I challenge every person who reads this story to sum up his or her life in just a few words. There are a variety of life lessons that probably took decades to learn and any person who TRULY examines themselves and what they have knowledge of knows that we are not done learning until we are cold in the grave. If you have ever heard a well-told story before you know that it is not simply heard, it is experienced, it is felt, and it is lived. These are a series of stories I have experienced that have taught me so much putting me well beyond my years, and yet, I must admit that I still know nothing. I feel that I am close though. This scares me in a sense. For my belief is that when we know what is necessary it is our time to leave. May be that is another lesson I’ve yet to learn, why not to fear death. I honestly don’t know. My brief story begins this series. I am the main character; the end all be all. All the other stories revolve around me. So please, keep that fact in mind as I go along. They are stories that have personally been told to me and therefore witnessed. I will explain more as I go along, I promise. I was the first to see what others around me couldn’t. It sickens me to see the simple, pathetic, self-destructive path I chose to get to where I am. My life was in ruin. In my late twenties all I did was drink hard liquor and gamble every penny I earned. Every other thought was how I could make more money, faster money, with little effort, almost as if I was entitled to it. The “big win,” would pick me up out of my depression. I would be able to drive that car I dreamed about since I was a boy or buy that house that my now, ex-wife used to want. This illogical sense of vengeance was always first and foremost on my mind. Not to sound conceded but I was an intelligent man in some ways. I was wise enough to have the self-awareness that my day-to-day activities were self-destructive. I knew that no matter what excuse I imagined, me, myself, and nobody else was ultimately the one who put me in the position I was in. I chose to marry the woman who took my children and married another man. I chose to marry a woman who drained me of every penny before she literally threw me to the curb. I also chose to foolishly drink and gamble my money away instead of taking the logical steps necessary to pick up the pieces of my life after she decided to leave everyone, even her kids. Immediately after the divorce my ex-wife would move from apartment to apartment, and I would pay the expenses in order for her to do so. I would stay at a friend’s house and give her almost every penny I made at my meager factory job. I was patient and tolerant of her decisions to this point. When she left our kids though, I put an end to it. From now on the money, I made would be mine. I would spend it how I deemed necessary and take care of our kids myself. Until this “big win” I would try to sustain life by getting an odd job every other month that didn’t require any sort of skill, or test for alcohol. I would do this until I was fired, or my co-workers would run me off. Most of my nights were spent in abandoned buildings. My meals were gotten at whatever cheap burger place was closest, or the cleanest food I could find in the garbage. That was just a short description of me of what kind of characteristics I used to possess. You will get to know me better as we go along. We can say a bunch of adjectives to describe a person but until we see how they lived their life we will never truly understand. (For example, I can be a loving and caring guy, but I can either love sex care about no one but myself and be a male, or, I can love mankind, care for those who need, and be a man. We must carefully observe in order to try to understand. Miscommunication is one of the greatest causes of turmoil.) I was spending my time at the Lake of the Ozarks and found some condominiums that needed a maintenance worker. I applied and got the job. It was easy enough to get hired on if you smudge a resume. The work wasn’t too complicated. Mowing grass, trimming hedges, and cleaning the docks was what I did the majority of the time. I kept the same sort of company no matter where I was employed. The sort that enabled me to continue down my self-destructive path. The last week out of the two I had worked at the condominiums I spent every night playing five-card stud with three of my “fellow” employees. This specific night was Friday night, payday, and this meant everybody would be playing with more money. I was going to clean them out. After that, I was going to go to the casino and break them. After that, I would have enough to show all of those who doubted me that I could come out on top. Almost like I had access to an entity that nobody else did. The sun began to sink behind the wood-line and the spring peepers were almost deafening. The traffic at the lake was slow but it was welcomed. The past week owners of the condominiums swarmed the lake. On top of a bluff, not far from the lake four men sat around a worn poker table in a little shack drinking and laughing. That was except for me. I sat concentrating and determined to win. There was no laughing, no joking or getting familiar with my “fellow” employees. This game could completely change my life. I kept the best poker face I could muster but my heart was racing. “So, Aaron, you come here every night and we have no idea who the fuck you are. Why don’t you talk?” Larry asked. Larry was a large, bearded man. He almost always wore a white tank top that complimented his arms but wasn’t near as flattering for his popped belly. “I’m just trying to focus on my hand Larry.” I said solemnly. Larry replied, “That doesn’t seem to help your game dipshit.” The other two men joined him in laughter. In my head what Larry said was probably to affect my game. It hit a nerve, but I didn’t react. I merely reached for my bottle of cheap whisky and took another large swig. I drank as randomly as I could, that way I didn’t develop any tells. “You know Derek here says he doesn’t like you.” I looked to his left where Derek was sitting. I figure he was in his early twenties with the libido of a jackrabbit and something to prove to every swinging dick that existed. (Except the dick that he stroked to make friends so to speak.) I honestly wasn’t interested in a fight though. More time fighting meant less time gambling. “That’s ok. I don’t really like myself that much most of the time.” I forced a grin as if my honesty was a joke. “Derek also says to need to take a FUCKING shower, you smell like shit.” Larry laid down his cards. It was a royal flush. I looked at my hand. All I had were three tens. That was the rest of my money. How could someone so vain have such good luck? Now I would go hungry the rest of the week unless I dug through the trash. Frustrated and without thought I retorted. “Then Derek needs to learn to speak for himself instead of having a retarted, cousin-fucking redneck speak for him.” Larry didn’t give me a chance to even blink. I barely got a grin in when I felt his fist hit me from across the little table, knocking me out of my seat. It was all a haze for me from there. The only thing I was certain of was that all three men were kicking and stepping on me at once. There was at least minute of this until I was rolled out of the door. I struggled to get up. I had never been knocked down and not gotten back up. I crawled a few feet until I was finally able to pull myself together and pick myself up. I wobbled, dizzy and disoriented trying to make my way to anywhere but the little shack. I had lost this fight. To go back would be suicide. “Hey bitch, you forgot something.” It was Larry yelling at me. I turned around and put my hands up to fight. Just as I did, I felt my fifth of whisky hit me in the side of the head knocking me down once again. I lay there for a moment... Hoping he had killed me. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I heard the three men laugh and make their way back inside. I fought the tears back in case they decided to come back and ridicule me some more. My mind raced with what I should do. Not only did I lose my money but also, I lost my pride. It didn’t take long though for me to come to the conclusion there was nothing more I could do that night unless I took my money from the three men, the three men that just beat me half to death. There was no winning this fight. I would just have to chalk it up to a loss, a three-hundred-dollar loss. When I was sure my co-workers were back inside the building jerking each other off I lifted myself up, picked up my whisky bottle and headed towards the docks. Staggering and drinking the entire way I figured this would be as good as place as any to sleep. At least I would have a roof over my head. I crossed the walkway and stepped onto the dock. I could feel the dock gently sway in the water. As I laid down this was comforting at first until it started to make me feel nauseous. I wasn’t about to throw up, so I stood up and started pacing. As I paced, I started to scheme on how I would make my money next time. Poker, lottery, or maybe next time I would go straight to the casino. I could put bigger bets down on the roulette table with the three to one odds, or put down moderate bets on thirty five to one odds and end up making more money... potentially. Suddenly the schemes stopped. I reached the end of the dock. The sun had completely disappeared for the day and the moon had come out. I admired the way it danced on the water. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring... Inviting. I wanted a closer look, so I walked to the very edge of the dock. I stood there and stared. As I stared with bottle in hand, I had an epiphany. I thought of my past and the path I had taken. May be if I had been a little different, said the right things, broken instead of bend when it came to my ex-wife things would be different. I would still be able to tuck my babies in at night, tell them stories and wake them up every morning with a smile and a hug like I used to. I would wake her up in the morning with a kiss. First, I’d kiss her gently on the cheek, then on the lips. She was always so self-conscious about her breath, but I never cared. There was nothing about that woman that could detour me. This put a metaphorical blade in the middle of my stomach that felt literal. “No.” I told myself. A man who breaks isn’t a man at all. I decided there was nothing else I could have done. I decided there was nothing else I could do. I was destined to feel this pain for the rest of my life. I inched my way closer to the edge of the dock. The toes of my shoes were now hanging over... The decision was quick. I inhaled, took one final swig out of my fifth and exhaled as I jumped into the water. I sank quickly. I knew by the time I hit the bottom it would be too late to make it out alive. I would need to inhale before I made it back to the surface. The water was a good six feet above my head. I felt the mud and rocks on the lake floor as my feet hit the bottom. For whatever reason, it came to my mind to open my eyes. I guess I wanted to know what the last thing I would see was before I died. When I opened them I saw nothing. Utter and complete darkness. I panicked. This wasn’t right. What was I doing? Suicide was not the way to end things. There are other ways to deal with this. This cannot be the end. Why did I make such a rash decision? Since I had no more breath, I cried to God to help me, to pick me up from the water. I began to swim to the surface. I rose even faster than I sank. I was able to reach my hand above the water and feel the cool night air on my fingertips. I was going to make it! I thanked God profusely... This was until I felt hands grab me around my ankles and begin to drag me down. I began to sink deeper and deeper and the further I dropped the more hands began to grasp onto my body. This was certain death for me. So, I accepted. I was drug down with my back flat against the bottom of the lake. There was a moment of pause while all I did was notice hands gripped over every part of my body giving me no chance of ascension. Suddenly I could feel my body pulled through the bottom of the lake. The water was so cold at that point it felt like shards of ice grazing over my skin. A haze of images flickered before my eyes. I saw a dark forest, the earth on fire, fear and anguish began to take physical form until I was thrown onto my knees in a black room in front of a window that seemed to connect to what had to be another dimension. I stood up and walked slowly towards the window to peer inside. I saw a trial taking place. I saw a well-dressed man pacing in front of the judge. The whole court room nodded their heads like they were part of a congregation at a church. I then saw a security guard pull out his gun and point it at the judge. I ran to the window to stop him but as I got to the window a mighty force took me by the shoulders and told me to sit. I watched and I wept because I knew there was no way of communicating to this man. Soon though, the tears stopped, and all five senses engaged as the whole world unraveled right in front of me. A thousand voices harmonizing as one whispered to me. “This is the world you left them in.” My eyes and ears were opened like they had never been before. I could feel what other people felt, see what other people saw, in a world I left behind.


“Excuse me Joshua but I seem to be stuck on this wall,” a voice says behind me. I look at my manuscript, now over five hundred pages long, and put down my pen. How long has it been since I’ve had a visitor? The wood floor creaks underneath me as I place two hands on my desk and push myself up. As I turn around, nobody is at my door. Am I imagining things? “Not there. Up here!” I swivel my head to the right and see that a woman’s face is, indeed, on my wall. She seems to be trapped behind glass. Is she real? I shuffle over and analyze her green eyes, which hold my eye contact. With modern technology, it’s becoming harder and harder to tell what is man made and what is real. “How do you know my name?” I spit out. “You don’t remember me?” she asks. Her eyes drop from mine and her lips contort into a frown. “No. Who are you?” “My name is Anna. Anna Patronella.” Pain shoots through my ankles and I retreat to my bed covered in grey sheets. Anna Patronella. Why does that name sound so familiar? But I would never have forgotten a name like that. In fact, I would never forget anyone. Especially not their face. ------ “Joshua, come say hello to your auntie!” my Mama yelled from a distance. I abandoned my red bike on the rough rocks and raced through the backdoor of my childhood home. The powerful stench of baking apricots roared through my nostrils as I ran through the kitchen -- there were two minutes left on the oven. As I entered the living room, my mama sat with a woman who smiled at me with a golden tooth. “Oh, hi Auntie Esmerelda! How are you?” I said. My Auntie’s face twisted. “How do you know my name?” “I remember it from when you visited us!” My Mama and Auntie looked at each other, sharing a look of confusion yet fascination. “But Joshua,” my Mama stammered, “you only met your auntie at your birth”. A soft oven alarm rang through the house, but no one else seemed to notice. “Well, I don’t know what to say. I never forget a face.” Silence swallowed the room for a minute. “Joshua. Do you know who else was at your birth?” “Of course! There was Mama, Papa, Auntie Esmerelda and Sasha, Uncle Hendrik, and the nurse named Marie!”. Once again, the alarm rang in the background but now accompanied by the smell of burning. “Damn it! The apricot jam cookies are burning!” my Mama sighed as she ran to the kitchen. ------- I had the sharpest brain back then. My Mama used to say I was smarter than a jackal, more cunning than a leopard. I feel my lips rise into a smile. There is no way I could have forgotten someone--- even at this old age. “Hello? Joshua? Can you hear me?” Anna sings out. My head rises and I look at her again. “I’ve been calling your name for the past ten minutes. Are you ok?” “Yes. Perfectly fine,” I say. “Anna, where are you from?” “I’m from Bakersville, of course... just like you.” Hmmm. That is where I’m from. I guess there’s a chance she knew me from a distance and I didn’t know her. Maybe I’ll ask my son to search her up if he ever visits me. I stand up from my bed and make my way back over to my desk. Anyone from my hometown is a welcome guest in my room. “Would you like a biscuit? Some tea?” I pry open my desk drawer, where I put all the snacks visitors bring me. I reach in and find that it’s empty. How is this possible? It was full just this morning. I open every drawer in my desk and find nothing. What the hell? A dark sensation builds up in my heart until it blossoms into deep anger. Damn this nursing home. Everyone steals everything from anyone, no matter where you hide it. Eve stole it. It HAD to have been Eve. --------- Eve fixed her eyes on the TV screen in the common room. She was watching 7 De Laan, my mama’s favorite show before she passed. On her lap was an intricate tea cup with gold edges and angels holding the handle. As I sat down in the spot next to her, she shot me a glance that screamed for me to leave. “Hey, Eve! What are you drinking?” The dark liquid in the cup sloshed around. It looked like tea. She sighed and turned off the TV. Carefully, she studied me. “I’ve just realized that we haven’t really talked since you moved in here a few days ago,” she said. At least she was kind of being receptive. It was lonely in the house. Most of the residents spent each day in their rooms, and even when they left for meals, they didn’t talk. Some couldn’t anymore, some simply didn’t remember how to. “How do you deal with it? How do you not go crazy here?” I asked her. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise you will tell no one else.” “I promise.” Eve carefully looked around the room and leaned her mouth to my ear. “You don’t. You lie to yourself that you’re fine. Never complain, and especially not to your family. The more you do, the less they visit.” She went silent before continuing, “and alcohol. Tons of it.” I pulled back from Eve. Surely it couldn’t be that bad here. She was probably lying to me. Trying to scare the newcomer. My eyes wandered back to her delicate teacup, and I took a second glance at what was inside. Looking closer, I realized that the liquid was not steaming. It was not tea. “Can I have some?” I asked. “No. I barely have enough as is.” “Come on, don’t be greedy!” “I said NO!” she yelled. I lunged toward her teacup, trying to steal it from her. She flung herself backward, holding on tight. My fingers flew over the cup and started wresting it from her. Out of nowhere, the cup flew out of both of our hands and smashed into the floor. “You DICK. That was a gift from my dead husband.” ------ “EVE YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I tear all the sheets off my bed, start stomping as loud as I can, and try to rip out the drawers in my desk. “Joshua stop! What are you doing? I don’t even want a biscuit! It’s fine I promise!” “Shut up, Anna, you don’t even know me!” “Stop saying that, Joshua. I DO know you!” I walk from my desk to where Anna stares at me from behind the glass. She’s going to understand soon that not only do I not know her, but that glass is fragile. “APRICOT COOKIES!” she screams, raising her voice. “Don’t you remember? When you brought me those burned apricot cookies all those years ago? Watching 7 De Laan with your mother and me? When I helped you with your temper tantrums? Did it mean nothing to you?” My head spins, and I crumble onto the floor. What’s happening to me? Who is this woman? How does she know I have an anger problem? “Who are you to me?” I plead. “I don’t know,” she replies. “But I know there is something connecting us. It’s like there’s a chord tied from my heart to yours, bringing together two different worlds.” I raise my eyes and look at Anna. “I’m going to break you out”. I search my room with my eyes for something to break the glass, but find nothing. By pushing against the floor, I stand up. There’s only one option. I raise my fist behind me and throw it with all the strength I can muster. It bounces against the glass but doesn’t leave a single mark. “Anna, you’re going to need to trust me.” “Always.” I push my head against the glass separating me from Anna. I look at her and swear I can feel her breath on my face. Her lips and eyes beckon me, filled with kindness. She’s breathtaking. I let my head fall behind me, and in one quick motion, slam it against the glass. Pain spreads through me, and I feel my warm blood on my hands. As my mind goes black, Anna’s in my arms. I feel safe. ---------- Voices flood into my ears. “Your grandfather has been going crazy over the past few months. We can no longer take care of him here.” “What did he do?” “He’s been extremely hostile to one of our residents, Eve, and broke one of her teacups. She says he’s been greedy with everything in the house, even if it doesn’t belong to him.” “That doesn’t surprise me. He refuses to share anything with anyone except family. Is that all?” “No. For a week, he’s been talking about a ‘woman trapped behind the glass’ on his walls. Yesterday we found him with his room destroyed, on the ground, with a broken portrait of a woman in his arms.” Both of the voices go silent until one continues, “The only portrait in there is of my grandmother, Anna Patronella, his wife. After she died a year ago, he’s been in shock. I feel guilty. I haven’t visited him since I put him here after her death.” I shift my attention away from the voices and silently roll Anna’s name on my tongue. Anna. Anna. Anna. My wife. It feels comfortable. Perfect. I sit up in my bed and look at my bedside table. It’s my manuscript. I flip through the pages, each one blank, until I get to the last one. On the bottom of the page, it reads in neat cursive: Death did not do us part. Never stop enjoying your biscuits and cookies. Love, Anna.


It does not seem that long ago, but it has been almost 70 years since I first met the “Bowl”. The Bowl. Every boy at Sacred Heart, our Catholic grammar school, had a nickname. Michael Bowles was his given name, and it took several weeks in our fifth-grade year before I learned about his secret. I remember it was in the middle of a typical Indian Summer when I first met Michael. The familiar warm breeze gently moved over the valley as if my mom had just covered me with a soft blanket on a cool evening. The smell of stewing tomatoes from the cannery down the street added an additional comfort level at this time of year. It was the first week of school. My parents thought I had mixed emotions about my expectations. Not really! All I was concerned about was how I fared with my buddies. There was one new boy in class. He was a small, scrawny boy whose desk was across from mine. Whenever I looked over at him, he smiled like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland . His eyes looked huge behind those thick glasses he wore making the rest of his body seem so diminutive. I considered him to be a novelty, finding myself looking at him periodically throughout the school day. And each time I looked at him, there was that same broad smile. I never formally introduced myself to the “Bowl”. Ten-year-old boys never do. It is usually just a flick of the head acknowledging the other kid. Maybe you mutter your name after that, maybe not. But Michael was different. When the recess bell rang, he got up quickly and was at my desk instantaneously. “Hi, I’m Michael,” his broad smile trying to outdistance the enlarged eyes behind the glasses. “Hi, Michael, I’m Ron,” feeling slightly defensive. “They call me ‘the Count’. He seemed disinterested in my nickname, but more concerned about what we could play at recess. I suggested we could join the other boys and play football. “Nah, I can’t play football.” I had questioned why he could not play football, but he would not tell me. He seemed very shaken as if his pet canary had just died. That huge smile left his face as he turned from me and slowly walked out the classroom door. The rest of the school day had been strained for me, having decided not to look over at Michael at all. I did not see Michael the rest of that week, or the next few weeks. I agonized because I felt bad for not agreeing to play with him that one recess. But more importantly, where had Michael been? Each morning at class I would look over at his empty desk, wondering what had happened to him. It was the middle of October before the “Bowl” showed up at school. He didn’t walk in like the rest of us at the beginning of the school day. Rather he was accompanied by his mom right before recess. Mrs. Bowles was quietly chatting with our teacher, Sister Rosario, as Michael took his seat. I glanced over at him and there was that all to familiar smile of his. Feeling relieved, I grinned back at him. After a few words were exchanged between the two women, Michael’s mom headed to the door. She seemed to be sniffling into her handkerchief as she left. Michael seemed unconcerned about his mom, but rather happy just to be back in class. The bell rang for recess. My classmates and I had a big football game planned. I remember hustling out the classroom door and into the playground with a football in hand. Some of the boys passed me as I tossed the ball in the air. “Wait for me, Ron!” a distant voice called out behind me. It was Michael trying to catch up to me. In his outstretched hands he had a Basketball. “Let’s shoot some baskets,” Michael yelled out. “Bowl, it’s not basketball season. It’s October! Time to play football. The guys are waiting, it’s a big game. One of the boys screamed out to me to hurry up. I looked at the boys then turned to look at Michael. His eyes are transfixed on me with that big smile of his. “Ah geeze,” I mumbled, tossing the football to the boys eagerly waiting. “Go on and play without me.” I glanced back at Michael who had an even bigger smile. He tossed the basketball to me. I felt uptight about the situation, but I knew it was something I needed to do. Michael attempted to make a basket with the ball, but his throw barely reached the bottom of the net. He tried even harder the second time, but the shot wasn’t much better. He then seemed to be tired. “Watch me, Bowl. See how I use my arms to push the ball?” I made the basket. Michael is still trying to catch his breath. The smile has long left his face. “Let’s sit down for a short while,” I suggested. Without hesitation, Michael walked to the bench alongside the basketball court and sat down. I joined him, bur glanced over at the boys playing football. “Where have you been the last few weeks,” I asked still looking over at the boys playing football. “I have been sick and quite tired. That’s the secret I haven’t told you about,” Michael replied as he looked down at his shoes. He raised his head slowly to look back at me. “I have cancer. It’s in my lungs.” I was stunned. I knew a few things about cancer. My grandma died from it. I had an uncle with a cancer where they had to remove part of his jaw. “Does it hurt?” I queried. “Are you going to die?” “Yeah, it hurts a lot sometimes. Other times I have a hard time breathing. Not sure about dying. No one said anything about that. I can’t play football because of my lung problem. I was lost for words. I became nervous, looking away trying to figure out what to say or do. Michael intervened again, “I had two surgeries. I may have to have another soon.” There was silence. I couldn’t even hear any of the kids yelling in the school yard. “Hey, you want to feel the bandages from my last surgery?” “Wow, can I?” I responded. I looked around to be sure no one was watching me as I was about to touch Michael. “Run your hand up and down my back.” I did so. “Damn, Bowl, that’s a lot of bandages!” Michael lunged forward slightly from feeling the pressure of my fingers. I apologized for hurting him. He glanced over at me and said,” Why did you decide to play with me instead of your friends?” “Waddaya mean? We are friends too, Bowl! Michael’s smile returned. He then asked me an unusual question: “You got a girlfriend?” We both giggled. “Me, a girlfriend? Nah, I just wanna play sports and catch pollywogs down at the creek. What about you?” Michael let out a funny laugh, something more of how a chipmunk would sound. “Not me! I live by the words of Hopalong Cassidy: I am a straight shooter”....In unison, Michael and I scream out”...because we don’t drink, swear, or kiss girls!” We both laughed. I then coaxed Michael to take one more shot before the end of recess. I handed him the ball, “Okay, Straight Shooter , let’s see you make this one.” In one motion, Michael took the ball, shot it and made the basket. Both of us jumped up and down, laughing and yelling, until he became short of breath once again. I rushed to him, but he assured me he was ok. The bell rang, so we began our walk in silence back to our classroom. Michael clutched the basketball as if it was a prized possession, still smiling about the basket he just made. He turned his head to look up at me and whispered, “You are my best friend.” “Friends forever,” I whispered back. The comforting Santa Ana wind gave way to the cold, dark winter chill. I never did see Michael after our shared moment on the basketball court. Two days after shooting baskets he was rushed to the hospital for an emergency third surgery. Michael did not survive the surgery. I never forgot about Michael especially when I later played on the school’s basketball team in the seventh and eighth grades. It felt right for me to dedicate each game to him.


"What a pretty room I possess! My Dream Room." Lis said it inside her mind already three times this morning. Maybe she has started noticing her room way too much after staying at home for a whole year. But really, pretty or not, this is her dream room. A small but cozy one with a dark type white color! A study table on the right side of the door, a small closet, a bathroom on the corner and a cute bed on the other corner with a large window. Pretty tidy room, well except for the 'large window'. Its glass is at a breaking stage, hanging from the rods of the window. So anyone who notices her room from the inside sees the 'almost' broken window before her tidy room. And those who see it from the outside, they see nothing but that annoying window. Lis sometimes feels sad, because that is her favourite place in her room. That window is why it's her dream room. A rainy dark night with cool breezes coming inside and a cup of coffee while spreading her legs on the bed- ahh! Relaxing chills starts flowing through her body. She thinks of doing the exact same thing now. She does exactly the same. Well, maybe except for the rain and coffee and spreading legs like that hurts. Also it is not night, it is an unusually bright morning. "Maybe next time a cozy weather" and she starts her usual, staring outside from the window. Sometimes the window glass starts creaking so she has to become careful to open and close it. What does she stare at? Her lawn, the empty neighbour house on the corner, the river behind that, the trees behind that, the sun staring back at her with terrible bright light, the people, the road in between and pretty much everything. She doesn't like to study anymore. It's not like she ever liked it. She loves to eat. But she is not allowed to eat many things. Time past and it was past 11 in the morning. It was the same as usual. That's what she thought. What she didn't expect is the arrival of the new neighbour in her town. She watched the private car as a old couple came out and started some work with the truck. They were moving in, to the empty house. Suddenly her eyes went to person who came out of the truck's front seat. It was a boy. A boy?!!! She watched him closely, but not to much cause she must hold her respect she built for herself in her mind. A bit pale skin, normal sized mesomorph body, looking much taller than her and a baby face. He looked like he was 19. Lis was always good at guessing age and she was sure of it. "A boy my age?!!" She controlled herself. She kept her hands in a cool way and looked the other side so that he notices her. That'swhat normally any girl wants. She will sit normally and the boy will notice her and she will notice him too but pretend not to. And then he will want to be closer to her and she will act like she doesn't know. Right? Simple. But not for her. Maybe she never noticed the boy noticing her. She never had a male friend either. She was trying pretty hard to be noticed. Smiling a bit, brushing hair to the side of the ear etc. But the window was constantly disturbing. She felt angry at the window glass. She told her mother to change that but it'll take a long time. She didn't tell her mother anything after that though. Managing their life alone is a great deal. And she also doesnt seem to come of any help. Anyway, noticing that the boy didn't even see her, she laid down on bed. And the day went on usual. At night she gave herself a goal, the goal of being noticed by the boy? At least. Her goal was to make the boy talk to her and be friends with him and secret crush of the boy on her. But that is impossible in five days. Five days? Yes. This was the goal set by her. If five days are over, she will take this marvelous chance away for him. And give it to another one? Maybe or maybe not. Because there are no boys the same age in this town. This was her chance. This was day 1 which is over. She must take action quickly. Useless but fun! On the second day, she wakes up early as usual. She loves waking up early in the morning, you can see the sunrise from the start. What about the darkness before it? Well, she isn't scared anymore. Darkness seems to be scary, but if you find the real peace in it, you won't feel scared anymore. Or if you can let your fear be defeated by the fact that darkness is nothing but the absence of photons. Anyway, she carefully opens the window. It creaks a little bit. She gets scared. Well that's one point for the window. Then she waits for the sun to wake up. The scenery is so pleasant that you can look at it all day and night. Except the sun is not seen at night. When the sun rises she, guess what? Stares through the window until she gets bored or the window gives her a sign. There are a lot of snacks beside her bed because getting out of bed is hard for her. Maybe it's laziness, or not. She waits for him to show up but he doesn't. Maybe they are busy with moving in. So she doesn't bother. In the night after dinner she sees him on the road with a bag of groceries. She becomes excited but controls herself. It is not good for a lady to get all excited and happy over a lad! It makes you attract less male towards you and you seem like a self respectless easy target. Suddenly he looks up and she instantly moves her eyes away. She thought he was seeing her. Haha, when she looked back again, he was gone. She felt embarrassed but didn't give it too much of a thought. She thought of dropping him out of anger. She knew she was being too sarcastic so she calmed herself down. "Oh Shoot!" She panicked again when she realized that Day 2 is already over! These days are really magical. In her nineteen years of life, Lis has never woken up at exactly 5 AM in the morning. Hah, Truly miraculous! Today she saw the sunrise and slept again because she stayed up late yesterday. A chit chat in the living room woke her up at around 11 AM. She knew there was guests in her house. Maybe her mother's friends, although their days have been going all alone since her father, never mind. She didn't bother knowing who came. She doesn't go to any other room in the house, it tires her out. Anyway she started her usual, reading a book for a while. "The while" ended in 10 minutes. She doesn't have a habit for books, maybe that's why. She easily feels bored doing anything at a stretch, well maybe staring through the window is very interesting. The irritating window has given her patience, she believes that. Once out of rage she tried to break, that's when the never ending creaking started. Then one day she tried to fix it, and the rest is History. She looks at the river and the boredom goes away. Impressive part is that she can even hear the sounds of the waves too. Advantages of a less populated small town! The volume from the living room slows down. That means the guests are leaving. She looks through the window to see who came. Yes, the entrance to their house can be seen by her room. She stares through the window as she sees the 'boy' and his mother coming out of their house. "They were here all along?!!!" She felt guilty for not trying to know who came. Suddenly they both look at her. She couldn't handle such a sudden challenge so without knowing what to do she laid down suddenly. Later she cursed herself for the fact that how awkward and embarrassing a person can be at that point. She even started feeling second hand embarrassment for herself! "I bet they saw me. Bye bye world" "Stop the drama!" She listened to herself and tried to pretend that nothing happened. Then she thought, why didn't she hear his voice a single time? A shy one. "Aha! I knew it! I'm so smart these days." She stopped brainstorming over these things. A sudden thought came over her mind. Why am I giving so much importance to him? Because I am bored? No. At least not for it. For some useless experience? Maybe or maybe not. Maybe there is something deep that she isn't understanding. "What's there to understand? He doesn't even know my name. And there's even no point!" Whatever! Day 3 ends with those irrelevant or true questions. "Why am I the one sitting with the driver? I am bad at talking. Mom could replace me too. God! So uneasy." "Don't worry, young man. I know the address." Aiden just startled with the sudden talk of the driver. "Oh... okay" He said with an unnatural forced smile. To cool it down he looked through the window. Hills, trees, birds, flowers, sky; these can easily ease a person's mind, especially if he is moving into this amazing place. He was neutral about 'moving into the' plan for his mother's work transfer. His father is a freelancer. And he is a 19 year old stuck in the late teenage life with nothing to be overwhelmed by. "This is it. A few houses ahead is your new home". ''Beside the river?" The driver didn't respond because he didn't even hear what he said. He felt embarrassed but quickly cut it off with the truck window. Suddenly he saw someone on the window of a house on a little height. "Oh my God! Is that a girl?!!!" "We are here." "Oh right." He got down and was too shy to look at her again. When he got inside his house he took a sneak peak but she was gone. He felt sad. But thinking that a pretty girl's house is beside his just made his mind blow off. At night he looked through his window and saw her face. Wow! OH MY GOD! SHE'S SO... He tried to calm down. But he notices that her window was broken. Well a part of the glass was hanging with the broken rod. It is not broken but it is. He tried to observe her. "Oh my God! She's 19. Thank God!" He was always good at guessing age. It developed because of practice since he always needed to know who to talk to, who to respect and who to do whatever you wanted to. Why the 'thank god' Well, very unusual but he was 7never interested in older or younger girls. So he used to use his ability to identify same aged girls to date with. But he is like that polite type male one in a billion who doesn't think of anything else other than love. So he used to like girls but never thought of dating because he is always looking for his soulmate. It seems like he doesn't date girls but in the case of every male and for Aiden too, girls don't date him. And for that girl too, he is thinking of becoming friends, not more. He couldn't sleep at night at all. Looks like he couldn't adjust to the new environment. It was morning but it was dark. He went to his window to clear his mind. He got scared when he saw someone through the window. He got in a fighting stance out of fright, but soon found out that it was her, the girl. What is she doing so late at night? He was confused when he saw she was doing nothing but just staring through her window. "A mysterious one. I like it" He tried to observe what she was doing. Was it stalking? He forced his eyes to look down. But he couldn't resist. Why was he so much obsessed with a girl who he doesn't even know? It's not beauty, maybe it's something else. He didn't know why he wanted to talk to her, to know her name. UHe wanted to know her name. He was devastated to see her face to face. He had never obsessed over a girl like that before. He wanted to know her. But his mother might suspect him of doing those things. They are not that close, Aiden and his parents. But he wanted to overcome all that and just meet her in person. "Why am I doing this? Who is she? Isn't it going too fast? If this is going like then is she... is she my... No! It can't be. Huh! Stop that. You do that with every girl you meet. Whatever!" But he just wants to meet her. 5 days! He will overcome his obstacles of shyness and parents to meet her. Why did he give himself 5 days? Maybe just like that. Maybe Destiny. Who knows? What he knows is that day 1 was over. The next day was really busy for him. Moving in and all. He didn't go out of the house at all. Only at night did he go to get some groceries. It was not that hard to find shops since the town is really small. He was heading home and suddenly saw her at the window. She quickly looked away so he was embarrassed. "Why did I look straight up at her? Now she will be disgusted with him for life." Out of embarrassment he ran home. Only before sleeping he realized day 2 is over and things just got worse! "Wake up... wake up Aiden" "What happened mom?" She wanted him to buy some gifts as they were going to visit the neighbours. NEIGHBOURS! That means he'll get the chance to visit her! Anyway, there weren't that many houses in this area. Actually not one except the one in front of them. His mother and Aiden went there. Her mother opened. They greeted each other. Aiden was always an unsocial type, in a bad way. So he did nothing but sit like a statue throughout the whole time. Also it was her house. Oh Crap! IT WAS HER HOUSE. "What if she comes out? I can't show my face. I can talk to her though. What am I thinking? Both of the mothers won't let me do so, I think." "Who do you live with?" " Only my daughter and I" Aiden noticed a psychic change in her mother's voice. He somehow knew she didn't want to talk about it. "And your husband?" "He left us for another woman" "Oh" Complete silence. He was feeling uneasy. But his mother seemed to enjoy it. "I am sorry." " No, it's not your fault" "Where is your daughter? Won't she come to meet us?" His heart started pounding. "No, she can't. My daughter is unable to move her legs. She is paralyzed." His mind just went numb. He didn't know what to feel. He never fell into any circumstances like this before. "Oh, sorry. What actually ha..." Aiden pushed his mother with his elbows. This was too much. His mother was crossing the line and it made him super angry. "My daughter's maybe resting now. And at thus time of pandemic, it's better for her to stay at her room." "Oh right. We'll take a leave. Here are some gifts. We need to organize everything in our house." They greeted each other and started leaving. When they reached the yard door, Lis's mother told them that they could have a look over the window. Her daughter is usually there. They both turned to see. She WAS there but suddenly moved away from there. He thought it was for him. "Haha, I saw her. A shy one I see. Just like my son. What's her name?" "Alisa, Alisa J. Morphy." "Name starts with A? Wow! What a pretty name!" He went home and just thought about her. "Stop it, man. You're cringy."But why was he doing that? Isn't it a bit awkward? Is there something deep that he doesn't understand? What is there to understand. She doesn't even know his name." Whatever! Day 3 just ended with those questions. Day 4. Lis's mood is pissed off since her mother started talking about some boys stuff or something. Was it because of him? She hates that kind talk. Well, the useful thing she found out was that his name is Aiden J. Mcarthy. Name starts with A. Wow! Tomorrow's the day. I don't wanna listen to my mother. Just because father left doesn't mean every boy's bad." A strong wind blew through the room and she saw the window swinging. She carefully closed the window. "Whatever,I WILL MEET HIM." "I WILL MEET HER." Maybe he became more determined because his mother came to indirectly tell him not to fall for an impared girl. Both of their Day 4 ends. He woke up at the dawn of the 5th day. He knows She wakes up around that time. He fled through his window and secretly went to her house. Nothing will stop him now. He quietly forwarded to her window. He was finally about to do what he has never done in his life. But he saw no one in the room. What he was left with was nothing but the broken glass pieces of that 'large' window on the grass bed.


"Come here dear, let us just sit down together and eat, sitting side by side." "Why, what is wrong? Why do you suddenly want to sit and eat together? You know I have a lot of work to do. I can't just leave everything and sit to eat with you just because you want me to do so. I'll eat after I finish all my work." Harsh pounder about the words said by his wife and than grudgingly told her, "Sanju I'm going than. I have a lot of work to do myself. I'm not free you know. The annual tax month is going on and this is a very hard month for me. I'll eat when I have time. Bye, see you in the evening." Sanjana looked towards the dining table. Harsh had not eaten anything and the tea had become cold too. This made Sanjana very angry. She started to yell at him. She furiously said, "What is all this non sense. I get up so early in the morning to prepare something for you to eat and you have the audacity to disrespect the meal and all my hard work and just leave. Why are you so insensitive toward me. Why don't you love me any more." Saying this she started to cry. This made Harsh freeze. He just shrugged and didn't know what to say. But he just realized that his Sanju was sad so he quietly went and sat down on the dining table. When he saw her so furious, he didn't know what to do. He thought about it a little. Than he made Sanjana sit down next to her and fed her a piece of toast. He lovingly told her, "Sweetheart I'm fed up of eating alone. I want to sit with you and eat. From the past few day I have been waiting for you to finish your work so that we can eat together. But your work doesn't seem to get over. Because of this for the past few days I have been reaching late for work. I even waited for you again today but I can't afford to get late today, so I was just about to leave." Sanjana was surprised listening to Harsh's confession. She asked him in a horse voice, "But why all of a sudden do you want to eat with me. We have been following the same routine from the start." Harsh said with a loving voice, " Sweetheart, now you are not alone. You have a life growing inside you. Remember what the doctor said. You should not skip any meals and have a good gap between your meals. How can you follow the instructions given by the doctor if you eat late. So I was just thinking that we can at least eat two meals of the day together and be together all day during the weekends. I want you to relax, take it easy and I even want to start spending more time with you. As it I half the day I'm out of the house due to my job. I don't want you to feel lonely when I'm around." Sanjana started to feel a little relaxed listening to her hubby. She said in a low voice, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm so exhausted so I just let it all out. I keep forgetting that I have to be more careful now. For so long I have been doing the same thing. I forgot that I have to be more careful now. I finish all my work in the morning before eating. I'll be more careful from now on. And you are right, it really gets lonely sometimes. I can understand now as to why you insisted to eat together. I agree, we should at least try to have two meals together on week days. But promise me that weekends will only be for me, and that you will not bring any work home to do in the weekend." Harsh happily said, "that's exactly what I want. Weekend and public holidays will only be for family. No work only some quality time with you me love. Listening to Harsh's endearing words Sanjana said in a cooing voice, "You know what, at night we'll have dinner together. I'll even prepare something special for you." She than hurried told him to go to work or he would get very late for work. He gave her a peck on his cheeks and left. The whole day Sanjana was in a great mood. She felt like nothing could ever make her sad. She started preparing for dinner early. She wanted everything to be perfect. But after a while she started to feel dizzy. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and slowly with a lot of difficulty walked towards the sofa in the hall. She saw the time it was 5 in the evening. She thought that if she rested for sometime she would feel better. In some time she got so relaxed and dozed off. Sanjana suddenly woke up after hearing the concern in her dear hubbies voice. She looked at the clock on the wall in the hall. It was 8 in the evening. She surprising said, "O dear! I slept for so long, the dinner is not ready yet." Harsh told lovingly, "My dear, don't worry. Give me some time to freshen up than I'll come and help you in the kitchen." Harsh came after fifteen minutes or so. He headed to the kitchen and started helping Sanjana. The meal was read by 9 PM and Harsh set the plates and dishes on the dining table. He than sat down next to his dear wife and served the food. Harsh realized he didnt feel tired at all and said Sanjana, "Darling if there is anything else you want me to do than tell me. I feel very refreshed and relaxed." Harsh was so happy and Sanjana understood how he felt. After a long time even she felt so relaxed and happy. Just be spending some time doing the same thing together after a long time she felt loved, wanted and cared for. She started to realize what she was missing for such a long time. She, after a long time saw the man she had loved and married. They sat together and ate dinner. They didn't talk any more but kept looking at each other and passed secret smiles. After eating Harsh said happily, "This was so much fun. We should do more things together. I had so much fun helping you in the kitchen today. Even the food was great. I loved it, it was so delicious." Hearing this Sanjana felt like making fun of Harsh so she teasing said, "What are you talking about, you were not helping me just causing trouble. Tickling me with your funny jokes. It was a wonder that we were able to prepare the meal at all. I thought that in the end I we would have to order food from a restaurant." Listening to this Harsh looked at Sanjana with a look of surprise and suddenly they both started to laugh loudly


All sorts of feelings It was late, almost midnight, and I was walking by the docks. My parents probably thought that I was at some party, like a normal 16-year-old guy would on a Friday night, but I never got invited to one of those, not in my old school and not in my new school. I just don’t hang out with a lot of people; most other guys think I’m too nerdy and girls think I’m ugly. Now it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I honestly enjoy spending time alone, taking walks along the dark water, breathing the coolish night air, away from school, stress and anxiety. I thought this would be a calm, regular night, but then I saw her. Or, at first I couldn't see if it was a he or she, it was really dark, the only light came from a few faint streetlights. I just saw the silhouette of a person standing on the, now abandoned, bridge for pedestrians, just above the big rocks right before the water started. It looked like the person was about to jump. I pulled out my hands from my jean jacket pockets and started walking faster. As I got closer I saw from behind that it was a girl. She had long, dark hair, average height and wore a black, hooded jacket and a dark skirt or dress - I wasn’t sure. Even if I had no idea who it was, I couldn’t just let her take her life. “Hey, what are you doing? You can’t just jump!” I shouted with a hoarse voice. “Leave me alone, you don’t know me!” It felt like I had heard her voice before, but I couldn’t place it. “Please don’t do this! You probably haven’t thought this through!” In fact didn’t know what to say, but now it felt like my responsibility to prevent her from killing herself. “Just let me do this, I literally don’t want to live anymore”, she replied angrily. Now I heard who it was. I was shocked. It was Lucy. My old classmate. I had no idea that she was suicidal, or even depressed. Well, she was never the happiest girl in school, but she never seemed to be really sad either. I called her name. She finally turned around. “Thomas?” “Yeah, remember me? From 11th grade?” “Yes...” “Then come down”, I begged. “We can talk!” “Look, you’re really not helping”, she said, but I could see that she kind of wanted to come down to me. She still didn’t move, so I decided to go up to her instead. The spiral staircase to the bridge was made of some sort of metal, so both she and I heard every step I took. When I came to the top I looked down. This pedestrians’ bridge went at least 15 feet (4.5 m) above the ground, so Lucy would definitely hurt herself and probably die if she jumped from there on the sharp stones. Why did she want to do that? Now I could see her clearly. She looked like she had done when we went to school together, her brown hair was a little longer and darker, and she looked older, even if it was less than a year since I saw her the last time. Her blue eyes were shiny and the makeup around them had smudged a bit. My heart somehow felt lighter when I looked at her. She was beautiful. “Um, hi...”, I said eventually, “Are you like, okay?” “Do I look okay?” she asked, “Do I fucking look okay? Do you think a person on their way to jump off a bridge like this is okay? What is wrong with you?” Yeah, what is wrong with me? Why did I say that? I don’t know. I started to think of how to apologize, but then I saw a tear running down her cheek. All at once, this hard-nosed girl seemed a lot more helpless. Hardly without thinking, I stepped forward and gave her a hug. Maybe physical comfort is better when you’re not good with words? As soon as I hugged her she burst into tears, but at least she hugged me back, so I guess it helped in some way. It felt a little strange. Feelings I didn’t know I still had started to come up. “Oh my God, what am I doing up here?”, Lucy sobbed. “‘You want to go down?” I asked carefully. She let go of the hug and nodded. I still felt a vibrating feeling from it. I took her arm and led her slowly down the stairs. I didn’t want to say anything to make her cry again, so I kept quiet when we started walking along the water. After she had calmed down a bit, Lucy asked me: “Do you still play the piano?” I was surprised that she remembered. “Yes, I do”, I replied. “Cool.” It was probably just small talk. Or, I thought so before Lucy cleared her throat and said: “I always thought you played beautiful. I know your friends mocked you when you played at the Christmas concerts, but I genuinely liked it. Once I was outside the music room and when I heard you practice I just stood outside a while and listened.” “Wow, thanks!” I said and looked down on my trainers. “I had no idea.” “Um”, I started, “How’s your new school? Where do you go?” The both of us switched to new schools after Secondary school. “I go to S:t Jacob’s and, well, the school itself is pretty nice, but I the people - not really.” Lucy looked away. “I never thought you felt this bad.” I had to ask eventually. “Well, it’s got worse this year. Before I was just sad a lot, I never seriously thought about taking my life, but now...” She took a break. I waited. She took a deep breath. “So ever since summer break last year, I’ve just felt empty, yet had so many feelings. I barely recognise myself when I look in the mirror, this body just doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Lately I’ve just felt like I’m drowning and my only choices are to keep swimming or to take ‘the lifeboat’, and it’s getting harder and harder to swim and there just isn’t another way out than..., you now.” Wow. Lucy and I took a turn and found a park bench among some trees where we sat down quietly. The bench was cold. We sat a little less than a foot apart. I remember when we were 14 or something and once sat next to each other like this in school, for a group project I think. I remembered the tension between us, how I could hear my heart beating and had all sorts of strange feelings inside of me. When we sat on this bench, it was like the group project all over again. Why did she make me feel like this? Lucy interrupted my thoughts by saying: “Also, in like 10th-11th grade I had things to live for. People liked talking to me, my parents cared about me, I did well in school. Now I’m just an ugly girl with no real friends and no social competence left, I never talk to my dad anymore and my mom only talks about her own life and her new boyfriend, everything in school is stressing the hell out of me and I just basically hate my life. If you wouldn't have been there when I stood on the bridge, I would probably be dead by now.” My heart started beating faster. First now I realised that I had literally saved someone’s life. Her life. When I was three, my mum saved my life when I almost drowned in the sea. Lucy’s mum didn't seem to care when her daughter drowned in her depression. She probably didn't even know about it. “Have you talked to your parents about this?” “No... They’d never understand, nor care. My dad doesn’t even live here in England anymore. And my mum, yeah you know.” “You should call her”, I said. “Tell her everything’s okay.” She hesitated, looked at me and reluctantly took up her phone. I noticed on the lock screen that the time was way past midnight. I hoped her mum would still answer. Five signals. Then I heard a “Hello?” on the other side of the line. “Hi, mum”, Lucy said. “I, I just wanted to let you now that I'm not feeling well. Or, I’ve actually felt horrible for the last couple of months, but I never wanted to be a burden. Tonight I tried to do something horrible, but a - friend, stopped me from doing it, so I’m safe now.” I couldn't really hear what her mother said, but soon I heard crying. “I love you too!” Lucy cried. “I'm so sorry. Yes, he sits next to me now. Yes, I will. I think so. Okay, I'll see you at home! Bye! ” Something like that. Lucy looked at me. More of her makeup had smudged by now and she looked really matt. To me, she was still the prettiest star in the night. She asked: “You can walk me home, right?” “Of course!” “Mum is driving home from her boyfriend's as soon as she can. She's going to call in sick for work tomorrow and cancel all her weekend plans, just to be with me. It's perhaps a little exaggerated, but it will definitely make me feel better. Yeah, I'll be fine. Also, she wants to thank you and I want to thank you too.” “Well, it was a matter of life or death, what was I supposed to do? And Lucy, your mother loves you, she is supposed to give you much attention after all this! Come!” As we started walking Lucy grabbed my hand. Her was cold, but holding it made me warm inside. I didn't know if it meant something that she wanted to hold hands, or if she just needed that comfort right now. I thought about how she complimented my piano playing. Maybe she liked me. I definitely liked her. I wished we could keep in touch after this night. “Should we maybe exchange mobile numbers before we say goodbye? I'm here if you want to talk some more.” “Yes, I'd really like that”, she replied. “You know, you're like my only friend right now!” The both of us smiled. Lucy didn't commit suicide and hopefully she would soon recover from her depression and be happy again. Even though I felt a huge compassion for her, it made me happy to be around her, and knowing that I saved her life made me feel a lot better than I had felt when I started my walk that night.


The sky turned from the dark colors of the night, slowly to a gorgeous orange and pink color. We always sat on the bench, me and my sunshine. We watched the sunrise and sunsets together, and later in the night we went stargazing before bed. This woman is the love of my life, has been since high school, and I can't remember a time when we were apart. She leaned against me, her smile as bright as the sun itself, her long golden locks brushing against the skin of my neck. "It's beautiful today.." "As it always has been. Just like you." I responded back, smiling to myself as I watched her cheeks flush. I remember when we had our first date, she wore a cute sunflower dress that went down to her knees and white sandals, while I wore a leather jacket over my white shirt and dark blue jeans, with my dark brown loafers. We went out to a small family-owned restaurant, chatting and laughing throughout the entire date. Eventually I drove her back home, we said goodnight and left. Didn't kiss until the third date. "Steven?" She interrupted my thoughts with her soft voice, looking up at me with her sapphire blue eyes. "Yes, my Lily?" I leaned down, until our noses touched, making her smile a bit more. She stayed quiet for a few moments, as we stared into each other's eyes. "...I love you. I love the traditions we have made, watching the sun rise and set, then stargazing.." She said, and I felt her lips gently press against mine. I relax, gently kissing her back before pulling away and pulling her closer. "I'm glad you love them. Because I love doing them with you...I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else." I watched Lily smile more, cuddling against me. We sat there for a few more minutes, just staring at the sky and listening to the early birds singing their songs. Finally, after our moments of silence, Lily slowly got up and took my hand, pulling me up with her. ̈Now, what would you like for breakfast, hm? I had a taste for french toast recently... ̈ I smile down at her, being a few inches taller than her. ̈French toast sounds amazing, darling. You can make your special cinnamon french toast, and I’ll make some bacon and eggs, sunny side up, just how you like them.” Her sapphire eyes shone happily as she looked up at me. “Oh you mean that? I’m so happy!” She claps her hands together once, then turns. “I’ll race you! First one to the door...has to drink orange juice and brush their teeth right after!” “Huh!? Wait but then I’ll win! How about the loser has to massage the other’s back!” I quickly say, holding her wrist gently so she didn’t get a head start before me. I watched as she thought about it, her lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit to make it seem like she was pouting. “Hmm...well, that works too! But next time it’s gonna be the orange juice for the loser!” She said, nodding in agreement. I chuckle and nod, letting her wrist go, before dashing up the hill towards our home. I hear her exclaim behind me in surprise, knowing that she was already running up to try and catch up with me. I got to the door, widening my eyes as I felt her pull me back to get to the door. “Oof!” I grunt, landing on my butt as she beat me to the door, already inside. “Ahah! I win! You, my dear, owe me a massage!” Lily said, hopping from one food to the other with joy. I smiled as I watched her, staying on the ground for a while before standing up and gently pushing her in more, shutting the door behind me. It had been several months since that day, and things were different. Much different. I sat in the hospital waiting room, waiting for a doctor to come tell me how Lily was doing. She had taken a turn for the worse since then. A few years before, we found out she had cancer. She went through chemo and radiation, and the doctors said that it must have worked...but now it was back, and stronger than last time. She’s grown weaker each month, not being as happy as she used to be. Her brightness slowly turned dull. I quickly jump up as the doors open, the doctor heading to me with a clipboard in his hands. “Mr. Chaser, yes?” I nod, my words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t read his face for any sign as to whether the news was good or bad. I needed to know. “Yes, yes that’s me...how is Lily?? Is she ok?” I ask, and that’s when I could tell that she wasn’t. Once he saw how worried, that’s when the sadness in his eyes showed. “I’m sorry to say sir, but she doesn’t have much time left to live...her health is dropping rapidly because of the cancer.” I felt my knees weaken, and I fell back into the chair, staring at the floor. “Not...much time..left?? H-How much then...?” The doctor kept his gaze on me. “A month...maybe two. It’s hard to really say..” Tears threatened to spill out, as I stared at the ground. ̈́Can I go see her? I want to see her.” The doctor nodded. Once I stood up, he led me through the doors he had originally come from, leading me to Lily. I held back my urge to cry as I stood in the doorway of her hospital room. She seemed so much smaller in the hospital bed, so much frailer than before. I made my way to a chair near her bed and sat down, taking hold of her hand. She slowly tilted her head to look at me, and gave a weak smile. She was hurting so much, it showed in her smile. “Steven...you’re here...” I nod, giving a small smile back to her, hoping she wouldn’t see my sadness through it. “Of course I did. You’re my Lily after all. I wouldn’t dream of leaving your side.” She let out a small sob, and I widened my eyes a bit in surprise. I watched as she shook, holding her own tears back. “Steven I...I’m so sorry..it hurts so much.” She sobbed, giving my hand a squeeze. I sniff, trying to stay strong for her..but I couldn’t. I lost it, starting to cry along with her. “I...I wish there was more I could do..I don’t want to lose you, Lily.” I leaned forward and pressed my forehead gently against hers, trembling lightly. We only had two months at most, and that scared me. I could lose her while I’m not by her side. “I’ll stay by you..I’ll take work off and stick with you.” I sigh, staring up at the night sky. I lost her a week later, and every day I kept our traditions up. I got up early to watch the sunrise, I set time to watch the sun set, and I stayed up to stargaze. I sat on the ground by the small lake that was just a ten minute drive away from the house. I remembered all the times we would stargaze, the different constellations we pointed out, whenever we saw a shooting star. I slowly look down at the water, sighing. The moon shone beautifully in the sky, and the lake water reflected that well...


It was an ordinary day like any other. I was heading towards work, walking since it wasn't too far. It was a bustling city, cars sped by and people bumped into me constantly, but I didn't mind. I reached a crosswalk, waiting with all the others walking for the red hand to change. But then something strange happened. The people around me stopped talking. The cars driving stopped moving. Everyone froze mid-step on the other end of the street. Everything seemed to be frozen in time. I wondered, did I do this? I tried to move, but my body didn't respond. Even my eyes seemed stuck in place, staring at the red hand, only able to see what I had seen before the world froze. Someone had frozen time, but it wasn't me. How strange, I thought. My mind was unfrozen when everything else was. Were other people experiencing the same? "I've done it!" A voice shouted from behind me. I saw the owner of the voice run out onto the street, waving at the frozen cars now parked on the street. I knew in an instant that he must've been the one to do this. I felt secure, knowing that the man would have his fun, but eventually, everyone would resume their daily lives. Perhaps not right away, if everyone else was seeing what I did, assuming we even remembered this at all upon unfreezing. The man continued to walk around the streets, shouting, singing, laughing, doing anything he wanted with no shame. I laughed, if only in spirit. Oh, how funny it would be if he unfroze time and realized everyone had seen and heard everything he had done. Then it stopped being amusing. The man's jovial laughs became coughs, loud and ragged. He walked, stopping on the crosswalk right in front of me. His arms were clutching his sides, his legs looking like they'd collapse at any given moment. Then he dropped to the ground and stopped breathing. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. The man who had caused this had died. Right in front of me, even. I don't know how or why, but there he was. So why couldn't I move still? Time was frozen in that same moment, and I was still staring at that stupid red hand. I was stuck. I couldn't look around, couldn't move, couldn't breathe or blink. All I could do was sit and stare. This was my life, I realized. Nothing was moving and nothing would EVER move again. I couldn't die. Oh god, I couldn't die. I would never see anything more than this god-forsaken red hand! I can't fix this, I can't help. I will never sleep again, never feel the breeze on my face again. I'll never hear the sounds of the city or the calming sounds of the night. Instead, I see the corpse of the man who did this to me, and I want to shout at him. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to cry. I want to fall to my knees and bury my head in my knees. I want to go up to the man and kill him a second time. But I can't do any of that. And I never will again. All I will ever do is watch the unchanging red hand with the corpse dooming me to this Hell lying beneath it.


"That's the thing about this city".This is what my uncle told me when I first set my foot in Nairobi city. It was the first time that I visited the city.I had never been there and once schools closed for December holiday,my uncle took me with him to the city.I have heard so many things about out countries capital city but this time I was there and my uncle could not tire from explanations and descriptions of the city's people,buildings,roads and even the matatu culture. Matatu is Swahili name for a minivan used as a share taxi in Kenya and all the graffiti on it. When we alighted from a bus from the countryside, I remember it was just a few minutes to six o'clock in the evening. One thing that court my eyes was the Kenyatta International Conference Centre(KICC).The building has been a landmark for the Kenya's capital. "Uncle take me there.I want to go and touch it" I said clinging to my uncle's hand.But I could see many buildings that were even taller than KICC but this particular building fascinated me.And this is when my dream of becoming an architecture came in. "Son.Lets get home first then I will bring you tomorrow and see your city." We went to the Railway matatu terminus and took another vehicle which would take us to where my uncle stayed with his family in one of the city's suburbs.Honestly I would say I liked the minibus we boarded.The graffiti outside almost changed my career I had chosen of becoming an architecture to a graffiti artist.Both inside and outside was awesome. Seated just next to my uncle near the window ,I could see very clearly what was happening outside. "Uncle see that minibus is written Cardi B."I said.He didn't answer anything but just chuckled and taped my left shoulder. "See that one has Messi,CR7,Rooney and Drogba graffiti " "Don't worry kid. This is what we call Matatu culture."my uncle said."Or in other words Nairobians call it Mathree culture" I was confused. "Uncle what is mathree?' I asked.My uncle took a sighed and smiled.I saw a man sitting on the other side look where we were and smiled.I reciprocated not knowing whether he was smiling at me or someone else.But Iam sure he was smiling at me. "Son.Mathree is a name that comes from the word three."My uncle said displaying three fingures . "You know very well matatu comes from Swahili word tatu meaning three okey son."I knoded just to show we were together or rather following what he was telling me. "Now mathree is a slang name for matatu."Uncle said.This left me with a lot of fanciful ideas about the matatu and started comparing them with matatu back in our village.Now I got story to tell my classmate once schools opened for first term in January. Now I will say it was not the matatu graffiti or the KICC that fascinated me.The language spoken by people from the city especially young people left me wondering what the hell had befallen my people. This matatu conductor came to my uncle and asked for ticket.When my uncle asked him how much for the two ,he said 'rwabe tu'.I saw my uncle give the conductor 200 shillings and he left to the next passenger. 'Uncle.What is rwabe' .I have never seen my uncle laugh like that.Mostly I had seen him just chuckle or smile. "Do you know sheng?" Uncle asked."Sheng in English means slang .Slang is a word or language that is outside conventional use and I can tell you son Nairobians have taken the whole thing to another level and perfected it.This boys and girls even your cousins are experts in this."he said.I.looked at my very keenly and he again signed and tapped my shoulder. "Do Jimmy and Jenny speak sheng?"I asked. "Yes son."he said. "Uncle tell me more about that so that when I bet home my cousin's won't embarrass me. "Now son I would not want you to learn using that slang words because they will never be on any exam paper okey "Uncle said."But you will have to learn some because this is Kanairo." I could see my uncle stop immediately after the word he said the word Kanairo and pretended to make a call on his cell phone.But he came to his sences when he realized that he had told me earlier that his phone battery had died.I laughed and reminded him that his phone was off due to battery lacking power. "Uncle what is Kanairo" I asked.This one I asked a bit louder and I could see some passengers look at me and smile.Others laughed. Others murmured to each other. "Kanairo is a slang word for Nairobi city." What the hell that such a beautiful city would be referred to as Kanairo? I didn't expect that even my uncle knows. "Uncle do you know sheng and how many words are you familiar with?"I asked. Uncle Benny was a man who was born half a century ago and I don't expect him to know such words. Maybe his children had taught him.Back home I had heard him use sheng words but not too often like I heard from some people in the city before I realised that they were overusing the language. "Yes son ." he said."They say when you go to Rome just do what the Romans do?He said. "Uncle tell me the sheng words you know" "Now kid.You I don't have to tell you all the slang words I know.You will be here for one good month and you will get to know some of the words such as mbogi for meaning a group of rogue people and ndai for a vehicle and orezo meaning a president "my uncle said.My uncle looked at me and removed a lollipop from the small luggage and gave me. "My son.This is Nairobi city and and you will get to know many things okey.You haven't seen anything to be surprised about.You will see how people behave,live and mingle with other people from other tribes and even race and I am sure you will love it."Uncle said. "Uncle tomorrow take me to KICC okey" "Yes son"uncle Benny said. Traffic jam along Langata road was heavy and vehicles moved slowly.But this provided me with an opportunity to see the city and learn one or two things. There was this rogue matatu tout who hanged dangerously on the matatu door while the vehicle was moving going the opposite side where vehicles were moving a bit fast. My uncle did what he always did.Tap my shoulder. "Kid don't worry this is Kanairo" he said and smiled and gave me a packet of biscuits.


My family often calls me a good boy. I like it when they say that, because it means I have their approval. And really, I take pride in knowing that they are proud of me. It means I have been a successful dog for the day. I’ve been with them for about five years now, and as the years go by, our bond only grows stronger. Every day, I wake up excited at the prospect of a fresh new day, another day to spend with my family, another day for me to shower them with as much love as possible, another day to make them feel proud and lucky to have me. I live in a heaven of treats and pats, hugs and cuddles, and my favourite, Frisbee games. Suffice to say that in return for all the love and care they have showered me with, I would love to be able to do something to make them proud. Something really big. Not just learning a new trick or something like that, but I mean really large scale, something ambitious. Huge. One of my favourite moments is cuddling up in Mommy’s lap while she’s watching TV, with no one else in the house but just the two of us. Although I do love the other members of my family as much as other dogs do, Mommy and I share a special bond. She was the one who proposed the idea of bringing me back from the shelter, or at least that’s what I heard Daddy imply when he begged her not to take in any more dogs because four children and a dog are more than he can handle. She was a little sad, but it’s okay because I’m the only dog she will ever need. Everyone calls me Cotton, except Mommy; she calls me Pompom, more out of habit than anything. She started doing that when they hadn’t gotten a name for me yet, and the youngest human finally decided I should be called Cotton, but I prefer Pompom because no one but Mommy calls me that. Lately, the idea of doing something big to make my family (especially Mommy) proud of me has become more and more persistent in my mind. Although I rack my brains daily, I simply can’t find a single thing. To be sure, learning new tricks would make them proud, bringing them gifts from my treasure store would make them happy, but these are the simple things. And I’m not saying that the simple things in life should be neglected, but day by day, the desire to do something spectacular grew bigger and more persistent. I became restless, pacing back and forth. Mommy got worried and thought I was getting sick - she almost brought me to the vet - but the small humans convinced her that I was just anxious about something. That was a narrow escape there. For months and months, in fact close to a year, I worried about this. There were times when I nearly convinced myself that I would never be able to truly make my family proud of me, and made Mommy extremely worried when I walked up to her and put my head in her lap, whimpering. To my horror, a tear fell out of my eye and dropped onto her lap. I certainly didn’t mean for that to happen! Then it happened. I was cosily curled up in Mommy’s lap as usual, a documentary playing on the TV, her fingers running through my fur and occasionally stroking my head, when the scene changed to a shot of the most beautiful collie I have ever seen. She was running, chasing several sheep, making them keep up with a whole group of sheep in front. “Meet Collie, a sheep herder in training,” said the narrator’s voice. He said some other things I don’t remember now, but then he started listing some other breeds that used to be herd dogs too. And then he said it. “Pomeranians, too, were once upon a time used as sled dogs, but over time, they started to become a status symbol. Known for their diminutive size, no one would have guessed that their ancestors used to pull sleds or even occasionally round up sheep.” And it was at that moment, I knew, right then and there, what I was going to be. I was going to be a herd dog. I would follow the path of my ancestors and restore their former glory. And more importantly, I would finally be actively useful in helping my family. I could help them to do things like the big, strong dog I would finally be. I would finally be a dog that they could be really proud of. Overcome with excitement, I jumped up and gave Mommy’s face a huge lick. She screamed a little. “Pompom, you scared me!” she chided. But for once, I didn’t care. She would be happy with my surprise. The thing is, where on earth would I get sheep to practice with? I certainly dared not beg the family for any. I wanted this to be a surprise. I wanted to take the wind out of their sails. But this was harder than I thought. In a city area, where do I find sheep? Rather despondently, I put my front paws up on the window seat, hoping to get a better view out of the window. Maybe some sheep would pass by, I thought. It was a ridiculous thought, I knew, but I had to try anyway. With a glimmer of faint hope, I watched and waited. And with each car that drove by outside, with each human that passed by on the pavement, that flickering flame of hope inside me became even dimmer. But still, I waited. And then another idea struck me. If unruly sheep could be herded...then why not... I quietly snuck out of the small flap at the bottom of the door that the previous owner of this house had left for his cat. It was a struggle, since it was a little small, but I managed to push through in the end. Finally, I ran out to the road outside. My first herding session! Wouldn’t everyone be proud of me! I waited at the traffic light crossing, and soon enough, a car came into view. Wasting no time, I jumped behind it and ran, barking madly. Wait. Why wasn’t it listening to my instructions? This isn’t what happened on TV. Not at all. After a while, it became tiring to keep up, so I turned around and ran in the opposite direction to go home. Blaring horns, a blinding flash of light, excruciating pain, then darkness. I awoke, surrounded by total darkness, with absolutely no clue of where I was. A shining figure approached me. Strangely, I didn’t feel afraid. I always was shy around strangers, but somehow this human - if he was human - made me feel at peace. Calm. “Pompom,” he said, firmly but kindly. I trembled. Who was he? No one but Mommy called me by that name. I bristled slightly. He chuckled slightly at my response. “Okay then, Cotton, if you will. Is there anything, one last wish, that you would like to fulfil before I introduce you to your new home?” “Yes, in fac-“ I stopped, taken aback. How...? The shining figure chuckled again. “Yep. You can now talk. So, what would you like to do?” Somehow, I was able to speak without getting tangled in my words. I’d never spoken in the human tongue before. But right now, there was only one priority in my mind, and it wasn’t being able to talk. Well, part of it was. But not really. I floated up to the shining man’s ear and whispered something. -- My husband’s shoulder had become a soaking wet mess as I buried my face in it, letting huge sobs escape me. “I’m sorry, ma’am...your dog unfortunately cannot be saved. His survival chances are less than 1%,” the surgeon informed us. “Are...are you sure?” my husband asked, his voice choking a little. The only response from the surgeon was a sad shake of the head. My family held a funeral for Cotton. To them, he was Cotton, but to me, he was my precious little Pompom, my adorable, playful little Pompom. After we’d said our final farewells, I lingered a little. “Pompom...I will always be honoured to have had you,” I whispered, a tear sliding down my cheek and gently falling onto his grave. As I finally turned away from Pompom’s final resting place, I could’ve sworn I heard the wind whisper back at me.


Rivers of fabric between my fingers. A lovely shade of blue. Sapphire, cerulean-- or is it closer to teal? It doesn’t really matter. So soft; I sigh-- Staring into space-- into time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ A floor length gown, swirls about the room. His arm about my waist. The scent of Old Spice lingers between us. His smile; that mysterious smile. Release-- it ripples back into the box. The moment fades. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Digging deeper: beneath the satiny blue. Wool-- no, it’s tweed. For a jacket perhaps, a stylish high waisted jacket. A matching skirt. Perfect for my honeymoon suit. “Mother,” I turn excitedly to find-- not my mother. It’s a young woman sitting beside me. “Oh--” I’m covered in confusion. A saleswomen? Glancing about I look for mother, but wait-- This is not a store. Where am I? “Mother,” I call, rising to my feet as panic grows steadily within me. ~~~~~~~~~~~ A hand is placed over mine. A gentle arm around my shoulder. Her voice is soothing. She guides me to my chair. She is kind, and my fears are calmed. I sit quietly for a moment, or maybe three. My thoughts, like pearls on a broken string. Where am I? What am I doing? Gazing down-- boxes. I look up-- a smiling face. Oh, yes. I am sorting. My granddaughter, Becca, is here to help. A lifetime of things-- memories. ~~~~~~~~~~~ She is speaking. Do I want to take a break? No, I’m okay I tell her. A small, chipped pitcher is in my hands. White porcelain. A rose pattern. I don’t remember where it came from, but I always loved it. The chip is small. Not enough to ruin it, at least not for me. Red roses, with variegated leaves-- Such fine attention to detail. I trace the lines of roses. How do they make it look so real? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Reality begins to blur. Flowers, yes, I look at the flowers in my hands. Roses, and trailing ivy from grandmother’s garden. Music, coming from a distance. It is time to go. Papa takes my arm, leading me out of the bride's room. Down the hall, we enter the chapel. My niece spreads flower petals-- Rose petals. Looking up, I smile. His eyes. Pools of cobalt blue. Like the lake at sunset, just as the light is leaving the horizon. I could get lost in those eyes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The pitcher is taken from me. I am back. Did I really leave? I feel unsure. We discover a smaller box. I open the lid. Seashells! So pretty. I take them out, one at a time. I tell Becca where we got them. I hold one to my ear. They say you can hear the ocean. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The waves make a rhythmic cadence. We walk on the beach. Holding hands. Those deep blue eyes, looking into mine. Handing me a small shell; he calls it a periwinkle. He tells me he loves me. The shell is perfect, like our love. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I want to organize the shells. My hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? Wrinkled hands are placing my shells on the tray. Whose hands are those? Where are my hands? Frustration rising-- tension. Why won’t people leave me alone? Let me do things for myself. I try to push the old person’s hands away. A shell falls. It hits the floor with finality. I stop. Tears slide slowly down my cheeks. A voice tells me it’s alright, but it isn’t. I slump in my chair. A gentle hand is on my arm. Is it time for tea so soon? She says it is. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The kettle is whistling. A calming sound. Becca pours the water into each cup. Minutes tick by as the tea steeps. She chose the teacups from the living room cabinet. We haven’t used those for a while. She hands me my cup. Chamomile tea; very soothing. What is that-- What is she asking me? Some pictures she found in an old album. Yes, it’s her mother when she was young-- And my mother when I was young. She is right, they do look alike. She hands me a plate. Cinnamon coffee cake. Great Grandmother’s recipe she says. She found it in my card file. I take a bite. So delicious. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Happy Anniversary!" Three young voices are shouting, “we made breakfast for you!” Tumbling onto our bed, trays in hand-- I grab for it as the plates begin to slide, settling it just in time. Fortunately they carried the juice glasses in by hand. The eggs are cold, Jenny informs us. It took so long for the coffee cake to finish baking. I tell her it is delicious. It was so thoughtful of them. They’re smiles more than make up for the less than perfect eggs. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A penny for your thoughts, Becca says as she cleans off the table. My thoughts-- they are worth a good deal more than that I think. I am ready to go back to our task. Becca isn’t sure. Maybe it can wait, she says. Wait for what I wonder? I return to the tray of shells. The broken shell is gone. Becca must have swept it up while I was washing before tea. I sit down, gently replace the shells in their box, setting it aside. --I feel the waves going out with the tide. Reaching into the box-- A cravat. Burgundy silk. Closing my eyes, I hold it to my cheek. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jenny, arriving on her father’s arm. What a beauty she is. I hear music. He places her hand in her future husband’s. Turning, he smiles. His beautiful eyes. The music ebbs, drifting away. I reach for him. He is gone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Grandma,” Becca’s voice feels far away. “are you okay?” Am I okay? Oh yes-- I mean, no-- I’m not sure. What are we doing? Becca takes me into the sunny living room. She helps me sit in the plush armchair. "We will continue another time," she says. I smile, another time will be fine. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ She raises my feet with the recliner. Covers me with a light blanket. "Time to rest," she says. Yes, time to rest. I hold the cravat close to my heart. “I love you,” I whisper. She kisses my cheek. “I love you, Grandma.”


Listen, he is on the floor bleeding. You are in the corner. You focus on where his pantleg meets his shoes. You do not know what to do, so you just focus on where his pantleg meets his shoes. You don't even know what color his pants are. It doesn't matter. It is stained with blood. It'll create a new color, something of copper. You'll focus on that instead. When you are ready, of course. But you never are. But when you are ready, of course. It is warm room, you think. You only think about it, though. He is still, the man. He is not a father, not a husband, not a brother. He is just he. This is good, this means he was no one to go home to, no one to gossip with about all your nasty disasters. They are disasters. Big grey-colored tornadoes and all. It would be quite stupid of you to think otherwise. You'd be a fool, not that you aren't already one. You were a bigger fool the minute you tried to convince yourself that he is just a he. He is just a he. He is still on the floor bleeding. He is still. The stillness that embodies Mr. He is a delicate thing: a lonely child awaiting a cruel punchline. Silence sweeps around you, around this room. You hold the silence between your teeth and breathe. You mimic him. It is easier to let him breathe for you. Your lungs are too heavy at the moment, crushed by your corner. But the corner is you. If you want, the corner can be him too. Before you is this man, copper-heavy. He has constructed the walls of your beginnings, stumbled into the halls of your decay, as one does. Somehow, this man veins are pulled open, this man has put himself in the middle of this room and someone you are the one that is embarrassed. You are the one the people like to gawk at. They are right to. You would be a fool, a bigger fool than you already are if you weren't embarrassed. But God, you are pathetic when you are. You are this worthless paradox that can't get anything right. This is who you are and no one can convince you otherwise. Not even he. You think about fickle tremors, you only think about it. It doesn't do you any good. Nothing does you any good. It's what makes you fit in corners. You are only fit in corners. This corner is not your first. You think about all those parties and how, somehow, in your foolish little brain. Your selfish decay made you think that in a room full people, all would linger on you. They would go home and laugh at you in the way they laugh at god. You are selfish and you cannot comprehend how one can make everything about themselves in the way you do. But it is about all about you. Everyone always looks at you in silent ridicule, that is just who you are. But still, you are so self-reeking. You do not focus on those parties, that is not a comfort. The focusing is. It is what helps you. It doesn't help him. His spine is cracked open and it is why you get chills when your nervous. You focus on the worthless things to pretend all the big scary things aren't there. But everything is a big scary thing to you, especially parties. Parties and pity, concerts where somehow, again, though Freddie Mercury could be on stage back from the dead, you'd still have all the people looking at you for your failures. So would Freddie. All of the good stuff. The fact they are oh-so big and scary to you is what makes you oh-so pathetic. It is what makes you convulse with kindness, nerved-politeness. So maybe, just maybe, nobody will gossip about your nasty tornadoes. Sometimes at night you leave the lights on and walk across the flat fields. When you look back from a distance, you house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time you feel safe. That and where the man's pantleg meets his shoes. You focus on the little things and then you realize that the man is not bleeding. This man does not think, he does not focus. He is not as pathetic as you, no one. No one is and he is standing. Now, he could've been standing for quite sometime. But you were too busy focusing, as you always are. This is why you fit in corners, you cannot function, not even compared to the man standing. He stands and stares at you and this is what makes you feel like your thoughts about you are correct, as if you aren't the only thing to stare at in this room. He sighs, he stares, he is tired. 'You aren't what you think you are.' And there was his cruel punchline. What is supposed to be a comfort? A praise? You don't know and it doesn't matter. No one can convince you other. What he says makes you feel worse and you will think too hard about it. He knows you will. He sighs. So listen, he is on the floor standing. You are in the corner. And with that, leaves. The sound of the door closing echos in your lungs, you have to breathe on your own now. So you sigh. You sigh and you are tired. This is the loop. You focus on how warm the room is.