Johnny, Joey and Alistair. He looked over to see the other families with each other playing and laughing.

Gale felt longing to have his own family, to know where he belonged.

He saw Admiratio staring at the families with longing, too. Gale wondered if the man once had a family.

There was a stirring in the bushes. Everyone grew silent.

Old Man Flounder popped out holding Bobby Perkinson. The baby was squirming and crying. Everyone gasped. Admiratio stood up and walked over.

“What happened?” he asked.
“We waited by the cliff for a while. Then Bob and Roberta handed me the baby and started climbing down. They took a while. I just decided to come back and hope they return. I will take care of the baby.”

“We will give them the night,” said Admiratio.

Gale shuddered a little. The journey was getting out of hand. He wanted to go home.

****************************************************************

The next day neither Bob nor Roberta had showed up. Admiratio kept the group moving.

After a while they left the woodsy area and went back to the edge of the mountain. A huge yellow thing buzzed over Old Man Flounder’s head.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“That was a bee,” Said Admiratio. “They will not bother you as long as you do not bother them. They are mutated and have poisonous stings. Be careful.”

Gale got nervous. He was bug phobic. He turned to Ashley. She just looked grossed out.

After an hour, Bobby Perkinson (the baby) started getting playful. He started hitting the flowers

Once a bee landed on a flower. Bobby whacked it. Flounder noticed the bee charging at Bobby. He started hitting the bee. Flounder threw the baby to Grocer Tom’s wife.

Flounder screamed. He fell in agony. Grocer Tom leaped at the bee. He got stung in the nipple and fell back. The bee continued to sting Flounder until the old man stopped moving.

Fisher Joe grabbed Grocer Tom.

“Run!!”  yelled Admiratio.

Everyone ran after him and left the dead body of Old Man Flounder. Then they set up camp for the night.

Grocer Tom was crying in pain. Gale noticed Tom’s wife giving the baby to the girl scouts.

Admiratio approached Grocer Tom.

“He is paralyzed,” he said. “He will live but cannot walk.”

Gale shuddered a little. Poor Grocer Tom. But by the end of the trip, Tom was the least of the people to feel bad about.

Tree of Life

Summers in the suburbs never flew by. The long and winding road of hot weather and lemonade and ice cream never seemed to connect to any sort of parking lot or gas station deli. The usually weak sun shone brighter than any collection of stars ever did on the sleepless nights during which children were most energetic. They enjoyed every last bit of play and moment of joy, and they soaked up the beauty that the grassy fields emitted; whether it was sprawling on top of it or tugging at the weeds for mud pies. Children loved the summer and they never once wished the car that rode along that endless road would come to a stop. If the winding road was seemingly forever, so should be the car.
A mint green house sat lonely on its asphalted driveway. The trees around it swayed along with the ever-so-slight wind. The front steps of its porch were withered and breaking, but just sturdy enough for a family of three to step on and into their quaint living-quarters. Perched on the wood staircase were the feet of a little girl. Book in hand, she admired the plain yet scenic neighborhood and playing children that were only a little too lively for her taste. Even so, she read the sentences before her carefully and savored every line. She paid no mind to the noises of laughter and cheer.

Then there was her tree; her tree behind the house, parallel to all the others that were unimportant to her. She sat on the porch only when the book she was reading was uninteresting. Only the great moments of her current novel could be read under this tree that she loved so dearly. The moment in the story could never be as spectacular unless she was in the comfort of the soft bark and grass that, to her, was greener than any other patch.

And she would just stay there.

The playful children always looked at her with contempt and confusion. How could such a child, and their age too, sit back and do nothing on this gorgeous day of the sadly finite summer? The girl would only reply with a simple, yet witty, “the noun ‘nothing’ has a different definition in all minds. This may be yours, but it is most certainly not mine.” The taunters would look her over once or twice, shrug their shoulders, laugh and prance off, (partly because they couldn’t pick apart her artful language). Unfortunately, sometimes other much more upsetting happenings would occur, (and in the event of a crisis, the girl would retreat to her tree no matter how boring the book).

“Hey, you!” shouted a young boy in a collared shirt lacking a button. “Get that paper out your face!”

The girl looked up from her book, hiding her aggravation. “Pardon me?”

“Look at ‘er,” said a girl in a dirty, unattractive, beige plaid dress, “usin’ fancy words like ‘pardon’ and such.”

“Better stop spending so much time with all those books,” said a larger boy in a similar outfit to the first boy. “You might catch some sorta English virus!”

“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” The girl stood up from the porch steps and walked backwards onto the doormat, preparing for the worst. “There are no English viruses. At least not that I know of.”

“Gimme that,” spat the dirty girl. She snatched the book right out of the sweaty hands of her opponent. The dirty girl turned the book over in her germ-infested fingers. She opened the front cover.

“‘Lori’?” asked the larger boy, reading over the dirty girl’s shoulder.

“That’s my name,” said the girl. “Now if you’d please–”

“So, your name ain’t Booky after all?” asked the shorter boy rhetorically. “See, that’s what we’d been calling you before. We hadn’t known your real name, so we made you a nickname.”

“Oh, well my name’s–”

“I like Booky more,” said the dirty girl.

“May I have my book back?”

“Booky!” the larger boy yelled. “Booky!”

And so on, the three sour children danced around Lori, chanting “Booky” while holding the book that she had been enjoying so much. The dirty girl waved the book around while Lori attempted to grab it, simultaneously worrying about the horrid stench the dirty girl’s hands would leave on the inside cover and front. Maybe her stench would bleed through to the text itself, Lori thought. That would be awful.

After lots of running around and even a tumble into the mud, Lori retrieved her book and ran to the back of her house where the tree awaited. She looked at the thin branches that contained more love than she ever received from her peers.

Lori didn’t need friends. She didn’t want friends. Worrying about others was something she was never good at, and she was under the impression that each and every person deserved to be cared about by someone who could truly take on the responsibility of looking out for another human being. She also had the theory that children who have bad attitudes and personalities in general are the way they are because their parents took on too big of a challenge. Lori was daunted by the idea of parenting. People were too much work. It wasn’t like any of the neighborhood children appealed to her anyway. They were all truly horrid creatures in her mind, and she couldn’t imagine being “responsible” for them. All they wanted to do was ignore their education, get dirty, wash themselves off and get dirty again. Compared to other children, Lori was very refined, but in all honesty she was an ordinary introvert who wanted a nice spot on the grass and a complicated fictional text to decipher.

She was just more mature. All through the school year, Lori concentrated on getting good marks. All through the summer, she read books, praying that no one would bother her, but those prayers were never usually answered.
Lori sat under the tree and tried to stop the tears from escaping her tired eyes. She always tried, but she usually failed. She hugged the tree while her tears stained the bark, the bark soaking them up and taking them into account. Lori always felt the branches of the tree wrap around her the same way her branches wrapped around the tree’s stump.

Lori knew she was different, but she didn’t care. Any thoughts a friend was supposed to talk about to a friend she would write down on a piece of paper and crumple up. She would then uncrumple it, impale it using the tree branch and leave it there. You couldn’t tell how many papers were actually dangling from the tree branches unless you looked closely, but no one came near that old tree besides Lori. Whenever the idea that there were things wrong with her life occurred to her, she grabbed a pencil from a can on the kitchen table and ripped a small piece of paper off a larger one. She’d sit on the grass under her tree. Her eyebrows would scrunch and her fists would tighten as she worked her pencil around the paper trying her best not to break the point for fear of running into her mother and being forced to have a conversation when entering the house a second time. She couldn’t spend too much time gathering supplies or else the idea would be lost forever. She word-vomited whatever came to mind, good or bad.

Unfortunately, the notes were usually associated with the adjective “bad.”

Lori never read a note twice, and as her life went on, each recorded moment was forgotten. Lori was conscious of the darkness of some of her notes. She tried to put the ones that she thought would scare others (and even herself ) the most towards the top of the tree, so they would still loom over her but not as closely.
Many summers later, Lori sat under her tree with a new book. It took her that long to realize that she couldn’t read on the porch anymore. The notes on the tree branches had since tripled as a result of various other events that took place since her eighth summer. Her father passed away from undiagnosed pneumonia, her aunt moved in with them after her drunk husband left her, her grades declined, she developed more immense depression, kids became meaner and her teachers lost interest in her once outstanding book reports. Lori also just kept thinking of more notes to put on the tree in general. Feelings, internal and social struggles, anything that made her want to cry. Writing notes to add to the tree was a substitute. The grass wasn’t nearly as green as it used to be, yet the tree stayed as not-lively as it was when she was younger.

Outside of school, the neighborhood children didn’t bother her as much as they did when Lori was smaller and more vulnerable to such taunting, but she was in middle school now. The children were mean whether they lived near her or not, yet they soon realized that she was experienced in ignoring them.

But that didn’t stop them.

They made fun of her clothes, which were funnily enough, a lot nicer than theirs. Girls would tease her about her hair and say she smelled bad, but that bad smell was the odor of earth, grass, parchment and nature. The boys would call her ugly and make various jokes about her appearance. Sixth grade was hard because that was when it picked up, but now she was in seventh grade, and she expected it at every turn. She considered herself immune.

Almost.

Fridays were never nice. It was the one day of the week when all the parents would let their children play after school and go from neighborhood to neighborhood strolling, laughing, playing and talking. If Lori was lucky, her classmates wouldn’t come into her neighborhood, and sometimes they didn’t. If they did, Lori would sit on the back steps of her house in the backyard, so she was hidden, but if she was being threatened she had an easy getaway.

One Friday afternoon, Lori thought she heard the acidic laughter that was vocalized when kids were approaching. She calmly and quietly, as if it were as normal as going to the bathroom, went into her house through the back door, locked it and sat on the couch to continue her book. One thing was different this time, though. In usual instances, the laughter would get louder and louder as the kids passed the mint house. Sometimes the kids would shout “Booky,” a name that followed Lori around since her younger days. Then the laughter would resume and begin to get softer and softer. Lori would then be safe to go back outside. This time, the laughter got louder and louder as the kids approached but it stayed at one, uncomfortably nearby-sounding volume. Lori looked out the window and saw five kids walking around and picking at a tree.

Lori’s tree.

She wasn’t going to take it. She was not an instigator of conflict; if it were any other part of the property, she would have waited it out. But this was her tree. There were things written on slips of paper dangling from that tree. Embarrassing things. Lori ran outside.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Get off my property!”

The kids let go of the tree branches and turned around slowly, giving Lori their full attention. “Well, would you look who it is,” said a gingery boy who went by Jon. “It’s Booky.”

Lori then decided to explore a new side of herself that she never thought would see the light of day; a side she never let outside her own head. “That’s not my name, and you know it.”

There were some “ooh’s” and “ah’s” coming from Jon’s friends.

“Aren’t you a feisty one,” asked a girl called Rosie. “You better watch your attitude, little girl.”

“You first.” After Lori said those words, she heard a faint rustling noise coming from the tree branches. She looked over and saw one of the other kids pulling a note off a branch and begin reading it. There were a few notes at his feet as well.

“Ooh, this one’s about you, Sally!” he called.

“I wanna see!” yelled Sally and another girl simultaneously.

“No!” Lori shouted at the top of her lungs. She dived at the nosy child impulsively and didn’t even realize she was tackling him. Sally and her friend stepped back and abandoned the path they were planning to take to get to the beckoning note. There was no punching, but the boy was kicking his feet in self defense.

“Get off o’ me!” he shouted as his friends watched, unsure what to do.

“Lori!”

Lori’s mom came out into the yard in a fierce rage. Her scolding words flew at Lori’s face but bounced right off as Lori resisted her mother’s pulling, keeping a watchful eye on the intrusive children and not listening. Everything her mother said went in one ear and out the other as she screamed and cried, claiming that her privacy was being invaded. She was hysterical, and even though she was screaming at the kids to leave, her craziness was what shooed them away. They ran down the street in fits of laughter and tears trickled down Lori’s face as she stared after them. Her mother, slowly figuring out what actually happened, pulled her daughter into a tight hug, cupping her face and holding it against her bosom as wet spots formed, dampening her once clean blouse.

Lori’s mother stared behind her daughter and examined what she could see of the tiny slips of paper dangling from so many of the branches. She never normally noticed them, and if she did, she never considered them something of so much importance to her daughter. She couldn’t imagine what must’ve been written on them that was so private. Lori calmed down eventually and her mother decided not to question her any further. She simply told Lori to sit in the kitchen with her for the rest of the day with her book, some lemonade and a warm blanket. Sometimes, as she washed the dishes, Lori’s mother would glance at her daughter to check on her. She would catch sight of her soft cheeks glazed with the light crust of dried tears, yet her expression itself stayed as stoic and relaxed as ever.

It wasn’t until Lori’s eighth grade year that her mother and aunt finally started to observe the pattern in her daily routines. Lori would come home from school, do her homework and spend the rest of the day reading under her tree if the weather wasn’t too harsh. A new addition to this routine, they noticed sometimes, was a minute or two that Lori reserved for a light cry. If they were lucky, they would maybe even catch her adding a note to the tree. Lori’s aunt would always say, “there’s something wrong with that girl,” but Lori’s mother would always reply with, “no, sister, there’s something right with her.” Lori’s mom always thought that her daughter would amount to great things. She recognized her daughter’s knowledge of the world and its twists and turns. She figured Lori was saving her booming thoughts until she was old enough to interpret them, but for now, she was showcasing them on this tree that no one dared go near. What Lori’s mother didn’t know was how hard it must be to live with such a big brain, and how it can make your heart and soul rot slowly away over time.

That was exactly what happened to Lori when it became too late.

She didn’t come home from her first day of high school. Her mom waited for her

anxiously while her aunt rambled on about some man she’d met at a pub. It had been four and a half hours since Lori’s expected time of arrival had passed and she still wasn’t home. Her mother started preparing for the worst, and rightly so.

Lori’s mom went outside to the backyard and decided it was time to read these notes. She’d pondered the idea that maybe they held clues as to where she was. Her slippers pressed against the damp grass with urgency as she made her way to the withering tree. She grabbed the first note she could see.

Papa dead from pneumonia. Rest in peace.

Lori’s mom shivered as she remembered the awful event. She crumpled the note back up, threw it on the ground and removed another one.

Joey called me an ugly bat and said the same about Mama. What a horrible boy.

She grabbed another, intrigued.

Aunt Anna is drinking again. Mama argues with her a lot and it keeps me up at night.

Lori’s mom kept going through the notes in what seemed to her like chronological order; every note she picked up was more dark and serious than the one before it. She started with the ones towards the bottom of the tree first.

Sam Boyce called me a toad. He’s the toad. I hope he burns in hell one day.

I see the cars coming when I walk across the street. I know the car is a safe distance away and that I can make it across in time, but it takes more power to will myself to keep walking. Don’t stop walking. People will be sad.

Billy Sanders is really swell. Very cute, too. I like him because he is nice to me. I think he likes me.

Billy Sanders is a phony.

Sally punched me in the stomach today, so I punched her back and got sent to the principal’s office. It’s funny how only I get caught. They’re gonna burn in hell one day.

Billy Sanders tried talking to me today, so I spit in his face.

I almost stopped walking.

Everyone will burn in hell one day. Just you watch.

Booky will get them all back one day, those sinners.

The darker the notes, the more scared Lori’s mother became. Soon a pile of

crumpled pieces of paper formed at her feet as she picked up the last one from the tree. With tired eyes she looked around at the leaves, once an unnatural, papery white, now back to green. She sighed as she tossed the last note onto the ground, but suddenly, some black markings on a lone leaf caught her eye. She looked closer and was soon able to make out the words For Mom, scrawled on the leaf in thick Sharpie. She hadn’t noticed it before. She carefully ripped the leaf from its branch and turned it over. She read the words slowly and carefully, then out loud so her sister, who came up behind her, could hear. She took a deep breath.

Don’t come looking for me.

 

That Divorce Story

Later, I’d wonder what would happen if I hadn’t spilled the milk that morning in my haste to pour it into the cereal bowl. I wouldn’t have to have taken a detour on the way home, and I wouldn’t have discovered what I did.

I had overslept, and so I spilled milk as I rushed to pour myself cereal. As I wolfed it down, I was treated to the “this is how you kiss, in case you were wondering” show, performed by my parents, which made me roll my eyes, but I clapped when they were done. Still, I was an hour late to school, had to argue with the secretary about whether or not my absence was excusable, found out that my best friend, Amanda, was angry at me because I forgot to call her, and, by the time three o’clock rolled around, wanted nothing more than to sink back into my welcoming bed.

But I couldn’t yet. I had homework, and, as I was driving home in the Toyota I’d gotten for my sixteenth birthday, I got a text from my mom, which I pulled over to check (no one can say I wasn’t responsible when driving). The text instructed me to swing by the grocery store and perhaps purchase some milk, because apparently I’d spilled out the last of it this morning, and my mom was too busy to do it.

As I pulled up to the neighborhood Kmart, I was thinking about how annoying it was that I’d managed to make myself even more delayed. I needed to finish that history paper, and apologize to Amanda for whatever I’d done. I sighed in a mix of self-disgust and impatience as I plunked the milk (nonfat — I was trying to lose weight) down onto the checkout counter.

I lugged the shopping bags back to the car (they weren’t that heavy, but I was both chunky and unathletic) and jammed them in the trunk. As I walked around to the front of the car, my eye caught on a couple kissing a few yards away. The woman was leaning back against the wall of the supermarket, and the man was pressing up against her. I rolled my eyes — ever since the breakup with my most recent boyfriend, I had been on a crusade against PDA — and swung into the car.

As I drove out of the parking lot, I passed the couple who were (still!) kissing against the wall.

My foot slammed on the brakes.

No. No, it couldn’t be. No, it wasn’t.

But the back of the head that was now just a few feet away had the crumpled brown hair. The old gray sweater was unmistakable. The man was my father. And he was kissing a young blonde like he was married to her. But I knew better. He was married to my mother, and they were very much in love.

Were they?

Only seconds had passed, but all my breath had whooshed out of my body in one swift gasp. I looked closer. The woman was wearing a name tag. Hello My Name is Zoe. She was one of the checkout clerks.

Several cars were now lined up behind me, waiting to exit the parking lot, but I couldn’t move. Or breathe. All I could do was stare as my father took his hands off Zoe’s hips and put them on his chest.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and took a picture of them kissing. I have no idea why I did that, but the only thing that came to mind later is that I was once told that if we saw a crime being committed and we couldn’t do anything to help, we should record it. This was definitely a crime.

A few horns honked. I tried to make myself move, but I was still frozen. A man got out of the car behind me and walked up to my window. He stood between me and the couple, who before I had thought was annoying but whom I now realized was the worst thing that would ever happen to me. “Why the hell aren’t you moving?” he shouted angrily at me.

I rolled down my window. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly, and I saw my father break away for the first time from the hot blonde who was not my mother, “but I’ve just discovered that my father is cheating on my mother.”

My father turned around, an expression of the most extreme horror and shame that I have ever seen. My heart twisted. “Sammi,” he whispered.

The driver of the other car looked at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked him.

I closed the window and drove away.

I dropped the milk at the doorstep of our house, but I didn’t go inside. I couldn’t face my mother with what I knew. I couldn’t ruin what had probably been a normal day for her. I couldn’t ruin what had been a normal life.

So instead I walked to Amanda’s apartment. At first she refused to let me in, but when I told her what had happened — with tears running down my face like they had been since I had discovered it — she forgave me promptly and told me that of course I could stay over.

“But Sammi, I don’t understand,” she said later, as I lay on her bed, eating a cookie (I was on a diet, but screw it, I needed comfort food). “I always thought that they would stay together.”

I rolled over and stared at her. “So did I,” I said honestly. “They were big about kissing, gooey love notes, Valentine’s Day…”

Amanda looked at me with nothing but sympathy in her eyes.

“And, I know it’s horrible to say, but if he had to cheat, he could have cheated for mind, not body.” Amanda understood, because she’d seen my mom. My mother was petite and had short brown hair, and smart glasses. She had the kind of appearance that screamed intelligence, and she is very intelligent. I always felt proud that my father was smart enough to pick my mother not because she was beautiful, but because she was wonderful. But now all of my father’s suppressed shallowness had come rushing up to the surface, I guessed, and all of my respect for him had vanished.

Several seconds passed in silence. Amanda had never been very good at consoling me (when I broke up with Jack, the only condolences she had for me were “Well, it was bound to happen someday”), but this was one area that she had absolutely no experience in. Her father had died before she was born, and her mother had never even started dating again, so she had no idea what it felt like to see your parents’ relationship implode. “Well,” she said finally, “at least we might have something in common soon — single mothers!”

As you can imagine, that did not do anything to make me feel better, but I appreciated her effort. “Oh, Mandy,” I said. “Let’s paint our nails.”

“Okay,” she said, pulling out her bottles of nail polish.

“No, wait,” I said excitedly, grabbing her hand. “Let’s get our nails painted at a nail salon! I’ve always wanted to have them done professionally!”

Amanda thought that was a great idea, so we grabbed money and set off.

As we talked about school and our friends, for the first time since I’d saw them earlier today, my father and that horrible Zoe disappeared from my mind. I was thinking about other things — at least, until I saw my father sitting alone on a park bench, looking absolutely dejected.

Again, he didn’t see me, but, again, all the breath was taken out of me in one quick gasp. “Amanda,” I breathed.

“C’mon, Sammi,” Amanda whispered urgently, dragging me around a corner until my father was out of sight. We tried to continue talking lightly like we had been before, but it wasn’t the same, and when we got to the nail studio, it was filled with middle-aged women, all looking tired and worn out, like they’d just discovered that their husbands had been cheating on them. I didn’t know if looking like that was just a part of being in your forties, but I knew that my mother was in her forties, and she’d always looked lighter than air, especially when she was with my father. I didn’t want to see her reduced to looking like these women, sad and pathetic and worn out, with all their youth left behind, unable to be reclaimed. She had always seemed young when she was with my father. Had my father always seemed young when he was with her? Or had he just been looking for a woman who was actually young, who would make him feel young? I’d had boyfriends before, who I had at the time thought myself in love with, but I never felt any different than I usually did with them. I had felt like myself. But my mother once told me that she fell in love with my father because she felt like a whole new person with him. Now that I thought about it, it was always my mother who would leave little notes on the door, who made a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. Had I just imagined that it was my father too?

All this was running through my head while I was sitting in a chair watching yet another middle-aged woman paint my nails. I was so distracted by everything that was going through my head that I didn’t notice until I was paying that I had had little decals of hearts glued against a baby-pink background on my nails. Exactly the opposite of my current mood. A cracked heart against a black background would have been more expressive of my feelings.

“Nice!” Amanda said appreciatively as we compared the finished products.

“No,” I told her. “No, it’s not nice.”

We went back to Amanda’s house, where we informed her mother that I was going to be staying over. Amanda’s mother was concerned, and said that I should call my parents to make sure that they knew where I was, but I wasn’t sure that I would be able to talk to my mother. But I had to, so I called her.

“Hey mom,” I said when she picked up. “I’m gonna be staying over at Amanda’s house tonight.” Did my voice sound different than normal? Was it weighted down with the knowledge that I now held?

“That’s fine, honey.” My mother’s voice was exactly the same as usual, if just a tinge worried. “But do you know where your father is? He’s not home yet.”

I tried to make my voice as normal as possible. “No, I don’t know. Probably stuck in traffic.” Of course he wasn’t home yet! How could he face his family after what he had just done? I wouldn’t be able to, but then again, I would never do such a thing in the first place.

“You’re probably right, sweetie.” My mother sounded relieved, like my theory was truth just because I’d said it. “Oh wait… I think that’s him right now.” She hung up, but not before I heard my father’s unmistakable deep voice say “Sorry I’m late.”

I stared at the phone after I put it back in its charger, wondering what was going on at the other end of it. Was my father confessing to my mother? Was he pretending that nothing had happened, that everything was fine, that life would go on the same as always? Had he done this before? How often had he and Zoe kissed against the wall of a supermarket and gotten away with it? The thought made me sick.

“Everything okay?” It was Amanda, appearing in her pajamas.

“Yeah,” I replied. But it wasn’t. But I couldn’t tell her this, so I just sunk back into my sleeping bag and fell asleep listening to Amanda talking about comfortable mundane events.

Sometimes when I wake up, there’s this brief period where I’m just exiting my oblivion, feeling the light press onto my eyelids, in a stage between being aware and unaware, where I know I’m awake but I don’t know anything else. Today I didn’t even get that relief. The very instant that I was jerked out of sleep by Amanda, I remembered everything. But there was nothing I could do, so I just put on a smile and turned to look at my best friend, who was still shaking me.

“Sammi, I know what we’re going to do today!” she said in her best Phineas impression.

“Oh yeah?” I asked her, smiling.

“We’re going to get haircuts!”

“Um… I got one last month.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t really change anything! You just shortened it a bit! Don’t you want to try something else?”

I contemplated this. It would be strange to look in the mirror and see something other than the long, straight, black locks that had been my companion throughout most of my life. I liked my hair, and I didn’t feel the need to change it. It seemed kind of unnecessary.

I would have thought that Amanda would have said the same. She, like me, had had one hairstyle that she’s had for as long as I’ve known her: chin length wavy brown hair. But now she wanted to change it. I couldn’t think of a reason for why she would want to change up her hair, so I guessed that she thought that it would make me feel better. But I wanted one constant in my life, one thing that would not change at the same time that everything else did.

“Not really,” I told her. She rolled her eyes.

“Sammi, you are so boring.”

“That may be,” I acknowledged, “but boring can be fun.”

“No, boring is the opposite of fun.”

“Well, if I find it fun, I guess I’m not boring.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation continued like this all through breakfast, with Amanda telling me that I was a scaredy-cat. I denied this over and over, but as she kept making fun of me, I realized that maybe this was true.

I was afraid. I was afraid of change. I was afraid to tell my mother about what I had discovered because I knew that so much would change.

But so much already had.

Amanda watched the grin slide from my face as quickly as it had been plastered on that morning. “Sammi, what’s wrong?” she asked, and then closed her mouth quickly, realizing that that was a somewhat stupid question.

“What isn’t wrong?” I replied, then put my head down on the table.

While my eyes were staring into the carved wood, I realized something. I realized that my mother needed to know, no matter how much it would hurt her. She needed to know so she could react, and then she would start to heal. Maybe she and my father would break up, and my father would marry Zoe, and that thought caused a lot of pain. But maybe after they broke up, my mother would marry a devoted man who put her above everything else in the world. Maybe she’d be happy again. Or, maybe she’d forgive my father, and they’d start to work out their problems, and by the time they brought up the cheating thing again, they would be able to talk about it, and my father would learn to put his family before anything else. And I realized that either option would be a lot healthier for my mother — and, probably, my father — than this twisted relationship that they had going on now. My parents needed to know where they stood in each other’s minds.

So I said goodbye to Amanda, thanked her for being there for me, and walked home, my mind spinning about how best to say it, and wondering, hoping, that my father had already told her.

I stood outside my apartment door, staring at the milk carton that apparently nobody had bothered to pick up. A really foul smell was coming out of it. Sort of a metaphor for what might have been going on inside.

“Dad,” I said quietly, dropping my bags on the floor. Because there my parents were, laughing, my mother sitting on my father’s lap with his arms around her.

“Honey!” he said, sounding happy, but the smile was gone from his face, and my mother looked at him in confusion.

“Scott?” she asked him, smoothing her hair down. “Hey, sweetie.”

I didn’t waste time. With what I had decided this morning at Amanda’s house, I knew that if I didn’t say it right away, I would never be able to. And no matter how much it hurt my mother, she had to know the truth.

“How could you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re disgusting.”

“Sammi, please,” my father said, his voice cracking with pain. “Let’s talk about this in another room.”

I said, “No. No more secrets.” Then I turned to my mother, whose eyes were already wide with confusion and fear. I hated doing this to her. But she needed to know. “Yesterday, I saw dad making out with another woman at the supermarket.”

My mother didn’t gasp, and she didn’t burst into tears. She didn’t even make a sound. She just stared at me. If you just saw her reaction, you would not have been able to guess that she’d been given bad news at all.

“Jennifer…” my father said, and his expression nearly broke me.

My mother was quiet. She was still staring at me. Her eyebrows lifted, then settled, as she turned to look at my father. “Just tell me one thing,” she said at a normal volume, her voice perfectly steady but monotonous. “Was it Zoe?”

“Jennifer…” repeated my father. Tears were running down his face. I looked away, upset that his expression was upsetting me. Why should I care if he was in pain, after what he’d done to our family?

“You know who Zoe is?” I tried to ask, but my throat was closed. It actually hurt, this lump in my throat, and my eyes were welling up, and my face was scrunching, and my fists were clenching, and everything inside me was getting tighter like I was trying to hold myself together as my family unraveled before my eyes.

Nobody knew what to do. It hurt, to not be able to do anything. I closed my eyes to stop the tears. My head was roaring, but the apartment was silent.

“Jennifer, please.” It was as if my father thought that saying her name, instead of “pookie” or “honeybun” or any of the pet names that he usually called her, would bring her back to him, would somehow prove how serious he was about her. “Zoe was just…”

“A distraction?” my mother interrupted him. “Ooh, was your work overwhelming you and you just needed to clear your head and since I was so busy you just went to Zoe for comfort?” I was shocked by the biting sarcasm in her words. That was not how I thought she would have handled the situation.

“Jenny.” It was a statement this time, but whatever the rest of the sentence was, it was swallowed by sobs.

“No,” said my mother. “Go.” Then she chuckled. We both stared at her.

“Jenny, it was all a mistake, I can explain!” My father sounded nearly desperate. “Or I can’t explain, but all I want is for you to forgive me. Please give me a second chance.”

“More like a fourth chance!” My mother didn’t sound angry. In fact, she sounded kind of amused.

“You… don’t seem that angry…” my father wavered.

“Oh, I’m not angry. Yet. I’m sure the anger will catch up to me. But right now I’m just amused. It’s so funny, isn’t it, that I ignored all the signs. When I was buying groceries, that checkout woman, Zoe, was always hinting that something was going on with you two. ‘Your husband is so nice! He’s so charming, really makes a girl feel special.’ And I just ignored it! Isn’t that funny?”

“No, it’s not funny,” my father started to say, but my mother, raising her voice for the first time since I’d told her, yelled “GO!”

Then she turned around and hid her face in the pillowcase until my father turned around and walked out of the door. He didn’t even look at me.

After he’d left, my mother raised her head. Her face was stained with tears. “Sammi,” she whispered, opening her arms, and I fell gladly into them.

“Are we going to be okay?” I asked her, raising my head finally.

“Yes.”

“Are you mad at me?”

My mother turned to look at me. “Of course I’m not. I’m so glad you told me. I probably wouldn’t have believed it if anyone else told me. I’m mad at your father, but it’s going to be okay.”

And because I was with her, my sweet, fragile, strong mother, I believed it.

Me

I try hard to be KIND

I try hard to be CALM

I try to be an ARTIST

I try NOT to be LAZY

I am TOLD I am HUMOROUS

The only bad thing about me is my ANXIETY

 

My worst enemy is my ANXIETY

It comes over me being KIND

It comes over me being HUMOROUS

It comes over me being CALM

It comes over me being LAZY

And it prevents me from being an ARTIST

 

Without creativity motivating me I can no longer be an ARTIST

I can never be myself when I’m ANXIOUS

I wake up scaring myself, not allowing me to be LAZY

Without a trembling hand, I can never be KIND

Without locking myself in, I can never be CALM

Without challenging myself, I can never be HUMOROUS

 

With anxiety, I’m challenged to being HUMOROUS

With anxiety, creativity is holding me back from being an ARTIST

With anxiety, I’m no longer CALM

The cause of my anxiety is always being ANXIOUS

Anxiety blocks out me being KIND

But with anxiety, I can no longer be LAZY

 

Forgetting my anxiety allows me to be LAZY

Forgetting my anxiety allows me to be HUMOROUS

Forgetting my anxiety allows me to be KIND

Forgetting my anxiety allows me to be an ARTIST

My anxiety causes me to be VERY ANXIOUS

Forgetting my anxiety allows me to be CALM

 

Anxiety holds me down not letting me be CALM

Anxiety holds me down not letting me be LAZY

Anxiety holds me down letting me be ANXIOUS

Anxiety holds me down not letting me be HUMOROUS

Anxiety holds me down not letting me be an ARTIST

Anxiety holds me down not letting me be KIND

 

I AM no longer HUMOROUS

I AM no longer an ARTIST

I AM no longer KIND

I AM NO LONGER ME

Us Against The World: Prologue

It’s the first day of school. Eyes wide open. I’m tired, but I’ll live. I push my blanket off of me and turn to the side. I see my clock on my desk. Seven o’clock. Good thing I got to sleep that late. These days, I have trouble sleeping.

It doesn’t take me long to get dressed, brush my teeth, grab my backpack, and walk downstairs to get breakfast. I am a good student, but I’m not very enthusiastic to go back to school. Who is? Regardless, I’m always tired and I get cranky if I don’t get a little bit of physical activity before I do anything. I know, I sound like a typical seventh grader. But please, cut me some slack. I’m trying my best.

My mom waits for me in the kitchen, holding a box of Cheerios in her right hand and a box of Frosted Flakes in her left hand. “Which one?” she asks.

“No, ‘good morning, how’d you sleep, you ready for school?’” I ask as I sit down at our white, circular kitchen table.

“I thought I didn’t have to bore you with that standard first day of school mom speech,” she says in reply.

“I’ll have the Cheerios.” I look around to see if my father is awake. I don’t see him, so he must still be in the bedroom. I am an only child, so I get a lot of attention from my parents, and they always get up to see me off in the morning. However, my parents’ high level of attentiveness for me has never really helped me socially. I’m not one of the popular kids at my school. I truly don’t mind their cliques and exclusiveness; I want to do what I want to do and that’s it.

Today is the first day of the eighth grade. I didn’t think I’d make it. Honestly. After spring in seventh grade I didn’t think I could even be here. I thought I’d be still caught up in a separate time. Still fighting reality. I lost that battle. Reality hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. But it seems that I’ve overcome it.

My dad comes down the stairs in his suit. He is a corporate lawyer, at the top of his firm. He holds a briefcase in his right hand, where the watch he’s worn every single day has sat for the past six years.

“Morning, Anna,” he says cheerfully. He walks over and kisses the top of my head.

“Morning, Dad,” I say. My dad never says ‘Good morning’; always just ‘Morning.’ I find that a little funny. My dad abbreviates a lot of other phrases too, like ‘sup,’ or ‘how ya doin.’ He tries to act all hip and cool and modern, when really he just makes a fool of himself.

My dad plants himself in the chair across from me as he picks up the paper from the counter. My mom lays down a cream cheese bagel in front of him, which he gladly picks up and devours. I finish my breakfast and pick up my bag. I head for the door.

“Bye sweetie,” they both say, almost in harmony.

“Bye,” I call.

“Wait, Anna,” my mom stops me. “Honey…just try your best out there.”

“Okay, Mom,” I say dully as I close the door.

It’s kind of chilly outside for September. Then again, it’s always cold in Minnesota. I live in a small town called Eriksville, near St. Paul. We are not a big community, but we have the best middle school football team in the state. I don’t care much for sports; there’s one thing I have in common with a lot of the other girls in my school, other than the cheerleaders. I’ve only been to one school game, and that was what we call the Premier, the biggest football game of the year. It was like our super bowl.

I walk along the sidewalk of Turner Street, where I live. The school bus stop is a few streets away. It usually arrives at 8:15. When I arrive, though, it is 8:14. The bus doesn’t show up until 8:23 – annoyingly late. I’m going to get to school with fifteen seconds to spare, if I’m lucky. When I get on the bus, it’s not very crowded, since most people live closer than I do, so they can just walk to school. I sit in the very back on the left, and make myself comfortable. School starts at 8:40, and the bus ride takes about  eighteen minutes. So I need a break.

More people flood on as it stops twice more. Still, no one sits next to me. I assume people just don’t want to be in the back; they want to be sitting next to their friends in the front, so they can get off first, since they know we’re going to be late.

Finally, we arrive in the parking lot. The people flood off and I’m the last one to step out. Everyone races towards the building. I stay back and walk, enjoying the last bit of the outdoors I will get until recess later today. Once I enter the new classroom for the first time, it is 8:40 on the dot.

The new teacher, Mr. Meeker, introduces himself. He is our English teacher. I like him. He seems nice. I can tell whether someone is kind or mean based on the tone of his or her voice. Mr. Meeker has a gentle, soothing voice that comforts me.  I feel like I can trust him.

“Okay class, it is really great to meet you.” I like Mr. Meeker, but I tune this part out. It isn’t necessary for me to hear. The same speech every single year — I’m not interested. My attention returns, though, when I hear, “For your first assignment — to get to know you — I’d like you to do some creative writing about a lesson you learned last year. And I don’t mean a school lesson, I mean something that you learned that has shaped you…that has influenced your attitude. Please try and say as much as you can.”

There is a lot I can say; maybe I’m not very comfortable with sharing everything. But then, I hear my mother’s voice echo in my head: “Honey, just try your best.” So I have decided it’s been enough hiding my past, it’s time to enter this year with a new perspective on life.

“You have one hour, starting…now.”

The Madhouse

It was the summer of 1929 when I first found the house. I was roaming Central Park with my best friend, Cass. It was cold, and our breaths were white in the air. The hum of the factories was louder in the still snow. It was silent on the streets of New York City, like a ghost town. I took a step into the snow, testing it with my finger. I quickly jump-stepped back inside the little awning space of one of the stores.

“It’s cold!” I whisper-shrieked. Cass nudged me, a grin on her face.

“Be careful or you’ll end up like that fellow Miss Anne told us about!” she whispered back.

“Lost all his toes!” I whispered back loudly.

“His wife wouldn’t even let him in!” Cass giggled.

“She thought he was some thug!” I giggled, poking Cass in the stomach. She let out a shriek, and then she covered her mouth with her hands, staring at me wide-eyed. I stared back at her.

“Andy, what if we get caught!” she whispered back, so fast that she didn’t even make any white breath.

“C’mon, let’s go! Cook packed us food to eat at the tree!” I said, stepping into the snow, tucking a loose strand of my short golden blonde-ish hair behind my ear. I could see the fear in Cass’s dark blue eyes, but she stepped out reluctantly and followed me through the falling snow. I grabbed her hand and broke into a run, running up Central Park, our long skirts flying behind us as we dodged street vendors and horses, through people and through trees, the snow biting at us. But we kept running, because we could never, ever, do this in the school. Why, if they saw us, we would be skinned alive!

When we finally stopped, we were at the foot of our tree, the one that we loved, because of those low branches that were perfect for climbing, and the dark, soft, leaves that concealed us from prying eyes as we shared stories and ate snacks that the maids had packed us. I swung up the branch and climbed up to the perfect branch, with the prettiest view of the city, where no one could see us. Cass climbed up and sat next to me, swinging her legs to get rid of her jitters. I reached into my long, dark, brown coat and took out my metal lunch pail. I set it in between us and I took off the gloves that my mother had insisted I wear, to keep my hands delicate and pretty, perfect for anything that an upper-class girl would do. I much preferred to do things with calloused, worked, hands, which showed that I deserved my life, rather than delicate hands, because I couldn’t defend myself with delicacy.

I looked at Cass’s gloved hands, and I felt a wave of guilt pass through me. If I had watched her last winter, she wouldn’t have fallen and gotten that scar… I thought, hurriedly unlatching the cold metal as it fell open, leaving me to scramble and put my gloves back on in the hopes of warming up my hands. I reached in, taking out a small container with hot soup in it. I found two spoons. I handed one to Cass and we both leaned into the middle, eating the soup, savoring the taste of good chicken in the freezing cold. When we were done, I put it back in and took out a little wax paper-wrapped brownie. We both gasped in delight and I split it in half, remembering enough of my manners to give her the bigger half and keep my mouth closed while I chewed. I climbed down when we were done, and we looked up at the large building that was being built, and we could see it peeking through the trees.

“It’s the Empire State Building!” Cass whispered, because neither of us wanted to disturb the peace.

“Supposed to be the tallest in the world!” I whispered back, imitating Cass’s excited little sentences, that showed her naive-ness.

“Yeah.” she breathed. I looked at her.

“I hate to say it, but we should head back to my house.” I said. She nodded, her dark brown curls bouncing. I could tell she was in another place, probably thinking of her ugly scar, re-living the memory, as I had done many times. I squeezed her hand and she blinked out of it. We broke into a run, navigating the streets. However, the streets became unfamiliar. The buildings were still nice, but they weren’t mine, or Cass’s. Cass tugged on my hand.

“Andromeda, what’s that house? I don’t remember it.” she said, pointing to a brick house with peeling paint on the boards. It looked old, like someone just didn’t want it fixed any more than it had to be.

“I don’t know, but we should go home.” I said, looking for a street sign.

“Andromeda, let’s look inside.” she said, walking towards it. I found a street sign. Oh, a block away from my house!

“Cass, my house is a block away! Let’s just go home.” I said, but Cass was walking towards it. “Cass, let’s go home.” I said, more forcefully this time. She didn’t even blink. “CASS!” I yelled at her, shaking her shoulders. She just kept walking. “Cassidy Sage Levy, I do not appreciate your rudeness.” I glared at her. It was like she was in some type of trance. I stepped in front of her. She walked around me. “Fine. Ignore me.” I said, stomping off, but I couldn’t even get to the corner in my guilt. I stomped back, looking for her, but she wasn’t there. I felt panic sweep over me, and I remembered her walking to the house. I ran to the house, flinging open the door.

It was darker than anyone would think that a house could be, and as I stepped inside, I felt as if I was walking in literal nothingness. Then a candle was lit as if by magic in the pitch black, revealing a rusty old toy monkey, its eyes empty, as if scratched out. I heard a scream, which sounded like Cass.

“CASS!” I yelled, looking around frantically. A musical note struck my attention, and I turned to see the monkey, creaking as its mouth opened and closed, music sounding throughout the house.

Welcome to the Madhouse,

Welcome to the Madhouse,

We’re all mad here.

The monkey sang, the lyrics echoing. It continued as a light switched on in another corner, revealing a woman, her eyes gouged out, blood staining her innocent white dress.

This is Sarah,

She saw too much,

So now she’s here to see

so much

The woman smiled at the monkey and sat down in the pool of blood, beginning to trim her nails. Another light flicked on, this one revealing a man with a suit and a beard. He smiled at me, too, but I realized with a shock that in his hand was a bloody cleaver.

This is James,

He wanted to see,

What it was like

To live forever happily.

Now he knows that

Happy comes last,

First comes murder,

And happy is after that!

The monkey chanted, the mouth moving up and down in a haunting rhythm. I gaped at the ill-fated people before the light revealed another person, this one a young boy, a frown upon his face, but someone had carved a smile in his face with a knife, the blood still trickling down his face.

This is Levi,

He smiled too little,

So now he can smile until he’s brittle!

The monkey went on, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my fate was the same as theirs. Another light switched on, revealing a pretty girl about my age with dark brown curls and dark blue eyes. She smiled at me, and I realized that she was wearing the same clothes as Cass, and in fact, was that Cass?!

This is Cassidy,

Don’t you remember?

The time when she fell,

This time last winter?

“Oh, no, no, NO!” I screamed at her. “CASS!” I yelled, tears running down my face.

She doesn’t,

All she knows,

Is this little house,

And oh,

here she goes!

Cass took a step towards me, the smile still on her face. She looked so innocent, so…peaceful. She had a hand behind her back, and she reached out to me with her other gloved hand.

Andromeda, come,

it’s painless here.

No one makes fun

of me for my scar, here!

She sang, and another tear leaked out of my eye. Of course the house spoke to her. She was already deformed. It was calling out to her. “It’s fun! If you come, we can hang out all day, and Monkey promised brownies! There are bad times coming, Andromeda. We can stay here in endless fun!” she said, smiling innocently, as if it was the easiest, best, thing in the world.

“Cass, listen to me. Look at these people. We will die if we stay here. We have to go!” I said to her, my voice frantic. I grabbed her hand. She shook her head, clucking disapprovingly. She mimicked the monkey, and the next lyrics came on as a light switched on in the back.

This is your spot Andromeda,

What did you do?

You refused your gift Andromeda,

And that’s very rude.

And Andromeda,

Bad girls need to be punished.

She chanted. I looked at her, wide eyed, as the monkey chanted the final verse, the last verse I would ever hear.

Welcome to the madhouse,

Welcome to the madhouse,

We’re all mad here.

I Can’t Think Of A Title: Poem Series

Vicious Cycle

Vicious cycle

15 pregnant

16 in jail

15 drugs

16 but still a child

Vicious cycle

15 4.0

16 athlete

15 independent

16 but still a child

Vicious cycle

27 alcoholic

27 drug addict

27 responsible for two lives

27 struggling

Vicious cycle

27 owns car

27 Costa Rica

27 independent

27 my sister

But Dad what was your role

do you fall in the cycle

does she hate you

does she love you

she loves you

17

you had her

but you were her

a child

but you differ

Vicious cycle

maybe not

we broke it

 

Untitled #1

I’m standing in the road

I’m grey yet everything is in color

Choking on the fear of the unknown

Drowning in my simpleness

Naked cowboy literally sniffing my hair

slowing falling to my death

but it’s me

uncapable of accepting indifference

yet inevitable

fear

change

my eternal chaser

 

Untitled #2

Don’t you dare think for a minute think

I’m anti-social

I attract a crowd

I have a mythological writer across from me

A 27 mean girl

and then there’s me in the center

thinking just for a moment if we

were all dead

red splatter is my vision

knives guns and a blank document

what’s the next horror

how many horrors

the limit does not exist

social

 

The Martians are Coming, The Martians are Coming

Hey, my name is #45. Yes, I am the 45th person that was ever born. Our species lives for a very long time but we are not very social and we don’t form friends that often. We are called the #’s. Today is a very special day. We are invading Earth. It’s going to be a lot of fun. Since I am super smart, I just recently developed a new type of explosive which can blow up the Earth in 3 hits. It’s awesome! I recently just tested it on Mercury. It only took one hit. All those Earthians are gonna have to surrender soon, if they value their planet.

The funny thing is that Earthians don’t know we exist. They think Mars is a small red rock with nothing on it. In fact, that is partially true. Mars used to be uncolonized but then our species invaded it. And now we live there. See, explosive + fuse = boom = win. Or that’s what we think. Our species has over 1,000,000,000 planets to its name. We love invading people. That’s our natural instinct. I wonder how many planets Earth has invaded.

Wow, when is the ceremony gonna start! I’ve been waiting 56,798,134 seconds. This is almost two years in Earth days, but it is only five martian hours.

Ah yes, finally the moment has come. The ceremony. This ceremony is fairly simple. We don’t use nearly as many explosives as we use for the other events. This is awful for the common martian because we get paid to buy explosives. But anyway, here we go. We start by dancing around the fire while throwing in little hand grenades, next we play a game of tag. Who ever the explosives blows up is out. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt, and besides, you get brought back to life. It is actually very enjoyable. I blew up 3 times during the invasion of Mercury. After we throw little hand grenades, we get martian c4 and throw it in the air for the black hole to suck up. Next, we all get in a cannon and rocket to the Earth and back. This is what humans call the aurora borealis. Now for the final step: We have an eating contest. Whoever eats the most rockets without blowing up wins! I have won three times in my entire career.

Oh! Have I mentioned roast e…the best food, here on mars. It is a delicacy. It tastes like steak. It is my favorite food, and my pet c4’s food, and my rocket launcher’s food. Everyone loves it. Soon I will have to start construction on the mega rocket launcher that will launch the new explosive. The only thing I will eat is roast dynamite because it is very healthy, gives you energy and tastes good. It is much better than, say, a martian carrot, which is basically fireworks growing on the ground.

Finally, construction time! The construction building is made up of all types of explosives but it is mostly made up of something called cement explosive. This is cement mixed with explosive powder since cement and explosives are very easy to obtain. It has very safe working conditions as you are around explosives all the time. The mega rocket launcher that I am making is going to be made of crushed explosive rockets. It has a safety switch, too. When you press it, it coats the rocket launcher in gasoline and ignites it. Usually you blow up, and that’s why we have a blow-up proof suit which is made out liquid  blackpowder. Something that us, Martians invented, but the Earthians stole it in a powdered form. If you would like to know about this blow-up proof suit you can check the Martian Wiki. It is very reliable… Or is it? … I can just tell you now. The blow up proof suit starts with a shell made out of hardened c4. We drop the c4 in water and then dry it off in a mold made out of dynamite. Sometimes it is very hard to remove the suit from the mold, because it has a very high chance of blowing up. If all works to plan, then we can start chiseling the inside of the c4 so now it is hollow and is a shell. Next we pour in liquid black powder to make the suit more flexible and so we can have a strong inside.

Once we are done with a suit, we put it through a stress test. We make sure that it blows up in even the highest humidity. Oh, did I mention our atmosphere? The martian atmosphere is very dry which makes everything flammable. Which is super duper amazingly good.

Okay, now back to work on the missile. For the inside of the missile i’m going to use martian potato. This is a highly explosive vegetable that we all love. Too bad it’s going to waste.

Back to the missile…

Around the crushed potato, we have a mysterious paste. One drop of it blew up Mercury, so now we are going to use fifteen drops mixed with gasoline. Also, you aren’t supposed to know this but when I launch the missile I am going to dump a bucket of mysterious paste on it. So when Earth blows up, lots of mysterious paste will fly to the Sun and the Sun will cough and cough. When it’s done coughing, it will sneeze and all the planets will be sent away except for ours. The only reason we don’t fly away is because of martian physics. You see, every planet has their own physics which the people come up with. So for our planet’s physics, we made it so nothing bad will ever happen. Many people thought that this was unfair to other planets, and there were many riots and rebellions with explosive watermelons and carrots. Funny thing is, all of these fruits were stolen from the planets that were the cause of the rioting!

Here are how the riots go:

Someone walks up to a police officer and says “You better watch out, because a riot is starting in ten seconds.”

Police martian: “Oh really?”

Person: “I’m not kidding.”

Ten seconds later…

Police officer: “AH, explosive flying carrots and watermelons everywhere!”

Riot people: “We don’t care.”

Police officer: “Hey, stop that…”

Riot people:” Why?”

Police officer: “Because we are going to invade earth and you are wasting explosives, those could have gone toward the building of the the missile.”

Well, at least, the missile is going well. I have finished the outer coating. It is made of pure gasoline mixed with black powder, and fireworks too. The missile is built just like a firework. We are going to put in sparklers, too.

A few hundred years pass…

Well, now everything is assembled. The missile is ready and we are ready to launch. I think I’m going to take a good few years rest now. I have to start working on it again in 87 years so I better start sleeping.

Dream…

Hmm… What if we use a black hole instead? We could first blow up the Earth, and then we could suck their planet into a black hole. The people may like that better. Hmm… I wonder.

Ah, that was a terrible three years rest and dream, I did not sleep well at all and I did not get a good night’s sleep. Wai wai wait waaa… I am talking in that stupid Earth talk again. Martians never get tired, I shouldn’t even be sleeping. Come on. I should be working.

“#45! WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING? MARTIANS DON’T SLEEP.  YOU ARE FIRED!” said the boss.

“But why? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“YOU WERE SLEEPING ON DUTY. MARTIANS DON’T SLEEP!

“Sorry, I was bored and wanted to see what an Earthling does when it’s bored.”

“WELL, YOU ARE FIRED!”

“Ok, I’m going to Earth. BYE!”

“FINE, sta- go, go, yeah, I meant go.”

  1. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . .1. . .blast off!

Romeo’s Nirvana

“It is the sun’s tale,” he whispered, “and I know it by heart.

How your pink-shaded cheek fit tender in the palm of my hand

Eyes–locked magnets to the mirror of my pupils

I always declined in faith: I was not ready.”

 

It must have been that he saw turquoise tides in her curly hair

Rippling in laughing coils

Or a half moon in her numb lips

Wrists striped in braceleted madness–that was when he turned away.

 

Fear is his ghost

It binges and gluts on a sane head

With words that are upchucks of senseless ragamuffins:

Their meanings need no coaxing

 

His hands do not feather her in cupidity

Only ‘till her breast is a turf, blanket flecks of snow,

Humming, humming.

 

She brings him a stack of cotton pillows

As this is when they string their love in sleep

When the ceiling is expanding, the color of radon,

 

They heard the machinery of the thunderstorm

Lightning in the shape of angel heads

An aureate clock glitters in the sky: a number line of beads

 

Now they enter into an enamored utopia

Sync into mania

He will not kiss her with a crystal lens: it must blur

 

For dreams too, are heartless;  they envelop our eyes

As well as a beguiled spirit

The stars mock the couple. Or perhaps they chase them.

 

But he wakes, she wakes, they wake,

Startled and spinning, as an eyelash dispersed in air

She cannot cry for him, as he built bricks between them

 

They are immured by a howl

Soundly, it clings

To her throat, his mind for something to drag down.

Breath quavers then stops.

Are the two fated or young innamorati?

Is it for which her hands perform his script?

 

His peridot tears glisten, as the lime spring leaves.

They penetrate her heart. Slow, amorous cravings

That yield, that yield, that yield.

 

Adding More Languages

About 40 million immigrants move to the United States every year. About 50% of those immigrants don’t speak English. This is maybe because they were unable to learn it, or didn’t have anyone to teach them the language. Whatever the reason is, they will probably have trouble learning a new, different language. Besides Spanish-speakers, we don’t help those who can’t speak English because we lack translations for different languages on basic labels, signs, and products.

This could be a problem, medically and mentally. If there are ingredients in a product that the person is allergic to, he or she wouldn’t notice and might use the product. For example, if there were nuts in a food product and a person was allergic to nuts, they wouldn’t know because they wouldn’t be able to read that there are nuts present in the food product. Also, if there are notices that this person couldn’t translate, they might end up doing something against the notice just because they couldn’t translate it. For example, if a sign on the road said to not turn left, the person might misunderstand and turn left. There would be fewer accidents if immigrants could read signs.

A way to solve this conflict is by including more non-English translations. If immigrants can read labels and signs, then there would be fewer accidents. Even though we can’t include every language, we can at least fit a few more. It is unfair that only Spanish-speakers would be able to read labels because there are only Spanish translations on them. Another way to solve this problem that doesn’t involve including many translations is by putting pictures on signs instead of words. This way everyone would be able to understand what the sign is saying. We can also help non-English speakers learn English by having someone teach them or translate English for them.

We can’t fit every language onto a small amount of space, so we have to choose which languages to include. There’s no debate on that we should put the most used languages in the United States. The most popular languages are Spanish, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, and Tagalog. Neighborhoods where most people speak the same language can be exceptions.

Even though there are classes and/or translators that can help these people along the way, how long would they even be there for? It could take years to completely learn a new language. Some people don’t even want to learn English! But they are forced to since they live in the United States, and most people speak English. So the best way to help these people is by adding their language to labels and notices.

If you disagree with helping immigrants by including more languages, you would probably say that they should just learn English. But, as stated before, it could take a long time for someone to completely learn/understand a new language. I’ve been taking Spanish in my school for three years and I barely understand it. This might be the same conflict as other immigrants with English. Also, the United State is a melting pot and full of different cultures. If we don’t welcome immigrants to the United States, then we wouldn’t be known as a melting pot anymore. Putting other languages on labels and notices could make a big difference.

 

Cows

What more abuse is there to come?

Over 99 percent of farm animals in America, such as chickens, cows, and hogs, are raised in factory farms:  large, industrial operations that raise large numbers of animals for food. Cow transport and slaughter is especially cruel. Cattle who survive feedlots, dairy sheds, and veal farms face an excruciating trip to the final step of cattle slaughter in the U.S – the slaughterhouse.

My name’s Harold. I’m a calf (a young cow). When I was created into this world I had a mother, but the second I was born, she was taken away from me along with my other siblings. God knows where they are now. Possibly dead.

Just yesterday, I arrived here at the slaughterhouse. The trip here itself was nerve-wrackingly uncomfortable. It’s the middle of winter and it was so cold that I was frozen to the side of the truck. I was jammed in the back with about forty other cows. When we finally arrived here (the trip was ten hours long), I was pried off the walls of the truck with a crowbar by the petrifying humans who carry long electrifying sticks. It was hellish. Because I was hesitant to leave the truck, they stuck those darn sticks right up my rectum and in my face. I was terrified – in complete shock, I would say – after the long, cold truck ride. I couldn’t even leave where I was.

“If ya keep standin’ there they’ll keep on shocking you,” whispered a cow next to me.

“Yeah… okay,” I whispered back, scared to death of what they had warned.

“You’re lucky you even survived that truck ride. A lot of cows don’t,” said the cow. I stood there, in even more shock.

Coming into this world knowing I’m going to be slaughtered saddens me, but right about now, dying sounds like a swell idea. I’m only a year old. I have already had my family taken away from me, been pried off a frozen truck with crowbars, electrified with those long electrifying sticks, and fed food made up of my own species. The first day I arrived at the slaughterhouse, they fed new incoming cows the leftover cow fat from the previously slaughtered cattle. It was disgusting. It smelled of feces and dead cow. The forty other cows and I were all so hungry though, so we had to eat it. We hadn’t been fed on the truck ride a whole 24 hours prior to that. I closed my eyes and ate the cow intestine. I’m glad it took some portion of the horror away. I’m only a young cow. What more abuse is there to come?

Me and thousands of other cows spend most of our day eating disgusting food, sleeping, and walking in each others feces. Most cows are sick. We get infected or catch bugs going around quite easily. I’m guessing probably from either the food we are fed or our living conditions.

We are confined to a shiny, vertical, tin-like house. There are no windows. I have not seen daylight for three days. All I have to look at are the bright, artificial lights hanging from the ceiling and the peaceful blackness when I close my eyes to sleep.

I’m quite a bit fatter now. They feed us a lot. I have been told they only force feed us so much to fatten us up, so when we are slaughtered they can sell more meat out of our lifeless bodies. I don’t think that’s a true fact though. I certainly hope it’s not.

I made a new friend. His name is Ronn. He’s a black cow with white spots like me. We are the best of friends. We pretty much just sleep and eat together (which is all we have been doing here in the slaughterhouse), so I guess you could say we spend a lot of time together. Just yesterday I heard Marley, one of the immigrant workers, talk to his co-worker about me and Ronn always being together.

“They wanna separate us,” I mooed at Ronn in between bites of gloppy mush. “I can’t believe it. Why would they want to do that?”

“I dunno man,” he replied. “But don’t worry, I won’t let that happen.”

Ronn really cares for me. We kind of need each other. Neither of us have our families anymore. We are all we have.

I seem to be coming down with something. I have not been hungry for the past three days. Marley noticed and took me into a bright, bright room. There was a radio on while a doctor checked me for signs of infection.

“He could be infected. Do you think we can still slaughter him off to sell?”

“Yeah,” Marley told the doctor. “He’ll still make some good beef,” he obnoxiously laughed.

A commercial came on the radio. “Go beefatarian with our big mac – double quarter pounder with cheese. McDonald’s brings you the most juicy, filling hamburger you’ve ever eaten for just $4.79! Get yours now, exclusively at McDonald’s. Dooo-doo-doo, dooo-doo.”

Is that what we are being advertised for? Is that what we are sold for? Are our very lives only worth $4.79?

As they checked me for infection, my mind was racing. The more I thought about the commercial, the more furious I grew. The worst kind of anger is when you know you can’t do anything to stop the bad from continuing – that is what I felt like.

Now Ronn… he’s gone. How do I know, you ask? Word has gotten around about the surprise slaughter last night. Many cows that have been here for longer than I have experienced a surprise slaughter of their fellow cows many times, so many times that by now it’s not quite a surprise.  Ronn was taken away from me just last night and he hasn’t come back. Marley and two other buff guys came around our area and took about ten of us. I fought for Ronn ‘cause I knew where they were going to take him and what they would do to him. I mooed and tried to head-butt Marley. Immediately, I was stricken three or so times with an electrifying stick. It burned my side where they had struck me, as my heart feels now with Ronn gone. I am completely alone and I have nothing in this world.

Two weeks after Ronn’s death, Harold was slaughtered. He lived the last two weeks of his life as sad as he had ever been. By the time his slaughtering came around, he was glad he wouldn’t have to put up without Ronn around anymore. He was happy he wouldn’t be tortured anymore – no more shocks, no more mushy food. No more inhumane treatment. Slaughterhouses all over America treat their animals as if they aren’t living beings in need of great care.

He’s Not The Right One For Me

you had me at hello and I had to say goodbye

I usually get mad but I let it slide

I was tough to stay, strong to rise

but I fought for you that wasn’t a surprise

we work a path, you and me together

we both fought the weather

I was judged by my height that I would never be loved

god brought justice to light

and there I am with you tonight

then I got hurt

unexpectedly by you

you pushed me to the dirt

because I had curfew

well I was done

my brain and body became one

I had nobody, I mean none

until you pulled out what you had

I screamed why me?

you said it was never us nor we

we were never together and not forever

you also said I didn’t love you at all

my spouse is coming home and I’m not taking the fault

I know I’m tall

I’m average human

you’re something I don’t want

I don’t want to hurt your feelings

it took me some healing

from that pain I lost him/her,

him/her was my main

I will never forget his or her name

Future

January 9th, 2019

Is there anybody here? Hello? HELLO? AHHH! This book is unresponsive! What is so wrong in my life? AHHH! Let me read the manual. Oh, so this writing book is for me to write in and not for me to talk to. Ohh, I get It! Well, reader, I suppose our greeting was a bit unfriendly, but let’s start off with a good point, since you are going to be hearing about me for a long time. My name is Martin Malkin and I work as an assembly clerk at the electronics store Ripoff & Soups. What’s an assembly clerk, you ask? It means that I can be trusted for assembling lots of things like electronic clocks, electronic wallets, electronic credit cards, electronic cookbooks, fax machines, lightbulbs and others, including things like car batteries! It might seem like my life is dull but hey, at least I’m not a….uh…a button factory worker! You see, ever since the recession of 2014-2015 things have been semi-hard. I say that because while there are four castes, the Government, the Millionaires, the Monks and the Commoners. Wait, six castes. I forgot the Soldiers and the Homeless. As you see, I’m a Commoner. But there are no wars since the Great War and there are now 11 countries! There are North America, Europe, South America, Asia, Africa, Australia and Oceania, Antarctica, Britain, Central America, France, and the Moon. Also there are two Religions: Agu, and the Church of Good Hope. I’m in the Church of Good Hope. Last, there are millions of animals! But there are also billions of weapons in the atmosphere, most with either ice-nine or the Arctic Plague. Also most of those animals are genetically modified and there is not a single part of the ozone layer. But let’s have some good times and not get too melancholic! My job today was very annoying since apparently our work building is home to 2,000 labor unions. I don’t believe it, though. I had a very fun job. I assembled the minute hands of electric clocks. Again, it may seem like it was very boring but at least it wasn’t in a…what was that job again…ah…oh, a button factory, yeah a button factory. I left early to go to my personal ATM at my local bank in New, New, New, New, very far away New Harlem. I can’t ride a bike, so I took the subway. I got a new workers pass and shook the ATM to get more free money. I learned it from my dad. But I forgot my worker’s pass at the ATM in New, New, New, New very far away New Harlem. I rented a Honda and went back to the work buildin. Wait add a G. The work building. Why didn’t I pass my spelling exam? So Admiral Syria Jacks came up to me and yelled “Where’s your worker’s pass? It’s needed to come to the building!”

“Ahh s***!” I ran out to the nearest Corner store right on Elm street. There, a beggar came up and screamed in my ears, “The World Is Ending! Gather Yourselves For The End! The End Is Nigh! Bask In Your Existence While You Have It!”

I walked into the corner store with the highest expectations and I found a pass master by the frozen food aisles.

“One Worker’s Pass, Please!”

“Name.”

“Martin Marty Malkin.”

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” I sprinted past the evangelistic beggar and came back to the Work Building. I gave my pass to Admiral Jacks and started constructing more minute hands, this time for a statue of Buddha Jr.

“Coffee Break,” yelled Admiral Jacks, and I was trampled by the footsteps of hundreds of children, women, old people, and middle aged men like me (well, I really don’t know how old I am because they stole all birth certificates, but I’m sure I’m middle aged). I went to my favorite coffee shop, Giribaldi, with my friends John Beese and Ibn-Louis. I tried to catch up with my friend Emmaline Mabatai but there’s a curtain everywhere that separates men and women in all public places, except for banks and parks (well, there’s only one park in this district, and that’s Clooney Park). I asked for my usual vanilla spicy decaf cappuccino, Beese got a bottle of caffeinated vodka, and Ibn-Louis got low-fat boba tea. The waitress asked for a tip and I gave it to her, enthralled. While she was walking away I told her I wasn’t done with my order.

“I’ll have a raspberry jam croissant with a cherry on top?” I asked. When she walked away again I asked if she could get me some crab soup. Then when she walked away I asked if she could come Saturday evening and she said she would have to check with her boyfriend. I said ok and was still wondering about meeting her when Beese started talking.

“Evaluations are in two weeks,” he said. “I already know who’s getting promoted and who ain’t.”

“Tell us,” Ibn-Louis said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Shut up Martin, I’ll tell you. I’m going to get promoted out of this dumping ground for people’s convenience. I’m going to get to the board of directors of Ripoff & Soups and be somebody, not s***.”

“Ambitious goal,” Ibn-Louis exclaimed, “but I’m going to be in Washington, getting this company votes in congress, and making sure Mr. Tweed doesn’t get arrested for f***ing tax evasion!”

“What’s so bad about tax evasion?” I asked.

“It’ll get Tweed out of f****ing office, you d***!” Ibn-Louis said.

“No more jobs, you kid!” Beese added.

”Fine,” I said feeling happy that my friends can have a two-sided debate with them talking not about me and talking about theyr side. Wait it’s not theyr it’s their. AARGH! I should go back to boarding school of forceful relearning!

The same waitress came and she gave us all we asked. Me, my crab soup, a raspberry jam croissant with a cherry on top, and a vanilla spicy decaf cappuccino, John a caffeinated vodka, and Ibn-Louis a low-fat boba tea.

“Hey gal, get me some tulip honey badger muffin with a sprinkle of cocoal,” John called.

“Get me a Kellogg’s cereal cake,” Ibn-Louis added.

“Also come by my place saturday night. The Super Bowl’s on and it’s sushi pizza night!” John told the waitress.

“But I’m going with that young fellow,” she pointed at me.

“He’s a loser who doesn’t know the f***ing word fun!” he called.

“Fine. On saturday I’ll spend 15 minutes with loser.”

“Martin!” I said happily.

”You loser, Martin, I’ll spend 15 minutes with him and I’ll spend 2 hours with hunky…”

“John Beese, or as I like to say, John Beast!”

“Haha!” she yelled. “So yeah!”

“Coffee break is over!” Ibn-Louis said!

“Yeah, I’ll stay here and read my Playboy,” John answered.

“I’m goin’ to stay here and finish my Kellogg’s cereal cake,” Ibn-Louis said.

“And I’ll stay here too and play Candy Crush,” I said.

“No, leave, you’re a god*** motherf***ing bastard who’s a s***ing no funner!” John said.

“Yeah, get out of here, doofus!” Ibn-Louis replied.

“You guys are always right.” I was walking out of the door when my favorite song ever Baba O’Riley came on. I ran up to the podium and started singing the lyrics. Everyone joined in and it was really fun! Until the Workers police came and took us away for late break. I was beaten until I couldn’t get up but I guess what I was doing was pretty bad. Then John Beese came up to me and said CONFIDENTIAL, CENSORED BY NORTH AMERICAN GOVERNMENT. I was taken back to the work building where the great Mr. Tweed came up to me and stabbed me in the cheek.

“WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU LITTLE F***!” He stabbed me again. “DOES THAT HURT!” No answer. “DOES THAT HURT!” No answer. “DOES THAT HURT YOU LITTLE A** WHO WAS BORN BY A MIRACLE!”

“Yes,” I peeped. He stabbed me again, this time in the head.

“Why did you do what you did,” Tweed told me.

“I was singing Baba O’Riley, my favorite song!”

“YOU S***! YOU KNOW THE F***ING TIME!” Tweed yelled back. Now he kicked me in both of my shins. I fell down in pain, but I didn’t cry. “C’mon, cry!” he yelled. I started to cry. “Look, I’m treating you better than your folks, Mr. Beese and Mr. Ibn-Louis.”

I looked up a bit and I saw that Mr. Tweed was telling me the truth; Beese was getting bit by bloodhounds, and Ibn-Louis was getting waterboarded, yelling profanities every time he got hurt.

“Thank you for treating me better, Mr. Tweed,” I complimented. In response, he got his nearby monkey wrench and threw it at me. It hurt and it didn’t hurt at the same time.

“I’m not your f***ing parents!” he yelled. Then he sat down in a chair right next to me. “Listen, I gotta tell you something important. You’re going to space.”

“Really, Mr. Tweed?” I asked, in disbelief.

“Please, it’s Archibald Tweed Jr.”

“Yes!”

“So you are going to the space hotel to see if it can house life. You, Mr. Beese, Ms. Mabatai, Dr. Jockisoin, and Ms. Pelican will be going tomorrow at 11:00 p.m. You got that?”

“Yes, sir!” I replied.

“The reason we picked you and everyone else is because we did a survey of which person who will be not missed by anyone staying here and here were the rankings: you, Mabatai, Jockisoin, Pelican, and Beese. Also, since today is Sunday, you will be back on Earth anywhere between next Sunday to 17 years! Now scram! You can go back to your house!” And that was it for his monologue.

I ran out, doing the airplane. When I got back, I was stopped by my landlord.

“You owe me money,” he said.

“How much do you need?” I replied.

“$7,000,” he told me.

“Ok, here’s a check.” When I gave it to him I went back up to my apartment, where I stayed all day.

 

January 10th, 2019

 

I woke up with a sock on my head. It was a crusty, old sock that must have been worn I don’t know, ten to thirty years ago. Then it struck me that it must have been Mabatai! I ran out and right in front of me a bright pink drone started telling me an announcement: Come to the work building! Mr Tweed wants to show you your comrades. I found my bicycle and I rode it to the work building.

“Hello Martin, come with me,” Tweed walked with me to this green room with two blank computer monitors and a poster for Hotel California by The Eagles. First I saw Beese, who wore an undershirt and blue jeans, along with a baseball hat with the flag of Texas on it. He ruffled my hair and told me,

“You’re not gonna find any good babes here.”

Then came Dr. Jockisoin. He was wearing a light grey labcoat with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt underneath. He had some yellow church pants along with a green beret and bowling shoes. I also saw that he had long hair and he was really sun-tanned. He started telling me the Periodic Table when Ms. Pelican came in. Ms. Pelican had a big straw hat with a pink ribbon on it. She wore a white shirt with a Yale University sweater over it. She had sweat pants with Toms on. She also had shiny grey gloves. She came up to me and we had a conversation about the death penalty and then about labor unions. Then John came over to her and asked her “if she wanted to go with him later” (which from experience means that he was interested in her).

She raised her eyebrow and said “Possibly, I’ll think about it YOU IGNORANT SON OF A B****!” She put down the tequila she was holding and ran to what she thought was the farthest corner from Beese, which is apparently not that far.

John looked down at me and said, “I’m not giving up, you hear!” Then, to my joy and hopefully the joy of my colleagues, Ms. Emmaline Mabatai came in. She had a hoop skirt with HUMONGOUS stockings with Wall St. signs on them. She was wearing her Cardinals Jersey, a family relic since her great-grandfather (she told me that it usually goes to boys but since her parents never had a son they gave it to her). She had a lot of conmetics (no, it’s cosmetics. Arghh!). So she had a lot of cosmetics on and she had a turban on her head along with her suitcase. I looked a bit closer and I learned that she was listening to her teal iPod with Bob Dylan on. Specifically, the album Blonde on Blonde.

I waved my hand in front of her face to get her attention. It worked and she paused the music and looked at me. “What do ya want, Martin? Are you having the good life?” she said.

“Y-y-you are so b-b-beautiful Emmaline!” I stumbled out of my numb mouth.

“Thanks, you look pretty cute Martin,” she replied.

Our chit-chat was interrupted by the booming voice of Mr. Tweed’s secretary. “Hello, Dr. William Jockisoin, Ms. Emmaline Mabatai, Mr. John Beese, Ms. Louisa Pelican, and Mr. Martin Malkin, welcome to our first meeting together. I am Mr. Tweed’s Secretary, Mrs. Secretary. In a few hours you will all be Ripoff & Soups first commercial passengers to our Space Hotel. Hopefully you survive.” (Then I saw out of the corner of my eye the DJ putting in the turntable the record for Journey’s Greatest Hits.) “Thank you for your bravery and your consumerism. Goodbye,” Mrs. Secretary monologued. (It’s a word Ibn-Louis made up a year ago).

We all left the work building and then Me & Ms. Pelican with Dr. Jockisoin went to the nearbiest (another word that Ibn-Louis made up) church that belonged to the Church of Good Hope. When we got to the church, Saint Marc Jacobs had a seminar. “God made us to be your conscience, and our guidance is telling you to give us $130, with tax.”

People were throwing money at Saint Jacobs when Mr. Tweed blasted through with a toupee on. “I am here to become a saint, right now!” he declared, giving Jacobs some money, humming Pink Floyd while he did it.

St. Jacobs said, “Everyone, we have a new Saint, St. Tweed, who joins our ranks of Saints. Johnny, declare for me our Saints.” Johnny, St. Jacobs’ personal helper, put on some fake glasses and read out something from his iPhone.

“St. Marc Jacobs, St. Gregg Only, St. Job Less, St. Jim ‘Lucky’ Duck, St. Paul Simon, and now St. Archibald Tweed!”

Everyone clapped along, except Ms. Louisa Pelican. “So, I can pay to become a Saint?” she asked, nearly sarcastically.

“No, girls can’t become Saints until 2039,” St. Jacobs replied stubbornly.

“So you are sayin’ that girls are too incompetent to be Saints?” she quommented (it’s another word Ibn-Louis made up, a mixture of a question and a comment).

“No, I didn’t say anything abou — ”

“If no, why can’t we be Saints?”

“I, I, I don’t know about this stuff. I didn’t start this religion.”

“Well, who did?” That left St. Marc Jacobs speechless. the whole church was in suspense, a suspense which can not be words, a suspense which can only be seen to be described. Jacobs ran away from the podium he was standing, in the heat of the suspense. Then a person in a preacher’s clothes jumped up from his seat and started twiddling with his rosary.

“I know about this whole thing. It’s a big f***ing scam, a big one!” he yelled.

“Really?” Louisa asked, with a wanting-to-know look on her face. “Tell me more about this scam?”

“This was all started as a religion where you don’t have to do anything, just a religion which is a religion just in name, not at all in practice. All these seminars and stuff are all made up your local preacher and/or saint makes this stuff up,” the preacher said.

Then Louisa asked. “How do you know all this stuff Mr…um…”

“It’s Starling Mann, and I know all these things I told you ‘cause I co-founded this religion.” The name Starling Mann made Louisa’s eyes bulge.“Wait, youre the person who owns that nearby record store! You started this religion?” Ms. Pelican questioned in shock.

“Yes, strange things can happen these days. Now, you all leave, I need to talk with Johnny here. NOW!!” Mr. Mann told all of us. We all left, and I was strangely happy. Right outside of the Church, Ms. Pelican & me saw a Creedence Clearwater Revival cover band playing. I looked closer at their drums (drums always have the band’s name printed on them) and I found out they were called “Fogerty’s Lost Boys.” We started dancing and soon we spent three or four hours listening to this cover band. By the time “Fogerty’s Lost Boys” left, there was a Simon & Garfunkel cover band coming, “The People Who Can’t Hear The Sounds of Silence.” But for us though, it was time for lunch & coffee break. More coffee break for me, more lunch for Louisa. I ran to the closest coffee shop that was not Giribaldi, and I found it. It was called “The Closest Coffee Shop That’s Not Called Giribaldi,” and it had the best coffee that was not from Giribaldi. I saw that with me was John Beese, Dr. William Jockisoin, and Ms. Pelican! John had his registered “hooking up with women and either making out with them in the bathroom or getting their phone number to make out in my bathroom” clothes on (will it work? I don’t know), Dr. Jockisoin had an infamous blue overcoat on, and Ms. Pelican just put on a winter hat from her purse.

“I’m in the mood for some karaoke,” Jockisoin said.

“I would like to hear some gossip,” Beese replied.

“How about some 20 Questions?” Ms. Pelican said.

“But what do you want, Martin?” Louisa said.

“Malkin, Malkin, he’ll do anything!” John boomed in self-confidence.

“I’ll gossip” I repleyeid (It’s replied not repleyeid!! *** grammar!)

“That’s a great idea!” Beese started saying. “I think we should start with Ms. Louisa here,” he stated.

“No, I think we should start with Beese here,” Ms. Pelican replied.

“Yeah, we should,” Jockisoin looked at Beese with a suspicious eye.

“OK,” Beese said nervously, and he started.

“I was born on April 31st, I don’t know what year in Everston, Texas. My father Hamilton Beese was a 1st Commander in the U.S Army and my mum, Mary Beese, was a housewife. Now, it seems like my dad was kind ‘cause he was in the army, but he had a severe case of PTSD and he was a bit schizo. He had fought in the Vietnam War and had seen things that shouldn’t be known to 9 to 10-year-olds like me. He had recorded the sounds of war on his tape recorder that was shown to me. He also told me stories that were the most gruesome. I remember that once when I was 1-8 months old he had a horrible thought that made him get a carving knife and chase my mum. She held me and I was the only thing separating her from him. He anyway charged Mom with the knife and slashed her in her arm. She dropped me and I was picked up by my crazy dad. He was about to kill me when mother Mary grabbed me from his arms and ran out of the house, locking the door so he couldn’t chase us. That was the scariest experience of me with my dad until I wa — ”

Jockisoin interrupted by pointing at the window, his mouth gaping. There were some people holding up signs that read “*** the meaning of Religion, Bless your inner feelings!” and some people with signs that said “The government is a company!” Louisa, John, and William were all talking about the signs, but I looked at a waitress who was coming to give us all our coffee.

“Um, excuse me miss but can I talk with you?” I asked.

“Sure,” she replied.

I went up to her and I asked the hallowed question, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, well, I used to but I dumped him two days ago. He was a douche. He thought that to be a boyfriend you need to make you and your girlfriend be pretty much identical. So he made me do whatever he did and it was the WORST relationship ever.”

“Well, why didn’t you break up with him earlier?” I replied in thought.

“Because, when someone, like, cheats on him or says that they want to break up with him he goes PSYCHO! His doctor says he has a bad mental disorder. So I didn’t do it until I didn’t care about giving him a mental breakdown, but I’m looking for a boyfriend,” she said.

Then I let it out, “Can I be your boyfriend?”

After backing up a bit and almost running away, she said in a calm voice, “Sure.”

I let out an inner victory cheer and then I asked almost as soon, “What’s your name and what’s your phone number?”

“My name is Melanie Kippwoff and my number is 1-916-879-3288. What’s yours?”

“My name is Martin Marty Malkin and my number is 1-000-111-2233.”

“Where do you work, Martin?”

“I’m an assembly clerk at Ripoff & Soups, you?”

“I work here as my day job, but my real job is being the owner of Ticky-Tacky Records and cashier of its subsequent store.”

“Well, that’s a pretty good job!”

“Thanks, Mart! Is it OK that I call you Mart?”

“Yeah, it’s OK!” I responded. “Also I’m goin’ to be one of the first people to be in Ripoff & Soups, and first commercial space hotel.”

“That’s amazing! When are you going up there?”

“Today in fact, at 11:30!”

“Great, I can’t wait to see you! Skype me from the space hotel!”

“Oh, my skype address is martinmalkyc@skype,” I said.

She answered back by saying, “Well, mine is melanierainerl@skype.”

My heart was racing but then Jockisoin was racing, using his feet, to go tell me, “It’s 3:30, we should go.” I looked at the clock, he was right, it was 3:30, then 3:31, then 3:32, then 3:33. My precious time with Melanie was being wasted! I said goodbye, then I ran out of “The Closest Coffee Shop That’s Not Called Giribaldi” and ran to the department store. You always need a few supplies for living in space for who knows how long! I bought some cookie cutters, some spoons, knives, forks, sporks, combination locks, hairbrush, aerosol, ziploc bags, headphones, paper, a fax machine assembly kit, and an aqualung. I went to the clothing store and bought shoes, shirts, tuxedos, sweaters, undershirts, and helmets. Last but not least, I went to Amazing Savings and bought some gluten-free gluten, rainbow cookies, ice cream sandwiches, modified green beans, edible glue, M&Ms, Hershey’s Chocolate Beer, Fosters, Coca-Cola-Pepsi-Dr.Pepper-Sunkist-Fanta Mixable Fountain Soda pack (it also comes with five cans of each soda individually), tonic water, kale, and finally, pink peeps.

When I finished my shopping spree my personal sense of time told me it was 5:09. I ran home and started folding my clothes and packing stuff into stuffcases. Then I found a picture of my mom, Nicole, and my dad, Casey, with me at Washington Monument when I was 8. For some strange reason we all doing peace signs, at a monument. I started laughing in a sort of inside joke kind of way. Then I found some more pictures where that picture was. One of them was with my first girlfriend, Joane, and me at age 13 at a hockey game at Mexico City. There was another picture of me and my half-cousin Georg, pretending to put our hands on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I can see that I was 10 when we did that picture. And finally I found a picture of Nicole and Casey about to board a plane to Rwanda as Peace Corps volunteers (my parents said they weren’t there long ‘cause they mistranslated their Kinyarwanda, an official language of Rwanda, wrong). I stuffed quickly the pictures and the subsequent photo album into one of my packs. I also packed lots of books, old & new vinyl records and a turntable, movies, two computers, and a foolproof razor.

When I had finished packing all my stuff into stuffcases, I got something that in the writing world (which I’m afraid to say in a world I’m new to) we call writer’s block. So I called the advice hotline.

“Hello, how can I help you?” called the receptionist in a calming voice.

“Hi, my name is Martin Malkin. I would like some advice on what to do when you have nothing on your hands at the time being?”

“Yes, you should go get a life!” the receptionist yelled right before she hung up. I sulked until I looked and saw that John Beese was running my way.

“Mart, come quick!”

“What?”

“Ibn-Louis is gay!”

I thought about it for a while. then I saw a mixed feeling on John’s face that gave me the idea that he did not like this simple fact of life.

“What’s the deal?” I told Beese.

“I don’t know. Goodbye!” John said and he ran away to somewhere.

As I was walking to the work building I passed a bookstore that I mysteriously walked into. I started to buy some books, since I had now (dang it! It’s ‘no’! Aaah! spelling strikes again!) sorry no real anything to do at all. I bought War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy (since I was going to be there for a long time, right reader?), Ulysses by James Joyce, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, and Animal Farm by George Orwell (as you can see reader, I am trying to dig deep into classic literature).

But then, a bright green book caught my eye. It was some philosophy of Phillipe Froufrou. I bought it quickly because of 2 things. 1.) It was because bright green books are usually very entertaining, and 2.) ‘cause I wanna know some good philosophy! I went up to the cashier and asked her what the price was.

“$29.06 please!” she answered in monotone. I gave her the wanted price and started my very short sprint to my wanted destination. Then suddenly some prostitutes fell on my knees asking for a chance, their infamous business having gone smaller by the day. I contemplated and I gave them a chance. I paid their price. It felt good. I could easily possibly remember some of those minutes for a few years. I left the old rusty condos where “it” happened and I checked the clock. It was 9:50. I skipped all the way to the Work Building.

There Mr. Tweed was waiting for me in glossy black designer shoes with designer Gucci clothing on. I could see the hair gel too. Don’t forget the hair gel. Looking very impatient, he ushered me into a blue-walled room, or auditorium to be specific, with a cool organ that I ran to, to bang random keys on. In the middle of my own improvised symphony Tweed ordered me to stop it at once, for it was, quote, “grinding his eardrums into dust.” I sulked into one of the pews. I started to read the Holy Bible, having nothing else to do. Then everyone came in, not just including the crew, the guests of honor, but also secretaries, dancers, entertainers, professional organ players, backup astronauts, technicians, priests and much more others! I also found Syria Jacks and Ibn-Louis here! We all gathered around and talked about politics and religion when we heard a professional organ player play “Rise of the Valkyries” by Richard Wagner and Mr. Tweed and Mrs. Secretary strutted to the pulpit like it was a runway.

Mr. Tweed got up to the pulpit and started talking. He motioned the professional organ player to stop playing. He stopped abruptly and immediately. “Hello!” he started. “My name is Archibald P. Tweed Jr. but please, call me Tweed. I am so glad to say that in exactly two hours Ms. Emmaline Mabatai, Mr. John Beese, Ms. Louisa Pelican, Dr. William Jockisoin and Mr. Martin Malkin will be Ripoff & Soups, or in general first at all, people to go on a commercial space hotel. I say we give these astronauts an ovation!” (There was a quick ovation.) “This is a big deal for the history of big business and space and science! We’ve beaten Virgin Galactic! I feel so glad to have this company taken completely different and new paths that have gone rock steady so far, such as our successful space program! Maybe soon, we’ll be able to populate Mars! Now, let’s get this show on the road and get these men on the shuttle! C’mon!” Before we got out of the auditorium we were stopped by Tweed and some of his goons. “Here is the Bible and the Book of Mormon, a Bag of medications and a Hoover Vacuum Cleaner, it could get dusty in there,” he said. Then we went to the shuttle. Jockisoin whispered into my ear, “I vomited when I was at the simulators in Cape Canaveral.” I gulped. I have no idea where I’m going right now. They start the countdown. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Goodbye Earth, hello space hotel!

To Be Continued…

John F. Kennedy International Airport Adventures

murmurs of commotion, excitement

the smell of stale

people and personalities

unintentional noise, ears popping

I’m sorry

I spilled my iced coffee on your shoes

gum popping and

the smell of tourist mint

 

waiting for the risky grey flying machine

that takes you to and from

countries with twisted tongues in the form of words

and food that makes your tongue recoil like a rattlesnake

mommy,

I want mac ’n cheese please

stern voices

that force the memory of exotic etiquette

 

pearly whites strung together with wire

don’t make the alarm go off

even though daddy said they would

an extra ounce of strawberry shampoo

makes more noise

on the metal detectors

than my morning alarm does

to my phone

 

because here and there

extraneous sounds soar

from New York City to Beijing to Geneva

all coiled up into one little flying machine

until it’s all let out into a collective

sigh

 

My Life As A Senior

It was 8 a.m. and it was time to get out of bed and start my first day as a senior at Valley High. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed my lunch from the table and walked to my blue convertible. I started the engine and drove down Pine Lane to pick up my one and only friend Laney. It took us 15 minutes to get to school and we parked outside. It was senior orientation and the principal gave us the welcome back to school speech and we got our new schedules. My first class was AP Calc BC with Ms. Tang.

I went to my locker, the same one I had for the past three years, to unpack my bag and grab my binder for class. As always, I was late to class and ended up sitting next to Jack, the most gross guy in school. I looked around and happened to see Janice on her phone, as always checking her Instagram likes, while Josh was taking a nap. Ms. Tang walked over and screamed in her Chinese accent, “Wake up! You’re not at home. You’re at school and at school you learn.”

Ms. Tang was characterized as the most hated teacher in school, not because of the class she teaches, but because when she talks no one can understand her. I used to love math before Ms. Tang joined Valley, but now I hate it, and it’s has become my worst subject. When Ms. Tang taught us, she would take three days to cover a topic. One was to learn the concepts then next day without practice while the last day was quiz day. However, Ms. Tang was never confident at what she was teaching as she barely answered all the questions that the class asked her. The bell finally rang, and first period was finally over. Now just 4 more to go. I ran out of the room as fast as I could, and walked up to Laney by her locker which was right next to mine and complained, “That was the longest period of my life! Seniors year sucks. I can’t wait to get out of this hellhole.”

“Janie, it’s okay. You’ll get through it. What is your next class? I have AP Lit,” Laney said in an optimistic tone.

“British Lit,” I said.

I hated Shakespeare. Who is supposed to understand what on earth he is trying to say? The bell rang and we both were late for second period. Ms. Moore, my English teacher, was British of course. At least with her accent I could understand her, but wished I didn’t. The first play that was assigned to read was Othello. I was ecstatic when she said Othello because I had read the book over the summer, when I took a summer English class to get more credits for my transcript. So I decided then that I wasn’t going to do anything for this class, and instead stress over the fact I might not get into college.

Three years of high school has already passed for me and I can’t change that. My average has been the same each year, and an average of an 81 is not going to get me into a really good college. I was so worried that instead of going to lunch with Laney, I decided to visit my college counselor, Mr. Paxton. He was the funniest counselor I had met in the school. I knew from the moment I met him that he was different. He had long brown hair down to his shoulders and he always had a stash of junk food in his left drawer. I knocked on his door and said, “Hey Mr. P, what’s up?”

Mr. P said in an Australian accent, “Ow-yar-goin mate?”

“I’m worried about my grades and that it’s not going to get me into a good college. I’ve always been a slacker and that’s not gonna change. My parents think that the only college I’ll get into is Pine Valley Community College, which is like the worst school ever!!”

He said, “No drama, mate. It will work out fine. If you work hard this year for the first semester and show you’re trying to make an effort and raise your grades a little, you’ll be fine. Now nick off, you’re bothering me. I was eating my fifth twinkie before you walked in. Go eat lunch!”

I went to have a quick chat with Laney before I went to AP Chemistry. In my head, I thought, this is the easiest class ever. Science has always been my strong suit. I loved learning about the elements of the periodic table and I wanted to learn more about Organic Chemistry. I can definitely pull my grade up for this class. Mr. Kuplar was the most serious teacher in school. He loved chemistry and loved teaching it for the past three decades. Our lab that day was to learn more about reactive metals such as sodium and potassium. Once our lab was completed, we had to write a lab report concluding our data and findings.

As I started thinking about our lab, I started to daydream about the cutest guy in school who happened to be in my chemistry class. His name was Niall and he was the quarterback of the football team. His sea blue eyes mesmerized every girl in school. He has a big sense of humor and always has a jock that makes the class burst into laughter. Not only do people love his cute face and sense of humor he also loves to sing, dance, and play the guitar. Even all the guys gave him the nickname “The Triple Threat.” I imagined him asking me to senior prom, but while day dreaming I hadn’t realized that I had put some potassium powder in water. All of a sudden I heard bubbling noises. I woke up and saw that the potassium mixed with water. The mixture created potassium hydroxide which can lead to an explosion. Just as it was about to explode, I yelled to the class, “Everybody get down!!!” and a small explosion occurred.

Mr. Kuplar was in the back of the room, saw the explosion and fell to the ground. We all gathered around him, and I shook him to wake him up thinking he fainted from what he saw, but he wasn’t waking up.

Someone shouted across the room, “Janey, you gave him a heart attack. You killed him.”

All of a sudden, we heard the fire alarm go off . The smoke in the room got worse. I turned around to realize that the reaction never stopped, and I finally pulled the fire alarm button and everyone went in panic mode.

“Run!” Niall said as he ran out of the room.

We all were gathered around outside in the school’s football field. Mr. Jenkins, the school’s principal came running to the school field franticly looking to see if everyone was okay.

He walked straight up to our class and said in a loud angry tone, “Can someone explain to me what happened to Mr. Kuplar and what caused the fire?”

I didn’t dare to speak, but I knew that if i didn’t, I probably would be in more trouble than I was already in. So I decided to suck it up and confess. I walked up and said, “This is all my fault, sir!!!”

“How so?” he said.

“Well, we were doing a lab assignment and I was not paying attention and caused a chemical explosion,” I said.

“You think this was a mini fire!!! Everyone evacuated the building. You caused a disruption in every class. Tomorrow come to my office and we’ll talk about the consequences. As for everyone else, school is over for the day. See you tomorrow.”

I walked to the school parking lot to head home and Laney found me and asked me what had happened. As I drove her home, I explained the whole story to her. Laney exited the car and said, “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

As I drove down the road, I thought to myself, what are the consequences that I might receive and what will happen to me? I didn’t want to face my punishment or the reality.

When I got home the maid said, “Your parents are out for the night at a benefit and won’t be home til late.”

“Okay, ask the cook to make me Chinese food tonight.”

I went up to my room to check social media about posts of what had happened today. Everyone in the class told everyone what had happened on Facebook. I started to get frustrated about the situation as people started to make up stories. One crazy story was that I started the explosion on purpose because I hated school and everyone in it. That story spread around and everyone was commenting about how crazy I was and how stupid of an idea it was.

I couldn’t face my classmates tomorrow. I didn’t want to be the laughing stock of the whole school. Words travel fast in Valley High and once they hear gossip it never ends. I was tired to doing nothing for the past few years. I wanted to be more independent and outgoing and the only mind that I thought would help me get there was to go somewhere else. Some where no one knew me. I always had a hidden interest in going to Morocco to learn Arabic, as well as to learn more about their culture and gain a whole different on perspective in life.

I decided then and there to leave to Morocco. I wanted to get away, far away as possible. Not only was it across the world but my friends and family would never think that I would decide to go to there. I walked up to my parents room and opened my mother’s drawer and took 5,000 dollars, which was all of the money left in the drawer and purchased a one way ticket to Rabat, Morocco in a different name. I walked into my room looking for my luggage and started packing all the things I could fit in my luggage.

As I was walking down the stairs I got a call from Laney. In a rush to leave I hit ignore.

Running

The wind teases every strand of your hair

While the ground races underneath your feet

And everything around you moves too fast

When you decide to run

The heat drips through your fingers

The wind teases every strand of your hair

Never stop a girl gone wild

And everything around you moves too fast

The angry wind slaps your face

The heat drips through your fingers

And everything begins to spin

Never stop a girl gone wild

The clouds move swiftly overhead

The angry wind slaps your face

Rain crashes down

And everything begins to spin

While the ground races underneath your feet

The angry wind slaps your face

When you decide to run

Rain crashes down.

The Adventures of Stupid

Chapter 1

Hello, my name is Stupid. I need to find a key in a hhhiiilll (which means mountain). So I hired an assassin to kill a blimp man so I could use the blimp.

As I was flying, the assassin got on his own ship and tried to shoot the blimp with a bazooka. My blonde hair blackened as he scored a hit. I flung myself at the key of truth which would save us all.

I hit the spiky mountain and blood sprayed from my chest. I climbed and climbed until my vision blurred. My life…was…nearly over…but…I…must…get it!

All of a sudden I was healed and a large dragon stood before me.

“Hello, I am Frostbite of the six dragons, you have freed me. Free the rest of my kin with the next key on Mount Buttox,” boomed the dragon. Then it flew away.

I looked far into the distance and I saw a butt hhhiiilll. I ran down my hhhiilll and I saw the assassin with his red glowing eyes.

“I…I…I…w…wiill…k…k…killl!!!” muttered the assassin…

“W…well I’ll make sure you don’t!” I shouted as he charged at me.

“I HAVE THE KEY!” I shouted and the key turned into a shield. The assassin bounced back as he hit my shield.

“♈(aries)!!!” I said as I swung at him with my fist. KA-POW!!!! The assassin went flying away…
“Y…you…d…d…don’t know who raised you, do you…?”
“What are you saying!!?”
“I…I killed your m…mother…the dragon…AND I’M PROUD OF IT!!!”
Then he vanished…

Chapter 2

“WWWAAAHHH!!” I cried.

My mother was a dragon! Why did the assassin kill her? Why did the assassin like it!?! I thought. And what am I???

Then a thought occurred to me.

“I’M a DRAGONBORN!!!” I shouted, and all of a sudden I felt a little different, like I had scales…wait, I’m a dragonborn. Duh.

Anyway, I got to Mount Buttox and a giant bat loomed over me…and a butt killed the bat in two seconds as I drilled underground.

I found a strange man who said that he was “the doctor” and he also said that I needed to kill a…that was as far as he got, because all of a sudden he disappeared and I was alone in the gray, dark cave.

A strange voice floated around, saying “kkiiilll.” And then the world went dark.

Chapter 3

When I awoke I was in a dark, dark cave.

“Dddiiieee!!!!” I jumped out of the way but my leg was pierced by an arrow and it bled…a lot.

My attacker was a strange demon and he roared with fury at missing. It started stinging me on the neck, I thought I was done for, but then I saw a key!!!

I grabbed hold of it and I was healed again. With the last of my strength I thrust the keys at the creature and they turned into swords and it killed the demon.
”Looks like we’re safe.”

Dev

Dev was relaxing in his bed at home watching his favorite movie, The Dukes Of Hazzard, for the umpteenth time when he heard his phone ring. The words he was about to hear would never leave him, for that moment was the first time that he experienced true worry. Fear, grief, heartbreak, surprise, and anger all rolled up into one gigantic ball that seemed to fall on his heart and remain there for a long time. He paused the movie and answered his phone, immediately sensing the anxiety on the other end of the phone.

“Dev, it’s Mrs. Kimthro. Valeria is in the hospital. We found her passed out on the floor in the bathroom. She’s very unstable. Valeria has been suffering from extreme bulimia, ever since…there are things she didn’t want you to know, but she needs you here now, regardless. We almost lost her. You should hurry.”

Those were the first words to throw his life upside down. He didn’t even have time to fully process what Valeria’s mother had said before he was already pulling on his shoes. His beloved girlfriend was in danger, and he needed to be there for her. A million questions were zooming through his brain, threatening to overflow. He raced downstairs, grabbed his coat hanging on a chair, snatched up his car keys, and was about to race out the door when he heard his mother call out to him.

“Dev, honey, where are you going? It’s late. You have school tomorrow,” his mom questioned.

“Mom, I don’t have time to explain, but Val is in the hospital and I need to be there,” Dev yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Dev drove the 25 minutes to the hospital in a sweat, parked his car sloppily, and ran inside the huge, ominous brick building displaying faded welcome signs for visitors. On the inside, the hospital was completely different. What the outside lacked in beauty, the inside made up for in cheeriness and warmth. Potted plants, freshly cleaned floors, a faint smell of pie, and deep red and brown colors made the place feel strangely joyful. To the left of the entrance, was a tiny waiting room filled with melancholy patients and their loved ones. An elderly man sat alone, quietly wiping away tears dripping down his face. An obviously stressed middle-aged woman sat with a young girl — presumably her daughter, based on their similar facial features — who was vomiting into a plastic tub. The mother tenderly stroked her daughter’s hair as the girl’s body shook from weariness. Dev ran up to the sleek, wooden intake desk, then stopped for a minute to catch his breath.

“How can I help you today?” asked a friendly man behind the reception desk.

“Hi, I’m here to see Valeria Kimthro,” gasped an out of breath Dev.

“Ok. And who are you?” chirped the man.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Dev responded.

“I’m afraid that I can’t let you back there alone unless you’re a family member, or with one.”

Starting to panic, Dev pulled out his cell phone to call Mrs. Kimthro when suddenly he felt a shaky hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Dev. Glad you’re here,” said Mr. Kimthro as he embraced Dev. Then, turning to the receptionist, he said, “I’m Bo Kimthro, Valerie Kimthro’s father. This is Dev Rull, he’s with me.”

“Great, you can both head on back,” declared the man as he pushed a tiny button. Suddenly, two giant doors swung open, and Bo led Dev through them. The pair of men walked through the shiny, sterile hall together in silence. Dev couldn’t get to his girlfriend fast enough, yet at the same time wasn’t ready to face her in pain. Eventually, Bo came to a stop and opened a simple door the color of eggshell that held behind it a complex web of suffering. As he entered the room, Dev’s heart rate sped up, and his eyes immediately fell on the face of Valerie. A face that always lit up at his stupid jokes, and kissed him with love as powerful as a mountain. Valerie, had dreamt day and night of her future career as Vermont’s number one author. Her wild dream was to find an old, abandoned cabin in an isolated part of the woods that she would fix up herself and while away the years. She would go on lengthy, daily hikes where she would listen to the croaks of the frogs, foxes eerily screeching, and the rustle of the wind twirling through the sharp pine branches. Valerie: the most selfless, loving young woman ever to set foot on this Earth. Or, that’s how she’d been up until about a month ago; lately, she didn’t talk about her Vermont dream. She’d become reclusive, depressed, and quiet recently.

Now, he was looking at the ghost of that gorgeous girl. Her skin was terrifyingly pale, and her body looked fragile as a baby bird’s. Her electric blue eyes had lost their million-dollar twinkle. He’d been noticing a decline in her health, but now it seemed shockingly present. Dev went to Valerie’s bedside and leaned over her frail body.

“Hey, Val,” Dev croaked out.

“Hey,” Valerie whispered as a gust of a smile breezed across her face. Mr. and Mrs. Kimthro silently left the room, leaving the two teenagers alone. Dev gently pushed Valerie’s legs over and sat down on the tiny hospital bed. There was a loud squeak as his body eased onto the cot. As Dev sat next to her with an anxious look on his face, Valerie closed her eyes, wishing things could go back to normal, before the accident. What had she done? Had a group of deities sat down for lunch one day, and as a group decided to ruin Valeria Kimthro’s life? Had they laughed maniacally, and then talked about the newest episode of The Walking Dead? Valerie believed in the core of her being that she was stupid, ugly, fat, annoying and worthless. That’s what she told herself every time she forced herself to vomit. Her days revolved around sliding her fingers down her throat, feeling her muscles tense, and then the sensation of the vomit fighting upwards through her body to see the world at last. After a particularly large retch, maybe she’d be pretty again when she looked in the mirror. Possibly, the fat would’ve also slid off her body and into the toilet. However, when she gazed at her body, all she saw was a disgusting human who didn’t deserve anything. She could almost see him standing behind her; feel his calloused hands running up and down her body. A month ago, a tall, hairy, fat, bald and angry man had pulled her into his car – a huge white van – and kept her there for the majority of the day. She had screamed, cried, and fought all she could, but he beat the fight response out of her while screaming incredibly hurtful words into her ears such as “Ugly, stupid bitch” and “You’ll never be good enough.” Afterwards, he made her do things, sexual things, that she had never even heard of. For eight hours on a Friday, he explored every sexual option her body had to offer. “Work, Bitch, work. You don’t belong in this world. Go back to hell. You stupid bitch. You ugly bitch.” He repeated that line every time she started to sob again. She believed him.

Realizing she’d fallen into another one of her dream states of intense thought, Valerie opened her eyes to find tears sliding down Dev’s face. She slid her hand across the sheets and grasped his smooth hand. Startled by her sudden activity, he quickly wiped away his tears and leaned down towards her face. While gripping her hand, he leaned down and planted a peck onto her silky cheek. She closed her eyes, but the face of her rapist appeared, screaming at her. She blinked, and looked into the sweet, cocoa-brown eyes of Dev. People were constantly saying, “Oh, it’s only young love,” about their relationship, but Val knew that they were wrong. She knew that she and Dev’s love for each other was as strong as the gargantuan waves covered in salty foam that come crashing down on the Atlantic Ocean during a summer storm. Too weak to speak anymore, she closed her eyes and drifted off, knowing that she was now safe with Dev there by her side. He was here in this hospital for her and only her. As she fell asleep, she let that thought drill deep into her head, never to be uprooted by any abusive man ever again.

Noticing Valeria’s even breath and closed eyes, Dev leaned down and attempted to doze off next to her, but it felt like his thoughts were hosting a rave inside his head. Even after thousands of years of evolution, discovery and exploration, humans are still struggling with basic emotions. There will never be any clear path for misery, so all we can do is to keep loving those who are hurt.

 

Zeroed Out

Behind me was chaos. I knew people were fretting and spinning and shrieking, but I stayed with my forehead pressed against the ice-cold window of the space station. I forced myself to watch the eerie white expand over the Earth as if the swirls encircling the planet thought they could conceal the rest of the universe from the obliterated sadness that was now left. I had assumed if we broke out into a nuclear war it would be more climactic –not that the government would just mandate reruns of the 1951 “Duck and Cover” and turn Bert the Turtle into bumper stickers and collectible figurines. Even as an astronomer, part of me had always expected comical red and orange flash explosions.

Caden slid next to me and pasted himself against the window as well. “People are zeroing out, Cressida.” He said it in his deep, quiet rumble, voicing my name with constancy that made me tingle.

I knew what he meant. People couldn’t bear the thought of being the abandoned remains of our world. Of sipping coffee on a spacecraft for years with nowhere to return to. They would move towards the hatch doors without their suits and leave the station, not caring to find out how much longer they could keep going. We were supposed to be strong and know that death was imminent, but many couldn’t bear it when it was slow and foreseen. They had reached their lowest point.

“Who?”

Caden looked at me with soft, glimmering eyes that wanted to shield me from any pain. He tucked a honey strand of hair that had escaped my braid behind my ear, letting his freezing fingers linger a moment on the nape of my neck. I could tell he had been working outside the craft. His breath was tangy, his hair smelled bitterly of diesel and thawed metal.  His dark skin glistened with sweat and his eyes were teary like mine.

“Most of Unit Nine,” he answered finally. He bit his lip as he did when he held his breath and turned his head left; scant hairs on top trailed a millisecond behind, standing straight, having been kissed by static electricity.

“What about Bec?”

“She’s fine.” He responded instantly, reflexively. Bec was my magnet. I couldn’t be without her. Him either.

I looked again at our miserable planet and was roughly grateful that they had made no effort to prepare us. I regarded the churning ashes and comatose atmosphere. It seemed inadequately serene. I was waiting for Earth to begin quivering and combusting and chortling and unleashing itself in a gleeful rage of lava and Hell. I was half-heartedly expecting an unveiling of Satan. Something entirely irrational and absurd that would just somehow make the collapse clear anyway.

Caden stepped closer to me. “I know it won’t help to hear this right now but—”

“I need to go keep people calm and check the supplies. I know.”

“I was going to say I love you, Cressida, but that’s true as well,” Caden whispered.

“I love you, too,” I said, squeezing his wrist lightly, looking at him with warmth. I couldn’t bear to wonder what would become of us now. The little girl inside me had been expecting a picturesque wedding. A white one, maybe, with Calla Lilies and Tulips and a triple-tier cake like they used to have hundreds of years ago. I looked down at my engagement ring, which was a laser-pointer ring used for giving presentations in the Space Lounge. Caden had proposed spontaneously. I knew he surprised himself just as much as he surprised me.

I swiveled around now, breathing in quickly, somehow feeling selfish as I did so, as if the oxygen supply was not unbounded, as if breathing took longer than it should. I headed to the storage room, hoping Bec would go there as well.

I felt awkward, like I had heavy weights in my hands but there was no mass inside of me, no tasks of obligation remaining. Like I was Phillippe Petit, 718 years in the future, walking from one Twin Tower to the other but realizing that the towers had crumbled below my feet as I walked. Yet I was still walking; walking across the sky with no tightrope. I felt guilty, as if I should throw myself into a gutter but that didn’t make sense at all. My body shivered, almost as if every part of me had realized that I was still standing. I could blink. I could lick my lips. I could feel sweat between my toes.

I heard the cacophony of footsteps and clicking heels and the whir of machines and fans. I took a sharp left, walking down the alabaster hallway. Empty offices, doors strewn open, and piles of devices being organized by apparatuses that could understand no difference in situation. I kept my feet moving, faster and faster, realizing that my life had been spent doing things of little importance.

I’d been here less than a year and the view from the gigantic windows to my right had always stolen my attention. But this time as I walked alongside the incredible sized sheets of insulated glass, I forced myself to look away – to not be deluded by my fried home planet. Even so, I pictured my little brother and parents rupturing into trillions of particles, whirling across crooked countries and sloshing seas. Lifted by the same wind currents that carried my favorite ice cream store sign and the tree at the end of our block that I always hated as a child. It would almost be easier to picture 37 billion dead bodies than picture none at all and just dust.

I punched in the nine-digit code for the storage room and stepped through the doors, which slid open instantaneously like it recognized the desperation and scarcity of time. The room was three stories high with outlandish tile work and drawer complexes. The white was overpowering. Flickers of green materialized from perfect retina circles on the faces of each capsule that was fully stocked and red emanated from each that was running low.

“Cressida.” I knew the voice was Bec’s before I even saw her. Voice recognition is so weird.

We ran at each other, sailing into each other’s arms.

She was a war veteran and I was her family and it was like she had been gone for five years. And I needed her to feel like I can breathe again.

We spoke at the same time. “—Are you okay? —” “—Yes—” “—Wait—“ “—Not really—” And it wasn’t weird because that’s how we were.

She pulled me after her as she slid over to the main monitor in the center of the room. It stood six feet tall, three millimeters thin, virtually invisible when not turned on.

“Ready?” I asked, though the question was mainly posed towards myself.

Bec turned the monitor on slowly, hesitating as if she were a kid playing with a light switch, trying to balance it between on and off.

I winced.

The power went on in seconds, showing the standing status of food supply. Three dimensional graphs and models were projected within an instant. The two of us raked through information until we got to the heart.

“Seven years, six months, twenty-three days.” My voice surprised myself.

“***.”

“Yeah.”

Bec studied me. I saw her lip quiver as she attempted speech. “Cressida. You should go somewhere. Take them to Neptune. Do something that hasn’t been done. There won’t be anyone to remember it, but at least it’ll be the last thing you remember.” She took a step toward me. Her voice resonated in the room, delicate and exposed.

“Neptune would take under five years.” It was my favorite planet.

“Do it, Cress. You and Caden could easily convince the team.” Caden could do it, I knew. He had a way with words.

“What about you?” My words tumbled out of my mouth and she hugged me and it felt like we were at a funeral with crystallized tears in our eyes that wouldn’t run.

“I’m jumping.” Her words were muffled by my hair but they hit with full tilt anyway.

A second slithered by slowly like a slug creeping across asphalt. We stood in a silence that was uneasy and unfamiliar. I saw us rocking back and forth on blue hover seats twenty years ago with sparkling eyes, laughing with vanilla blossom smiles like we never wanted to die.

“You’ve decided?” It felt like a bruised answer, something incomplete and lacking affection.

“I have,” she said. “I have, and it’s not because I don’t love you and you’re not enough. But you have to let me, because I can’t sit here with twiddling thumbs and fake smiles for seven years. I have to pay tribute.”

“People have paid tribute, Rebecca. Several people from your unit have already,” I said, letting desperation peek through my words.

“They did it because they were incapable of living like this. Please understand, I’m not zeroing out. I’m not weak, but I’m not strong like you are. I can’t live a finite life built on whim. I’m doing it because I can’t be bound by an obligation that doesn’t exist anymore, and I need to show myself that I’m human and I sympathize and I feel their loss and that we all do and I just have to do it. I have to be with them. You can keep going. You have a way of thinking that has astounded me since we were children and your life keeps plowing on and on and I need you to keep going and do what you’ve always wanted to do. Please understand.”

I did understand. Of course I did.

She took me, frozen, into her arms and told me she was leaving and that she loved me and told me to stay here, not to watch and not to say anything. She left me, arms pendent, facing the towering monitor in the center of the room, seeing the green and red flashes of the supply capsules in my peripheral.  I heard her heels clicking and the door hissing as it closed behind her. I felt time pulsing inside me and I didn’t know how long it was, but there was a ‘ting.’

I lifted my eyes to the monitor where the remaining time was displayed, wincing as I saw twenty-three days morph into forty-four. So that’s how much a life was worth. Twenty-one days.

I twisted down the alabaster hallways, passing the empty offices, stopping, this time, to look through the colossal glass windows into the black, watching the beauty of the trillions of dancing stars, somehow aching for the warmth of sunlight.

Star Bright

Star Bright by Anna McNulty

            My room is shrinking. My walls are covered in old photos glued to the paint. The photos are fading and wrinkling, and I have no new family photos to replace them. It’s going to be two years on Friday, two years since life released my mom into the heavens. She fought and began her own quiet war, but the medications failed on her and us. All of us.  But, family therapy has helped. I tell my therapist, this lovely lady named Patrice, everything. I’m made of laughter and tears, joy and pain, but pain doesn’t have to be part of me forever. I can set it free.

            My mom told me when she was sick that I needed to move on and Dad and Franki had to, as well.

            Before she slipped away, she said, “I’ll always love you guys, and I wish I could be here and watch you all grow, but life is ready to take me away too soon. I’ll always be watching down on you. James, you were my first real love and you always will be. Franki and Stella, I’ll be there for your graduations, your weddings, your baby showers, wherever life leads you. I’ll always be there, waiting and watching.” Then she kissed us all on the forehead and her hands went cold. Her bed of tubes and wires fell asleep forever.

            I walk on Column Avenue, the main street in Beaver Creek. After therapy, I take the shuttle home and run inside past my red door, covered in snow, and into our navy blue house that sits on a hill.

            “Hey, Stell, how was it?”

            “The usual, fine. Kinda borin’,” I say in a hurry, grabbing my gloves. “I’m going to the woods.”

            “Why? It’s freezing, and anyways, the Reynolds are coming over tonight.”

            “You know, I always go to my fort in the woods. Just call me back when Jesse comes over.”

            I walk into the forest like I do whenever I need time to think.

The trees calm me and help lighten my day. The crisp whispers between the leaves, the calming laugh of the wind, and the echoes of the trees help me relax. I’ve only taken three people here, my sister, Dad and my best friend Mia. I only take people who understand me, and who I trust. I started building my little fort in the woods the day after my mom passed away, right before her funeral. I needed a place by myself where I could go and escape my haunting reality. My fort now has a mattress, tree lights, a little couch and a mini fridge. It’s in a tent, and I put it right where my mom used to take me at nights to watch the stars shine.  Once in a blue moon, we’d see stars fly across the banner of twilight.

            I lie on my mattress, and for once, I try to think about people other than my mom or Jesse, but I can’t. Jesse, my best guy friend and a good family friend, was the first person I called when my mom was diagnosed and the first one I told that my mom passed away. He’s not complicated like my friend Mia, he just gets me. I stop daydreaming and grab my jacket, the Colorado snow is caving into my tent.

            Someone knocks on the fort outside,

            “I’m coming, Dad!” I say as I zip open the door.

            I look outside. “Franki!” I scream as my older sister jumps in and hugs me. I hold her close as I start to cry with joy.

            “I didn’t think you would come back from college ’til March!” I burst out as my body shakes.

            “I’ve got so much to tell you. Does Dad know you are home yet?”

            “Of course, I wanted to surprise you!” She says as she kicks the snow in my face.

            “Ohhh, Stell, the Reynolds are coming over tonight. That means Jesse, too!”

            “Shut up, Franki, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone or make jokes, seriously. I haven’t even told Mia.”

            “I know, I know, I would never,” Franki says laughing at me.

            We open the door and Dad comes and hugs us both.

            “It’s been so lonely without you, Frank. We’ve missed you.”

            “Franki, please stay. I need you here for the rest of 8th grade.”

            “I can’t, Stella, I would love to, though.”

            The kitchen smells of chili and cocoa as the fireplace sparks, and jazz music plays through the speakers of our loft-like house.

            “The Reynolds are here,” I say as I wave at Jesse and his younger sister through the window.

            Franki winks at me, and I start to kick her, and Jesse runs in and starts hitting Franki. We and the Reynolds are like family, which in some ways is good, but it scares me in others.

            At the end of dinner, Jesse, Franki, and I walk outside and talk. We sit there ’til 11 o’clock, and then Franki leaves to go upstairs.

           “I know this is an important and hard week for you, Stella, but I want you to know I’m here for you, if you need anything.”

            “Thanks,” I say, holding back my tears.

            “Jesse,” I say choking up, “You were the first person I called when my mom died. I trust you with everything.”

            “I thought you called Mia first,” he said looking at me through his hazel eyes.

            “No,” I said my throat dry, “you.”

            “Don’t be scared to cry in front of me,” he says.

            ‘I’m an ugly crier,” I say, and we both laugh.

            My laugh becomes tears, and he gently puts my head on his shoulder as I cry. My sadness is only a dream with Jesse, as he holds my head and keeps me strong. We sit there on the steps of my house, as we watch the stars.

            “Look, a shooting star–Make a wish!” he says and points to a star that is flying through the night.

            “You’re crazy,” I say as I giggle and wipe my tears away on my sweater. I silently make a wish.

 

            Friday comes as I feared. I hoped it would never come, I hoped I could pause life or maybe fast forward past this day. But I can’t run away from reality, I have to face it. I don’t go to school today, and Franki is staying home ’til Sunday. I lug my body to her room and hurl myself onto her floral bed.

            “Two years,” I say under my breath.

             She looks up at me and then grabs me close.

             “Mom would have loved to see the little woman you’ve become. She was so strong and did everything to put others before herself, just like you, Stell.”

            We lie together on her bed in silence as Dad walks in. He lies down with us as we stare at the walls as a family. Yes, we are an injured family, full of confusion and pain, who love each other more than words. “We love you, Mommy,” I say.

            “Mom didn’t want us to suffer because of her. She told us not to stick to her, but for us to live on and move on with her in our hearts,” Dad says, trying to lift our spirits and convince himself.

            “You’re right, Dad, let’s make some breakfast.” Franki says.

            We make Mom’s famous pancakes as a family and light candles as snow whispers outside our windows. The day moves on slowly, as we mourn but try to move on from our solemnity. I go to my fort with Franki, and we sit and look through photos from when we were little. We share our favorite stories as we cuddle in blankets and pillows. Finally, we walk back home and sit with our dad. In the afternoon, the doorbell rings and Jesse stands there in his big jacket with flowers.

            ‘Hey, Mr. Milam,” Jesse says as he leans in and hugs my dad. “I’m so sorry.”

            “It’s so kind of you to stop by,” Dad says.

            “I brought you guys some flowers, and my family sends their wishes. Can I see Stella and Franki?”

            “Yeah, they’re upstairs,” Dad says.

            Jesse walks upstairs and comes into my room.

            ‘Hey,” he says and leans in and hugs me. “How are you doing?” he says.

            “I’m fine,” I say as I pull my long curly brown hair up.

            Franki comes in and hugs Jesse, and we share our favorite memories of our mom with Jesse. He sits there and listens like a good friend and doesn’t interrupt. When we break down in tears, he waits and calms us. Franki eventually leaves to call her best friend, and I think I should probably call Mia, but I wait.

            “You know, I’ve never taken you to my hiding place. Where I go to escape. I’ve only taken Mia, Franki and Dad, but I want you to come. I started building my fort the day after Mom passed away.”

            “I’d love to go, Stellie,”

            My eyes widen and almost smile; He’d never called me a nickname before. We walk through the snow and I tell him about my fort.

            “It’s the most important place to me, and I only take the people I trust.”

            “I’m honored,” he laughs as we walk on.

            When we enter the fort, Jesse freezes.

            “This is amazing, Stella. It’s magical.”

            “The first memory I had with my mom is right here, it’s where we would go to talk and watch the stars.”

            “Stella…” Jesse says struggling for words. “This is hard to say, but I’m going to try, so please listen. I’ll always be here for you to talk to, and I always want to be. You mean beyond the world to me and I want you to know that. You’ll always be my best friend.”

            I look at him startled.

            He grabs my hand, and it starts to snow.

            I hold on to his hand, as he protects me, and I place my head on his shoulder. The trees guard us. He gently stops walking and pulls me into him and kisses me. My body heats up, and I hold onto him closely.

            “Is that okay?” he says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

            “I’ve always wanted you to,” I say and laugh.

            Out of the corner of my eye, I see a star fly by.  Finally, I’m set free as my mom lets me slip away.

Bruises

there was a boy

a boy i once loved

our friendship was first

and then came

our nonexistent love story

we knew each other for years

before i discovered him

his never absent smile

his deep brown eyes

the way he makes me melt

like chocolate chips in pancakes

before i completely fell

we became friends

everything

was our main topic of conversation

i tripped without warning

i fell

and my skull clanked

on the cold dusty floor

but it didn’t hurt me

i was too long gone

it was then decreed in my mind

that he was forever

and i was in love

i was unafraid to tell my friends

about my incurable infatuation

but he didn’t feel the same way

this i knew for a fact

as he had kindly informed me

that he was incurably infatuated

with my best friend

of course

he told me this information

because our main topic of conversation was

everything

upon his discovery of

my undying love for him

our main topic of conversation

became nothing

the bruise on my skull

that had never hurt at all before

now made the blood in my veins

pulse painfully

a kind of ache I had never felt before

and my brain took note

that this was what everyone called

heartache

after that melancholy

nonexistent love story

eventually the ghost of our friendship

came back to life

and i had to get back up off the ground

brush off the dust

forget about the bruises

caused by my fall for him

and start over

and keep starting over

i’ll fall a million times for him

until my bones are battered and broken

and our skulls have matching bruises

Peaches

I was standing in the middle of the cafeteria, it felt as though there was water reaching over my head. It ran through me and rushed over my skin making me feel lifeless and invisible. I was gasping for air and being pushed down to the bottom with the pressure of the water, choking. “Jackie don’t be such a girl, it’s just a little prank” said Junior “are you tough or not”. I was snapped back into reality, the water drained and I realized that I was in need of a snap decision. We had run into the cafeteria and grabbed a peach fruit cup, Junior had gotten his group to play a prank on Mrs. Chutney and some how I was pushed into it too. I looked at the stained yellow walls and blue tables with small benches attached to them. I felt the walls slowly closing in on me, I don’t think I should do this,  I thought. A few minutes later I found myself standing around Mrs. Chutney’s chair pouring Missouri’s finest peach slices all over it. The room was silent other than the faint pouring of peach juice and the occasional plop of a peach. What are you doing, I thought, you let five no good kids pressure you into doing a horrible thing, what have I done. When the job was done I placed my hand on the chair and felt the seat, it was soaking wet and when I picked my hand up it was sticky and smelled like peach.  The room was overcome with the smell of peaches, the chair was wet and covered in mushy fruit, I was a trouble maker. All I could think about was the fate that I would sucome to if Mrs. Chutney found out what I had done. I stood up from my crouched position at the teachers desk and saw the giggling children, some of them were jumping out of their chairs and running around the classroom just thinking about Mrs. Chutney having peaches all over her bum.

Everyone sat down when Mrs. Chutney walked in, she stopped as she walked in and sniffed the air and she let herself smile at the lingering smell of the peaches. She wrote something on the board however before we could read it, she sat down. The kids began laughing when she turned white, as she stood up I immediately regretted what I had done. She turned around to look at her chair and we saw her soaking wet skirt covered in gross looking peach sauce, then she turned around we saw her face had turned from white to completely red. The oldest trick in the book had hit her the hardest. As she ran out of the room I buried my face in my hands. Then when the class turned silent I looked up, they were all looking at the board. I looked over at the large words in white chalk and immediately became largely puzzled. Mrs. Chutney was new, she had questioned the work we had done and the way we were taught, the boys who put me up to this dirty work were upset and ruthless towards anyone who questioned the ways they were used to, Mrs. Chutney was innocent… She was ready to apologize for her fault. I walked up to the board and ran my hands across the smooth black surface to see if it could be true. I ran back to my seat, my feet thumping against the floor with every step. I felt so diminutive… I tried to quell them but the hot tears that were building up came through and the lump in my throat made it hard to breath, I couldn’t live with myself. The fact that I had made someone feel so utterly terrible made me feel like a piece of rotten garbage.

I had never gotten in trouble before, I knew what Momma would do to me and how bad Papa would think of me. The second I heard Mrs. Chutney say my name of the people she wanted to see after class the next day I made a run for it. I jumped out of my chair and tried to squeeze myself through the crack in the window. I looked directly at the scratchy bush that awaited me when I fell, still I didn’t care. I was clawing at the rough bricks that left crathes all over my hands, just then a gust of wind flew my dress up and everyone in the class began to laugh at my underpants. Then I felt a tug at my ankles and someone’s sweaty hands pulled me in.

“Miss. Wilson thats not the way out. Please see me after class, same as the rest of you I called” she said. She had gotten everyone who was in the conspiracy. I groaned and sat back down not acknowledging the laughter and staring of all the kids who had just witnessed my attempt of escape.

After class Mrs. Chutney explained to us that she was not upset about our little stunt. She just merely wanted our help instead of calling our parents. In a nutshell we were sentenced to community service. She said that the next  day we would help load some scrap paper to a company that will use it for other goods. We all agreed thinking that it would be easy and that we got off easy. Boy were we wrong.

The next day we were pulled out of class to begin loading the paper. We walked down the hall thinking that we got to miss class and all we had to do was be outside and load paper, like a second recess time. When we got outside we were smacked in the face by our own dreams, we gaped at the giant stacks of paper that were standing in front of a small wagon labeled Waldoorf Paper. We lifted many stacks, five minutes in our hands were clammy and our muscles were sore. For the next few hours we both regretted our prank and forgot about it by having contests with who could hold the most paper and racing to get the next stack. The wagon workers laughed at us and our juvenile behavior. The boys yelled things at me like “come on Jackie carry more paper, don’t be such a girl”. And at that point I had had it. I put the stack I was holding on the truck and turned to face the five boys. I was infuriated at the trouble these boys had gotten me in.

“I AM A GIRL! I WON’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! YOU ARE THE REASON I’M IN THIS MESS! You’d better be glad I’m not smacking you upside the head. Now be quiet and don’t wrap me up in your dumb acts for attention ever again” I yelled. Once we had finished we walked back the the halls the boys jumping around and joking with each other about their strength, I however walked on the other side of the hallway with a giddy feeling in my stomach that came with the new found confidence that I got from standing up for myself. I walked down the hallway with confidence, I had stop the water from flowing and floated to the top breathing the fresh air and feeling like I had conquered the world.

Insecure Insecurities

She pranced around the living room in her new dress, a sparkle in her eye accompanying the glitter of the clothing. The dress was as pristine as a crisp winter wonderland. It would shine bright in the darkness and seemed as though it could light up the world with its bright personality. The blue seams were invisible as the dress flowed like silk while she was twirling it again and again and again. I envied her, clothed in that beautiful dress, the most beautiful dress I had ever seen.

I continued to sit and watch her, as there was nothing else I could possibly do. It would be rude to leave the crowded room, since my parents had planned endlessly for this New Year’s Party. Although I doubt anyone noticed me, anyway. As the loud voices enclosed me in silent thought, I stared out the window. The weak winter sun, a mere orange speck fighting to restore its power, began to go down behind the spider legs that were bare trees. I remembered where I had been this time yesterday, not caring about the long, cold, Aurora winters, celebrating the new year with my friends. Scratching at some dry paint on my arm, I mindlessly looked up from my thoughts about streamers and balloons to find my sister, still twirling and twirling and twirling again.

I reluctantly stood up as the guests continued to applaud my sister, her long blond hair trailing behind her, as swift and smooth as silk while she danced. I slowly migrated over to the plates of food, sneakily snatching some: crackers, adorable mini sandwiches, chips, salsa, olives, and more. Stuffing myself with food, I didn’t notice one of my parent’s friends coming up behind me. “Hello,” she said. I jumped in surprise and turned around, chewing like a chipmunk, my dark chocolate eyes barely visible through a mess of my short, straight brown hair.

“Hi,” I replied hesitantly, fully embarrassed while talking with my mouth full. There was a moment of silence while I managed to choke down the rest of the food.

“And who might you be?,” she asked with a tone of superiority. I felt that pang of frustration I often feel when my sister is recognized and praised for her many talents, while I am left behind like an old rotten banana, that wonderful bright yellow swallowed by a dark brown cloud.

“I’m Juliette, Leanne’s sister,” I answered as politely as I could.

“Oh, I didn’t know Leanne had a sister.” There it was again. I could just never understand how people didn’t notice me – I wasn’t invisible.

“Yup,” I answered, not sure what else to say.

“So, how old are you?” Her bright green pantsuit blinded me for a moment, as I had not noticed what she was wearing before. There was a moment of silence before I answered, as I was thinking deeply.

“I’m twelve, four years younger than Leanne,” I stared into her wrinkly face. This woman looked familiar. Where had I seen her before? My mind raced like a running horse.

“Interesting. You certainly are older than you look. Well, enjoy the party!” And she walked away. Just like that.

I woke to the sound of my sister’s name, tear stains on my blotchy face. It was my mother’s voice, yelling up to Leanne that it was time for dance class. I heard Leanne mutter something while she slid out of bed like the slug I sometimes see her as.

It was Saturday, the saturday after the first week of school after winter break. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a week, as the lady in the green pantsuit had slipped in and out of my nightmares since I met her. It was always the same dream— she held me by a thin thread that sprouted out of my head and held me painfully like a vulnerable doll, dangling me over an endless pit. Terrifying. Horrifying. Petrifying. Even when I awoke with a cold, white face, the fear never left me. I can still feel that pulsing blood, those cold, clammy hands, that layer of grime and sweat, that pounding head, that fear. I still just couldn’t seem to grasp who that lady was.

I lifelessly pushed myself down the stairs to find that there were not enough pancakes for me, that Leanne needed four to give her extra strength for her dance class. The usual: me living in Leanne’s shadow, making “sacrifices” for her success. As I pour myself a bowl of cereal and Leanne gobbles down her four pancakes, my mom talks to me before she takes Leanne to dance, which is a first.

“So, Juliette, I’ve been meaning to tell you did you meet a lady in a green pantsuit at the New Year’s Party? She was your old preschool teacher— and Leanne’s too. I was hoping you got the chance to talk to her.” Suddenly it all made sense. The lady in the green pantsuit WAS my preschool teacher. I remember her torturing me. She was the first person to give Leanne all the credit and leave me behind. I hate that woman.

Another week passed, full of constant thinking about the lady in the green pantsuit. Through my contemplation, my feelings about the lady did not change, however I had a new and reinforced strong hatred for one other person. Leanne. Even though there were other people to blame for the unfairness, it was not as if Leanne has ever tried to give me a chance in the spotlight— or even been sympathetic. She had just been rude to me like I was an annoying little mosquito, not even remotely important, my only contribution to the world being able to provide an irritating presence. And that time, I wasn’t going to let Leanne get away with her selfishness.

Once again I found myself sitting in the living room, watching Leanne show off one of her many talents. At that moment she was showing us her singing that she was preparing for an upcoming competition on Saturday. However, unlike many other times I had been sitting in this same spot, that would not end in silent tears and me playing sad songs on my clarinet, an instrument I had played since I was six. Until now, my clarinet had been my only outlet for frustration, but now I had another plan to finally release the anger that had been be boiling up inside of me.

As Leanne belted out the final word to her song and my parents started to applaud, I ran up to her and joined in the last few words. I sang loud. I sang as loud as my heart would let me, bursting with passion, letting my wonderful, strong, singing voice go, the voice that had been caged inside of me for twelve years. Those wonderful few moments, when Leanne’s voice melted away, it was just me. A spark ignited inside of me, something I hadn’t ever felt before. I heard fireworks, I felt fireworks, and I made fireworks. This time, they weren’t Leanne’s fireworks, they were mine. And that was the best feeling in the world.

Leanne gasped. My mother looked astounded with awe and my father was just sitting there seemingly paralyzed. I smiled at the amusing scene before me, and took a bow.

“Thank you, thank you,” I laughed. My parents applauded vigorously for me, just me. Leanne just stood where she was, continuing to look offended.

“WOW, Juliette, I can’t believe you would do that! Always trying to steal the spotlight…” Leanne suddenly burst out accusing me. I began to fume, angry as ever.

“WHAT? ME? I’M TRYING TO STEAL THE SPOTLIGHT FROM YOU? You are the one who always gets the credit, who always get the praise, and who always gets the applause! It’s not fair! I’M TALENTED TOO! DON’T YOU ALL SEE THAT?” I yelled.

“THAT’S NOT TRUE! Don’t you remember that time when…” Leanne trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

“SEE?” I bellowed.

“Girls, girls enough. We both love you equally,” Mom tried to sympathize, but she was never good at sympathy and she never will be.

“You see, the thing is, a lot of the time it seems like that isn’t true,” I angrily stormed off to my room and slammed the door, hard, leaving my shocked family behind.

I entered my room strong and defiant, but by the time I reached by bed, I crumpled into tears. Sobs. All that anger and frustration I had built up inside of me just melted away, and a feeling of complete sadness and hopelessness took its place. I had tried many, many times, but it just has never worked.  Leanne always won, while I never could. I just didn’t know what to do anymore, I felt like a squashed flat cartoon character that couldn’t get up. I cried and cried, deeper and deeper into my pillow, feeling more and more pity for myself. It was as if I was drowning in a black hole, drowning, drowning, drowning…

After a few minutes of crying, I had to come up from my pillow for air. I turned on my back and looked up at my ceiling, at my room, at my life. The calm green walls and the fresh white ceiling, my pine wood desk, my creaking wood floor, my colorful carpets with neverending patterns and shapes, and my sliding glass and gold door leading to my vibrant closet. That was the only place where I had ever felt at home. No one bothered me. My room gave me a sense of sympathy no human had ever given me before. I suddenly felt very lonely, realizing that I didn’t really love anybody. I buried my face in my pillow once again and continued to sob.

About an hour later after I had been hearing hushed voices I could never seem to make out, Leanne knocked on my door. She had never done that before.

“Um, Juliette?” Leanne said unsurely.

“What?” My voice was muffled by my pillow.

“I uh, I wanted to say sorry.” That was a first.

“Continue,” I said, not trusting Leanne’s words. Leanne slowly opened the door and walked in hesitantly.

“I was thinking about what you said, and I realize that you’re right. I guess that I should give you more of a, uh, chance to shine,” Leanne admitted. I was both surprised and honored.

“Leanne, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Leanne smiled and walked over to my bed.

“I do love you, Juliette.”

“Then why don’t you ever say it? Or show it?”

“I don’t know, I just get so absorbed with being the center of attention…”

“I’ve noticed.” There was a moment of silence before Leanne spoke again.

“You know, we used to be really close when we were little.”

“Really? I never knew that.”

“It’s true. I’m going to try to take a step back now, I promise. I want to have what we used to have, and I want to you to remember it this time.”

“OK, I will try to.” I smiled. Leanne reached over and gave me a hug. I squeezed her tight, not wanting to let go of my new friend.

 

 

 

 

I Remember…

I remember rushing through the forest on two wheels,

For the first time.

The wind blowing not only alongside me, but in me,

Acting as my own personal encouragement and pushing me along.

The green and brown patched quilt of trees that hang over me as a canopy passing by in a blur of color; The vibrant, extraordinary detail,

Unseen to the eye.

Scratching the paved path, moving along,

The vehicle ticking each time a wheel turns.

Bumps on the path jolting me upwards,

Holes in the path forcing me down.

Letting the road take me forward,

Unsure of where I will land,

But not stopping nevertheless,

Because this is the ride of my life.

 

I remember the crisp white paper,

The smell of freshly sharpened pencils.

Everything neat,

Like a newly made bed.

Walking through the halls as a new person,

Starting fresh.

No scribbles,

No ripped paper,

No feeling that I just can’t work anymore.

Yet.

 

I remember the dozens of plates on the table,

The warm glow of the room.

My family’s smiling faces,

A sister I had not seen in so long.

The biting cold that sliced my face,

Whenever a crack of an open window revealed the outside world,

To a warm, cozy fantasy.

We all rejoiced in saying:

“DIG IN!”.

Gobbling down the food brought wonderful tastes to my mouth:

Flavors, shapes, patterns.

All forgotten as I swallowed mouthfuls,

Of wonderful, wonderful food.

 

I remember the rooftop sunset in front of me.

The final bit of orange sun peeking out from behind the clouds,
A mere speck fighting to restore its power.

The clouds are swallowing the sun.

Mounds of white fluff tease me,

As I long to lounge on them.

Striking orange, yellow, red, and blue,

A vast rainbow of colors stretched across the evening sky.

I was on top of the world,

Staring down at the sunset.

 

 

Breathe

“As I am sitting on the bench I see this familiar man with a white and black dog saying my name.”

“I felt a rain drop wondering if I was crying because I saw him.”

“Sydney.”

“Ken.”

“Yes how are you Sydney I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I am good thank you for asking how about you?”

“I am good thank you I wanted to see if you wanted to see Bella again soon in the fall?”

“I said I don’t think , sorry. I have to go, but it was nice talking to you.”

“I saw her. She was shy but said oh Sydney.”

“I was happy she was out of my life, thats why I smiled.”

“Hi.”

“I breathe in with it is okay you will get past it.”

“You breathe out with “whatever” in a rude tone.”

“I get excited about the little things.”

“You get excited about nothing, the unimportant things in life.”

“Life is more than that, did you know that?”

“I imagine what life would be without you.”

“Do you imagine life without me… because that would be nice not having to be around you for once.”