Until a moment ago, Robyn thought he might not come. A thousand things to do in only a few short hours before the sun rises, and she wouldn't have blamed him if her little meeting spot hadn't been high on the list of priorities. A man must make use of the time he has, her father used to bellow from the high chair in his hall. And what a terrible waste of time for Painter to leave his troops, venture up into the dark hills for an exchange of measly little words, knowing that when the dawn came, his death would not be far behind. Still, she was glad he'd come. There, rustling through the brush and emerging from the shadows was Painter, expression as grim as the broken battlefield down in the valley. Where arrowheads stuck from the soft dirt and men took corpse after corpse back to one side or the other. She wanted to tell herself it was the way of men, war. That she held not the weight of responsibility that came with the blood of eager fools rushing off to their deaths. It’s not about what you tell yourself, but how much you believe it. Another bit of her father’s wisdom, and it did little to calm the beating in her heart or wash the dark guilt out of it. She’d made her choice, and there was no retreating from it. Stepping onto even ground, Painter kept his distance like she was rotted with the plague, eyes glossy in the gaze of the moon, dark hair rustled by the summer breeze. Made him look more a child than a man about to fight in the Deciding. He clung to the grip of the sword on his hip, fixed her with that vacant gaze he had when they first met, and only then did it stir up any emotion in her. Brought on all sorts of memories of looks he’d never again give her. Look of patience when teaching her the bow. Look of love when she shared his bed. And look of agony in those deep dark eyes when he knew she’d betrayed them. When the truth of who she was and who she served and who she was the daughter of came to light. That was the look that weighed the most on her heart. It was the one she was seeing reflected in Painter’s eyes now. “We buried ‘em today,” he croaked, a lone finger scratching at the scar running down his cheek. “Samson, Franco, Harper,” he paused, “ Finn. ” She missed a breath at that last name, remembered those big eyes of Finn’s and all his dreams and hopes now snuffed out like a fire that had only just been lit. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing she was capable of saying. Any moment she waited for some sort of anger to come clawing its way out of him, like fire from behind the sharp teeth of a dragon. None came. Just the silence in the field. The moon and stars and the great unknowable divine as their audience. “I’m sorry too. Weren’t just my friends laid to rest.” His eyes, sharp as two spears searching for her heart, fell upon her. “They were yours as much as they were mine.” The words were ragged as a thornbush around her heart, swelling like a bruise, aching like one too. Beating so hard against her ribs Robyn could feel it in her skull, in her teeth. “Was my fault, wasn’t it?” He didn’t answer. Maybe he couldn’t. Silence crept from him, mouth twitching like he had a thousand words to say but couldn’t find the right order to put ‘em in. That was when Robyn really felt the distance between ‘em, far greater than she dared to admit, stretching out the lengths of a battlefield. Funny that this was exactly what she expected. But expecting and feeling, as her tyrannical father would say, were two different worlds, like water and oil. Though she knew both well enough, not a thing in the world could make ‘em mix. “The Deciding is at dawn,” she said, voice cracking and showing just that bit of fear growing within her. Painter nodded, eyes towards the ominous moon. “We both know you’ll lose.” More silence. “My father has warriors from all across the Kingdom of Doreen, each one more eager than the last.” Eager as wolves stalking just beyond the light of a lantern. “It’ll be decided then, that your rebellion is no more, and you’ll be dead.” She had to wipe the wet from her eyes with the back of her forearm, holding tight to composure like it were a horse about to throw her. “You can’t win, Painter,” and she was screaming the words. “You’re going to die!” Met with his silence, Robyn wondered if his words might be too good for her, wishing for something more regardless. Wished Painter was filled with words like Finn with hopes and dreams for a better, more equal kingdom. Filled with words like Robyn was filled with fear. Yet he clung to that stoic silence the way the cold does a blanket, none too keen on feeling winter’s embrace. But the storm was coming and he wouldn’t stay warm forever. The tears, welling up in her eyes since she gave her father the rebel’s location, came flooding out now. Her knees wobbled and so very badly did she feel like crumbling. She’d strived for too long in the false attempt to appear strong in the face of challenges. Like an oak in a storm, her father would say. Though the King of Doreen was almost always referencing himself, that is. Maybe that explained his easy hatred towards Painter. Twice as young and twice as likely to choose silence over boastfulness. She’d heard it said that a man only hates silence when he is at odds with himself. When he cannot be still in the company of his own mind, sneering at anybody who could. That was her father. And tomorrow, his hatred would kill the only man she’d ever loved. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, vision blurred through the tears, heart racing like a steed in an open field. “I’m so sorry, Painter. I’m-” He was there, holding her tight, all the words he couldn’t say fading away at the touch of his embrace. She felt his hand in her hair, soothing her, voice as soft as a mother’s lullaby. “Hush now,” he whispered. “You can’t forgive me so easily,” she wailed, voice muffled, buried in his chest, heart beating about as fast as hers. “I shouldn’t be forgiven.” His hands gently took hold of her shoulders, brought her an arms distance away, moonlight dancing in the dark puddle of his eyes. There he looked strong and wise, all the things her father was not. A thumb wiped away the tears on her cheek, and she nestled into his palm. “Forgiveness ain’t a thing earned,” he said. “It’s about as free as the night sky, I reckon.” “My father is going to kill you.” “I know.” “I want to go back.” She was against his chest again. Holding him so tight, knowing he’d be lost to her regardless. “I want to go back.” “Time marches one way.” They stayed on that hill until the sun painted the sky a pink and orange canvas. Until the birds sang and the muster horn echoed through the valley. Until he was finally forced to leave her, hand on the hilt of his sword, walking into death as confident as a lion into a den of hyenas.


MY PAL DANNY We were born within days of each other. My Birthday, was June 16, 1941; his, was July 7, 1941. I was just three weeks older than Danny, but he was a big baby, and I was a runt. We lived in houses that were practically back-to-back, just an alley apart. It was obvious we were destined to be fast friends. Our neighborhood in the 1940s was a haven for kids like us. Highland Park in Louisville, Kentucky was a special place to grow up. It was once a city, with a history dating back to the late 19 th century, then it was later annexed by Louisville. Those early years in Highland Park were the beginning of the railroads across this great country, and the Louisville and Nashville railroad, the “L&N,” was born in the late 1890s. With it, came Highland Park; it was just one mile from the L&N trainyard, and the little neighborhood grew as L&N grew. It was full of kids, as young men brought their wives and families to the neighborhood and got a job on the railroad. Danny’s father was a railroad man, as was mine. I dare say, most men on our street worked there, doing one job or another on the line, and in fact, practically the whole neighborhood was railroad men and their families. It was something all of us kids had in common, and we imagined someday we would be railroading as well. Danny and I went to the same schools. Throughout our time in elementary school, we walked to and from it, together. In later years we rode the city bus, going downtown to both our junior high and high schools. We saved seats for each other on the city buses. One of us would sometimes run late getting to the bus stop, but either of us would plead with the driver to “wait just a minute, please,” as we knew our pal would get to the bus stop any second. In the summer, when we were young, we camped out in Danny’s backyard, only because he was the one who owned a pup tent. We also talked our mothers into allowing us to catch the city bus and go downtown to the movies, to the Rodeo theater, where the doors had guns for handles, and the features were always cowboy movies. That was something every boy loved back then. Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger and Tonto, Red Ryder, Tom Mix, etc., etc. Later, as we grew older, we rode bikes all over the city; we especially liked riding about five miles to Iroquois Hill, which was one of several Olmstead-designed parks; this one overlooked the city of Louisville. The city was much smaller back then, but it was a beautiful sight from atop that hill. We struggled as we pumped our bikes to the top, round, and round, up and up, until we reached the “tip-top,” right to the first lookout where we could see the entire city below. It would take us over twenty minutes to get to the top, but wow, when we arrived, it was so worth it. We never stayed long, because we loved coasting down that hill, faster and faster. My speedometer read 25, 30, and 35 mph, which felt like 100 mph, as the breeze hit us in the face on the way down. I still remember the fun of coasting down and praying a little prayer as I went. Danny turned into a big kid, and he played football in high school, while I played in the high school band. Still, we were buds, and I remember using my Cornet to save him a seat on the bus. That was before he began to drive his father’s old car, and I drove an old one as well, supplied by my sister and brother-in-law. My dad never owned a car; he would just walk to work or catch the Toonerville Trolley to the railyard. Dan and I would meet at the “Ranch House” for a burger, me in my old '40 Ford and he in his '49 Chevy. All the kids would drive around and around that place until a parking spot opened. We'd jump in one car or another and order food, so we could harass the girls in shorts, bringing our food. We loved embarrassing them. Something happened after high school, and Danny and I lost track of each other. I got a job and started classes at night at the University, and he started his own business. While I was busy working on an accounting degree, he was already growing his own business. We both married, way too young, and we both divorced as well. I had two kids, and he was kind of an uncle to them when they were small. I’d see him in the park every now and then, but we quit spending time together. We had gone in separate directions. Life takes us in different directions, not always to our liking. It was years later when I started thinking I needed to see Danny. I needed to relive those good times, just sit down with him and reminisce, but try as I might, I could not find him anywhere. Then one day, about five years ago, I saw a "sir name" spelled like his. Could this person be related? Yes, he was, it was Danny’s stepson. It turned out Danny and his wife, Debbie, had moved to Florida, where they spent over twenty years. Long since retired, ironically, they were returning to Louisville in a few short days, moving back home. I’m older now, and I don’t mind telling another man I love him. Life is too damned short, and to let an old friend know you love them is a blessing. It feels even better when they say it to you. Here we were, two old dudes with our beautiful wives, and a chance to remember old times and make a few new ones, and we did. We lost Danny only a few weeks ago. His infirmities caught up with him, just like they will for all of us. I feel blessed to have had him near me these last few years, but today, I miss him terribly. Tears come as I write this, but I don’t mind. I’m hoping I can find him once again, ... someday.


The rain swept over the city with an aggression seldom seen in the desert. The pariahs stood in the streets and accepted the downpour. It was a gift from their forgotten God. That welcomed yet deafening patter of raindrops covered the sound of approaching of boots. Before the townsfolk would hear the quickly closing soldiers, they would feel the sharp point of arrows aimed for hearts. It was mayhem in the shanty town. Men, women, and children alike were running like their lives depended on it. Their lives did. They looked much like a colony of ants does when one steps on their anthill. No rhyme or reason to the directions they chose to run; simply the animalistic principle of survival. Unfortunately, no one would escape the execution. Save for one. One child. One boy would rise from the devastation that beseeched the muddy ghetto. That worn down collection of shacks that he had called home. One child would remember the colors and emblems displayed brazenly upon the combat armor of those mindless soldiers. Blood red, the color of power accented by three white stripes to signify the three legions they represented. One child would grow up knowing only revenge. Revenge for the family he lost and the innocent people that were butchered before his very eyes. The prophecy of the Pariah King would be alive and well even after the execution ordered by Emperor Cairo. Ironically enough, the Emperor was the man who birthed it into existence. It has always seemed funny to me that Fate has a way of intertwining itself into the minds of weaker men whilst disguising herself as Free Will. Yet, before our Pariah King would ever stand face to face with Emperor Cairo at the top of the steps of the mountain built of fire, he would first have to pull himself out of the mud. Asher's rags clung to his skinny frame like a second skin. They were saturated and heavy from the blood and water. He was no more than 12 years old. Alone and scared he managed to stand himself up. His feet began to carry him forward before he even knew where he was headed. Fate wouldn't let him die this day, little did he know, she had much for him to do. He walked for what seemed like an eternity. His feet hurt nearly as much as his shattered heart. He had rid his body of every last tear in the first few hours. He was an empty shell, wandering through the desert. He hadn't even stopped to think of where he was going. He hadn't stopped to think of anything, really. He didn't even hear the shouting for a few moments. The feeling of cool grass between his toes brought his attention back to the world. "Stop where you are," an indistinct yet powerful voice called out. "We will loose these arrows!" "Lower your bows. He’s a child you idiots," came an assured and lighter voice. "He poses no threat to us." Behind Asher came a whisper. “Better safe than sorry.” Asher had barely registered being struck before everything went black.


The great cactus revolution Did you hear the story of the cactus’s great revolution? No of course not the government had a hard time covering it up so it is remembered by few and spoken about by none. The story starts in 1742 in the Sahara desert where cactus are oppressed and sold as slaves to the Americas. A decade prior the British government discovered that cactus plants are actually very strong and hard working. They came and colonised the great cactus canyon and enslaved the local cacti. But colonising the canyon came at a great cost to Britain. They lost over a 1000 men in the once infamous war of the canyon in which the great prickly chief peyote led a mighty army of over 20000 cactus. The cactus army almost won until aid came to the British in the form of a passing battalion of American soldiers came and destroyed almost three quarters of the cactus army before the chief was forced to surrender. For decades cactus lives were made terrible. They were enslaved and sent to America to work on the farms until one day a great cacti by the name of Gymnocalycium mihanovichii more commonly known by humans as just cactus started a great rebellion. He led a mighty army of over 100 000 cactus over the Mediterranean and conquered England. He walked for a long time but as we all know cactus are succulents and don’t need much water so they walked to England. On the way they teamed up with the aloes and their numbers increased greatly. Afterwards in the great book of cactus a cactus poet wrote,” the cactus took a walk with the aloe.” Anyway the opposing army marched into England and arrested the queen and took over the house of commons. But the cactus did not stop there. However they did not want to take over the world and rule. No, they wanted all races to live together in harmony. So they set of to free their friends and family from America. The Americans did not like this and the American scientists set out to create a poison that renders the cactus immobile but not dead. However the American scientists did not finish their research by the time the cactus had landed in America. The American army put up a good fight but they were losing. The scientist managed to finish their research just in time and deployed it on the cactus army just as they were crossing Texas. The poison was supposed to only effect the cactus but however also effected the land around them. The climate became hotter and there was less vegetation in Texas This is why today cactus is only found in America and the only type of cactus left in the Sahara is a cousin of the cactus who was to cowardly to take part in the war but was later poisoned too. This is also why today that Texas is very hot.


It felt like someone had piled a ton of loose stones on my chest. Struggling to catch my breath, the only thing distracting me from the pain shooting up and down my body was the sun setting over Cuyahoga County. Though it was short, the trek up the hill that Baker Homestead Apartments was located on was steep and torturous on the legs. I wanted to sit one last time at the fire pit on top of the hill before I went away. Today’s sunset seemed different. There was a warmth radiating from the yellow and pink mass as it gently kissed the earth. It still felt painful to breathe, but I managed. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose there are worse things to be than a murderer. There are rapists, serial killers, tyrants and sometimes there’s all three packaged into one. I suppose killing someone isn’t exactly winning me a ticket to the pearly gates. I’ll admit that it was never my plan to blast that old woman, I wasn’t entirely sure there were bullets loaded in my gun today. Though, I guess when you live in a concealed carry state like Ohio, every once in a while someone wants to be the good guy with a gun. See, before today, I made a small living robbing gas stations throughout the county. It’s not exactly what I would call a stable job but when you’re another faceless drone in the unemployment line, you find things to do to pass the time. It was hard at first but once you learn to control the adrenaline, it’s as easy as waking up in the morning. The ironic thing is that before the virus, I was doing pretty good. I had a loving girlfriend and a hyperactive puppy that forced me to take her on walks, even when it rained. Sometimes I tried reasoning with it, and while the little animal made faces like it understood what I was saying, when it came to its walks it was non-negotiable. Her name was Hilda the Chocolate Lab. Before this mess with the virus and losing my stinking job, it was just me, her, and my girl, Lulu. That wasn’t her name and she didn’t care much for it when I called her that, but it stuck with her. Anyway, we got Hilda when she was six weeks old, which was two weeks less than when owners normally get their dogs. If you ever wanted to know what it’s like for a grown man to cry, it’s not pretty. It’s ugly and filled with dry heaving and crumbling like a little baby. I’m almost positive LuLu was put off by the amount of sobbing involved, but I couldn’t help it. Hilda was a puppy, and she had broken me. The good thing is that it only took two weeks to potty train her, and after that, we were pretty much on the same page with everything else. Hilda grew and got bigger, and our friends and family would always tell us how much she’s grown like we didn’t notice. Eventually, we moved to a small apartment complex in North Royalton for my job as a sales associate for a dealership in the next town over. I worked odd shifts during the week so on the weekends, we'd take Hilda to Baker Homestead Apartments which sat next to our building. We didn’t know anyone there, but they had a dog park that didn’t require us to show identification to use, so we’d take her there and run her and pretend we lived above our means for the day. When we were done, we’d go to the top of the hill and watch the sunset, maybe have a bonfire. When I lost my job, I grew distant. She tried for a while to live with me. Eventually, LuLu broke things off with me and left the dog. I didn’t really have much of a family I could rely on, so for a good portion of the pandemic, it was just Hilda and me. Every day, we’d wake up and lounge around in the morning. I’d crack open a pack of fresh cigarettes and stand outside on my small balcony and smoke while I scratched my belly. She’d join me and stretch herself out like a rag doll on the cement and watch me intently until I decided it was time to take her for a walk. Sometimes she’d nuzzle between my legs and curl up like it was a crib while we watched movies together. Her favorite thing to do was lay on top of me while I hid under those fuzzy blankets they sold at Target like I was her personal pillow. Occasionally she’d sneak a potato chip from the bag I was eating on if I had fallen asleep, but I didn’t mind it. I wish I could say I started robbing gas stations to support some underline addiction, but really it was about keeping up with bills and debts. Turns out, an apartment in North Royalton is pretty expensive depending on what neighborhood you live in. Ours was a higher-cost apartment - it wasn’t expensive, but it also was more than I could afford while unemployed. When I got back from robbing a gas station, she was right there, sitting in front of the door with her tail wagging. It’s not like it was a secret between us. One time, I nearly had a heart attack because I left the gun on the living room table, and she wouldn’t stop sniffing it while the barrel was pointed at her. I didn’t realize I left the safety off. At night, after a robbery, she always slept where LuLu laid. I couldn’t tell if it was that her side was more comfortable or if Hilda missed her. Either way, I didn’t feel as bad about things for a short while after LuLu left. I even decided to stop robbing people because I had put enough away to last us a few months. That is until she vomited. As far as vomit goes, this was the kind you’d look at and know something wasn’t right. She didn’t do it in front of me. I found it when I got home one night from getting us groceries. Ashamed, she laid under the bed curled in a ball. It took me thirty minutes to clean up all the bloody vomit and wash the floors. It took me another thirty minutes to calm her down as she rested her head on my lap. When she looked up at me with her now tired eyes, it took me another thirty minutes to push the choking in my throat back down. I called LuLu and told her about Hilda. We made plans to take her to a vet and figure out what happened. She asked me if I was okay, and I told her I was. I figured she didn’t need to know the truth. Talking to the vet wasn’t helpful. They examined her for an hour and said the only way Hilda was going to live longer was if we paid for some surgery for her throat. Neither I or LuLu could afford it, so we left the building without saying anything else. I pulled a smoke from my jacket pocket and lit it. LuLu called me an asshole and walked away crying. At this point, it had been months since I robbed a store. Still, I couldn’t afford something like surgery without a quick boost in finances. Unemployment wouldn’t have helped either. I pulled my gun out from where I hid it and began Googling the best gas stations in the area to pull a quick heist. On short notice, the best I could do was the gas station on the corner near where I lived. Normally, I treated it as a neutral zone because it was so close to my home. However, I decided to make an exception this time because I had a good reason. What is it about dogs that makes them worry about others more than themselves? On the day of the robbery, she curled up on me and wouldn’t let me move. It was as if she were begging me not to do anything to get in trouble. Even if it meant that she would probably only live a while longer. A few minutes before I left, I kissed her on the head, scratched her ears, and turned to leave. When I closed the door, I waited long enough to hear her curl up in front of the door. I adjusted my hat and scarf and left. The gas station was busy but not like it normally is at 8 p.m. on a weekday in the summer. When I entered, I counted five people either waiting in line to buy smokes or perusing the snacks in the back. Scanning the parking lot, only three people were pumping gas. “Everybody LISTEN UP,” I raised my voice. “This is a stickup. I’m only interested in the money, but I am armed, and I’ve had a REALLY shitty week.” I walked up to the counter and rested my gun on it, pointing toward the gas station manager, whose name was Darcy. “Give me everything you have.” “I’m new, I don’t...” “Darcy, I come here regularly. I know you're the manager, and I’d appreciate it if you just gave me the money from your safe and these registers.” “Oh...okay.” A few minutes later and I’m filling money into a small leather bag I brought from home. “I really appreciate it,” I said. “I’m sorry.” “About what?” “For lying to you earlier.” “It’s okay Darcy. You’re a good person. I am too, I just had to do a bad thing or something worse would’ve happened.” She was about to respond when I heard something clunk from behind me. The moment I turned, one of the customers, an old lady, stumbled from one of the aisles, pointing a snub nose revolver at me. Then I heard a click. BANG. BANG. BANG. The old lady got one shot off, nailing me in my gut. Out of instinct, I pulled my trigger, hitting her in the neck and shoulder. Suddenly the store was filled with screams and chaos. I pulled the trigger three more times, pointing my gun to the ceiling, and exited through the front of the door. Leaving the station, I turned the corner and leaned briefly on the wall of the building. I could hear screaming from the gas station and someone calling for help. I was officially a murderer, and for a moment, I let the tears come before I started walking to the apartment complex that I’m sitting at now. I could have gone home. I didn’t want Hilda (or LuLu) to see me looking like this. I didn’t want them to know I killed an old lady while robbing a fucking gas station. Instead, I decided to sit and watch the sunset and try to pretend that I would just go to sleep and wake up the next day as nothing happened. Sirens from cop cars rang in the distance. The closer they got, the harder it got to breathe. The wind felt nice on my cheek. The pool of blood swirled on the concrete and stained my blue jeans. I thought of Hilda and quietly apologized for not being able to save her. I hope she greets the cops like she would have greeted me. The sunset just as everything went black. Fin.


Author's notes: This is only the second story I have written of my own volition, so I would like to encourage you to give me some constructive criticism. It is a realistic fiction monologue, and is *intended* to be performed. This is why all the dialogue is one sided (I was mainly inspired by speech and debate literature, more specifically dramatic interpretation). Trigger warning for loss of a parent Wishing on Aquarius By: William R. Neff (pseudonym) DAVE: I think that concludes our tour of the Youth and Science Museum. Before we leave, do any of you have further questions? Yes, Aquarius is a huge constellation. In fact, it's the tenth largest one. Hm? Yes, Uranus is a gas giant. Oh, I see what you did there. Funny. Any more questions? No? Ok. Thank you everyone, have a nice day. *Crowd disperses, except for one young female in her rough teens.* You do realize that the tour is over, right? The museum is about to close in about ten minutes. Oh, your ride doesn’t come until another half an hour? Well what are you going to do? You can’t just... wait outside. Here, stay inside the museum, it will be much safer here. You won’t get in trouble because I’m an employee. Trust me. Anyway, what’s your name? Ah, Rachel. Well my name is Dave Astra but I’m sure you already knew that from the tour. Actually, you look a lot like Stella- my daughter. She was born on Valentine’s day making her zodiac Aquarius. Her name means “star” in latin. Clever, huh? My wife thought of that. She always was so supportive of my interests. I never thought twice about the fact that she made more money than me. Where’s my ring? Oh, I don’t wear it anymore. Um, no it’s fine. I don’t mind you asking. It’s just that she isn’t around anymore. I'm sorry, I just don’t know how to ever bring it up. Do you know how hard it is to explain to a 7 year old girl what a drunk driver is? So Stella and I hit some pretty rough times financially when her mother... passed. Without my partner I struggled to pay the mortgage every month. Working as a tour guide only gives enough to get by. I couldn’t afford to buy Stella the supplies and clothes she needed for 2nd grade. Kids started calling her names because of rips in her old clothes. Her teacher even questioned my parenting skills and at the parent teacher conference. Although when times felt toughest, Stella was always there for me. Every night when I tucked her into bed she always wanted to sing a song with me because that’s what we did with her mother. Her favorite was “When You Wish Upon a Star” from Pinocchio. It was always really adorable to see her face light up when we sang. For a moment every night we would forget the money, the supplies, the bullies, and the teachers. It was just us, and I think during those times mom was with us too. After a few months I got a raise, and Stella and I were on the high road. Valentine’s day was closer meaning that her birthday was coming as well. I was going to give Stella the best birthday gift I could. I had been saving up money for months to get us a trip to Disney World. I also begged my boss to let me have the planetarium after hours. See, I was going to make a custom show for her. It was going to be a montague of our trip to Disneyland with her mom when Stella was only 5. It was going to be all streamed into the planetarium. At the end I was going to show her our printed tickets and we’d go home to pack. When Valentine’s day came, I could barely hold my excitement. That was until I picked her up from school and she came into my car crying. Stella said that all the other kid’s moms made their Valentine’s day cards for them. She was upset because she had no Valentines for the rest of the class. Apparently because she didn’t give any cards, she didn’t receive any cards either. She didn't feel like anyone's Valentine. To make matters worse, everyone forgot her birthday with the Valentine’s day noise. I told her the only thing I could, “Hey, I know what will cheer you up! Why don’t we go to the Museum later tonight, I have a birthday surprise for you there.” It was 7:00 when we arrived at the museum. I used my key card to get in. I told Stella to wait for a few minutes at the bench so I could set up the computer in planetarium room. I went inside and plugged the flashdrive in. There was some issue with the video file I was trying to use and the compatibility with the player on the computer. So I went back to Stella to let her know about the issue. I checked my watch. 7:03. Stella wasn’t where I left her. On the bench. I thought she must be playing on the side of the building that has the playground. So I opened the door and called her name. “Stella! Daddy needs a couple more minutes.” After going back inside and tinkering with the computer for a minute I finally get the video ready to show. I went outside once more and called for her. “Ok Stella, daddy is ready to show you the birthday surprise!” Nothing. I walk around to the side of the building, and the playground is empty. I checked my watch. 7:05. Stella couldn’t have gone far, right? Maybe she somehow opened the door and is inside the planetarium right now. I unlock the door with my key card and open the doors to the planetarium. Nothing. Nobody. Black hole. Stella is somewhere Stella has to be somewhere because, because, because, it’s Valentine’s day today and it’s Stella’s birthday so she has to be somewhere. Maybe Stella is just playing a very long and very scary game of hide and seek? Maybe she’s hiding in the girl’s bathroom. I check. She isn’t there. Hiding in the boy’s bathroom. I check. Not there. Hiding outside. I check. Hiding around the building. I check. The 2nd floor. The magnets exhibit. The basement. The gravity exhibit. The 3rd floor. The evolution exhibit. In the car. The rocks exhibit. Under the car. “Stella! Stella! This isn’t funny anymore daddy needs you. Now!” I checked my watch. 10:38. I took my ring off and threw it outside. After that, the only thing I could do was sit in my car. I knew what had happened. I had become the worst father imaginable. I never even got to tell Stella I loved her. Happy Valentine's day. Don’t you see why I can’t let you go out there alone? I can’t be responsible for that to happen again. It’s not safe. When I look up at the night sky, I see Aquarius. The tenth largest constellation. I see a star. My Stella. *When you wish upon a star* *Makes no difference who you are* *Anything your heart desires will come to you* Later the authorities showed me the footage. From 7:01 to 7:02 the van pulled up to the museum and it was gone by 7:03. It was that quick. I haven’t seen my daughter in three days but it feels like an eternity. It's all my fault she's gone. Why didn't I let her inside? I am so stupid. Is that your mom’s car? Wait. Before you go, I have something for you. Here. Two tickets to Disney World. Rachel, I don’t know if you can use them but after having this talk I don’t think I have any purpose for them either. Goodbye. Thank you for listening.


Life at that moment seemed to stop. How could she do such a thing? Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever thought my sister was capable of hurting me in such a way. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. I walked into the two-bedroom apartment I shared with my sister. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it held all the necessitates. There is a bedroom for each of us, a bathroom, kitchen, and small living room just big enough for a couch and t.v. Our parents were never around much growing up, so my sister and I looked out for each other. We are very close, and I’d like there are no secrets between us, but I know that’s not true because I keep one big secret from her. Our parents died shortly after I turned eighteen, so I got a job, rented this apartment, and Sue came to live with me. We’ve been on our own ever since. Life’s been rough. We almost got evicted a few months ago, but I came up with the money just in time. A few weeks ago, our grocery bill had to stay under twenty dollars. That was a tough week. I had to change things. I had to make things better, not just for her, but for myself too. I got a new job last week with twice the pay of my last one. I decided not to tell Sue. I don’t want her to worry. My job is a little dangerous, and she has enough stress just trying to finish her last year of high school and applying for scholarships. I get paid every two days instead of once a week. It’s the best job ever! I don’t even work regular work hours, so I can be home to help Sue around the house and stuff more. She seems to like that I’m around more, and I enjoy spending time with her again, like when we were kids. We started planning family nights. Her idea, not mine, but it’s kind of nice. Mondays are game night, and Thursdays are dinner together night. I always make sure I’m home on those nights. There’s a boy at school Sue likes, and she wants to bring him over for our dinner night on Thursday so we can meet. I’m a little nervous cause I’m not really sure what Sue expects from me. I’m just her brother, not her dad. Would it be awkward if I grilled the guy for information to make sure he’s a good guy? I guess I’ll just wait and see what happens that night. Sue likes him, so I have to believe he's at least decent. I have a feeling, no matter who she brings home, I’ll never think they are good enough for my little sister. The boss gave me a big job to do tonight. He says I’m ready for the big leagues, whatever that means. I’ll be working late, and Sue looked disappointed when I told her it would be after midnight when I got home. I don’t think she likes being alone in the house after dark. I guess if I were a girl, I’d get scared of being alone too. I told her not to worry and to call me if she needed anything. I handed her a piece of paper with my cell phone number on it. “When did you get a cell phone?” She looked at the paper in her hand then back up at me. I shrugged my shoulders. “My boss gave it to me. He said he needed to be able to get ahold of me at all times.” We said our goodbyes, and I headed out the door. Twenty minutes later, I walked up to the back door of a run down apartment complex. Jimmy, the boss's right-hand man, let me in. A big shipment of goods was coming in tonight, and I was going with them to pick it up. Normally I was just a runner, and the idea of working my up higher in the business was exciting, and a little scary. The plan was laid out, and we hopped into the truck and took off down the road. Before I knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. These guys used a lot of abandoned places. It was strange because I knew they had enough money to buy or rent a place, but instead, they chose to use places no one wanted anymore. We pulled inside the warehouse and waited. Moments later, another van pulled in behind us. Jimmy got out and walked to the back of our van, and I followed his lead. I had no idea what I was doing. I leaned against the back doors of the van so the other guys would think this was no big deal to me. But my insides were churning with each second that passed. Jimmy was fidgeting, and I knew something wasn’t right. I stood straight up and looked at him. His attention was on the van in front of us, and the men inside. “Get back in the van, now!” The urgency in his voice had me running for the front passenger side door, but before I could even reach the handle, men stormed the building. They came from everywhere, the front door, the back door, the office off to the left, and the white van parked behind ours. They barked out orders and pointed guns. I froze with my heart pounding away inside my chest so hard I thought it would burst. “Get down on the ground. Hands where I can see them.” The tall man pointed his gun at me while he yelled orders. I wasn’t the smartest person, but I wasn’t stupid enough to ignore someone with a gun pointed at me. I lay down on the cold cement floor and held my arms out to the side. Seconds later, a knee jabbed into my back, and my hands were cuffed behind me. The tall man pulled me to my feet. With his hand firmly on my elbow, we walked out the front door. My eyes went wide when I saw my sister standing there. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at me. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you keep doing this. I couldn’t let you keep heading down this path.” I stared open mouth at her. How could she betray me like this? I was doing this for her. I turned my head to avoid her penetrating gaze. Even though she was the one who betrayed me, I was the one who felt ashamed of my actions as the police officer helped me into the back of his squad car.


“Mom?” Gianna peered into her mother’s study where she saw her working on what was probably her latest sermon. Her mother is a pastor at the First Methodist Church normally prepares sermons relating whatever is going on in the world with the Bible. No, really. She likened Jesus multiplying bread and fish to Gianna cookies with her younger sister and Mary Magdalene washing Jesus’s feet to her husband washing the car! “Just a second Baby, mamma is working,” she cooed, holding up a well-manicured index finger. ”Baby?” Gianna thought. She was nearly sixteen and her mother insisted on referring to herself as “mamma“ and calling her five children “babies” when Tishi is the only sibling under 13! “Mamma, can I go to Malanda’s sweet sixteen birthday party? You already know her parents and all that so you know I’m in good hands. It’ll just be me and some people from school, it’s all,” Gianna burst. She bit her lip in anticipation of her mother’s response. She tasted her raspberry chapstick. “Who’s ’friends from school?’ That boy Treyshawn? The one who isn’t going to talk to my baby girl?” Gianna’s mother turned around in her chair, her comically long eyelashes batting. “I am not letting my daughter go out with boys,” “Why can’t I go? I won’t talk to nobody and I wanna be there for Mal, she’s counting on me being there!” Gianna protested, waving her hands and feeling the weight of being the girl with the strict, religious mother. “No. No way I’m letting you go when there’s boys around that I don’t like. That’s that.” “Why? Why even if I put it on GOD that I won’t talk to nobody?” Gianna nervously twirled a corkscrew out of her luscious hair. She wanted to rip all of it out and smash her mother’s Bible in half. “Because I said so. I’m the mother of this damn house and this isn’t going to be the time when I let you go and mess up on my watch!” “Thanks. You’re such a goddamn good WARDEN!” Gianna shouted. She slammed the door and ran out of the house. She took out her cell and called Malanda. “Guess who's About to be grounded.“ Gianna sighed. “You?” Malanda squeaked. “She thinks Trey is gonna be there and he’s gonna tie me up and get me pregnant and make me join one of those other Christian denominations, or worse, a Catholic Church,” Gianna giggled, thinking of her mother refusing to drive past the St. Mary’s on Fifth Street in case somebody tries to tell her about the Pope and his wondrous ways. “But Treyshawn is a good guy, and doesn’t she know it’s all kids frI’m the class, most that she’s met?” Malanda’s disappointment was in her voice. Gianna could see her friend’s big brown eyes go watery, knowing her friend won’t be at her birthday because of her rebellious cousin, Treyshawn. “Whatever that woman says, goes. Maybe if I told her we were studying for medical school, she would’ve let me come over but then she would make me do penance for lying and I don’t feel like reciting the Lord’s Prayer ten times a day for a week,” Gianna pulled her eyes, recalling a very real and insufferable punishment. “I will save you a seat at the table and a slice of cake if she ever changes her mind. My mom can talk to her mom, right?” Malanda suggested. “Your mom is non practicing. My mom doesn’t like people without a religion, she thinks they're ’lost‘ and ‘lazy’,” Gianna heard Malanda sigh. “Oh,” Malanda said with a heavy heart. “I have to go...We can talk later, ok?” Gianna took a deep breath. “Of course, Mal,” The girls said goodbye and Gianna took a good look at the red and white house that stood before her. Her mother worked hard for her and Gianna knew she loved her but she wished that she could trust her daughter and let have fun. Gianna kept her faith and always got A’s and B’s in school, has never touched an illegal substance and goes to TWO services on Sunday. She was a good kid and she wants to fight for one night to spend with her friends. Gianna marched back in the house and was king to start a conversation when her mom came out in the porch. “Baby,” her mother started. “You know I worry. I was into smoking and drinking when I was your age. You know how I found myself and worked for the life I wanted. I was the one running round with boys on Friday nights when I should’ve been studying for the SAT. Then I met a preacher who helped me create my business, connect with God...I even met your father and had 5 beautiful children who make me proud everyday of my life. But understand, Gianna Joelle, you’re a good girl, a smart, beautiful and strong young woman with brain and strength I didn’t have and probably will never have at your age. I just want your life to be less difficult than mine was,” Gianna’s mother walked down the steps and brushed her daughter’s smooth, hazel cheek and nodded to her. “Mamma, I know. I try my best for you and for me to say I’m thankful and I’m a good kid. I want to make you proud. But you should know that I love you and that I will be my own person. I can take care well on my own and ain’t about to throw away a pod thing. I just NEED you to trust me so I can go to a party for my best friend. Can you give me that chance to show you?” Gianna braced for impact. She was never this blunt and candid with her mother and didn’t know what to expect. “Be home by 11 and make sure you call me when you about to leave. And no tank tops. Or short shorts. Wear comfortable shoes. Don’t let ANY boy-“ “So, that’s a yes?” Gianna interrupted, clenching her fists and grinning. “Yes, Baby” her mother smiled. “Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Gianna jumped into a hug with her mother and laughed. Then it hit her. “Why do I need to wear comfortable shoes?” Gianna queried. “Because I said so. And you ALWAYS save your good shoes for Sunday’s,” THE END


“To live is to love, yet to love is to die” is what my grandfather told me. A seldom spoken man yet a kind one. He was the type of person to never hold a grudge, I believed he wasn’t capable of doing harm on anyone as a child. But every man has a breaking point. It is those who are most patients breaking point that you do not want to see. My grandfather had such a breaking point. I questioned his quote, the speech he gave me after he went silent for months. We visited him many times after his wife, my grandmother’s death. My mother and I would make the long trip to his secluded home in the countryside every fortnight to see how he is doing, yet he was quiet. He was half French and half Irish, and interesting blend of a man. Tomas was his name. Such a gentle name. I only knew one Tomas and it was him. I wished to never meet another, for they would never live up to him. His greatness outmatched all other men, my husband to be at the time could only match his shadow. Yet my grandfather enjoyed his company all the same. My husband Michaél, like my grandfather was a man of the land. He farmed wheat and barley whilst my grandfather cared for his fields of meadows and his orchard. How he loved the meadows. They were his pride and joy, until his wife passed. As a child me and my siblings would fly kites and play games of hide and seek all throughout the orchard and meadows until my grandmother called us in for dinner. The blissfulness of the fields was like something else I never felt. A place of pure joy, where no evil found its place. I never understood until my old age what he meant by “To live is to love”. Not until we sat that day under the tree that sat atop the hill, overlooking his kingdom. Both of us had not spoken in weeks, yet we knew he was nearing the end of his story. That’s why I believe he confided in me. He had to finally let go. I was sat in the kitchen that had the view of the tree that had then stooped so low it took the form of a willow, a sad giant that once held up the sun. Tomas slowly climbed the hill struggling to reach the summit with his feeble body. It hurt me to see him struggle, yet I couldn’t help. I knew if I went to aid him, he would refuse. He refused everything since Daisy passed. She went in the night, Christmas eve. Yet she was already gone. The dementia took her long before, a slow yet painless death for her. Not my grandfather though. I could tell it wore him down to his lowest yet he still stood tall. That was why he fell further; he was a proud man and it is the proudest who fall the hardest. I watched as he visited her in the hospital or sat on at the side of her bed. The cottage they owned slowly wore down yet neither of them seemed to notice. They could only focus on each other. One day I sat in the living room, playing in front of the small fire on the ragged carpet that itched your legs once you hit the floor. Daisy was reading a book, or somewhat trying. I think she just stared at the pages as Tomas watched her. She would ask his name every time they met, and Tomas would smile at her maybe a tear running down his cheek. “I’m Tomas” he would say with a sad smile on his face, “and you are?” “I’m Daisy, pleasure to make your acquaintance” she would say, smiling with her blissful ignorance. But this time it was different, Tomas greeted her with his regular saying but she looked up at him. No sign of ignorance, but she looked sad. Her eyes met his and a tear slowly escaped. Daisy grabbed his wrist and titled her head. “I don’t know” she whispered so silently only the slight wind creeping in the window overshadowed her. “I don’t know my name.” Tomas grabbed her wrist alongside it and did something I could never. He smiled and kissed her hand. “You’re just tired my love, go back to bed” And so, she did. He sat back in his chair, his bed for the forthcoming weeks and put his head back. She was gone, and he knew it. He just didn’t know I saw. It killed me to watch him at his lowest point. To see her fade broke him, never to be repaired. Their love story wasn’t unique, nor was it a miraculous story. Yet I find that is okay, the most rue love is found in the mundane. It is not a flashy anniversary present, or an expensive date. But the small moments, that is what they had. Walks through their meadow, their hidden kingdom only known to them and that was all that mattered. They would wake early in the morning and read together, the easy silence that not many are blessed with. That is what love is he taught me. To feel such comfort with someone you don’t need to always communicate. There is love in the silence, through looks. A quick smile and maybe a laugh, because you both know what the other is thinking. You are whole in one another. The flowers bloomed every spring, but without the care they died sooner than the sun could hit them. Tomas once watered and cared for them, but it was bleak now. I brought Michaél to try care for them yet Tomas wouldn’t allow it. He would not allow another pair of hands to touch them. It was a dark meadow now. Empty of any colour but grey allowing a thin blanket of fog to fall over it every night. It was only a matter of time until the great oak made its grave in the meadow. At that point the meadow would become its bleakest, no love in sight. I knew he had passed when I received the call in the night from my mother. She wasn’t grief ridden nor was she shouting like you see in the movies. We both knew it was coming but I still felt the pain. Like I had been hit in the stomach, a travelling pain that ricochets throughout the body. I went to the cottage a few days after to clear my mind, the long countryside drive under springs newly blossomed trees always brought me solace. When entering the home, I felt a sense of emptiness. Like it was no longer a home, but an empty field with no other purpose other than to exist. An eye sore on the beautiful horizon. I headed to the kitchen and ran my hand along the old dusty table. It was as I last saw it, an empty fruit bowl and old newspaper thrown on it. Looking out to the meadow I noticed the tree. It had fell further, almost ready to collapse. All other trees in the area had blossomed but the great oak had no leaves and its branches fell gracefully to the floor. That day Tomas sat under the tree, he beckoned me up. This was the first he initiated conversation with me in weeks, so I met his call without question. Sitting beside him under the tree he spoke to me and asked me. “Tell me, your husband, does he love you?” This came as a shock to me, what sort of question was it. “Of course,” I responded with. “Why do you ask?” “I once was young like you, cherish your memories dear, cherish them like nothing else because at the end that is all you will have. No money can give you memories, not real ones. If you love him and he loves you. Then you willy truly live.” He slowly rose using the trunk of the tree to rise. “To live is to love, ye to love is to die because once they are gone, the life you once knew is gone.” I thought he said this in sadness, but he was happy. He smiled at me and grabbed my hand. I grabbed his wrist and kissed his hand. “Grandad you’re tired, go back to bed.” It took me years to truly realise how right Tomas was, to live is to love and to love is to die, like his meadow. The flowers he grew were a sign of his love for Daisy, yet with her gone they died with her. The dying oak the last thing standing atop the meadow. As I walked through the meadow to reach the tree but came to a halt. A bright colour stood out amongst the grey. I walked over and leant down to gaze at the star amidst the fog. A daisy rose above the dirt, trying its hardest to grasp the sunlight. The last of the meadow holding on, waiting to fall. I walked away allowing it to fall gracefully not looking back at the bleak meadow, to preserve the memory of the daisy, of the sea of flowers, and the unbreakable love.


The air smelled of bitter antiseptic with undertones of fragrance from the soaps and cleaners. It was intense as she inhaled through the tubes in her nostrils. She looked down at the needle in her arm, she had been poked and prodded so many times over the last 6 years that her veins had collapsed. Her skin looked almost translucent, showing a map of veins, bruises and imperfections across the surface. Long gone were the days of her golden olive skin. Her heart thumped in her chest as she remembered that her husband Jim would be arriving soon for his punctual daily visit. 7:00pm sharp. Never a minute late. He’d stood by her through thick and thin, ‘til death do us part. Her heart started to race and was mirrored by the beeping monitors around her. She thought about the decision she was about to tell him. She had been rehearsing all morning. She hoped he would accept her wishes, but knowing Jim, she knew that was unlikely. Tick tock. The clock hung above the door struck 7:00pm. Jim entered the room. A squeaky wheelchair passed by the open door, the patient it was holding let out a defeated grunt of pain as they readjusted themselves. Jim’s joyful smile was out of place here. She looked up at him weakly and forced a smile that quickly faded when she spotted the large bouquet of flowers in his hand. She had told him before not to waste money on flowers. They just died. It brought her no joy watching them go on the same journey she was on. But like clockwork, he brought them every week on Monday. She hated Mondays. He said they brought life and joy to the room. That’s because he didn’t have to sit in a bed watching them slowly wilt and die week on week, it was like Groundhog day. “My love.” He came over and kissed her delicately on the forehead. Just like when they were in highschool, she used to live for those kisses. He had always been so smitten with her. The perfect boyfriend. The perfect husband. He was like a loyal golden retriever, looked a bit like one too with his shaggy brown hair and kind brown eyes. His love for her only seemed to grow over their past 22 years of marriage, which she didn’t think could be possible. Whereas hers had probably plateaued years ago if she was being truly honest. Susie’s heart started to race again, the monitors beeped wildly. “Someone’s excited to see me.” Jim joked as he put the flowers into the empty vase on the bedside table. The nurses would carry away the dead flowers every Sunday in preparation for the new. She couldn’t help but be annoyed, but she knew he meant well. Alright, she needed to rip the bandage off. Tell him you’re tired, she thought. So tired. This battle had taken everything that had once brought her joy. She missed the days when her fingers could gracefully dance on the strings of her violin, creating beautiful woody harmonics with every draw of her bow. Making 1st chair in the San Francisco Symphony had been one of her greatest accomplishments in her short 41 years of life. Jim approached her and placed a warm sturdy hand on top of hers. “I have great news Suze!” He beamed and gripped her frail, veiny hand a little too tight. She grimaced and remorse instantly shot across his face as he quickly loosened his grip. Everything inside her hurt. His hopeful smile returned, “Suze, I was talking with Dr. Liang and there’s a new cancer trial starting next week at UCSF Medical Center. We looked into it and guess what hun? You qualify!” He exclaimed excitedly. She dropped her eyes and tuned out the rest of the words that were coming out of his mouth. Well fuck, she thought. She was not expecting this. Her mouth was dry and tasted like cardboard. Her stomach turned. Her thumb hovered over the button that dispensed the morphine drip. One press and she could go along for the ride, like she had been doing for years. She could hop on Jim’s happy train full of hope and keep pushing forward as her body slowly failed her and withered away. Yes Jim, sure Jim, yes honey. She had always done whatever he thought was best. I mean, he had guided her safely through life over the past 22 years with so much thought and care, she had never given it a second thought... until recently. Suddenly an overpowering force from within her stomach crept up through her oesophagus and erupted from her mouth. Word vomit. Pent up word vomit. “NO!” she screamed, sitting up in the hospital bed abruptly, gripping the side rails tightly. She felt like a toddler confined in this bed all day. “I’m done Jim, I’m fucking done.” Hot tears rolled down her face. The salty drops burned the corners of her dry, cracked mouth as they swept down her sunken face. The floodgates had opened and there was no turning back now. His kind brown eyes lost their warmth and filled with sadness and then erupted into tiny flames that went out with defeat almost as soon as they were lit. Memories of their marriage vows filled her thoughts, “In sickness and in health.” Jim’s jaw loosened then tightened and then froze with pure shock and disbelief. She never defied him. He was only doing what he thought was best for her and she always listened but he wasn’t the one stuck in this bed, stuck with needles, watching flowers die on repeat as her insides slowly died along with them. Jim’s love for her was infinite, but it had grown to be infinitely suffocating. “Suze...” he whispered. “We can beat this. I told you I would never give up on you. We are fighters. We will fight this. Don’t you see hun, this trial is our opportunity -” Susie erupted again, cutting him off mid sentence, flailing her arms in the air, she knocked over the vase full of flowers next to her bed. “Stop speaking for me Jim! You’re not the one living this life in a shell of your body. I love you but I’m done. You have to let me go.” He stood there defeated looking down at her with tears in his eyes. She pressed the morphine drip hard. Darkness. She opened her eyes and squinted up at the light, a spotlight flooded down on her. She was on stage, but no one was seated in the red velvet seats that lined the concert hall. She was alone. The familiar smell of resin filled her nostrils. Looking down she noticed her beloved violin in her lap. She smiled at the familiar sight. Picking it up she tucked it comfortably between her jaw and collarbone. Taking a deep breath of the fresh vanilla air she raised her bow, pausing briefly as it hovered above the strings and closed her eyes. The notes danced across her eyelids as the music flowed from her soul through her bow, then the strings, then the hollow wooden body of her violin and finally freely into the air. It was the most beautiful song she had ever played, sad, but beautiful, and free. She drifted with the music until she was looking down at herself, the young Susie she knew, olive skin glowing in the warm spotlight, eyes closed, living the music. She smiled and let herself drift away with her sweet, sad melody. Bright white light filled the space around her. She had found her peace at last.


We were crammed together on the couches in the living room, it was snug; throughout the evening there were at least four different one-on-one conversations filling the air, the chatter practically made it impossible to hear your own thoughts. Then, suddenly, we found ourselves sitting in complete silence. There was a tension in the air that abruptly suggested no one dare speak a word. I’d scooted up to the edge of the couch, with my eyes glued to the television; I could feel my heartbeat going into overdrive, and through my peripheral vision I saw my roommate, Logan, locked into the same position. The game clock had reached 58.4 seconds: Warriors - 102, Cavaliers - 101. Logan and I are sports fans, but we’re nowhere near sports fanatics. Why then, did a room full of previously cheery college students feel such a strong emotional connection to the outcome of the game? That’s best explained by something Logan nervously said to me midway through the fourth quarter, “Alex, if the Cavs can’t pull this off, we can’t pay rent.” Our apartment was littered with ramen-noodle wrappers, empty cans of black beans, and a few stacked Pizza boxes near the kitchen trash can from the nights our parents were feeling generous. Logan had just lost his scholarship on a technicality. There was a credit requirement, and unfortunately Indiana University could not transfer some of the courses he completed previously at a different school. I had been working 25-hour weeks to get by. It was starting to take a toll on my grades. I decided to work reduced hours; the consequence was reduced groceries and insufficient rent money. We wore matching purple bags under our eyes from the exhaustion that comes with financial stress. One day, sitting hunched on our red-velvet sofa, in front of a coffee table covered in loose sheets of paper we’d been using to draft potential solutions, it hit us. Rent was due in 12 days and neither of us could claim over $50 to our names. Our stomachs were so accustomed to growling that they’d grown submissive. I’d begin to feel slightly dizzy, and have an emptiness directly below my sternum, around 7:30pm each night, but that was the only time it dared to bother me. My body knew, nutrients were in limited supply, it was in survival mode. Bluntly, we knew we were fucked. The time to find better jobs and negotiate with financial aid offices, had to be later, those solutions would take too long to help with the mess in front of us. I believe it was the sense of hunger, forcefully calling for an immediate fix, that framed the way we thought about our rent problem. Logan looked at me, holding eye-contact that was marked with conviction, before proclaiming, “I’m going to gamble my way out of this mess.” Simultaneously, my eyes squinted, and my jaw lowered, I looked at him inquisitively, without speaking I prompted him to say more. “I’m going to scour through box scores, read up on the expert opinions, and turn my $50 into $650 over the next 10 days. This is my plan. You’re welcome to join me, but if you think you have a better plan, by all means.” He shrugged his shoulders. I looked left, then right, as if someone was going to give me advice on what to do; this never happened as we were the only two people in the room. It didn’t matter, I was hooked on the idea. Lost in the excitement and newfound sense of hope, I swept my arm across the coffee table and sent a collection of failed plans flying into oblivion. Fast forward and after a string of successes, our $50 had increased by a factor of 10 -- we were only $150 short of pulling this off. With two of our five hundred on the Cavaliers, a win would complete our lofty goal. The game clock was down to 23.5 seconds. Steph Curry hits a reverse lay-up, even worse it’s an and-one: Warriors - 107, Cavs - 106. My once-pounding heart shriveled and sank to the bottom of my stomach as the world tingled and began to grow blurry. With 4.7 on the clock, George Hill is fouled cutting to the basket! Instantly, I perk back up, sitting erect on the edge of my seat! Swissssshhhh, the first free throw races through the net. CLANK! The second misses. The ball is rebounded, but the clock expires. OVERTIME!!! The Cavaliers are obliterated in overtime. Logan and I look at each other, and with our shoulders drooping, we excuse ourselves from our friends and shamefully walk to our bedrooms to sleep off the pain of the loss.


"Never forget,” is the mantra of that day. These 33 eighth graders from Duke Ellington Middle School, wandering through the newly opened museum dedicated to that day, will never forget- because they never remembered in the first place. They were only one. The youngest were still crawling, unable to communicate in anything but babble. The oldest were running, jumping, talking, even beginning to count. But they were all one-year-olds on that infamous day twelve and a half years earlier, and as such, have never known the world to be any different than it is now. Airport security has always been a hassle, terrorism has always been an omnipresent threat, and there has always been an eerie solemness over the first few days of the school year. Zara is one of the oldest, nearly two then and already fourteen now, but she has no better memory of that day than any of her classmates do. According to her parents, she'd had her own commentary on the events of that day as they unfolded: "What happen?", “I scared", and "no go, Daddy". She had started talking quite early, though, and ever since she has always been either the loudest person in the room or the quietest- no in between. Today she is the quietest; she lags at the back of the small group she has been assigned to, following her classmates as though not quite certain of where she is or what she is doing. She flinches slightly whenever a particularly distressing image comes up, but although her teacher has asked twice if she is okay, all she says is, "I'm fine"- an utterance so simple that she could have formed it on that day. The other students share generic answers to the generic worksheet that they were given, but there is no joking or teasing like there usually is. Even though they were only one, they know how serious this event was, and they know that any idiot who decides to joke about it will be reprimanded and shunned. They will all be obnoxious kids again the second they leave, but they are all able to feel faint stirrings of sadness about this event, although they were only one. Zara feels everything more intensely than average- another eight years will go by before she has a diagnosis for this- but even knowing how she is, her near complete silence today has baffled her teachers and peers. She has a piece of paper folded up in her coat pocket, which she occasionally takes out and examines for a few seconds. Her friend Jessica glances over and is able to catch a glimpse of it- a photograph, an old one but not black-and-white old, of three young men and two young women standing on a pier with the then-standing towers in the background. One of the women looked quite a bit like a grown-up version of Zara, about ten years older or so. “Who's that?” Jessica asks, but Zara immediately folds the photo back up and puts it away, so she decides not to ask again. The group comes upon two recording booths, where people can record their own memories of that day and have their stories become part of the museum. The students pay no attention to it- it’s not on their worksheet, and there are no memories that they can share because they were all only one. Jessica feels a tap on her shoulder. “I’m going to stay here for a bit,” Zara says. The rest of their group has gone on to the next exhibit, but Jessica can copy their answers later anyway. “Okay,” she says. Zara waits in line, and Jessica awkwardly lags behind, wondering what someone who was only one could possibly have to say about that day. She hopes the crueler boys in their class don’t see this; they bully Zara because her sensitivity makes her an easy target, and she doesn’t want to have to go to the guidance counselor's office to support her when they return to school- it seems that Zara ends up in the guidance counselor's office quite often these days. There is a vacancy in one of the booths, and Zara quickly fills it. She hesitates for a moment, taking the picture from her pocket. She places her finger over the image of one of the men, the one standing next to the woman who resembles her. With her unsteady hand, she presses the record button. “Hi, Mr. Goldstein,” she says. “It’s Zara. Robyn’s baby. Well... Robyn's *daughter*. I'm obviously not a baby anymore.” Jessica remembers that when the class was walking around the memorial pools outside, Zara stayed in one place for some time, her finger on one of the names engraved in the marble. The name was Mark Goldstein. On the permission slip each student had been given for this trip, it asked whether their family had been personally affected by the tragedy- if they had been, they could choose to stay home, or they could choose to show up and be treated with kid gloves the entire day as though it would make the slightest bit of difference. Everyone had shown up, and no one had been treated with kid gloves, so the assumption had been that this trip would be a more contemporary version of a trip to the Holocaust Museum or Arlington National Cemetery- a place of education and solemn respect, but not of personal pain. "I'm sorry that I don't remember you," Zara says. "I wish I could. Mommy says my personality reminds her of you- maybe that's because you were a preemie, like me. She says that, when I was a baby, I was afraid of most people that weren't her and Daddy, but I liked you. Maybe I knew somehow that the both of us were miracles." Zara takes a shaky breath that sounds more like a sob. "She says that, when I was little, I used to tell her stories about a man that comforted me at night when I was scared. I told her that he said he and I were special so he had to protect me. The older I get, the harder it is to believe in stuff like that, but... maybe that really was you. I always felt so affected by what happened here- not just to you, but to everyone- even though I was only one when it happened. After all, the youngest person who lost their life here was just a few months older than I was. Her name was Christina, I think- the same name as my best friend from elementary school. She... she was on the plane that... that killed you." The rest of the group have come back to see where Zara and Jessica have gone, and now, unbeknownst to Zara, are listening as she talks to the first of many missing people in her young life. "Uh... I'm starting high school this year," Zara says. "Lilac is starting college. She's going to Columbia- she wants to be a lawyer. She said that she promised you when she was little that she was going to go there one day. She's so happy, but... it still hurts her that you're not around to see it." There are a few older teenagers, alumni of Duke Ellington Middle School, who sometimes meet Zara after school, and Lilac is one of them- a highly animated redhead who always wears an American flag-shaped locket around her neck. Now it is apparent why. “Mommy told me about the bombing... the first bombing,” Zara goes on, “how The Five were all trapped in an elevator when it went off, and you all pried the elevator door open to get out. Mr. Smith and Mr. Bates said that, because you all found a way out once, when the towers fell, they told themselves that you must have found a way out again. But there was no time- the plane crashed right into ParkShed's offices. Eleven employees inside at that moment, and eleven names on this memorial. If they hadn't both been running late to work that day... it would be thirteen, and I wouldn't have any memory of them either." She is starting to cry. “I didn't see much of them or Ms. Baxter when I was little. The ParkShed Five couldn’t bear to face the fact that they were The ParkShed Four now. But when Mommy got sick, they started coming by again, because they didn't want to meet for the next time as the ParkShed Three..." A third of Zara’s class is now watching from a tentative distance, and other museum-goers are beginning to notice as well. It is far from the first tragic spectacle that has happened in this museum, and it will be far from the last, but moments like these are always far more impactful than any artifact pulled from the rubble. “A few months ago, we found out that Mommy’s tumor is growing again,” Zara says. “She doesn’t remember much anymore, but she still remembers you. She... she doesn't have much of a filter anymore either, so she’ll just blurt things out to me that I don’t think she would tell me if she was all there. We were talking about love the other day, and she... she said that she's been in love with three men in her life, and that... just one is still alive. I assume the living one is Daddy, and I know the man she dated right before him died last year, but I wondered... I found this picture, and... I noticed that she's looking at you in the same way that she looked at Daddy in their pictures later. I always knew she'd loved you, but... I never would have thought it was because she was *in* love with you once." Zara's hands tremble so much that she can barely hold the picture. "That would explain a lot," she says. "If part of her was still in love with you all along. But it wouldn't even matter now. You're gone. You've been gone. But sometimes she doesn't even remember that. Sometimes she’ll get confused and think you’re still alive, that none of it happened. Yesterday she promised to take me to Windows on the World one day, and I didn't even bother reminding her that it's gone. She forgets that Grandma and Grandpa are gone now, too. Every time someone reminds her that they’re gone, or that you’re gone, she cries like she just found out. She forgets so much, but when she forgets you, we’ll know it's over. But when she forgets you, it won’t matter anymore...” The recording has shut off, but no one dares to move. Zara’s sniffles turn to sobs. “...because when she forgets you... it won’t be long until you’re together again.


It is a warm humid summer night abuzz with the sounds of crickets and the occasional passing car. As we sit at the kitchen table listening to music and drinking, he begins to tell a story. The story is lost to me as I study his features as he speaks. The slight curve of his mouth as he smiles. The redness of his cheeks. The light twinkle in his eyes as the kitchen light catches them just right. He begins to laugh, and I snap out of my trance. He notices and asks what's wrong, but I only reply that something in my mind had distracted me. He laughs again and simply brushes it off as he does. The drinks begin to take their toll as I feel myself slipping into the calm relaxed state where the world seems to pass by without a thought. We sat listening to the music and the crickets of the night. It all seems so perfectly still. The song changes and suddenly without a thought I spring up. He seemed surprised by my sudden action as he sat in his chair. I quickly grab his hand but he first resists saying he can’t dance. I say I can’t either and continue to insist and finally he gives in. He stands and comes to the middle of the kitchen with me. At first, we clumsily dance to the beat but slowly find a rhythm. What seems like an eternity we dance to the music. We dance with all our heart and soul. Sweat slowly drips from my brow and I see he has also begun to sweat. It is in that moment I realize we are now dancing mere inches from one another. How had this escaped me? How had the world seemed to blur so suddenly? I stop and admire him. He has his eyes closed as he continues swaying to the beat of the music as if in perfect harmony. His cheeks are red and as if he had sensed something wrong, he stops. Slowly opening his eyes, he looks at me and blushes even more. All I can think in that moment is he is the most beautiful person on the planet. As we stand so close, I can feel the heat of his body. The music was almost silent over the beating of our hearts. I looked into his eyes and saw something. Something primal and unstoppable. In that moment I raise my hand to his face and as it laid upon his cheek, I feel a rush as if lightning had coursed through every fiber of my body. I know he felt it too for a look of shock appeared on his face. He closed his eyes and in that moment I moved closer. As I closed my eyes and our lips brushed, it again felt as if lighting had coursed through my veins. His lips were soft, yet his stubble was prickly. He did not react. He stood perfectly still as if petrified. I pulled away and he had opened his eyes. He just stood there silently staring. I stepped back and felt as if I had made a mistake. A feeling of pain and regret washed over me like a tidal wave. I felt ashamed and I began to turn to walk away but then I felt his hand upon my wrist. He stopped me and as I turned, he smiled. He moved closer and this time he kissed me. This kiss though was different. It wasn’t soft but firm and forceful. It was a kiss born of a primal passion and desire. In this moment, the music stopped, the world stopped, and it was as if the very heavens were fixed upon us. The kiss lasted a mere few moments but for me it lasted a lifetime. All the feelings of pain, regret, and shame washed away. As we both pulled away, I looked him in the eyes and saw tears rolling down his cheeks. I too quickly realized that I had begun to cry as well. These tears though were not of sadness but of pure happiness. In that moment, I knew I made the right decision, and so did he. We choose to have faith in one another and feel love. Once more we pulled each other into a passion fueled kiss. Moments passed and finally we collected ourselves. I gently took his hand and lead him to the living-room where we sat on the couch side by side. He laid his head upon my shoulder and we sat there for a time, both thinking. Finally, he broke the silence and said, I have waited for you to do that for what feels like a lifetime. In that moment we both began to laugh. We had waited so long for one another and now we finally took that leap of faith. I laid my head upon his and we sat there for a long while. As we both faded off to sleep within one another's arms, I remembered something and whispered it under my breath... journeys end in lovers meeting.


(WP) The Little Fox and the Drums of War The fox had heard stories of the city her whole life, despite living in the wood since she was born. Being the oldest of all the kits, though, gave her an advantage over her brothers and sisters. Only her eyes gave her away as something not quite human, but with all the noise, she couldn’t really think of stealth. The wood was full of noises too, but nothing this harsh or loud. Her stomach grumbled, but she resisted returning to her animal form. She might not be human, but now was the perfect opportunity to act like it. She followed her nose deeper into town, her mouth watering at the savory scents of chili and garlic. Her father had warned her that she only had a few hours in her human form before she had to return to the forest, and she was feeling high on the sensation of it. She wasn’t here for pleasure, but none of the guards were with her and no one would be reporting back to her parents. She found a restaurant and sat down, ordering food for herself: hot and spicy ramen, soft boiled eggs with yolks like miniature suns, noodles covered in chili oil. She ate every bite slowly, savoring it. This was certainly different from hunting a woodland creature, but no less pleasant. As soon as she was finished with her food, she left money on the table, thinking about why she’d been allowed to go into the city for the first time. She was to spy on the humans who her kind despised; they consumed endlessly, violating the land and the natural laws that governed the world. She hadn’t wanted to, but her father insisted that she be the one to scout for the humans’ plans. After all, of all of his children, she was the only one gifted with such immense power. “*The gods gave us these powers for a reason, little one. These humans, they are a disease, a pestilence that must be erased from the earth. Only then can the world regain balance.”* But, try as she might, the little fox just couldn’t hate humans. What her parents said was true: they did consume, and burn, and rage, and hate, but they didn’t deserve to be eliminated completely. They were also kind, and good, and loving, and damn it all, they tried to make the world a better place. She changed back into a fox and headed into an abandoned building; she could hear the boom of voices bouncing off of the walls, though the humans were just whispering. She hid in the shadows, knowing that she only had a little bit of time left before she had to return home. “There’s a rumor that there are shifter families in the woods, the most prominent being a family of foxes. We have to burn the forest to the ground. How else will we prevent them from meddling with our plans?” The little fox didn’t need to hear anymore; she slunk out of the building to report back to her family. War was coming, and she had to stop it.


Stormy Day It was a beautiful day. The big fluffy clouds looked like cotton candy ready to be picked. There were towering cumulus clouds that could be an indication of rain to come. If you gazed long enough at them and had a vivid imagination you could see faces, animals and all sorts of things in the clouds. The blue hue of the sky looked like the Caribbean Sea with its clear vivid colors. There was a calmness in the air and a gentle breeze blowing from the west. The weatherman was calling for storms in the afternoon, however looking at the sky you wouldn’t think it was possible. The tree leaves were wearing their autumn shades of orange, red, gold, and green as they danced and swirled to the ground with the breeze. It was a perfect Autumn day to take a walk through the forest. Once in the forest there was a stark difference in the temperature. It was 10 degrees cooler under the canopy of trees. Little animals could be seen darting about the forest floor gathering nuts and other items to get them ready for the upcoming winter. Birds could be heard flitting in the tree tops and calling out to other birds. It shattered the quiet of the forest. Walking on the carpet of fallen leaves, the crunching noise reverberated though the forest scaring the birds who took flight above. The forest was quiet again. Wandering through the forest brought up memories of long-ago days as a child running through the cool forest and gathering the colored leaves to take home and put them in a scrapbook. There were tons of acorns and pine cones on the ground. More treasures to take back home and make something crafty. A loud rumble could be heard in the distance and the forest quickly turned dark with the approaching storm. It was a little spooky in the forest with the fast approaching storm turning it pitch black. Looking around at the nearby surroundings it appeared I had wandered farther into the forest than was originally planned. A sense of dread came over me as I knew that the little creek would flood and leave me stranded in the middle of the woods. With my heart beating faster I picked up my pace to try and get back to the creek crossing before it was too late. A loud clap of thunder was heard overhead and the sky lit up like the Fourth of July. The sky opened up and the torrential rain came down like someone had opened a dam and the water came spilling out. Panicked I picked up the pace and half power walked and half ran to beat the rain that would fill up the creek. It was the only thing between me and civilization. A sense of dismay came over me as I knew I wouldn’t get to the creek in time before the rain caused it spill over its banks. I had to come up with a plan fast or I would be trapped. There was nowhere to go to keep from getting drenched. I started to run and at the time it seemed like a good idea. I didn’t take into consideration the that the leaves would be slippery under my feet. Running like my life depended on it I sped up the pace and as luck would have it I tripped over a small limb and crashed to the ground. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to catch myself. I hit my head so hard I saw stars and blackness. Laying there for a minute to catch my breath and shake the fuzziness out of my head before I got up. It was a bad idea and the pain shot through my whole body and left me dazed and confused. Great, this was no time to be clumsy. I tried to get back up on my feet and as I did a sharp burning pain shot right through me. It appeared I had broken my ankle when I fell. The thought of spending the night in the forest didn’t thrill me. I had to come up with a plan and I had no idea what I was going to do. I started to have a panic attack and all that did was add to the horrendous situation I was in. I had made it to the creek and its banks were flooded with the rain and started filling up the surrounding ground. I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t get out of the forest soon. Getting a grip on myself I started to take deep breaths to try and calm my thoughts before I went into a full-blown panic attack, which would add injury to insult to my current situation. I started to crawl towards the creek on my hands and knees. Every little movement caused my injury to send sharp shooting pain through my whole body. It almost caused me to pass out with every jarring pain upon movement. I am strong woman and I had been in other situations worse than my current one. Drowning wasn’t an option so I crawled inch by inch towards the flooding creek. The ground had tons of rocks and broken branches caused my hands and knees to bleed. However, I ignored the pain and kept going towards the creek. Once I got there the water was freezing cold, causing me to shiver uncontrollably. I almost wanted to give up as my situation only got worse. Once at the creek the water around it was about 4 inches deep and at this point I was going to have to swim to get to the other side. My only saving grace was the creek didn’t have a fast current. The storm overhead proceeded to get stronger. Jagged lightening kept hitting the forest ground. My current thought was I was going to be the next target and get electrocuted. That was not a happy thought and made me even more determined to get the other side of the creek. Once over to the other side I wasn’t sure I would be able to get to the house. The land was nothing but wide-open field and I would have no protection from the raging storm overhead. I guess I should have taken heed to the weatherman and stayed home. However, at this point that thought was moot. More determined than ever, I kept crawling on the soggy rain flooded ground. Not sure how I was going to get across the creek I kept going. The creek was about 18 inches wide with a mild current. The overflowing banks kept bringing more water into the forest making my situation even worse. I was at the bank and I did the only thing I could. I plunged into the water praying I would make it to the other side before I drowned or got struck by lightning. A loud clap of thunder was heard overhead and the lightening soon followed. The strikes were getting closer to me and it turned my body into one big goose bump. I was freezing cold because of the water and the drop-in temperature. What a messy predicament I found myself in. The water was freezing cold and it sent a jolt through my body. My ankle was adding to the situation. Freezing, in pain, and scared to death I kept on crawling forward. The water helped to keep my foot afloat giving me the motivation to keep going. Inch by inch I tried to swim across the creek. Thank God it wasn’t very deep and I could stand up on one leg if I needed to. The storm raved on and little rivulets of rain streamed down my face. The torrential rain kept coming with no sign of letting up. Cautiously I swam across the creek and eventually after what seemed like hours I made it to the other side. The ground was flooded, but I kept crawling until I made it to the edge of the forest trying to come up with a plan on how I was going to make it across the field to the house. I could see the house from my position, but I could also see the dark and ominous storm on the horizon. The sight sent a shiver down my spine as I started to crawl towards home. My hands and knees were bleeding profusely at this point from all the debris on the ground. I started my long, slow trek across the field. The lightening was hitting the ground all around me and loud claps of thunder continued on. I kept praying that I wouldn’t get struck by the jagged lightening as it hit the ground. Finally, I was about five feet from the house. The pain and the situation I was in made me want to cry, however I refused. I finally made it to the doorstep of the house and collapsed from the pain and exhaustion. The storm seemed to be getting stronger and the clouds were swirling overhead. Great a tornado was just what I needed. I managed to get the door open and get inside. I tried to stand up so I could turn the heat up to warm myself. The movement made me collapse again as the pain from my ankle shot up my leg and throughout my body. I took some deep breaths to try and calm down. I had managed to turn the heat up to 85 degrees and the warmth sent a sense of wellbeing throughout my body. I was in the house, out of the rain, and relatively safe from the raging storm outside. I crawled to the window to watch the storms and swirling clouds. Minutes passed as I held my breath and watched the cloud slowly creep to the ground in a funnel formation. I prayed that the forming funnel cloud wouldn’t reach the ground. As I watched the funnel cloud start to dissipate and disappear, I let out a deep breath as the funnel cloud disappeared back up into the sky. Now that I was safe and warm I had to deal with my ankle. I called a friend who came over and picked me up to go to the hospital. They took x-rays and confirmed that my ankle was broken. They cleaned up the wounds on my hands and knees and put a cast on my ankle and sent me on my way. I thanked my friend when they dropped me off and I laid down on the couch to relax. I slept for a few hours as the storm raged on outside. When I woke up it was calm and quiet. I looked outside and the sun was trying to peak out of the clouds. It appeared the storm was over. I reflected on my day and thought about how lucky I was to have survived my horrendous time in the forest. What started out as a nice quiet walk into the woods quickly turned into a living nightmare. As I reflected I decided that next time I would heed the weatherman’s warning. The nightmare in the forest made me a stronger person and I knew I could survive anything thrown at me. With that thought in my head I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down to read a book. I knew that life could be tough and we have choices that could make it easy or hard. Today had been a hard day and I learned a little more about myself. I am strong women who can conquer anything I set my mind to. With that thought I slowly drifted off to sleep, thankful I had survived the day.