The ink reservoir dropped. Straight out of the holes in the ceiling tiles and onto my desk, branding my nose on its way. I wouldn’t say I was waiting for the moment, but the seat in which it happened to be dangling above for the past two months, was known to be mine. I’d spent hours absently staring up at the ceiling in History class, just waiting for something to happen. Brendan Marshals and Scotty Parnell laughed. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ I said Mr Andrews spun around from the whiteboard, dragging the marker with him and crossing out the word “treaty”. ‘Kayla, get out of my class! You can go see Ms. Fox for that.’ ‘It wasn’t even fucking me!’ Kayla said. Mr Andrews blames Kayla for everything. All the teachers blame Kayla for everything because she shows potential. They want to convince her that it’s not worth spending time around me. They don’t realise that we’re basically like sisters--best friends since preschool. She’s not going to ditch me just because these idiots see something in her. ‘I said it,’ I declared proudly, standing up. ‘And I don’t give a fuck I’m outta here! Who’s with me?’ I’d imagined this moment before, dreamed about it. I never thought the remnants of a pen-shooter would be the catalyst. Kayla stood up immediately and then Becca--our faithful follower. Brendan and Scotty stood up too, any excuse would’ve worked for them. Mr Andrews looked straight past me to address Kayla again. ‘Straight to Ms. Fox you hear me, Kayla.’ ‘Fuck you,’ Kayla yelled back. Then, without warning, she picked up a chair and hurled it across the classroom, just missing him. For the first time, he held the entire class's attention. Eyes darted back and forth between Kayla and Mr. Andrews. Kayla looked at me as if she too were surprised at what she’d just done and didn’t know what to do next. ‘You deserved that,” I said, breaking the silence. He cowered, dropping his head onto the desk, cradling it with his arms. Siren-like wails poured out from the depths of his head cavern. I’d finally broken him. For exactly two seconds I felt sorry for the blubbering mess of a man -- but then I remembered the canteen incident. Last week, Mr Andrews’ pointed the finger at me without a second of thought and zero evidence, as the prime suspect in the canteen burglary. Boxes of Zappos were distributed around the school that day--anonymously. No one owned up, so they shut the canteen for three days. We were spewing. No one would dare come forward now, not with a mob of dim-sim deprived teenagers on the loose, they’d be asking for it. And Mr Andrews knew that, when he publicly announced his illegitimate suspicions in front of the school assembly. ‘I don’t even eat Zappos,’ I said, rising to my feet. ‘They make my pores sweat.’ ‘That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’ ‘The most ridiculous thing I’ve heard is you accusing me of stealing Zappos when your pigeon hole is full of Zappo wrappers,’ I finished, taking my seat. The whole school started booing him until he gave up and the weekly announcements went on as if nothing happened. Kayla had overheard him throwing my name around the staff room the day before when she was in the sick bay and had arrived at school that next morning armed with Zappo wrappers to plant. She’s always got my back like that. We storm out of the classroom leaving the history of Australia on the whiteboard with a mission to make our own. We march through the outdoor, red brick corridor with our bad girl bucket hats and flared jeans trailing threads behind us. The door to the girls bathroom swings open revealing the silhouettes of two girls emerging from a cloud of smoke. They’re spraying impulse aerosol like there’s a bee on the loose. Vanilla musk barely masks the acrid waft. It’s Danielle Diblassi and Teegan Myers. ‘What are yous doin?’ Teegan asks, twisting her infected nose piercing and scratching the crusty ring around it. Becca tells them we’re staging a walk-out because we’re sick of the teachers treating us like a pack of dogs. I can see she’s pissed off that the two of them are back to being best friends again after Becca backed Teegan in a punch up against Danielle last week. Becca's broken acrylic nail is seemingly all for nothing. We let them join us but Teegan has to pay Becca fifteen bucks for her nail repair first. I lead the pack with Kayla and Becca to my sides. All public schools need a triumphant leader that will take a stand and lead them to victory. And that leader was me. We’d had enough. Becca’s mum once told us how it was, “back in her day”. “Sister Margaret would whip our ankles if our skirts were too short”, She’d told us. Our school doesn't require floor length skirts. Our school doesn’t require skirts at all. Our school doesn’t require much of anything really. The information sheet that replaces a handbook at our school refers to it as ‘dress code’. We wear what we want... so long as the teachers like it...or like us . Which is why this morning, when Laura Mayfield walked into the year 9 sub-school wearing a low-cut, halter neck, midriff with glitter bra straps hanging out each side and a silver belly chain with a Jesus cross hanging from it, Ms. Fox remarked, “What beautiful chain Louise, I didn’t know you were religious”. She isn’t. Then when I walked in behind Laura wearing a white t-shirt with two hand prints printed on the boobs, Ms. Fox ordered me to change immediately, claiming she wouldn’t tolerate such inappropriate innuendo. I told her I didn’t bring any other clothes. Her eyes actually twinkled like some kind of anime cartoon when she said, ‘Well aren’t you lucky that I have a box of spare band uniforms.’ A musky pile of navy blue polo shirts lay in a warped cardboard box beneath her desk. They smelt like the music storage cupboard--damp and sweaty, with a touch of someone messing around inside. ‘This is discrimination! Why don’t you get up Louise for having her whole belly and half her tits showing?!’ She ignored me. I snatched a shirt from the box and gave her the finger as I walked out. At recess we impaled it on a stick and hammered it into the oval like a flag. Kayla’s given me her adidas hoodie to wear for the rest of the day on the promise I give it back to her before the bell. Apparently her mum’s starting to get pissed at how many of her clothes are going missing. ‘They’re not missing, they’re at mine, I’ll bring them back,’ I told her, questioning her sudden lack of trust in me. We continue past the science labs where Mr Archibalds class is left unattended, copying instructions from the whiteboard. Amber, Caitlynn and Jessica Day-Mitchell join us after we holler an invitation through the window, then surprisingly Matthew Benningham; the innocent school prodigy, who had just reached his daily quota of bullying intake after Royce Adams told him his diagram of a Bunsen burner looked like a dildo, also grabs his bag and joins us. Matthew is the kind of gifted that repels friends, but today he’s welcomed into our pack with thanks and praise as we try to gather numbers. Questionable noises come from behind the blackened windows of the darkroom as we pass the media building. ‘Get some!’ We all hurrah and bang on the glass. Amber's sister once told us how the photo lab was off limits to all year ten students for an entire year in 98 because Evan Summergreen was caught fingering Tara Tepiatu in the dark room. “You bitches are lucky. I missed out on a whole year of mucking around in there”, she’d told us. I wondered why a photography teacher would forget to knock before entering a dark room. We reach the end of the brick corridor and come to the open courtyard. We’ll have to cross it undetected to get to the final corridor, marking the last part of our journey before we can get off school grounds. Mr Verna emerges from the music room demountable with four students and five sets of bloodshot eyes. They’ve all received special permission to skip regular classes to practise for next week's assembly, practice clearly involves the occasional puff of a joint. Three weeks ago they performed a song called, “My prostitute” that they’d written under Mr Verna's guidance, at the talent show auditions. Lachy, the lead singer, said he was going to dedicate the song to Kayla. I told him if he did I’d smash him. They dedicated it to Sammy Jakes instead, who pretended to be embarrassed--as if she couldn't believe anyone would think of her as anything but an innocent virgin. But we all knew inside she was celebrating the advancement of her reputation as the “school slut”, which she wears like a badge of honour. They didn’t make it through to the finals. Lachy says weed helps their creativity. Mr Verna is just depressed. But no one’s meant to mention the latter unless they want to be banned from private music class invitations. Mr Verna looks like a deer caught in headlights when he sees us parading across the courtyard. We wave, he stays frozen for a minute, then smiles and winks. I wink back, both pretending we haven’t seen a thing. Miss Jennings’ Indonesian class spots our group as we approach the home stretch. We hear Maggs sitting in the back row call out, ‘Miss! I think I see Jamie Jones wanking in the green house again!’ ‘Right!’ Miss Jennings huffs. Her lips purse together, twitching like there’s an evil spirit trying to escape. ‘Remain seated everyone and continue reciting the Indonesia Raya.’ She leaves the room and twelve of her fifteen students jump out the window to join us. We continue on gathering students from food science, Maths and French along the way. There’s no hope for Miss Clabells business class. She’s already locked the doors and threatened two weeks of after school detention for anyone even thinking about leaving class. It’s her first term at our school after leaving a private girls school and so far she’s managed to stand her ground. We’ll wear her down soon enough. We March past an English room where everyone is nose deep in Dolly magazines for silent reading. Jono spots me from his window seat. He hates my confidence, but I know he just wants to be me. He opens the window. ‘Miss, something smells like heroin!’ he yells in my direction. ‘Heroin doesn't have a smell Jono,’ I laugh. He mumbles something. He’s never been good with comebacks. His two best friends Mitch and Noodle stand up and leave him to join us. ‘Wait, What? Are you for real?’ He asks them. They’re totally for real because Principle Greason confiscated all the cone pieces from Noodles bag last week which he was going to take to Mitches after school. They didn’t get their arvo cones that day and Mr Greason wouldn’t even give the cone pieces back either. Two teachers wait at the end of the final leg blocking the gate after being tipped off by one of these prison guards presumably. One, is our science teacher Mr Jones. Mr Jones has just finished teaching us about magnetic fields occurring in natural minerals. From his classes, I’ve learnt that If Kaylas boobs were iron, then Mr Jones’ eyes would be magnetite. Shannon wastes no time calling him out as we approach. ‘Getcha eyes off ‘er tits ya perve,’ she sputters in his face. ‘Shannon Bates, how dare you make such accusations,’ Mrs Warren defends, her face flushes to match the bright red suspension slips she holds in her shaking left hand. Kayla turns to me, ‘I don’t think I can afford another suspension. Mums gonna kill me.’ ‘What? We got this far, I thought you were with me?’ ‘I was...but, I’ll be grounded! I won’t be allowed to go to platform eighty-eight on Friday and the hot Blockbuster guy is going to be there!’ ‘If Kayla's out I’m out,’ Becca says. Becca’s always been quick to turn but Kayla’s shook me. After everything I’ve done for her this is what I get? Murmuring rises throughout the pack of once-dedicated students. The red slips have turned everyone. I face the group. ‘Kayla, are you going to let Mr Jones keep drooling into your cleavage every time he sees you? Guys, everyone has a reason for being here today, are we just gonna cop it?’ Mrs Warren is ignoring me, pretending to write names down on the red slips, ‘Mrs Warren’s been here two fucking weeks guys! She doesn't know any of your names! Are we all just going to take this shit?’ I look at Kayla. ‘I did this for you.’ Kayla looks like she’s about to cry. For some reason I don't care. I turn to walk off bidding everyone a sarcastic farewell on my way but just before I leave the gate Kayla calls out to stop me. ‘I need my hoodie,’ she says. It was a day to remember--the great walk out of “01”. We gathered 53 students as we made our way through the school and to the edge of freedom before 49 of them backed out. We could have made a difference--showed them who's boss, but instead they came down harder, even bringing in a school uniform to wear. I blame Kayla. She doesn't get in trouble anymore, even when she’s done something shit like robbing the canteen. I only think about her when I see her hoodie impaled on a stick in my backyard


She longed to be back under the earth in her burrow, with the she cat, but that wasn't how things had worked out. They had caught the buck's trail, and there was only one way to go. The clouds were heavy, it was getting late, almost true dark, the rain and air growing colder. Song had tried sleeping in a burrow. The white dog had dug the roof off of her, whining and scared to be alone. That was fair. She had tried a lean-to, but the wind was too strong, she froze in her wet woolens. So she compromized with the beast, and built a pit, covered with her poncho. Song huddled with the dog for warmth under her blanket, rifle at her side. Whatever light there might be out in the rain, there was none in this damp, dark hole under the leaking poncho. It smelled of dog and of her sweat. Of earth and old leather and wool. It was cool, if not outright cold. The dog wormed closer. Song cried, and tried to sleep. ... He had gotten lost in the fog before the rain turned heavy. He had been following the brook looking for angelica, but found none. That happened sometimes, where the glaciers had been retreating more quickly, the seeds spread slower uphill. He had walked high to find birch... and then what?...and then seen another stream... had it been to the east or west? He depended on his dogs and Song to know where he was. That wasnt his job. He had crossed a stream, and another, by the time he found angelica and a copse of birch, the temperature had dropped, the rain had grown heavy and a thick fog had rolled down from the slopes above that lead to the base of the glacier. He had no dry wood to make a fire, no idea where he was, and it was getting cold, fast. He tried making a leanto, but he couldnt stay warm by himself, he needed his dogs for that to work. There was only one thing to do. He started digging. Again. ... The tom was awake, looking out the doorway, over the ashes of the fire. He was making a low warning growl. The she-cat was slinking around the side of the door, tail up, claws out, ready to strike if an intruder came. What were they afraid of? Then the bitch smelled it, over the oppressive choking odor of the dying fire. Fox. ... The poncho was waterproof, but it didnt hold heat like the earth she was accustomed to sleeping under. She awoke each time the dog moved or whimpered in its fitful sleep. It was as alien to the beast to sleep without its pack. The sound of the raindrops were like a war drum, tapping out a madly arrhythmic tattoo, too irregular and loud to allow for real rest. She tried to breathe, but the air in the pit under her poncho was oppressively heavy. Stifled, she struggled to her knees, the dog whining in its sleep at this disturbance. The blast of fresh air when she lifted the edge was welcome. The spray of cold water was not. She was now soaked again, and cold. The dog, now awake, whimpered at the intrusion of cold air. With a feeling of utter helplessness, Song sat back down, grabbed the dog to her under the blanket, and cried herself to sleep with her face in its mane. ... He couldn't hear, or smell or see. He was warm and dry in the cocoon he'd made, but he felt cut off from the universe and utterly alone. Cut off from his dogs to guide and protect him, his knowledge was useless. It was safe under the ground when he was alone, but he was never supposed to be alone, and now his pack was wherever he left them, the bitch wounded and all of them scared. This was not how the hunt was meant to be. He mumbled reassurances to his dogs, too far away to hear them, but it was really for himself. Eventually, exhausted from fear of being alone, his voice croaked and lips stopped moving, his muttering giving way to snores. Above the blanket, and poncho, and branches, the rain dropped silently onto the turf. The cold wind howled through the birch on the slopes and the angelica. In the dark grey twilight of the early morning hours, Fir slept warm, if alone, beneath the earth. ... The fox had been incautious, and that had likely lost an eye. To her credit, the bitch had struggled to stand up when she had caught the fox's scent. While the tom wasn't as large as a fox, he wasn't small, and he'd play fought with the dogs when they were pups. He may not have a foxe's jaws but the claws on his long, strong front paws rained a flurry of blows. The fox had not been ready for this strong a defense, and was trying to flee when the she-cat, smaller but twice as fast and every bit as fierce as the tom, was right there in it's face, lashing and tearing. The bitch had barked and tried to bite, weak and half seated, but there was no need. The fox was long gone and would not be back. The air smelled of blood. the cats cleaned themselves, the only blood the fox's. The bitch hobbled outside and pissed in the cold rain. The cats were ferocious. She had no doubt the fox would not return. But if something else came it would know that the bitch guarded this den. She limped back inside. When she'd found her place, facing the door, the cats positioned themselves on either side of her, the tom cleaning the fur around her bandage. The she-cat, alert with eyes closed, pointed her ears intently out the stooped doorway into the cold rain and grey fog. ...


Stolen Glances He was the Stable Boy. He had no right to be looking at her in that way. A way that spoke of feelings and desires beyond words. Feelings and desires that he had no right to be thinking about her, never mind speaking to her. She was a lady. The youngest born to a great lord. She was refined, poised, delicate. Her hands were swathed in the sweetest silk. Like her soft, pale face. One of these gloves alone was far more than the likes of the Stable Boy would make in a year. She was drowning in lux, heavy fabrics layered her body, burying her slight frame. She favored yellow, but often wore purple. A reminder to herself and everyone who surrounded her, from the highest lord to the lowest servant, of her status. The Stable Boy wore browns, all browns; brown cap, brown shoes, brown trousers, waist coat and shirt. Brown dirt on freckled face and freckled arms. Brown hair under his cap. Dark eyes looked up from under his cap, stealing glances at her when he wasn’t supposed to. Hidden looks that were not his. He hadn’t the right. Only once she looked back. That look wasn’t his to have. He never should have had it. The Stable Boy spent much of his time in the stables with the earthy smell of horses and the spring smell of hay. He brushed their flanks, shilled their shoes and fed them the finest oats. All the horses were those of the lords and ladies, and needed the finest care and treatment. The Stable Boy provided just that, without complaint. The stable was his home as much as his small lodgings on the lord’s lands he was permitted to keep there. More so when his parents fought. Their horses company was the company that the Stable Boy preferred to keep. It didn’t take much to know them and learn what they liked. And they didn’t seem to mind him all that much either. There was only one’s company that he would prefer more... She didn’t see him. She didn’t see him wherever she went. It was a conscious effort on her part. She did not wish to see him and chose not to. But somehow the Stable Boy kept appearing to her, in her mind’s eye, when she caught herself day dreaming, and when she lay in her chambers at night, heavy fabric curtains drawn, blocking out everything but his face. It swam before her each night. Forever out of reach to her. She who had the kind of father who could bless her with anything her heart desired. Except him. She didn’t see him wherever she went. But she carried him with her. Just as he carried her with him. ******** Once a week the lords and ladies would come out to ride in the mid-day sun. The Stable Boy silently worked, helping the lords and ladies, he saddled their horses and helped them into their riding boots. He never sought her out first. He always waited until the lords and ladies were speaking among themselves. She always stood to one side. It wasn’t announced and she wasn’t missed. She always seemed to disappear from them without notice, to stand to one side. To wait for him. The Stable Boy would work efficiently and silently. He would saddle her horse with care and kneel down to help her into her riding shoes. His tanned, calloused hands treating her so gently, so preciously. All the time he kept his gaze averted, eyes firmly down at the ground. His cap covering his eyes from hers. In these moments before she rode, she would look at him openly. Her eyes scanned him, searching. She took in the strands of dark hair poking out from under his cap, his tanned skin and scatterings of freckles. The hard line his lips formed into when he focused on his work. The way he hesitated before laying hands on her shoe. The care that he placed her riding boots onto her foot. The way his fingers longed to linger, but didn’t. The tension in his broad shoulders. He was threadbare and common, but he was honest and his touch sincere. Once the Stable Boy had stood again to help her onto her horse, she refused herself to look at him anymore. Once she was seated on her horse he would stroke her mounts mane and leave his hand there, lingering. She could feel his eyes on her now and refused to give him hers, looking straight ahead, fixed. They would stay like this, locked in a moment that they both refused to share with one another. Too frightened of what may happen if their eyes found each other. Yet they both longed anyway. This ritual was repeated each week. Each taking the turn to look at the other. Drinking them in, devouring them with their eyes. It was late autumn, the last ride out before the horses would winter in the stables, when the Stable Boy had his hand on her horses mane, gazing at her. She didn’t look at him. She never looked at him when he looked. She reached her hand out to his. Their hands trembled. ******** It was winter and The Stable Boy hadn’t seen her since the last day in the autumn. The Stable Boy had housed himself with the horses for the winter. He was out there so often feeding them and it was far warmer in here besides with the animals making good company. He thought of her often. Her creamy skin. Her rosy cheeks and lips. Her flowing lock. Fire in the sun and rose in the shade. The look of discomfort in that world of lords and ladies that none of those refined folks seemed to notice. Her eyes piercing him. Her eyes not lighting up when she politely laughed at a nobles jest. Her eyes fading when she was presented with another suitor. Her eyes shining when she looked at him (the Stable Boy saw more from under his cap than she realised). He lay in the top of the barn with the hay bales above the horses, dreaming of her and dreaming of her, both awake and asleep. It was a cold night when the Stable Doors flew open. Icy winds blowing in and a loud clatter (gave the horses a start). Assuming he hadn’t locked it properly, the Stable Boy quickly climbed down the ladder, calmed the horses and turned towards the stable door. She was standing there. They both looked at one another. They shared their first embrace that very night. She came to see the Stable Boy as she could after that first night sneaking out into the darkness, with nothing but a cloak and a lantern to protect her from winters bite. She would shuffle into the stables, shivering, and he would warm her and tell her in soft tones not to come again; she’d catch her death. But again the next night she would come and again he would tell her not to. The Stable Boy knew their time was short and sought to make each moment count. She wanted more and oft fretted about her marriage proposals and desires to be with him instead. The Stable Boy would hold her and say nothing. His heart heavy with knowledge and sorrow. ******** No one knows how the barn came to be on fire. Some think it was a jealous suitor, insulted that the finest lady in all the lands was choosing to spend her time with common servant. Some think that it was her father, mortified that his daughter had sullied herself with a lowly peasant. Others say that a lantern had been knocked over and had been the cause of the fire. There was a lot of talk after that night, when the barn lit up in a great bonfire. All agreed though, that she had been okay. The lords daughter was well, pulled from the barn by the Stable Boy. But the Stable Boy went back for the horses. The lord was ultimately most angry that his prized stallions and fillies had died in the flames. He gave no thought to the Stable Boy and even less to why his daughter had been stood in the snow, staring at the flames as tears rolled down her cheeks, freezing in place. She continued her ladies duties. She walked with poise, wore fine garments, tittered politely at her suitors remarks and kept fine ladies in her company. She later married a suitor and moved away to his lands. But her eyes were dulled. They didn’t shine anymore. ******** I am a scullery maid. My hands are calloused and I scrub and wash all day. My mothers a maid like me and my father keeps the grounds presentable. No grand lord is trying his best to win my hand, only to get in my knickers. I sleep in the servants quarters and I would love to get a tan from working in the sun. I usually work in the dark and the quiet. Remaining unseen so as not to disturb the great lords and ladies with my presence. I loved a boy from afar whose entire being was the warmest chocolate brown. His lips pressed together in a hard line when he focused and he never saw me. He only saw her. And she took him away.


Oh no, oh no, oh no. it’s 5:59 in the morning and I have just woken up. Waking up has never felt like such an issue before this time. Oh no, thirty seconds before the first buffoonery may take place. This day is dreaded, not just for me, for a lot of other people too. It is finally 6:00 and I am frantically looking around me for clues to the first act of tomfoolery, but there was no sign. Weird... I got into the bathroom and then looked around continuously for any clues as to who and where the hoax could be. All of the possibilities could come true; someone filling the toothpaste with coloured glue and me not knowing till the liquid touches my teeth, someone backwashing the mouthwash and waiting for me to come into the bathroom, someone replacing the body wash with thickened fruit juice - ok i’ll just skip the bath then. I went to go take my breakfast from the kitchen. There were endless opportunities to ruin my day, replacing my milk with white coloured water, even my cereal being fake. “Mum!” I called frantically as she ran towards me with a resounding “what is it Aiden?!” from the kitchen sink behind me, spraying soap everywhere. “Is everything ok with my cereal?!” I cried. “Aiden is everything ok with you today? You’ve been acting strange.” she wondered as she left the plates, dried her hands and came to check my temperature on my forehead. I slowly backed her hand away and told her that I was fine. “Mum, I'm fine, and it has nothing to do with my temperature!” i said as i got up and put my bowl back into the sink with all the cereal left inside and left for school. I was walking to school, but the fear did not stop there; I was even more scared than I was when I was at home. “AHH!” I screamed in fear and ran a few steps; and I just realised that it was just a tap on the shoulder asking if I could walk to school with them. “What happened, did i scare you?!” he asked me in disbelief; nobody had ever seen me run that fast. Not even myself. “No it’s fine...” “Are you sure?” “Yes absolutely fine...” I stated, while I waited for him to catch up to me. We looked up and he noticed something. “Aiden?” “Yes....?” “It is about to rain, have you got an umbrella?” he asked me, as I tried to rustle my umbrella out of my bag as I suddenly realised.... “Oh no...” I entered into self realisation... “My mum packed my bag....” “Why is that a problem?” he asked innocently, as if he didn’t know what day it was. He grabbed the umbrella from me and proceeded to open it. Then everything went into slow motion... “I don’t think you should do this....” “Why not?” asked Adam “your mother is not cursed.... It's fine.” It opened and then nothing came out of it. No roses, no poem, no letter, no dodgy liquids.... It seemed to be too good to be true.... He handed me back my umbrella and we made our way to school. We got to school and we got into the first class. Me and Adam walked together. I got into class, and I looked above the door if there was the ‘bucket of green or red paint’ they ALWAYS have in american movies. So then I let Adam go first. There wasn’t anything to worry about, but when I walked through the door, I still checked. I took my seat and I listened to the lesson. Almost every word that came out of her mouth, I felt like she was about to call me a very bad name. And every second the video was projected on the screen, I felt like I was going to get rickrolled. But then... after about half an hour of hyperactive fright, the bell rang. I was in disbelief. “Does nobody know what day it is?” I asked Adam, but he didn't answer. Nobody did. “Oh my God, am I invisible too?” This happened in every lesson. I looked around for any tricks, but there were none. And nobody spoke about the dreadful 24 hours that they were going through. I went home and I plopped myself on the couch and my mum came to sit with me. “How was school today honey?” asked my mum. ‘’It was good I guess.” I replied with a sigh. “What happened?” she wondered. “Oh nothing” I said with a fake smile. “Do you want dinner?” she asked politely. “Yeah sure, I just need to change first.” I told her, and then I ran upstairs. I ate dinner, and even though nothing had happened previously that day, I still had the fearful tendencies, as I stared at my food until it became cold; and then I regretted it. “Do you know what, it’s absolutely fine, my mum can never poison me. She gave birth to me.” I thought to myself. Due to the fact that there could actually be a completely mysterious and out of the blue, SUDDEN change of events, I regretted that sentence too. I put my food in the microwave and went to go and sit down at the kitchen table and waited for the ding; I knew it was coming, and I also knew it was going to terrorize me. I waited for the ding, but everywhere was completely silent in the meantime. I looked around and eventually got up. I gazed around the place, looked through the windows, up at the ceiling, down at the floor: and all of a sudden; DING! Goes the microwave. I DROPPED to the floor and my mum ran into the kitchen. “AIDEN WHAT HAPPENED, ARE YOU OK?!” screamed my mum frantically, as she raced to get me up from the kitchen floor. “Yes mum, I'm fine.” “Aiden, no you are not. Come here and talk to me.” demanded my mum, as I clamoured off of the floor, dusting myself off. “No, no, i’m fine!” I replied to my mother as I marched to get my food from the microwave and eat it in my room. When I was done with my food, I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs so I just went to sleep. 10 hours passed and my alarm rang for 6:00 am. “Yes!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I don’t know what i was thinking, but i had to go to school that day, so i brushed my teeth, ended up eventually taking a bath, scrambling to put on my uniform, ate my breakfast, and headed out the door, until.... “Wait!” shouted my mum “What happened?” “You need to get Adam a present!” “What do you mean? Today is April the 2nd. His birthday is on the third.” “Yes and today IS the third.” I can just tell she was very confused with me. She brought her watch to my face and turned my direction towards it and I came to a shocking realization. It was ACTUALLY April 3rd. Doesn’t that mean that yesterday was ... April 2nd?


She had known for a very long time that sooner or later, it will come to this. It had to. She takes a deep breath, and looks up. Everything is slightly hazy, as if a giant smoke machine is at work somewhere. In front of her are two doors. On the left is a beautiful ornately carved wooden door, with a huge brass knocker. On it is a brass plate with the word “STAY” on it. On the right is another wooden door, but it is sleeker in design, and the wood is a bit lighter - could be oak. The handle is made of brushed aluminium, and she can see that it is one of those pivot doors. On it is a silver plated sign that says “GO”. Her heart starts beating faster. She is not sure how she knows, but she does, that once she has chosen a door and enters it, there is no turning back. She groans. This is probably the hardest decision of her life. How should she know what the right decision will be for her now, but even more important, for the rest of her life? Another fact is that she has been mulling everything over in her mind for a long time, so she should actually know what to choose. And yet she doesn't. She sighs. That's a lie. She knows which decision is the right one for her heart, but it is not the same one she would choose if she chose with her mind. Damn it to hell!! ------------------- Mandy is a qualified graphic artist. She has been working in her trade for around six years, and she has already started making a name for herself. Four years ago, she met Steve at a training workshop for artists, and they just clicked. They have the same interests, mostly, and the same off-kilter sense of humour. They started seeing each other, and their relationship moved quickly from seeing each other to moving in together. About two years into the relationship, Mandy started realizing that although they mostly see eye to eye, there are one or two areas of serious differences. It would be easy to say that a few differences can be overlooked or sorted out if everything else works, but it seems not if both partners feel very strongly about their views and neither are willing to compromise. The main areas of contention are marriage, and children. Mandy comes from a loving family that spends a lot of time together, and Steve comes from a broken family with hardly any connection between it's members. He says that's the way he likes it, and he does not want to get married or have children. He loves Mandy, they have fun together and there is no need to go and change something that works. Mandy, on the other hand, wants to get married and have children. It doesn't have to happen right now, she still has a lot of things she wants to do and her career is flourishing at the moment, but she would like to know that the future has that possibility in store for her. There was a time that they argued about it continuously, and they nearly broke up about a year ago, but Steve begged her to reconsider, and at that time it was easy to capitulate, because she just loves him so dang much! She realized however, that she had just swept the differences under the rug, so to speak, and it was still a problem for her, nagging away at the back of her mind. It was a weird way to live, being half happy, and half very unhappy - being with the man she loved, but knowing that if she stayed with him, she will always be yearning for more. Was it too much to ask to have everything? ----------- And then, two months ago, she received an amazing job offer from a company in Japan. They had given her a month to accept the offer. At first she was scared to bring it up with Steve, but after a few days she realized that she'll have to talk to him about it. He might change his mind about things and that would colour everything differently. When she finally broached the subject, after a good dinner and a bottle of wine, he was quiet for a very long time. But then he took the wind out of her sails when he slowly smiled and said that it sounds absolutely amazing, and he will start looking for a job there as well. How perfect is that! Mandy was speechless at first, and then managed a weak smile, and agreed with him. As the month neared its end, Steve had not found a job yet, and she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, so she wrote the company in Japan a letter, asking them if they could please give her another month to let them know. She knew that it was not very professional, but she didn't know what else to do. To her surprise, they agreed almost immediately. The two of them talked about the situation endlessly, Steve all excited and making plans, she a lot more restrained. If he noticed, he didn't let on. She decided that she had to make the final decision now, or it is never going to happen - does she stay with Steve and move to Japan with him and hope that he will change his mind, or does she make a clean break now, and hope that her life will work out as she had dreamt since she was a little girl? How does she know that it will? She might break up with Steve, and never find love again... She had slept very little in this past month, and she had lost weight. She is listless and gets headaches all the time. And now the time has come, she has to make a decision and let them know. There is no more time to procrastinate... --------------- Mandy squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath again, and she starts walking towards the two wooden doors. The mist is still slowly swirling around her. She stops a few steps away, right in the centre between the two. Her heart goes crazy in her chest - it feels as if it might beat itself right out of her body. She feels as if she might pass out, so she quickly steps to her right and opens the door with the “GO” sign. She enters and closes the door. There. Done. No turning back now. She releases the breath she has been holding, and turns around slowly. It is a weird scene that awaits her. It makes sense, but at the same time it doesn't. How can she see so much at the same time? There is the plane that she has to take to get to Japan, there is what she assumes is her new office complete with desk and computer, there are a lot of smiling strangers surrounding her - all of that at the same time, yet she understands what she is seeing. The strangest of all, is the feeling in her chest and body. There is a warmth radiating from her heart and spreading to the rest of her body, and she can feel a the strain in her shoulders starting to abate, as if it is slowly seeping out of her. Within a few minutes she feels light, as if she can float away into the air. Not only that, she also feels happy. Singing-dancing-jumping-for-joy happy! She starts walking towards the plane, not even thinking twice about it. ----------- The next moment an awful, jarring sound shrieks through the silence. Mandy jumps from fright, and lies still for s few moments. The alarm clock. Oh bloody hell, that was only a dream! Shit. She lies completely still for another few minutes, analysing her dream. Although she has been putting it off for weeks, she knows what she has to do. It wasn't that the dream showed her what to do, it only confirmed what she already knew in her heart. The decision is the right one for her, now, at this point in her life. She glances over at Steve, still softly snoring on his side of the bed. This is not going to be easy, but it has to be done - she's got a life she has to live, her way. With firm resolve she sits up, and throws the duvet off her. Let's get to it then, she says to herself with a smile on her face.


Dear A, I’m writing this letter in the back of our last month’s electricity bill -the one I have yet to pay -on the arm seat of a train to Oran, and by the time it reaches you, there will be many borders, many languages, an ocean and a sky separating me from you. I’ll be a life away from you but right now, I’m still on the M-O12 train, still a few stations away from the place we both called home, holding nothing but my old black leather purse and Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous to keep me company. It’s what actually sparked in me the urge to write to you, this book. Because you’re gone and I’m here still. Because there’s something strangely liberating about writing a letter you know will never be read. Here on this train everything is exactly the way you left it. On a Sunday morning, everyone is heading north for work. The carriages seem to only breathe people in and not out, not yet, not until we reach Oran, the city of all possibilities. I remember how much you hated trains. That one time -the only time -together to your mother’s house you couldn’t stop your hands from twitching, disgust and discomfort pouring out of your eyes for having to sit still through what you later referred to as “the three hours in hell”. You really hated it, all of it. But I didn't. The raised voices of strangers on the phone, the incessant crying of kids when they realize they’re trapped with hardly any space to move, the deafening upbeat music everyone insists on listening to these days, the stray unfinished sentences the wind carries at the opening of doors at each stop, the myriad of smells, the odd mixture of fragrances... For me, who spent half of her existence indoors, me who's only view of the world was through a window with a frozen, static scenery on constant display, it was magic. It was beautiful, it was LIFE and I loved it. And there’s so much more to life than what you showed me A., so much more. Away from our stifling apartment and the balcony that overlooks that ghosted playground you used to stare at every night, away from our dead street and the neighbors with hushed voices and hollow eyes, away from our city where the only variable thing is the weather, away from you, there are colors and flowers I have never seen and thus can’t name, there are fields and playgrounds that are not empty or deserted, there are people who laugh out loud, people with families and homes they can leave whenever they want, people who smile at a stranger in a train seat by the window...there’s a life I never thought existed. I know you did though, see this life I mean, because now I remember the way you looked each time you came back from your work trips and I understand. You had that pained look of an animal being dragged back to its cage after having a taste of freedom, except that, you were the one dragging yourself back and that makes it worse. I was trapped in our cage but you weren’t, so why did you comeback every time A? Still, in the kitchen cooking your favorite meal, in the living room folding your cloths, like a piece of furniture, I would always wait, relieved when I hear the distinct clinking of keys indicating that you’re back. There was no good past our front door, only cold nights and dark cruel alleys -the ones you saved me from when you married me, you'd always repeat until I believed you. Because I had no one else, because I had nowhere else to go I believed you. The way pets surrender to their owners, I was yours and I would wait. I guess it’s why I came to love the kind of covers this book have, where everything seems forever stuck in a colorless life, waiting. Because they remind me of you, of us. The first time I went out of the house without your company was a month after you left, and it was only because I had to. I’ll tell you about the other times in other letters but that one time, I got lost. You never told me that the nearest grocery shop was miles away from us and you never taught me how to drive a car. You never told me that bills don’t pay themselves and that if you don’t do that in time, you wake up one night with no lights to turn on and no water to use; that money is so hard to get and so fast to run out and that there’s only so much the neighbors can help you with. I dreamt of sandcastles when I was a child and the one you built me in the middle of nowhere was all I knew for so long, but it collapsed the moment you died. And I’d like to think the only reason you left me without a map is because you didn’t think you’d one day leave so suddenly, so soon. I didn’t know that after ones death; ones family can come claiming for a share in what little he left behind. I didn’t get anything when mine died long ago. Everything’s gone A, your favorite couch by the window, our black and white TV, the paintings in the hall...all that’s left are the walls, standing so tall, watchful, empty and cold as if they never contained a human soul. Well, there are also the broken promises and sour memories, but those are left for me to take care of as they don’t deal in money, only in feelings, only in pain. I can tell you about the job I had to take to earn my living and how I worked so hard to prevent our apartment from being a reflection of the ghosted playground through our window’s glass. I can tell you about the nights and days I spent taking care of myself and the one night I thought of ending it all. I can tell you about everything you missed, everything that lead me here but that’s all in the past and only the present deserves this letter and owns it. I’m here A. I’m writing to you now from inside a dream, because that’s what it feels like, a dream that I know wouldn’t have come true if you didn’t leave, despite your promises. Can you guess where I am? I don’t know where souls go to after they leave a body but I don’t believe they can see the living. I don’t believe that you can see me now A. Would you believe I’ve come this far if you could? I took a cab here from the train station. The cab driver, an old man with laughing eyes, was so nice he felt like home. You never expect to feel home this far away from it. He told me about the first time he came to this city and how things has changed for him ever since, how welcoming and warm everyone is, how they took him in like one of their own. “There’s magic in this city,” he said in an old nostalgic voice, “it’s so nice to strangers, so generous.” I believed him. He told me about a war he lost his father to, and a daughter that loves reading books. He spoke about politics, economy and justice while I stared at the buzzing life outside the window. The warm people with welcoming arms. The drive was long and I was so lost in thought when I heard it. The majestic sound of the crashing waves and the squawking of the gulls; a steady rhythmic song telling ancient stories for those who listen closely. I closed my eyes and listened. We reached our destination after a few endless minutes. “Les Andalous” the sign read. The Andalusians. I stepped out of the car and crossed the distance to the beach with shaking legs and a heart I could hear beating inside of me. I was alive. I am alive. I stood before the glorious vastness of the sea, stretching so far you would think water is everything the world is made of. I was crying, laughing, lost and then found. I was breathing, and for once in my life, I was breathing an air so pure and fresh I could feel it cleansing my rusty lungs. I don't know how long I stood there before I dared to reach the shore. I felt the solid doused brown sand first then came the waves, gently crawling to my toes and promising more in their slow retreat back to where they’re from, to their greatest form, tempting, calling me to get closer, deeper. So I did. We’re made of water A, all of us. There's so much I want to say, so much you won't read but not now. Right now, I feel so peaceful, so empty that staring out into this endless blue, I can almost forgive you. I wanted for this letter to float its way to you, wherever you are. I wanted to watch the water drench the lines, swallow my words and drown them to the bottom where no one has ever been. But then I built a sandcastle where these waters don't reach and I made of it a home from my letter. Dear A, I read once that the lover's fatal identity is being the one who waits. I'm writing you this because out of the two of us, I was the only one waiting, always, just not anymore. Yours sincerely, The one you left behind, S.


Alex woke up one morning with a tune in his head. It was there when he took his morning shower, drank his coffee, walked his daughter to school and when he drove to work. He tried to place it, but couldn’t. At every opportunity he would listen to the radio in the hope that the song would come on, then he would be able to file it away in a drawer in the recesses of his mind and just have done with it. Three weeks had passed since the song first entered his mind and its origin was still unclear. He wasn’t only listening to the radio now. When he finished work of an evening, he would dash home, pull his headphones over his ears and trawl through playlist after random playlist. Often Alex would take his dinner in his study and stay there until he dozed off. He forfeited time with his daughter Lula, his wife Lucille and with his bed (which didn’t have a name) until he came to the conclusion that this wasn’t a song he had heard before - it was an Alex original, and a damn fine one at that. After this realisation, he tried to bring himself back into the family fold but couldn’t help bringing the song with him into every interaction. He refused to put his Lula's music on when taking her to dance practice, instead he hummed his audio concoction. When pumping away at Lucille, he hummed it to her throughout. She could bite her lip no longer. “It’s nothing.” She said. “Just a steaming pile of nothing.” This hurt Alex, but it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t understand. It’s just there was no way he could convey a tune so explosive yet subtle through the medium of humming. Alex had been told his voice was flat and boring on multiple occasions and to his mind, that was the reason behind his wife’s damning appraisal. He had to do something to get his wife, and on a larger scale, the universe, to sit up and take notice. He knew that this song, if done right, would be stitched into the fabric of musical history, much like Beethoven’s *Für Elise* or Olivia Newton-John’s *Physical*. If he somehow managed to create this song and truly do it justice then he could secure his family’s financial future. Sure, he’d have to put in the hard work now, having never picked up a musical instrument in his life. Maybe he’d have to sacrifice time with his family, but in the end, he was doing this for a brighter future together. Alex heard stories from an old high school teacher of his who taught taught Music before pivoting to PE. Tales of how brutal the music industry was, how people steal and snatch ideas. How agents, managers and A&R people are like leeches, each skimming their little bit off the top. Alex wasn’t going to have that. To do this right, he’d have to do this alone. He started to take lessons. Guitar lessons, bongo lessons, flute, accordion, triangle, mandolin; such was the crazy, tropical amalgam of sounds that would make this song a future classic. This took up the vast majority of his free time. He tried to spend at least one evening a week with his wife and daughter but it was worthless. He couldn’t focus on making them happy. His head had begun to throb with this tropical mixture in his head, like a grapefruity headache that would bend his skull out of shape if he didn’t manage to get it out of there. Between the months of lessons and the home studio Alex secretly constructed in the loft, the family savings were dwindling rapidly. He had found it difficult to give his wife plausible explanations about where the money was going. At first he blamed it on car repairs, then the cost of their Lula's dance lessons and then the unpredictable effects of Brexit. But he didn’t revel in lying to his wife, nor was he any good at it, so he ultimately cut down on talking to her full-stop. The following few months were difficult. Not only had he stopped talking to his wife, but he hardly spoke to his daughter either. He had quit his job to focus on the music lessons. He would have loved nothing more than to spend time with them, but the fear of letting something slip was too great. If Lucille knew what he was up to, she would most certainly stop him. He couldn’t jeopardise his family’s future. He had to push on. A matter of weeks later, Alex felt that he was approaching the final furlong. The end was in sight. He would record the track and everything would return to normal. He would apologise to his wife and his daughter for being so distant. He had visions of letting them into his secret studio, where they would gather around, listen and embrace. At that moment, Lucille entered the room. She lowered herself down next to him. He could see the toll that his divine musical quest was taking on her. But it would all be worth it. “I’m leaving.” She said. Alex turned to her in disbelief, sure that this was part of some strange game. She’d never mentioned being anything less than content, not that he could remember anyway. “Where are you Alex?” But then it dawned on him that this was no joke. Her voice was drenched in genuine sadness. “You haven’t spoken a word to me or your daughter in months. You missed her birthday, Christmas, our anniversary...” Her voice trailed off but she somehow managed to find it again. “I’ve lost you. I’ve tried so hard but I’ve *lost* you.” Alex heard the door to his study creak. Lula wandered in with her Frozen suitcase. “Come and say goodbye to Daddy.” Lucille whispered, ushering Lula over. She flung her arms around her father. Alex’s eyes filled up and spilled over. “Let’s go.” Alex’s heart dropped to his stomach. How he would have loved to argue, to explain why he had been so wrapped up, to tell them how much he loved them, their life together and the future they had ahead of them. But then he’d have to come clean about their terrible financial situation, the job he’d left and the state-of-the-art studio he’d constructed just a few feet above them. As he watched the teary blur of his family leave, something changed in him. He could no longer focus on the song in his head. The idea of a life without his family started to turn his mind’s tropical mix rotten. Everything he had sacrificed would be for nothing. It was fading away. He burst out of his study and tugged down the ladder to the loft, his wife and daughter looking on. He went up. They followed. Alex stood there, his wife and child looking on, the song ebbing away. He hit record on the mixing desk and picked up the Black & Decker drill he installed it with. He lifted a finger to his lips and the drill to his head. He drove the bit through his skull. His wife and daughter screamed, maybe for a second or two. But then their jaws dropped as a strange, colourful mist flowed out of the hole in Alex’s head and towards them. The mist danced around the pair of them, and with it, magnificent rich sounds, now unshackled from Alex’s worry. Notes imbued with warmth and hope, sadness and regret, swirling and shimmering around one another with love always presiding over them. Alex’s wife held their daughter close as the music faded away into the microphone. The song didn’t chart, though the family’s screams were sampled in one of the most streamed tracks of the year.


Trigger warning: Contains references to substance abuse and violence. Its funny how you don’t ever really appreciate things until you no longer have them, until they are gone. We were 16. What 16 year old appreciates anything really? I remember there was this one morning, I must have gotten a total of like 3 hours sleep the night before. I show up for first period like I have just crossed the finish line at the NYC marathon, all breathless and sweaty and full of teenage drama. I slide into my seat just as the final bell rings and lay my head down on my desk, letting my long curly hair fall all over the place. I am like that for like a full minute, relishing the coolness of the desk on my cheek, the darkness underneath my folded arms, when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I pop my head up, ready to apologize, but Mrs. J is just smiling at me and in her hand is what looks like a chocolate croissant. “Here,” she says. “You need this more than I do.” Like I said you never appreciate things in the moment. Looking back now I am pretty sure that lady just flat out gave me her breakfast. I never ate in the morning, partly because I didn’t wake up hungry but mostly because there was never anything to eat in my house, nothing good anyway. Mom would sometimes just forget to go shopping, or the milk in the fridge would smell off, like the boys locker room after gym class. I had my own money from babysitting and dog walking but I would rather spend it on concert tickets or clothes than on breakfast. Somehow Mrs. J could always tell when I was hungry. She could also tell when I was tired and needed to just lay my head down for a minute or when I was sad and needed to be left alone. I was sad a lot in high school though, and it was hard to teach literature to someone who wanted to be left alone all the time. So sometimes Mrs. J would smile gently at me, as if to say Nova just answer this one question and then you can go back to staring blankly at the wall. The weird thing is, I always knew the answers, even when I hadn’t eaten breakfast and had been up half the night texting. I loved to read and write, ever since I was a little girl. Sometimes, when I was really out of it, Mrs. J would hand me a piece of paper (I kept forgetting my notebook at home) and tell me to just write something, anything. I remember this one time, right in the middle of reading the Odyssey, Mrs, J suddenly slammed the book closed and clapped her hands loudly, as if to wake us up. “You all look like a rock band the night after a big concert”. I am pretty sure teachers weren’t supposed to say stuff like that, but in truth at least half of us probably were a bit hungover. It was Monday after all, and this was high school in springtime in suburban New Jersey. There was nothing to do on weekends other than hang out at the mall (boring!), go to the movie theatre (only if you wanted to make out and your parents were home), or bring a six pack and a blanket down to the shore, so most kids just did that. Mrs. J then stood up and motioned for us to follow her. “Come on, class is outside today.” I don’t think she was allowed to do that either, just take us out of the building like that without asking the principal first and probably like a billion permission slips. But Mrs. J often did stuff she probably wasn’t supposed to, like that time she ordered two large pizza pies from the shop on Main Street, right in the middle of a lesson on adverbs. Or the time she stopped prepping us for the midterm, because everyone wanted to talk about that kid who had gotten beat up on the football field because he liked boys. Coach Mike said he had gotten extra tackles for being disrespectful but everyone knew what it was really about. Rumor had it Coach Mike used to press up on the cheerleaders after the game too, but when the team is winning suddenly no one can see clearly anymore. But not Mrs. J. She had simply closed the book she had been reading from, sat down on top of her desk (she said she liked it better up there than in the chair) and said “I imagine you guys have some feelings about that.” That was how she often got us to talk about teen stuff. Maegan said that it wasn’t fair that Noah got those extra tackles because he was the smallest guy on the team and then Joey said it didn’t matter, that you had to work hard to be the best. Natalie called Coach Mike an asshole and I expected Mrs. J to tell her not to use that word in class but instead she just nodded and let us keep talking. Finally April, who always got frustrated easily, blurted out “This is bullshit, Mrs. J. Everyone knows Noah got those tackles for being gay!” Then the room got real quiet, everyone watching Mrs. J to see what she was going to do next. She paused for a second, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was thinking, and then she looked April right in the eye. “You are absolutely right, April. Some people are afraid of what they don’t understand. What do you think you should do about that?” No one else ever talked to us that way, like we actually had some power in the world even though we were only 16. Years later, when I was about to graduate law school and start my own career, I found out that Mrs. J had gotten married to a beautiful blond lady, and a lot more made sense. I never meant to get her in trouble though. It wasn’t my mom’s fault that the house was dirty and that sometimes the milk in the fridge went sour. She had a lot on her plate, what with three kids and a husband who occasionally came home late, smelling like stale beer and cigarettes. Suburban life was like that, the teens went to the shore and the men went to the bar. Like I said, there really wasn’t anything else to do; that’s why I went to college in the city, and then moved there as soon as I graduated. Small town life will eat you alive if you let it. But anyway, my mom did her best, and she was infinitely patient when my dad came home a little stumbly; leaving a big glass of water and two Advil by the couch, making sure to tiptoe around him quietly. Usually it worked out fine. Like I said, Mrs. J could always tell when something was going on, and the night before that morning she gave me her chocolate croissant, things had not worked out so fine. Dad had come home real, real late, even later than normal, and I guess he had lipstick on his collar or something, because for once my mom wasn’t quiet at all. She screamed and shouted and she threw a glass which shattered on the wall behind him into a million tiny pieces. At one point he tried to grab her, maybe to calm her down, I don’t know, because that was when I saw red and the next thing I knew I was standing over him with a big knife from the kitchen. Things got kind of fuzzy after that. Mrs. J kept me after class that day and when she asked me if I was ok, maybe because I was so tired from all of the drama from the night before, I told her the whole story. I didn’t know about mandated reporting back then. I also didn’t know that my dad’s best drinking buddy at the Irish pub down on Main Street was actually Coach Mike. Maybe the two of them concocted some kind of story, or maybe it had to do with having class outside that time, or the pizza, or one of the million other cool things Mrs J did that were most certainly not allowed at Lacey Township High School. All I know is the following Friday we didn’t read or write anything. Instead Mrs. J sat us down and told us she was leaving. She said that she was going to teach at a middle school in Brooklyn where people might appreciate her unique style a bit more.. She said that she loved us and to never stop fighting for what we believed in, for what we wanted out of life. She didn’t mention me or my dad. She didn’t say she had been fired, and she didn’t end her little speech with ‘What do you think you should do about that?” But that is what we heard. We organized the biggest protest our small town had ever seen, complete with signs and everything. The entire 11th grade sat out on the football field for two whole hours and refused to move unless she got her job back. It didn’t work, she left anyway. But on her last day she got a little choked up and told us we were the best teenagers she had ever met. A lady with glasses and a briefcase showed up at my house a few times and after that my dad seemed a bit more subdued. He started showing up for dinner more and bringing my mom flowers sometimes. They both took me to dinner at the Olive Garden after graduation. He told me he was proud of me and handed me an envelope with $200 inside. Neither of them ever mentioned the night with the knife again. Mrs. J sent me something for graduation too, a card with a kitten hanging from a tree branch and the words “Hang in There.” Inside she wrote “Best of luck in college. Go out there and do great things, you deserve it!” She must have been keeping tabs on me, because I got the same exact card from her when I graduated from law school 8 years later. A lot of my classmates went into corporate law because that was where the money was, but I decided I wanted try to help people instead and was hired as in house council for a small non-profit in the city. Eventually I got married, to a sweet, wonderful man I met at a law conference. We went on honeymoon in the Bahamas, spent five days drinking rum on the beach and watching the sunset. I got my hair braided like I was 22 on Spring Break, and he laughed at the sunburned streaks on my scalp. When I unloaded my mailbox a week later there was another card, buried underneath the useless catalogs and statements from accounts I had forgotten to make paperless. It was the same cat of course but this time she had written, “Congratulations on your wedding! So happy for the both you.” She must have bought a whole pack of those cards. My dad stayed on the straight and narrow ever since that lady came to our house when I was 16. He was dead sober when he walked me down the aisle at my wedding, and he was dead sober when he buried my mom ten years later. (By the time they found the cancer it was pretty much too late to do anything.) The funeral was held in the tiny church right down the road from my childhood home. They were mostly happy in the end too, as happy as anyone can be in this life, especially when you live in small town New Jersey. I know someone else might have not let a father like that participate in her wedding day, but you can’t really choose who your family is. Besides, I let go of most of my anger that night in the kitchen. Life is just too short to carry something that heavy. Mrs. J would have understood. Its funny about teachers. You don’t really think about the impact they are having on your life at the time, too caught up in all the drama that is high school. But now, as an adult with a successful career, a husband, and a baby on the way, I find myself thinking about Mrs. J often. Sometimes when I am faced with a difficult decision, I even ask myself what would Mrs. J do. She was the best teacher I ever had.


All she had told me was that she needed a date for a wedding. I probably should have asked more questions, but it sounded simple enough. The circumstances were a bit odd from the beginning, but that just added a sense of adventure to it. I found her on Grindr. I sent a message, asking what she was doing there, and did she know it was an app for gay men looking to hook up. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, I just really need a date to a WeDDiNG, but not like a real date, and I don’t trust the men on the other apps not to get fresh with me, so I just thought I would give this a try, I’m so sorry if I was misleading or anything, I just need a PLaToNiC date, I’ll even pay you, it’s a really important wedding and all my friends are out of town, please help, but I understand if you’re out of town or something, it’s this coming wednesday ;(” “Yeah, I’ll do it,” I wrote back. “Sounds fun!” “OMGEEEZ THANK YOU SO MUCH, I LOVE YOU, MEET ME HERE ON WEDNESDAY AT 7AM,” and she provided an address in all caps. “I’ll be there!” Wait. Seven in the fucking morning?? Was that normal? I’ll be honest, I’ve never actually been to a wedding before. I had a small circle of friends. There was one couple who had been together forever, but didn’t care about the ceremony. And the rest were like me, dating occasionally, but hadn’t had any major commitments. I knew married people, but they were more friends of friends, and I was always just on the outskirts of getting that invite. Which suited me fine! Weddings didn’t sound that exciting to me, I’m too broke to worry about buying gifts, and now there was this new wrinkle that you apparently had to be ready for them at 7am? I’ve been dodging bullets, but now it was time to bite one. I had committed to a stranger to be their plus one. On Tuesday evening, I showered and shaved, and picked out my nicest outfit. I took an Ambien at 10pm and set the alarm for 6am, giving me plenty of time to snooze. I rolled out of bed the next morning at 6:35, had some coffee, put on the clothes I had laid out, ate a quick bowl of cereal, and drove to the apartment complex I was supposed to meet her at. I was there right at 7. She buzzed me in, and I walked up three flights of stairs to her apartment. She stood waiting in the doorway. “Hi,” I said. “Catherine?” “Hi, oh my geez, you look AMAZING. Sorry, no, Catherine is a made up name I used for the apps. My real name is Kate.” “Uh... ok. Thanks. I’m Austin.” “Oscar? Oh, hahaha, so you used a fake name too! Well, it’s nice to meet you, Oscar.” “No, I didn’t. It’s Austin , like it was on the app.” “Oscar, yeah. I got it.” She rolled her eyes at me. This happened a lot. Often enough that I’ve wondered if I somehow say my own name wrong. It’s usually easiest to just go with it. “Right, sure. That’s my name.” “DON’T BE NERVOUS!” she shouted, and then threw her head back in screeching laughter. “Come on, come on, get in here before they get out.” I entered the apartment, and she shut the door behind me. It was a studio apartment, and it was almost completely empty. There was a mattress over a box spring on the floor and a chest of drawers at the foot with a TV on top. Against another wall was a miniature facsimile of a wedding altar that looked like it had been built by a five year old. Nearby were two bowls on the floor. “I’ll go grab the bride and groom,” she said. “They’re hiding in the closet.” She pulled open the closet door, which had been slightly ajar already, and on the inside of the door was a poster of a tree branch that said “Hang In There” at the top, but there was no kitten hanging off the branch. Where the hell was the kitten? Did it fall? Was this poster trying to say “hang in there... or else”? Why did this exist? Kate walked out holding a cat in each arm. “Oscar, I want you to meet Ted and Joanna. They’re in love and they’re getting married today.” “I’m sorry, this is the wedding I’m here for? Two cats?” “Yeah, of course.” Both cats started squirming and wiggling around, so she put them down. They trotted over to me, and I bent over, outstretching my hand for them to sniff at and size me up. I sat on the floor to let them keep smelling me, and she sat on her mattress. “It’s just, this is not really what I was expecting,” I said. “What do you mean?” “I mean, I guess I assumed it would be like a, a people wedding.” “Oscar! WHAT. Oh my geez, that’s HILARIOUS. You’re so retarded! No, I told you all my friends are out of town. This is a family affair. Ugh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be confusing! It’s just, you didn’t ask any questions, so I figured you wouldn’t care, and I hope I haven’t ruined anything. Is it ruined? Are you gonna leave? Please stay, this is really, really important to me. I know we don’t know each other very well, but it’s really a big day for Ted and Joanna and I couldn’t stand it if you left, and it’s really not my fault because I didn’t know you were so retarded...” and suddenly she was sobbing. “Oh, no, please don’t cry. And please, uh, maybe don’t use that word anymore... Um, I can stay, Kate. It’s not a problem. I’m gonna stay.” She looked up at me with her big teary eyes. “You’re not upset?” “I’m definitely surprised, but truthfully, I’m also relieved. I love cats. People... not as much. Um, why don’t you tell me about them? How did you choose those names?” “They’re named after Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs. Kramer . It’s my favorite movie.” “You’re marrying cats who you named after characters in the most famous divorce movie of all time?” “Uh-huh. That one’s Ted.” Ted was crawling onto my lap and looking up at me. I stroked his head, and he leaned into it, enjoying the affection. He was fluffy and white, very cute. “So that’s Joanna.” Joanna was a mischievous-looking tuxedo cat, mostly black with a strip of white from her chin down across her belly. Also quite beautiful. She was perched on her front paws, with her hind legs straight, her eyes looking absolutely wild. She was hunting something. She wagged her butt a couple times, then took off running toward nothing in particular, screeched to a stop, leaped in the air, and scurried back into the closet. “Joanna’s a nut,” Kate told me. “She’s gorgeous,” I said. “They’re both beautiful.” “Thanks. I know it’s confusing that the bride looks like she’s in a tuxedo, and the groom is all white. It’s a bit of a gender reversal, I hope that doesn’t gross you out. There’s nothing I can really do about it.” “Of course not. Why would that gross me out? If anything, it’s charming. Very modern.” She looked at me with a hint of disgust. “Agree to disagree. But like I said, there’s nothing I can do about it.” I was getting a little nervous about Kate’s politics. Why was she concerned with gender as it related to cat fur? How would that translate to how she viewed people? She did find me on Grindr, so she had to be open to a degree of queerness. At least I think so. “Can I use your restroom?” I needed to get away for a minute, and also really did have to pee. She nodded. “If you’re taking a shit, there’s no toilet paper. And the door doesn’t close all the way. And try to be quick, I want to get started.” I stood up off the floor, and went in to her bathroom. The door closed, but the knob wouldn’t latch no matter how hard I pulled. I took my pants down and sat on the toilet to pee. Right away, I heard paws scraping on the door. Ted had stood on his back legs with his front paws on the door, and leaning forward with his full weight, the door flew open and slammed against the wall. He looked left, then right, inspecting the room. Then turned around and walked right out. I heard Kate do her screeching laugh again. I was able to reach the door to swing it back shut. I hurriedly finished, washed my hands, and walked out. I had completely forgotten to take a moment to think about my situation, and whether it was actually a good idea to stay. She seemed harmless enough, so I made a quick decision in the spirit of adventure. Let’s see this through. Kate ran to me, and grabbed my hands in her own. “Oscar, I want you to know I’m so glad you’re here. This is a really special day for me, and it means a lot that you took a chance on a stranger, and are willing to spend today, and the next few days for the honeymoon, here with me, celebrating this beautiful union of two sweet souls. I’m sorry I called you that word earlier. I’m not very good at socializing. Remember when I said my friends were out of town? That was a lie. The truth is, I don’t actually have any friends. They all died under mysterious circumstances. You’re all I have left, Oscar. You and the cats.” “Back up a moment. A few days for the honeymoon?” “Maybe more. Maybe forever. Oh my geez. Look, I know things are moving fast. But do you think you could move in with me? You don’t have to pay rent. I have a TV and a VCR and those drawers are full of tapes. This wedding will only take a minute. They’re just cats, they don’t really care about getting married. I lied before about them being in love. They don’t even like each other that much. Realistically, the honeymoon will be three days tops. Then we can start our life together. Will you marry me? It will be platonic, like I said. That part was true. I understand you’ll never be interested in me sexually. I don’t even like sex. It grosses me out. I’ll never pressure you, I swear. Oscar, will you marry me? Do you want to share this life and this apartment with me and Joanna and Ted?” “Kate, I...” Joanna had come back into the room. She sauntered over and rubbed her body against my leg. “Kate. I do.”


Hello here's a short story I wrote, hope you enjoy: “You're never going to believe what I found!" "Come on, just tell me." "It's so cool..." "Yeah right, come on, stop dragging it out." The two girls were in a dimly lit room, the dank haze of the weed they smoked still lingered. The taller girl sat on the bed while the shorter one stood, and hid something behind her back. A small black cat lay on the bed, staring at them, seemingly disinterested. From behind her back the shorter friend pulled out a thin, rectangular shaped package and presented it with a smile." All right, fine, here you go. Happy Birthday, Samie!" Samie moved off the bed, the cat looking over at them annoyed at the disturbance, and reached for the present. "Finally. Was that so hard?" she asked sarcastically, but smiled in thanks. The excitement was apparent on Codi's face as she watched her unwrap the present. A puzzled expression crossed Samie's face. "Uhm, what is this, a painting?" she asked. "Isn't it amazing?" "I don't know, I'm not that into clowns." Turning the painting over to Codi, the light fell over it, illuminating its features. It wasn't a very good painting, or even complete, but there was something off about it. The clown was bald, except for two tufts of purple hair on either side of his head. His features were sloppy, giving him an odd look. His face was painted all white, except for around his eyes, they were surrounded by a deep black shadow. Although the artist was clearly not very skilled, the eyes of the clown were almost life like, further emphasized by the darkness around them. His red lips were twisted in a goofy smile that was too big for his face, but above that there was an ugly red smear. It seemed to start from the edge of his mouth, but abruptly became a thick line sloping down. "What happened here?" Samie, asked pointing at the streak. "Well, that's what so cool about it," Codi answered with a mysterious smile. "What? Is it blood, or something?" "Nope, paint. Guess again!" "I don't know just tell me!" "Boo, you're no fun." Codi moved over to sit on the bed and slowly started to scratch the cat's head. "I bought it at an estate sale," she began, "I was visiting my grandma and it was happening next door. Apparently, the lady had a stroke and died... while she was painting that." Realization swept over Samie's face, "Is this..." "Her very last stroke." "Woah... That's amazing." she said quietly. "Exactly. She had no family so they just sold all her stuff. I got it pretty cheap, no one else seemed to be too interested...for some reason. I think he's kind of cute... in the right light." "His eyes are kind of creepy" Samie said quietly. "Nah, you're just imagining things now that I told you where I got it." "Hmm, I guess so. He's still a creep though. But this is still so awesome, thank you!" Samie said, as she placed the painting on the wall. "Whatever," Codi said with a smile "let's smoke." The room grew hazier as the night grew longer, with the friends eventually falling asleep. Right before unconsciousness was about to take Samie, she thought she heard a very faint laugh. Samie awoke with a start. Her room had grown dark except for the TV. Sitting up, a sense of fear crept up her spine. She could feel a pair of eyes looking at her from somewhere in the darkness. Looking around she could see that Codi was lying next to her, her deep snores hinting at a restful sleep. I'm just being paranoid, she thought. Laying back down she closed her eyes, but she could still feel the intense stare on her. She could feel her body shaking slightly, something seemed lodged in her throat making it hard to breathe. Don't panic, she thought to herself, just open your eyes. But they didn't want to obey, they almost felt welded shut. Fuck, fuck, fuck! With what felt like all her might, she managed to slowly open her eyes. The clown stared down at her with his stupid grin, she almost felt like closing her eyes again. Even in the dark his eyes still somehow stood out with their chilling life like quality. She could feel the goosebumps start to form on her arms, but what she saw next made her heart stop. The clown's wide grin seemed to be getting bigger, until his lips parted revealing no teeth in his mouth, only more darkness. No matter how impossibly big the smile seemed to spread, his eyes never got smaller. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. All she could do was lay there and stare directly into the clown's eyes. She suddenly heard a soft noise make its way through her panic. She wasn't sure what it was, but she could feel the panic start to leave. She could feel herself breathe normally and her heart slowly getting back to a safer rate. Her mind a bit clearer, she realized the noise was Codi's small snores. Feeling better Samie sat up, and looked over at the clown. She couldn't really see it anymore, somehow it seemed less visible now. She stood up and flipped the clown to face the wall. Laying back down she fell asleep rather quickly, remembering the night's events simply as a vague nightmare. The clown, facing the girls, looked down and smiled. It was a few nights later, when a noise startled Samie awake. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but everything seemed quiet now. She sat up, realizing that she fell asleep on her couch. She yawned, nudging the sleepy cat off her legs so she could head to her room. She had only taken two steps when- "Hhuhh huh huh ha ha ha ha ha..." A disturbingly high-pitched laugh pierced through the silence sending waves of chills up her arms. Everything in the dark seemed to give off an eerie vibe, every shadow was menacing as she looked around the living room. Her heart seemed like it was trying to make its way out of her chest, like a rodent that knows it's been trapped. "It's all in my head" she whispered. At this the laugh rang even louder, this time echoing around the room. "Hhuhh huh huh ha ha ha HA HA..." Although it rang all around her, the sound seemed to be coming from her room. Her legs felt like lead as she began to move towards it, almost as if they feared what was waiting for her. She turned the corner, past Codi's room, and into the hallway as her door came into view. The glow of her light coming from under the door was the only source of illumination. Step by step she moved closer, did it always take this long to get there? The closer she approached the more muffled and silent everything became, she could feel the pressure pushing against her skull. She inched her way closer, when something large seemed to move in her room to stand on the other side of her door, partially covering up the light. Samie instantly stopped, looking at the shadow under the door. The pressure was too much, she felt like she couldn't breathe, as if she was underwater. The shadow seemed to shift, moving closer from the other side of the door. "Hhuhh huh huh ha ha HA HA HA!" She could feel her body physically react to the laugh, her arms tensing at her side as a wave of nausea rolled over her. It can't be, there's nothing there... "Huhhh huh huh HA HA HA HA HA!" Samie was sure the laugh was now coming from inside her, that's the only way it could be so impossibly loud. What if she just went back to the couch? Her fingertips brushed the doorknob, any further and she'd be touching it, but she seemed unable to continue. The iciness of the doorknob seemed to move from it and up her arm. Why couldn't she continue? "HUHH HUH HUH HA! HA! HA! HA!" The laugh bounced around in her head, getting louder with every reverberation. She felt so weak. How she was still up, she didn't know, but she could feel her hand fighting to turn the knob. She felt the presence of someone just on the other side. Holding her breath, she pushed against the door, the light in her room blinded her. Blinking the clarity back to her eyes, she looked around, realizing that she was back in her bed. "You can't still be freaked out by the painting, can you? Codi asked, a few weeks later. "Well I'm not scared, I just... feel like it's not right." Samie slowly says. "I feel like I haven't been sleeping well, and I think I've been having nightmares." "Why are you so unsure?" "I don't know I just haven't been feeling myself lately." Codi looked at her friend with worry, then up at the painting. "Hey, you touched it up a bit, it looks nice." "What do you mean?" Samie asks confused, "I haven't done anything to it, it looks the same." "Oh, come on, you can't fool me, I know that was you." Codi says with a non-believing look. "I know you can do it. It looks a bit more filled out, even the shading is nicer. Wow, you're good." "Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I did," she says exasperated. "I mean, why would I even do that? Just to mess with you? Please." After a pause, "That's not the only thing... I can't even be alone in my room at times, I just feel like he's watching me. Sometimes I think I can even hear him laugh." Codi looked at Samie. She was worried how scared she looked. Looking over at the painting, a very fleeting sense of cold dread swept over her. "Well I still thinking you're being just a bit paranoid. It doesn't seem all that bad to me. Maybe you should lay off the pot" she said with a smile. "I can't really imagine how that would be of any help" she said with smiling at the joint she had just pulled out. "It's the only thing keeps me going." The sense of unease, the sense of dread was melted off of her and replaced with rolling waves of peace. Samie smiled, not really listening to what Codi was saying. It's not that she didn't care, but nothing mattered. Her eyes began to droop, she was slowly losing the fight with sleep. Gravity intensified as she was absorbed into the bed in a deep sleep. Mreow! Samie's eyes jerked open at the sound of her cat. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she let out a small yawn as she heard him again outside her room. He probably wants to sleep in here, she thought. Moving slowly to not wake Codi, she got off the bed and carefully made her way through the dark. Reaching for the door, she slipped out and turned on the hallway light. Mreow! She heard him again somewhere else in the house, probably in the living room. He probably wants food, not to be let in, she thought with a small chuckle. She gave the living room a quick scan, still not seeing him."Hey where are you? Here kitty, kitty." she said trying to be quiet. Mreow! She grew very tense as now she could hear he sounded scared. "Kitty!" she said much louder. She turned on the light and started to frantically look around as the cat growled louder. It took her a couple of minutes to find him as he'd hidden himself under the kitchen cabinets. No matter how much she nudged or called him she couldn't make him come out. He simply stared at her, unblinking. "What's wrong? Are you going to stay there all night?" she asked him. He didn't respond, but continued to stare, when- "Aaahhhh! Samie!" The screams punctured the silence, filling the house with terror. "Codi! Codi! What's wrong!?!" she yelled as the screaming continued. She ran towards the direction of her room. Adrenaline pumped through her as she dashed through the living room. "Aaaaahhhhh!" "Codi!" She hadn't stopped yelling since she started. What could be possibly going on? Right as the she passed Codi's door, she heard something that made her stop in fear. Deafening silence. It enveloped her, surrounding her with fear. She tried to call for Codi, but couldn't manage to make any sounds. She stood there paralyzed in terror, unsure of what to do. The silence remained unbroken as the seconds slipped by, but she knew what she had to do. Using willpower she didn't even know she had, she made her way towards her door. Her heart was pounding, every frantic beat a bombastic boom inside her body. She could feel every sense on max alert, every hair standing on edge as she reached the door. Closing her eyes, Samie gulped and turned the knob. She could feel the cold air from her room brush her face, as she opened her eyes to the dark room. She flipped the switch for the light, but...nothing happened. Worried, she pulled out her phone to use in the dark. "Codi!?"she called. No answer. She moved towards the bed and flashed the light onto it. But she wasn't there. The bed was empty, the blanket hanging from the bed onto the floor. She could feel panic as she looked around the empty room. Shining the light up at the clown painting, her mouth dropped open as she stared up at it. The painting still hung on its frame... but the clown wasn't there. Samie couldn't take it anymore. She started running when from behind her she heard: HUHH! HUH! HUH! HA! HA! HA! HA! Samie's blood turned to ice as she froze in place. The room no longer felt empty, she could feel someone behind her. Please be Codi, she thought, please... Turning, she could see a figure standing in the darkest part of the room. One thing she was sure of, it was much too tall to be Codi. The figure was completely in the shadows but in the dark she could make out a large pair of bright red spats. Then, it moved towards her. As they made contact with the floor, a shrill "squeak!" rang. It was almost funny, but each one sent an icy shock through her body as they approached. Now closer to the light, she could see him, the clown. As soon as she saw its face, or what could be called a face, a feeling of cold dread that stole her breath made its way through her body. The clown's eyes were gone, only large gaping holes remained, its red lips turned into a wide smile, revealing more darkness. The three holes began to shift almost as if reacting to her fear. They grew and grew as it got closer. When the clown stood directly in front of her, they had melded together to form one large void of dark terror that seemed to go past the back of its skull. The unbelievable darkness swept around her as she slowly became a part of it. I'm trapped... it's over, she thought. Just before she was fully enveloped, she could hear the clown's laugh... but now it was also hers.


It was early July, Erica had no college now and was free at home from now on. It was Summer holidays and Erica loved summers a lot- More than snow; actually there wouldn’t be anyone who would prefer sun then snow but yes Erica was one of them.She would like dazzling out in sun,wearing those one size plus glasses and her favourite head umbrella as her protectors. Erica was only one enjoying summer, no family member was ever interested to hangout in their little beach with her.For the next few hours, while Grandma lay dozing, Erica sprawled out on her own little beach. At first, she could not stop smiling. She giddily stretched out her limbs and moved them back and forth, making a sand angel! She read a bit of a book. She picked a few oranges and unpeeled them one by one. She dug holes and then filled them in again. After that, she didn’t quite know what to do. Apparently, the pleasures of the warm sand beach were a lot less fun when there was no one around to share them with. Erica would have woken her grandmother, but she remembered that Grandma didn’t much care for the sun.She had spent the family’s entire Florida vacation under both an umbrella and a huge‐ brimmed hat. Besides, the sunny space wasn’t big enough for two. By late afternoon, Erica wasn’t feeling very well. Her mother hadn’t been around to lather her in suntan lotion and her skin had turned a very dark shade of pink. She had eaten so many sickly sweet oranges that she now had a stomach ache. She had gotten some sand in her eye and had to blink furiously to get it out. The sun was strong and unrelenting. She glanced over to the other side of the yard. She was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but the snow looked sort of...refreshing than the scorching sun. She was flushed and bored, but most of all she missed her siblings and parents; who had gone to town nearby to attend a family wedding. She trudged inside, showered the sweat and the sand off from her body and then joined her Grandma, who had finally awoken, at the table. “My dear! However did you manage to get that awful sunburn?” her grandmother wailed. Erica just shrugged. She wasn’t very hungry, but she managed to pack in some forkfuls of spaghetti and meatballs.Before bed, she crept over to the backdoor and peered out. The sand, the tree, the bucket all were gone. Erica began to think that she had imagined it. She wasn’t thatdisappointed. Her siblings would be back in to the morning and she badly wanted to play with them. She just thought out of the blue even if it meant being chilly; even though she knew there’s no chilling in July. The car pulled into the driveway. Erica was up with a start and . She charged downstairs. Welcomed both of her parents home with hugs and gave one to her grandmother, too, who was preparing to leave. Then, as her mother began to ready breakfast, she pulled on her coat and joined her siblings in the back. Next morning as Erica could barely open her eyes she was surprised to see it white every where outside. It was cold and freezing. How can it be possible to have snow in July- early July! The snow began to fall quite much early this year, in July, before Erica even had a chance to bring her puffed‐up purple winter coat out of the closet. It did not stop. Cold white confetti came down on the city of Montreal morning. Erica was wondering when this would end and her mom shouts out to the children to get down for the breakfast. The other kids in her class as well as her siblings loved the snow. They loved that sometimes, when the winds picked up and the roads turned icy, it was when college was cancelled. They liked to build towering forts and snowmen. Erica had already been through a tough time playing out alone in the sun the previous day,she made a plan, go out with family enjoying the snow- as she knew her siblings would react to this because she was never a snow loving person. This was just a try to see how it feels to be in snow for Erica. At breakfast table this was decided and father agreed with a great surprise for Erica planning out this. Everyone got ready and the car took off through the highway towards the mountains. It was decided to go to drive an hour north to the ski hill. They would spend Saturday there, riding chairlifts to the top of a frosted mountain and following the slopes back down. Erica would have refused to go with them as always because he had nothing to do with that thick, white,powdery stuff- but this time it was her willingness to go just for once to see how it works. Erica despised the snow. More than that, she hated everything about wintertime. Her family had taken a trip to Florida two winters ago, and she wished that they could live there all year round. She had bobbed up and down in the ocean waves, sometimes floating on her back and other times, with one size plus goggles on, searching for colored fish in the water. In the mornings, her mother had squeezed fresh juice from the Florida‐ grown oranges that the hotel left in a basket at the front desk. With her brother and sister, Erica had constructed a magnificent castle on the beach, with a moat and a long, looping flight of stairs. She liked feeling the sand between her fingers. It stuck together every bit as well as snow did, and it didn’t make your teethchatter. This time it was different - skiing was fun, they rode thought the white, soft snow, enjoying and throwing snowballs in the air and then at each other. Erica was involved in throwing too. A snowball came and hit her cheek, it was fun fir Erica to feel those cold snowflakes touching her. They created a snowman with Erica's one size plus glasses and their father's muffler. They even arranged a sledge from somewhere and riding it through the hill top and down was amazing experience for Erica, she was enjoying every bit of the time and thinking it to be much better than the scorching heat of the sun. The day was over but the snow was not over yet. It felt like it was wintertime. A day passed and they were all tired; next morning it was time to get back to car and drive back home. Her siblings, who had been throwing snow balls into the air and at each other, piled into the backseat. Soon the station wagon disappeared from view, Erica was soon asleep. She woke up with a bang of the car’s door and they were back home. Everyone unpacked the luggage and grandma settled into an armchair infront of the television. In a few quick minutes, she was asleep. Erica glanced outside and gave a sigh. Her hot chocolate was just about gone. She was about to turn towards the sink to rinse her mug when out of the corner of her eye she caught something green. Again surprised, something green in her blank, white backyard? She pressed her face up against the kitchen window.There, in the corner of the yard closest to the sliding back door, the snow had melted away. In its place, a small tree with low‐hanging fruit was growing. Erica immediately ran out to it. Elsewhere, the snowy flakes continued to swirl, but not a single one landed on this bright patch of ground, which was covered in sand. The sun beamed down on Susanna so hard, in fact, that she was hot! Sweating hot! Half‐buried by her feet were a plastic shovel and pail. She couldn’tbelieve it. A small slice of the snow filled holiday she had been missing had landed right behind her house for just a day and again it was sunny. Then, as her mother began to ready breakfast, she pulled on her snowsuit and joined her siblings in the back. They were sculpting animals a caterpillar with snowy lumps for a body; a fish with fins. She dropped to her knees, without explanation, and began to work. Her hat was pulled low over her ears, her mittens were lined with wool, and suddenly her sister’s hand was over hers, helping to smooth out the fish’s curved tail. She was cold enough she could hardly resist. Erica could not stop wondering as if it was a one day dream that she had lived. And after giving her a new perseverance towards winters it’s again summer; just back in a day. Erica murmured- might be God's playing and continued her work.