It was a sunny and beautiful weekend morning. The kind of weather that suits this kind of lovely towns where things and traditions remain the same. Everything in the right place! The house’s walls were salmon-colored and decorated exquisitely. The front garden plants were selected carefully to always paint the home’s atmosphere with endless colors. You were also able to see the backyard fruit flowering trees from the 4 points of the compass, what a view! All neighbors envied how the garden was built, perfectly balanced. Outside, some kids were playing hide and seek, some others were riding their bicycles. Some women were chatting about their house expenses and criticizing the Government for their bad economic and social policies... and how corrupted the Government members were, astute politicians but not real rulers nor good leaders. Some of them were preparing lunch. Some others were doing household chores. Some men were mowing the lawn. Some of them were helping their wives. Some others were just keeping the home maintenance. Inside the salmon-colored house, an intimate conversation was taking place. “Oh honey, I love you deeply.” “Yes, darling. I’m sure of that, I’ve never doubted your love. And you know I do love you, too, right?!” “You’re my sweetheart, I know... Always have. Since we were kids.” “Yeah! We were 2 of the kind!” “Come on, honey, don’t you start, please!” “I know, I know... I’m sorry, so sorry!” “What I meant was that we’ve been together for always!” “Yes, you’re right. How many people can say that, right?” “Our love can overcome everything. You’ll see...” “I have always counted on you, and you only!” “We were regular neighborhood kids going to school, swimming in the lake, fighting others when the ball game was not fair...” “Do you remember Kimberly used to take her baseball when she was mad because her team was losing? Ha, ha. She was just funny!” “And she’s not changed at all!” Both laughed for a while. Childhood memories are always sweet and funny, aren’t they? “What I remember the most is THE LOOK!” “Oh yeah, honey, it was our beginning! How sweet!” “You were always my crush. However, you never paid attention to me! You were...” “An idiot! I know... I was just too young. I didn’t know how to feel, what to feel. Love was confusing at that time! And I wasn’t exactly a love expert...” “I was teasing you... our first look, the look! I remember it was a day when we all (neighborhood kids) were riding our bikes all the way to the lake, and you fell off your bike. Poor darling! Your knee was bleeding lots.” “But there he was... my knight in shining armor came to rescue me and then I knew! I realized I was in love... with... you!!! How romantic it was!” Both of them were in love, sincerely in love. A love that just a few people have ever gained. A love that surpassed the limits. A love to remember... For a moment, there was silence, only silence... endless silence. Matt was terrified outside the bathroom. Suddenly, the wail of the Fire Engine's siren riveted Matt’s attention. He reacted. “Honey, are you still with me?”, Matt asked. “Sure, sweetheart; here I am... the rest of me, what’s left!” “Please don’t say so”, Matt begged. “You still don’t get it, darling?!” “How can I?” Matt reflected. “It’s time to put an end to this relationship.” “I don’t understand, we were so happy together, we are...”, Matt cried out. “Yeah, I know that, for sure. But I already told you, that’s not enough for them... is it?” One door separating two worlds of the same love. One door that was shut between them. Some more seconds without hearing anything from inside the bathroom. What an agony! Police patrols’ and fire engines’ sirens were loudly heard in front of the salmon-colored house at this point. Some neighbors have approached, too. They wondered, maliciously, what was going on. Matt rapidly ran into the front door, he opened it. Two police officers and 3 firefighters were standing there. “Is this Mr. Matthew O’Brian’s house?” A police officer interrogated. “Yes, it is. I’m Matt. Come in. He is in the bathroom! He doesn’t want to open the door. I’ve tried but...” The firefighters were already breaking the bathroom door down. “We came as soon as we could.” The other police officer explained. “I know...”, Matt told him as an automatic response, almost a reflex reaction since his mind was somewhere else. Matt was paying close attention to the firefighters’ rescuing fight. He was praying to God they could make it to save his loved one. After a couple of minutes of being in the rescue mission, one of the firefighters explained: “it was too late, I’m sorry to say...” “Your friend bled out completely”, another firefighter added. Matt wasn’t able to stand, his legs just couldn’t keep him on his feet. He kneeled. He began sobbing. “Listen, I know it’s a bad time. But, before we can take the man ́s body to the hospital, may I ask you some questions?” A police officer asked gently. Matt didn’t answer back this time. Both police officers looked at each other, then, they helped Matt up to have him sitting on the sofa. They walked him slowly back to the living room. Some neighbors, who never talked to Matt and Joe, were trying to find out any detail about what was going on inside the salmon-colored house, as they all called it to differentiate it from theirs. A couple of them even walked all the way to the front door to get a better look, not to help. Strangers in the same neighborhood, even though Matt and Joe were born and raised there. “Sir, may I have the name of the suicide victim?” The other police officer stared at the first one in disapproval and added: “I’m sorry for your loss, I can see you were close... but may I have the victim’s name please? We need to know some personal information of his... as you may understand.” Matt had so many things in his mind... so many! After considering his situation, all of the sudden, Matt’s mind was clear. My husband’s name is... was Joseph Harrison...” “I see...”, the police officers continued interrogating. The firefighters were back to their station and the ambulance EMTs took Joe’s corpse to the local hospital’s morgue.


I stood there with anger in my eyes, pain in my heart. My brave soldiers lay lifeless across the ground, pools of blood littered across the ground like rose petals. The people who were able to get to safety were brought underground, mainly elderly and children. Any able bodied man was ordered to help fight. We outnumbered them two to one, but we still stood no chance. I have no idea who they are, where they came from, but I know why. I had been having this dream off and on for a long time now. I remember walking through this field of grass, sun high in the sky, breeze dancing across my face. Such a serene moment. I ask myself, is this what life on the ground was like? Then the sun high in the sky starts getting closer and larger. The closer it gets, the more the field around me starts to evaporate and burn alive. Eventually the light gets too bright to look at and I look away. The white light surrounds me until all around me is white, and the next thing I know I’m in a hallway, a long pristine white hallway, and at the end is a door. I make my way all the way down the hallway to the door. I open it, walk through the door and step out onto a charred, burnt ground. It is so unbelievably hot here.The sky is a permanent orange color. As far as my eyes can see is a broken and destroyed city, people lay dead all over the ground. To my right is my family, to my left are my closest friends and associates. This immense feeling of dread and hopelessness is overwhelming. I look down, in my hand is the relic given to me by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him going back to the time of the grounders. The relic starts to glow and the same white light from before erupts from it, encompassing everything like before. The light surrounds me, next thing I know i'm awake and laying in the same bed I sleep in every night, relic hanging around my neck. I think to myself, reflecting on what I just saw, Is this a warning? A flashback of what happened to the grounders? Seeing my city in ruins before my eyes, the dream starts to make sense, I know what I must do. I ordered the rest of my staff and any person I could find along the way to go underground with the rest of them and stay there until it was safe to come out. There weren't many of us left. I head down stairs towards a secret tunnel that leads out of the palace, in case of a situation like this. Based on the report I received from commander Dahlk, right before I told him and the others to head down stairs, I have about 15 minutes before they break through the wall and storm the palace. Just enough time to get into position. I ran the fastest I’ve ever ran in my life, through the old, damp, abandoned tunnel. Eventually after about ten minutes I make my way out of the tunnel, and come out behind an old, abandoned Bakery. As a boy I would always sneak out after dark, through this same tunnel. Running around the city after dark, not a soul in sight. Something about walking around the city at night when no one was around. I remember feeling like I was able to escape my life of royalty, even if it were for only an hour. I felt like a normal person, someone who didn’t have to keep up with his studies, someone who didn’t have to do training exercises everyday before pointless diplomatic meetings between people who would never know what it was like to sympathize with normal people. I remember this place I used to go to when I would sneak out. The top of the memorial for the grounders, right in the heart of the city. It’s the perfect place to lure the demons to, and away from the palace. I make my way to the top of the memorial, with seconds to spare. I sprint up to the edge of the building, looking down I’m about 100 feet up in the air. I inhale, taking the biggest breath I’ve ever taken in my life and scream, HEY, YOU DEMON ASSHOLES. I HAVE THE RELIC. COME GET ME. By the time the last word came out of my mouth, I heard this guttural screech, followed by the sound of a stampede of wild animals, based on the historical videos we watched in school from the time of the grounders. A few seconds later I see the first few demons making their way towards the memorial where I stand. As soon as I see this I look down at the relic in my hand, close my eyes tight for a few seconds. I open them, and the first thing I see is the city my family worked so hard to build over time, the city that gave humanity a second chance at survival. I mutter under my breath, goodbye, friends. It has been an honor to serve you. And I start to chant the phrase my father told me NEVER under any circumstance repeat, unless humanities destruction is imminent, in the ancient language from a time before the grounders ruined the planet, Orbitalis percutiens me locus. As soon as I finish the phrase, this burst of energy erupts out from the relic, and the once ancient piece of history I held in my hand, cracked into tens of pieces. I look up to the sky and see a familiar blindingly bright, white light, which looks to be getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer. I look away because of the sheer brightness, the demons once flooding the street begin to turn to ash and get swept away in the wind. I look up again and the same white light as my dream swallows me. The next thing I know I’m in the same pristine, white hallway as I saw once before. Utterly confused, I make my way down the hallway once again. I reach the door, scared and nervous to see what's behind it, hoping it's not the same as the dream. I turn the knob and open the door. It’s another pristine, white room, with a white chair, and a man who looks to be in his 70’s standing there, cane in hand, He looks distinguished, like someone who knows what to do. I take two steps into the room and he says “Valdour, it’s good to see you made the right choice” What do you mean “right” choice? “In the dream I’ve been showing you, the destroyed city, your city, that would have been your reality if you had used the relic for selfish, greedy reasons, much like the grounders” I’m having a hard time understanding what’s going on. Where am I? “Well, we are inside of the relic, theoretically. For I am the creator of the relic and someone who has the capabilities to bend space and time. I have been waiting a very, very long time for someone to use it. It seems you used it for the right reasons. I created the relic back in the early years of the grounders, seeing how humanity struggled to accept people of the same kind as themselves, abuse the power of deadly weapons. I knew humans would destroy the very essence of their own livelihood one day, so I created this device to give humans a second chance, for one day, if in the face of existence, there was a second chance for whoever held the relic, and those around him or her. I knew there was a chance that whoever had the relic could use it for selfish, evil intentions, so I created two possible outcomes. Both I’ve already shown you, without you knowing it.” What happens now? What happens to my people at home? “Well nothing changes. Life moves on as usual, same as it always has. The beauty of humanity, Valdour, is that humans always overcome, always find a way to rebuild, and come back bigger and stronger than before.” What does that mean?! Please, don’t leave me here. At that moment the figure started to fade away, into nothingness, as if he never existed. “Goodbye Valdour, I’m very tired and would like to finally rest.” And right before he completely faded away, he snapped his fingers and that all too familiar white light surrounds me again. I regain consciousness, opening my eyes to a familiar ceiling as I remember in my bedroom. I look to my right and my wife lay next to me, beautiful as the first day I met her. I sit up in bed, rub my eyes and think to myself, Wow, what a dream. I stand up and head to the bathroom. I approach the sink and turn on the cold water, hoping to shock me awake a bit so I can understand what’s going on. I cup my hands and fill them with cold water, splashing my face right before the water spills out the sides of my hands. I wipe off my face with the towel and look up into the mirror. Normally the relic lay draped across my neck, as a reminder of the power and responsibility I hold. It’s not there. It not being there sends me into this state of overwhelming panic and nervousness. I start to think what if it got into the hands of someone who does not know the power it holds, this is not good. I run into the room and leap into the bed. I immediately shake my wife awake, Kahlia, have you seen the relic?! She looks at me with her normally, big & beautiful, green eyes, but these eyes are the ones of someone who's half asleep still, but more than that, someone who looks utterly confused and puzzled by the question I asked her.


“Lizzy?” The familiar voice that still haunted her in her sleep jabbed into the side of Liz’s face. A ripple of excited tingling tickled her spine as her eyes widened in alarm. The guests she was chatting with looked equally stricken. All eyes turned to the all too familiar voice. “Aden?!” Liz could not believe it. “After all these years..” he mumbled. Something was still not making sense. The realization struck Liz hard; he was a guest at her daughter’s wedding. “But..who..how?” She was not making any sense. “Come on Liz. Get a hold of yourself!” Her friends along with Aden were waiting to see what she had to say. Swallowing, she tried again. “How are you here? I mean, who invited you?” Aden smiled. Liz could not help but cringe at the butterflies in her stomach. Why was she still having all these stupid feelings after nearly thirty years? And, who still looked hot at their age? Apparently, Aden did. One of her answers was revealed; she already knew the reasons behind the other too. “I’m Phil’s uncle.” Now the butterflies turned into butter balls. Liz was convinced she was going to get sick. “Phil..as in the groom ?” She choked. “Yeah. Does that come as a surprise to you?” His amused expression wavered. Why was she being this way? Even back in high school, Liz was always so confident; so sure of herself. Had time really changed her that much? Gulping back tears, Liz whispered, “do you know who the bride is?” Now Aden looked genuinely perplexed. “Um...I don’t know her personally. I’ve heard some about her but-” Liz’s hand flicked into the air halting in a “no need to say more,” gesture. She realized the day she had feared for twenty-six years had finally landed at its destination. Squaring her shoulders, she scratched at a tear sneaking down her cheek. “We need to talk.” With a flourish, she made her way to a private corner in the back of the room aware Aden was at her heels. Laura could not help but notice her mom’s alertness. Every few moments she chewed down on her bottom lip, her eyes darting around the room. Usually, she was so calm; unnerved. “Mom!” Laura’s voice came out a bit louder than she intended-some of the nearby guests shot her quizzical looks. The uneasiness her mother was showing was rubbing off on her. “Mom,” Laura repeated- this time making sure her voice was less jarring. Liz whom all her friends referred to as Lizzy darted her eyes to meet her daughter’s worried ones. “What’s the matter, dear?” Her voice was distant and she broke eye contact only to briskly scan the room once more. “You ok?” Laura placed her hand on Liz’s arm. Jumping with a start, her mother’s attention finally focused on her. “Honey, what’s the matter? You look worried. Are you regretting this decision?” Frustrated Laura let out a sigh. Why was her mother throwing the question back at her? She was obviously hiding something. “I’m fine mom. And no, I do not regret getting married to Phil twenty minutes ago.” Studying her mom’s face, Laura desperately tried to read what was being hidden behind the worried frown. An image she could not place before suddenly hit her. Mascara. Smudged under the eye and streaked down the cheek. As if Liz had been crying before hurriedly trying to wipe the stain off her face with a napkin. “Mom? Were you crying? I can still see smeared mascara on your cheeks so, there is no need in denying it.” Perhaps Laura was being harsh towards her mom. She was a bit stressed out from all the wedding commotion and bridal responsibilities herself. Her mom had always served as the anchor holding everybody grounded and at ease. Her capability in keeping her head in stressful situations had really helped with all the pre-wedding and day of commotion. What could have all of a sudden knocked the confidence out of her? There was definitely something Laura was missing out on and she was not about to let it slide during her wedding. Liz drew in a breath. “Honey, nothing is wrong. It’s just all the excitement and commotion-I mean, what can I say: my baby girl is getting married! It’s a bit overwhelming that’s all. Are you having a good time?” Lies. Digging her manicured nails into her palms, Laura let in a deep breath. What had happened? A little wedding itself could not faze Liz. She had become a single mom at the age of eighteen after having just graduated from high school, was broke at the time with no family to turn to for help, had a newborn baby to feed, and nothing but the high school transcript to show the world. Averting her gaze, Liz began picking at her bracelet; she knew her daughter was not buying the sappy nonsense as much as she knew the truth would be revealed sooner than later. Laura was a stubborn girl, a quality she took after her mother and would investigate further into the secret until she figured it out. Something Liz herself had too always struggled with. Sighing, Liz began “have you ever met Phil’s uncle Aiden?” Frowning Laura shook her head “no. I have heard some about him..I did see his name on the guest list but, I never questioned which family member’s he invited and didn’t. It’s his personal life, not mine.” “Not anymore.” Thought Liz focusing her gaze on the wedding ring sitting daintily on Laura’s finger. Noticing her mom eyeing the ring, Laura bit the inside of her cheek. She was not getting good vibes from the story so far. “Mom. Is there something about this man I should know?” Slowly, Liz lifted her gaze to look at her expectant and naive daughter’s worried face. “He’s your father.” What?!?! An invisible hand grasped Laura’s throat blocking the airway, her heart punching at her chest. She did not know whether to laugh, cry, scream, or even believe her mother for that matter. Remaining silent and noiselessly demanding an explanation was what she settled with. Liz continued. “Remember the story of how you came to be?” Of course, she did. Her mom went crazy while drunk and did not remember who the guy was she smashed with since by the time she woke up in the morning he was long gone. Gasping, Laura realized the “story” she had grown up believing to be true was anything but that. Not having the strength to say anything, she nodded in response. “Well, your father, aka Phil’s uncle, aka my high school sweetheart ended not being a great guy. “He did not?” Laura managed. Suddenly looking as if she were about to cry, Liz bowed her head. “He was a player. Always was. I just never noticed. He was all the girls’ best friend, so flirty; I thought nothing of it at the time...the day after he made me pregnant, I was supposed to go the movies with him. I ended up arriving early only to witness him making out with another girl right by the entrance! I felt so angry I stormed up to the cashier and asked if they had bought a ticket. He shrugged stating that Aiden, your father, was a “usual” always showing up with some other girl. When I had asked him how long this had been happening, he said about four years! I was enraged! And you know what’s the worst of it? That girl he was making out with was my sister.” Before Laura had a chance to fully take the information in, Liz pointed at someone behind her. “That’s him.” she plainly stated.


“Thanks for the lift, Robin. It saved me some trouble” “This is weird-you haven’t taken any time off since I’ve known you. And you’re really going to buy this car? ” “Already bought, now I’m driving it off the lot. Look, take care of things for me. I know you’ll be great. Don’t call me-just do what you think is best. Time to fly.” He waved as the younger man drove off, then walked into Larsen BMW, scratched his name on the line and turned his new 740i into traffic. Fifteen minutes later he stepped through the door of his apartment and called for his best friend. “Boggle!! Come on boy!!!” The flop-eared beagle came promptly, but didn’t run. That would have been out of character. Greetings were exchanged then the packing began. He filled his briefcase with everything he needed, including the papers for his newest treasure. Next he packed everything for his buddy. When it was all ready to go he loaded the car and glanced back one more time. “Looks good.” Three miles outside of town he stopped at Flint’s Fine Tobacco. He spoke with the silver haired man behind the counter, asking for recommendations. He came back to the car with a few things and they were on their way. Boggle the Beagle sat happily in the leather co-pilot’s seat, bobbing his beagle head to Freddie Hubbard and his quintet. The man kept focussed on the road ahead but grinned as his soul dived and rose with each phrase. Three hours later, the poor dog had endured one too many Coltrane solos and barked for a rest. They sat at a picnic stop along old US 35 and ate and drank. The late morning sun refreshed them both. The man pulled a card out of his briefcase and made a brief call, nodding his head at the responses he got. Arrangements made, and back on the road. Through the mountain tunnels of the turnpike, the jazz was replaced with Southern driving music, he thought about the times before and the many things done and seen. A rueful smile crossed his face when he turned to Boggle for sympathy only to find that his friend had gone to sleep. “I guess that means that Molly Hatchet isn’t loud enough. Oh hell, let a sleeping dog lie.” He laughed at his own joke and turned his eyes back to the road. The dognap was deep and peaceful, so the driver pressed his advantage and put several hundred miles on the new engine before it was time to stop again. Some high grade buffalo jerky appeared from the doggy bag and Boggle refreshed himself gratefully. They improvised a game of fetch in the grassy picnic area and then back on the road. They crossed into Virginia when he decided it was time for his treat. He was glad the guy at Flint’s reminded him that the new car would not likely have a lighter; the kitchen match made a satisfying scratch as he lit up the Cohiba. The road was familiar, but he pulled over anyway. He thought his first cigar deserved his full attention. It shocked his throat at first, but soon the aroma consoled him and he drew slowly until it was nearly gone. Boggle the beagle was bothered by the smoke, so they stepped off the shoulder into the grass for a little exercise. He looked across the median at the wildflowers that coursed along the winding highway. Red and yellow and orange and blue. Blue-Kind of Blue-Miles Davis-Miles to go. Back to the car-back on the road. The sky was graying when they pulled into the coastal town that was their destination. He deployed bowls of food and water for his best friend when they unpacked at the motel several blocks from the beach. He showered, and dressed, then said, “Listen boy, I’m going out for awhile now. I’ll put the TV on for you-see, Ice Road Truckers, your favorite. Be good and I will see you soon!!” He checked the address on the card and figured he would make it with a few minutes to spare. She was waiting for him as arranged. A hand on each shoulder and a kiss on the cheek was all the greeting they needed. Drinks and dinner came; they chatted softly, laughing now and then. He rebooted old stories and she answered with the replies he both expected and enjoyed. Other guests came and went, but they stayed on. When the savvy old bartender at last blinked the lights, he sighed and asked if she was all right to drive. She blinked, not having expected to hear that. “But, don’t you want to-?” His eyes gleamed as he replied, “No, this was much, much better.” He pulled the envelope from his jacket and handed it to her. “I had a lovely evening. Thank you Angela.” Their farewell was identical to their greeting. Back at the room, he sat at the desk and wrote on the scratch pad provided. Boggle watched the TV, but snuggled deeper into the quilt knowing his friend was back. He muted the TV and continued writing to the sound of Trane’s Equinox. He wanted a nap afterward, but it suddenly felt like it was the wrong time. “Come on Boggle beagle-just a small trip this time.” They drove down until he found the entrance to the beach and he turned off the lights and eased the BMN down the deserted stretch. He parked facing the waves, and brought his dog near. Back to the music, the last thing he heard was Herbie-Maiden Voyage. “Ok Sarge-what’s up?” The young patrol officer looked up-”We found it about thirty minutes ago-still running. Can’t wake the guy or the dog-thought we’d better call you.” Detective Michael Steen snorted. “How they hell did nobody notice he was here until now-don’t you patrol through here every two hours?” He got no answer. “Hey Andy, hurry up and pop this thing!!” Detective Andy Rosewood was already on it. He reached over and felt for a pulse. “Nah Mike, he’s gone. Shit.” Boggle the beagle woke just then and looked at his best friend, then began to whimper. Steen barked at the sergeant, “Somebody get this dog out of the way, but not far away-he might have evidence.” Andy switched off the motor. “Temp tags on the vehicle-this thing is shiny new. “ He asked the patrol officer, who had the dog on a leash, to call it in. Steen looked in the back seat and saw the briefcase. He went for his pocket knife to spring it, but Andy stopped him. “Don’t bother-look!” The folded piece of scratch paper stuck out of Wyatt’s shirt pocket. Steen read the barely legible scrawl out loud List-forgot the bucket Drive a luxury car-check Smoke a Cuban cigar-double check Spend the night with a beautiful stranger-Close but no cigar ha ha! End my life where and how I chose-check To whom it may concern-you will find all the particulars in the briefcase. The code is 1314. Please call my cousin Jenny at 919-867-5309. Yeah-really! She lives in Lumberton-she will take care of my buddy Boggle. Burton and Ayers here in town has been contracted for the arrangements. Malignant melanoma mastered me at last. Time to fly. Wyatt Ehrmann Steen chuckled in relief-”Well, thank God it ain’t a murder, anyway.” Andy, you and the uniform go ahead.” He took the leash and looked quietly at the dog. Then he saw it before he felt or heard it. The sand began to darken as the sky, haltingly at first, then more urgently, began to empty on the car, the cops, and the canine. “Let’s go find Cousin Jenny, boy, come on!”


The teacher's lounge had a lot of scars on the wall. It served many functions. It was a sanctuary, a stress reliever, a boxing ring, and even a bunker. There was a gun threat one year, and the entire support staff locked themselves in the teacher's lounge. The walls were painted a pale white that had begun to peel. There was an old leather sofa, a microwave, and a round table in the middle with three chairs, two of which rocked side to side because the legs were uneven. In front of the sofa was a coffee table with coffee cup ring stains, and across from the sofa was a makeshift stand with an old TV with rabbit ears. The teacher's lounge even had its smell, clean over old. The cleaning crew cleaned it every day, but you could still smell the old leather from the couch, burnt popcorn, the smell of burnt coffee from being left on the burner, and the smell from the rug beneath the coffee table. "Why do we do this, Harry?" Said Jessica, the sixth-grade English teacher of five years. She just walked into the lounge and flopped onto the old leather couch peeling at the armrest with cracks on the seat cushions that made it look like a relief map of the Rockies. "Well, Jessica, I don't know about you, but I do it because I want to make a difference." Jessica was in her late twenties; she wore her long blond hair in a ponytail, and her glasses made her look like an old-fashioned librarian. Despite the button-up look, you could tell she was an attractive lady. "Harry, Harry, Harry, you know as well as I do that we aren't making a difference. Test scores are down, many of these kids suffer from attention disorders, and all they want to do is play games. How the hell can I make a difference with that?" Harry, a black man in his early forties, had nothing special about his physique. His readers sat low on his nose, so he always looked over the frames when talking with somebody. He had a folded piece of newspaper in his hands because he loved doing the crossword puzzle. Jessica reminded him of when he started teaching. Fresh out of college, he was ready to take on the world, and soon after, the reality that hit Jessica smacked him in the face. He sat on the other end of the worn couch with his neat and clean blue cardigan, looked into her defeated eyes, and said. "Never give up! Sometimes I wanted to call it quits, but I hung in there and am glad I did." Harry taught fifth and sixth-grade science and was recognized as one of the best teachers in the state. He had a unique way of using a hands-on approach that always engaged his students. Jessica removed her glasses and sat them on the table atop a teacher's joke etched into the wood. Why were the teacher's eyes crossed? Because she couldn't control her pupils! That joke had been there for years. "Harry, I'm trying, but today, I caught two kids cheating on their test, and I gave them both an F. Do you know what they said to me? I was an incompetent teacher who did not know what I was doing. One kid said he would bring his parent up to the school, who, by the way, works at the governor's office. How do you deal with that?" Jessica began to cry. "I wanted to slap that kid!" Harry said, "Fifty years ago, you could get away with that. My dad said in some schools, that actually happened. It is a different time now. We must watch what we do and say to kids these days. You know, cheating has been around even back then, so even though the children have changed, their bad habits have not. We must learn how to adapt to the kids." "How do I do that, Harry?" "By keeping them engaged, challenging them against each other and you. Make it fun, don't be afraid to be yourself, and have fun; the most important thing you can do is find the one. There is always that one student or two that accepts your challenges. That student is usually confident and wants to impress you and the other students. That student will buy into your plan, and the others will soon follow. Jessica wiped the tears from her eyes and started to feel better about herself. Harry was right; she could do this because she was a determined teacher who wanted to make a difference. "Thanks, Harry; I feel much better now. I guess I just needed someone to talk to." "Anytime, Jessica, I am always available to you." Jessica left the room, and five minutes later, in came Felicia Jones. "I hate this place!" She said. "Whoa, Whoa," Harry raised his paper as if it were a glove used to catch her words, "those are powerful words, you know. Having a bad day?" "Yeah, a couple of my kids threw a ball around the room every time I turned to write on the chalkboard. Their game was to see who got caught first. I made the kid I caught tell me all who were involved, and I sent all three down to the principal's office." Their parents had to come and pick them up, and one parent confronted me about it like it was my fault. It's hard enough dealing with these kids, Harry; now we have to deal with their parents too. I'm not cut out for this!" Felicia turned and sat on the old couch and began to cry. Harry could tell she was upset because her hands were shaking. "I can't do this anymore, Harry. I came into this profession to teach, not babysit, and now when you discipline one of them, you have to answer to their parents; it's not fair!" Felicia was a tall black lady with short hair cut to perfection. At age thirty, she had been teaching for seven years. She wore very little makeup because her natural beauty stood out; you could tell she cared for herself. She went to the gym thrice a week, always ate healthily, and looked like she had just graduated from college. "Felicia, you know this job is a lot more than teaching. It has always been that way. I remember when I had a student living on the streets with his mom, and I went to find adequate housing for them and got her a job with the school. That was more than teaching because the boy on the street was a promising student who went on to college and is now head of engineering with a large company. This is why we do it, Felicia." "I know, Harry; I just needed someone to talk to. "Thank you for listening." Felicia rose from the couch and left the room feeling much better. Yes, the Teacher's Lounge was many things, but it was mostly known for free therapy sessions by the professor, Dr. Harry Porter. Harry was considered an unsung hero by many because, for the last 12 years, he has been saving teachers' careers right there in his office, the old, dingy, smelly teacher's lounge.


It was a quiet afternoon in early October; the forecast called for rain, but there was only the occasional wayward cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. I sat and listened to summer’s dying breath whispering through the trees, lightly splashed with red and orange at the tips. Aside from the clicking of a leaf skipping down the sidewalk on a cool breeze, it was quiet. I noticed thin strings of smoke twisting and whipping from the top of my hookah, and it reminded me of...well, nothing. I wasn’t thinking, just noticing. No thoughts of love and loss, no life and death, no yesterdays and tomorrows, just silent awareness of the here and now. I sip my tea and smile, treasuring these rare few moments where I can take the time to recognize life happening around me, not to me. It’s a sort of stillness that feels like it’s deep within the soul, not resonating, but just calmly sitting. No fidgeting, no impulsive need to check my phone, just...there. It brings on a sense of true appreciation for the world around you, and I guess you could say that’s valuable in times like these, where uncertainty and chaos loom on the horizon. Stepping away from the constant screeching of shock value and sensationalism is almost like stepping into another world - a world where the wind blows through your hair, your lungs fill with the smell of grass and leaves, and you just feel whole. I stop thinking of myself, of my worries and anxieties, of couldas and wouldas and shouldas. It’s like they just don’t exist out here on the porch, like I’m on the other side of life in this faded and chipped Adirondack chair, looking at it through a clear pane of glass. The smokescreens and sleight-of-hand that televisions and the internet throw don’t apply here, it’s just the wind, the trees, and the buzzing of cicadas calling out for one last hoorah before their time is up. I find myself admiring the stoic wisdom of the trees as I watch their branches sway gently in the breeze. Occasionally a leaf will flip and tumble gently toward the ground, but it isn’t thrown or dropped. It’s as if the tree just opens it’s hand and lets the leaf go where it may without a thought for where and how, unconcerned with the loss of it’s companion, maybe just quietly appreciative of the time they spent together. There’s a metaphor there somewhere, something noble and graceful about how we approach life, or at least how we should. I couldn’t be bothered to think too deeply on it though. Maybe it will come to me eventually, maybe I already know, maybe it’s nothing at all; for now, I’ll just sip my tea and admire.


Edit: Ok, sorry about the wall of text. I have pretty much no clue on how to format on reddit. Sorry. I'd grown sick and tired of explaining frank to every teacher in her school when she walked in with him. Every trimester it was the same "What in the world is that?" "I don't think you're allowed to have that in school." So, that's why I have Frank explain it instead. So, the situation is the same, first day of school, and I need to have Frank explain himself to the teachers. "You see, sir, Anna's father is a very busy man. A very rich and powerful man. He doesn't have time to care for something like a child, so that's why he made me. I am a T-7390. A personal care bot. I ensure Anna is safe from harm." Mr. Sampson looked at the floor, thinking. "Hmm... Well, is this even within school protocols? What does the handbook say about this?" "Mr. Sampson." Frank said. "Do you truly believe there would be any rules about robots in your handbook?" "Perhaps there would be a-" "I ensure you, there is not." Frank interrupted. "I have repeated scanned your handbook. There are no rules against me. If you wish to take it up with the principle, you may. However I do not... Recommend it." Mr. Sampson sighed. "Very well, you may stay." I walked over to my seat and plopped down in it. Frank always positioned himself in the corner of the room and scanned it. "Ever vigilant." He always said. "You never know, a school shooter, a plastic explosive, hell, even wild animals could find it's way into this room." Class was boring as usual. Nothing changes from 10th to 11th grade. I was pretty popular I suppose for the girl who had a robot servant. I'd get invited to more parties than others do. The senior parties. Normally, I'd be afraid of going to them, but with Frank, he's always kept me safe from harm at them. He told me of one time he had to beat a boy to near death because he wouldn't take his hands off of me. I'm far too drunk to remember most of it though. I suppose I was a bit spoiled. Going out, getting drunk, never having to face the consequences. Having a deadly robot by your side just makes everything so easy. Did I mention he has several deadly weapons hidden in his arms and chest? He's also proficient in handling heavy weapons. Anyway, that's all in the past. Now I find myself in a sticky situation. The world has recently ended, and I've sort of... Lost Frank. I've never felt so... Unprotected and naked without him. I need to find him now, but that means I need to leave the rubble of my home. I suppose it's time to take a step out of my house then. Walking out into the bright open world was strange. At first I couldn't see, then I noticed how dry it was. When I looked around, it was devastating. My entire neighborhood destroyed. Who knows who could be lurking around here. Bandits, rapists, wild animals, murders! I suppose I'll need to walk around to find Frank then. I began slowly walking down the street, taking in the destruction around me. It was just such a shock. I look in the distance, and I see someone. I wasn't sure if I should approach them, or keep my distance. I figured it might be worth a shot to try and say hi, I mean, I'm going to need friends to survive out here without Frank, and if it happens to be a psycho rapist murderer, I figure I'm in shape enough to outrun them. "Hey! Over here! Don't shoot!" I yelled, waving to them. They turned around and saw me, then waved back. "Well hello there, what's your name?" He said, smiling. He seemed friendly enough, so I told him. "I'm Anna. Uh, have you seen anyone else out here?" "No, I haven't. You're the first person I've seen. Might I say, you're rather pretty. How old'r you?" Now I was kind of creeped out, so I started backing up a little. "I-I'm 19 sir." Before I got too far away, he reached out and grabbed me by the arm. "Where do you think you're going? What are you running from?" Now I was panicking. I had never gotten into a situation like this where Frank couldn't save me. I started to jerk and resist. "Let go of me! Help! Someone help me!" He pulled me in close and leaned in to kiss me on the lips. I tried to jerk away, but I couldn't. Suddenly, I heard a loud pop, and something warm was dripping down my cheek. I opened my eyes, and the man collapsed on the ground. He had a bullet shot the the head. I looked around in panic, and then I saw a man reveal himself from a nearby alleyway with a rifle. He waved. "Are you okay there young lady?" I looked down at myself, then back at him. "Yeah, I think so. Thank you." "It was nothing really, I heard the commotion, then quickly ran over to see this man who was clearly trying to rape you. What do you think you're doing out here by yourself?" "Well..." I said, looking at the ground. "I usually travel with my robot. Frank. But, I sort of lost him..." "Well, you're in safe hands. I know a safe place near here. The military set it up after the bombs dropped." "O-ok..." I said, nervously. How did I know I could trust him? Well, I didn't. But it was the best bet I had, and considering he just saved me, I was probably safer with him than alone. So, I followed him. We talked about our lives before the bombs dropped. I told him about my robot Frank and how he'd been with me my whole life. He told me his name was Ed. He seemed pretty likable. He led me into this fenced in parking lot. It looked like a safe house from the outside, however, when I got in, the gate slammed shut, and someone grabbed me from behind. "Agh! What are you doing!? Let go of me! Help me! Ed, help me!" I yelled. Ed slowly turned around, and gave me a menacing smile. "Anna, Anna, Anna. First, you stupidly try to talk to a stranger in these times, that man could have been anyone. Then, you decide to follow a stranger to a fenced in parking lot. Your dependency on that robot truly shows." He said, pacing back and forth. I struggled to free myself before they dragged me over to a table and tied me down. "Wha-What're you going to do to me? Please don't hurt me." Ed sharpened a knife on a sharpening stone. "You get the honor of being our cults last... Sacrifice. We have almost completed the ritual." I tried to free myself from the bindings, but all I did was tip the table over. "Well, look at what you have done." Ed said, "You can stay like that until it's time for the sacrifice." I continued to try and free myself, but to no avail. Then, someone flipped the table right side up. Ed was looking down on me. "Brothers. We have gathered here to summon our lord the Deep One. He has never been seen before by mortal eyes. We are the chosen ones. We are his children. Now, brothers, let the ceremony commence. We shall drink the blood of the non-chosen ones!" He said, slowly lowering the blade to slit my wrists. Suddenly, machine gun fire was heard in the distance, and Ed went flying back. I looked, and I saw him. It was Frank! He stood on top of the fence with a heavy machine gun in his hands. Ed groaned on the ground. "Kill him... Kill him! The ceremony must be... Complete." The other men around me drew weapons. Handguns, rifles, sub-machine guns. Frank began peppering them with machine gun fire. A few of them were hit, diving to cover, while others continued to stand and fire. Frank jumped down off the fence and began going to town, firing an entire magazine into them, and the cover they cowered behind. He dropped the gun, and opened his wrist rocket, firing it into the cover that the last four men crouched behind. "Frank! Oh my god Frank!" I yelled to him. "Anna!?" He yelled, quickly walking over. "Anna, I- I thought you had died. I thought I had failed my mission..." "If course not silly. Let's go. Cut me free." Frank cut me loose, and I stood up stretching. "Alright, let's go, it feels like it's been ages." Frank looked at the ground. "Anna... When your house was destroyed, so was my comm center..." "Yeah, so what?" I asked. "So... I'm going to go haywire eventually. I have very little control over myself..." I gave him a funny look. He explained that the communication tower was what mainly controlled him. It was what kept him from going all out and just killing everyone. He said eventually he would go completely haywire and left to be a robot that simply killed anything that moved. "I... I understand..." I said sadly. Frank extended a handgun to me. "Please, take this. Keep yourself safe. Now, you better get out of here, before any raiders or bandits come by. Good luck." I ran off crying. I've never seen him since. Sometimes I still feel like he's watching over me, but I know it's just an illusion.


Written by M. Cosper The man turned off his car and sat silently. He stared out the front of his small car not looking at anything. Not thinking about anything. He had sat in this same parking spot many times. Something about having a moment of nothingness to himself before work helped. Before bosses and customers would interrupt the silence he so enjoyed. He cleared his throat, got out of his car, and went to work. The man did not have a very impressive job, he was a janitor of sorts. Mostly cleaning bathrooms and sweeping the floor of the department store. He would occasionally help load furniture in a customer’s van. He loved doing that the most because it meant he could be outside the building for a few minutes. Today was no different from the rest. He started out by sweeping the entire store floor with an old, gross floor duster. He went up and down every aisle and alley. He would always say “pardon me” as he passed customers. Most would never acknowledge him. After the floors, he would move on to the bathrooms. He came in later in the afternoons to start so the bathrooms had already appeared as if apes had been using it all day, which is not far from the truth. He wiped every sink and toilet till he could see is the emotionless face staring back at him. As he was mopping the floor, he saw it. The spot. A spot that had been there since he was hired. His bosses would always point it out, for awhile he would say “I’ll get to it soon”. After a while, he would just say “Oh yeah, that thing”. He rubbed his mop over it. Nothing changed. The man tried again. Nothing. The man rolled his eyes, put the mop back in its bucket and when about the rest of his cleaning. The man finished the rest of his duties, mostly to the bare minimum he could get away with. He walked to his car, the mist in the air felt like little fangs of ice in the cold. As he drove home, he did not put on music. Just silence. He drove the entire way like this until he reached his house. It was a small little house; his wife had made it into a fine home though. He came into the home and saw his wife making dinner. “Hey honey, how was work today?” She asked gently. “Fine I guess, you?” he said loudly from the bedroom where he was changing clothes. “It was busy, had more patients than I think we have ever had... Food will be done shortly babe” The man did not respond. After he changed, he went into the kitchen to help finish the food and make his plate. “Oh, go sit down, I got it.” His wife said playfully. He obeyed, and went to sit on the couch, while he waited, he started looking for a show for them to watch. They did this most nights. Eat, watch some tv, talk for a bit, go to bed, repeat after work the next day. He was fine with this arrangement. After all, he was too tired from work to ever feel like going out. After their meal and cleaning up, he went and sat at his laptop. He opened it up to see the screen exactly where he left it. A white, blank, empty page with the courser blinking at him. He stared at it for thirty minutes, then played on his phone. After about an hour he and his wife went to bed to sleep. Well, she was sleeping, the man was just staring up at the ceiling, not looking at anything. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed. This went on for what felt like years until he finally fell asleep. The next day went the same as the last. Sweeping up and down the aisle and alleys of the store. He could hear customers chatting or arguing with a manager about if an item is or isn’t on sale. He went to the bathrooms wiped the mirrors of their grease and muck. Then began mopping again. There it was still, that spot. The big ugly spot that looks as if someone crapped on the floor and left it there for days without a soul noticing it. The man barely even brushed over it with his mop. He drove home in silence, again. He did the same routine he always did and after dinner, he found himself at his laptop. It must have weighed a hundred pounds because it took the man minutes to lift the screen. Once he did, he was met by the same white screen, same blinking courser, like it was laughing at him with every blink. The man’s eyes were out of focus as he stared at the screen. His wife's hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. “Can’t think of anything?” She questioned. “I have plenty of ideas... I just am not good at writing them down.” He said scoffing at himself. “How do you know that?” “Because I would already have a book written by now.” “But you haven’t even written anything. How can you get better at writing your ideas down if you don’t practice?” She said softly. The man paused briefly, “I have about five different ideas, I have the first page written and that’s it. Once I get to that point I don’t know where to go. All the great ideas I have fled from my mind and I am left with nothing but a bunch of dribbling words on a paper than mean nothing to anyone but myself!” The man’s face turned a fiery red, “Who would want to read my pointless garbage anyways? I barely want to read the first page myself.” The man slammed his laptop shut and sat there. Not looking at anything. His wife put her arms around him, he turned his so she couldn’t see his eyes tearing up. “You know what the hardest part about going to work is? Leaving the house, once you start something all you need do is see it through. Getting started and leaving your comfortable place can be the biggest hurdle.” She kissed him on the cheek, and they both went to sleep. The next day the man went into work. Before he could even clock in his boss stopped him. “Hey, are you ever going to get that spot in the men’s bathroom cleaned? It looks terrible.” The man stopped, looked at his boss and said, “I’ll clean it... today.” He went about his usual business sweeping and wiping things down. Finally, he got to the bathroom. He began to mop the greasy floors, he saw it. He stared at it for minutes. That damn spot, laughing at him. He looked right at the spot. Then he walked away. He went to the cleaning closet and got every floor cleaning chemical he could find. Most of the bottles had mountains of dust on them. The man grabbed gloves and a rough brush. He poured one after the other onto to spot. Probably not the safest way to do it but he did not care. He got on his hands and knees and began scrubbing. He scrubbed until the tile started to chip and he could see the foundation of the building. Twenty-five minutes later and he stood up, wiped the sweat from his brow and stared at the floor. Not looking at anything. The spot was gone. The man finished the workday with a big grin on his face. He went beyond his duties on every task he was given. On the way home he turned the music in his car as loud as his ears could stand it! He swerved into the driveway of his house fast, almost to a screeching stop! He walked inside with confidence he had not had in years. His wife wasn’t home yet, so he cooked her dinner and placed it in the microwave for when she came home. The man could not stop smiling. After he finished making his wife’s dinner he sat at his desk. He stared at his laptop for just a moment. Then he flipped open the screen so fast it almost broke off! He stared at the white screen. The saw the courser blinking... He closed his eyes. He did not think about a thing. Then he opened them and began to type.


“I didn’t do it because I didn’t love him. I mean, I didn’t love him, but that’s not why I did what I did. I did what I did because, well - actually, let me go back a bit. So, it was the year two-thousand-and-nineteen when it happened. See, I left my fiancé at my wedding. I know it seems like some cliché, corny movie, but it’s true. What happened is, as my dad walked me down the aisle, he whispered to me, “I’ll never stop loving you, my girl, but I’ll have something now that I’ve never had before: a court family.” See, both my parents worked in court. My older brother, Juan, was a bailiff. My older sister, Sierra (who is slightly younger than Juan) was currently in law-school, studying to become a lawyer. And, the guy I was going to marry, Gabriel, was an attorney. And, everyone always thought I would be a lawyer, too. I can’t recall actually saying that that’s what I wanted to do with my life, but I guess it was kind of assumed, the rest of my family working in court. And I have absolutely nothing against people who work in court. I don’t think anything negatively about the profession. The thing is that I just never saw myself doing that. I don’t know, that’s just how I saw it. “Gabriel was someone from my sister’s university, actually. Gabriel and Sierra were close friends and he came to her birthday party back home. He and I, well, I guess we sorta just clicked then. I made sure with Sierra that they had a strictly friendship-py relationship, before I interfered. And, as I suspected, she said that they were just friends. Gabriel took me on a few dates, and then, two years later, we got engaged. We started going out when I was in high school, then, the night I graduated, he took me to a basketball match, and I got proposed to on the big screen. It was so exciting. And the thing is, I always thought I loved him. I really did. But then, my father held my hand so tightly and I just felt like I was crossing to the other side...and I didn’t want to. So then, as I was standing there, facing him, running through all my thoughts, I felt unsure. When the pastor said the words, “Andrea Camila Lòpez, do you take thee Gabriel Coleman to be your lawfully wedded husband until death do you part?”, I finally heard him for the first time in his speech. And all I could think was ‘I can’t.’ So that’s what I said. There was a rumble of gasps going through the crowd of people, dramatizing those two words. ‘ I can’t .’ And suddenly, I panicked, unsure what to do but then all of a sudden, I felt my feet lifting and my legs moving, and so I went with them. I ran and ran, kicking my heels of in the process to get away faster. I jerked of my veil and felt my hair, which was initially braided onto my head, fall to my shoulders. While I was running I knew people were getting up out of their seats, attempting to stop me, but I was stopping for no one. It was the craziest day of my life. Easily. And to this day I still can’t think why I ran out. I know I did, and I know I didn’t want to marry Gabriel, but the running part came naturally. It seems so dramatic, right? But to me it didn’t feel like that. And I know I wasn’t just running away from Gabriel, - who did certainly not wrong me but I him - I was running away from the life that was assigned to me. The life given to me without any choice of my own. I was very embarrassed by what I did. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt sorry for Gabriel, who must’ve been even more embarrassed, me having run out on him. That night after I had talked to family over and over about the whole story, they asked me, “What do you want to do with your life?” I was afraid to answer, to be entirely honest. I may not have believed myself if I heard myself say it. “I -I,” I stuttered. But when I finally said it, I knew it felt right. “I want to clean.” “That must have been a weird sentence to hear. I might have sounded just about insane. ‘ And why is that ?’ I asked myself. And I think the answer would be that nobody wanted the job of cleaning if they could help it. Children with strict parents are given chores to do at home. Adults clean streets and buildings because they need the money. But it’s no one’s first choice. And then I thought, ‘ What if it was? What if someone chose to have a job that people only have because they can’t afford better?’ I used to, and still do, look at the earth as a beautiful place that humans are blessed with. Our world is natural, green, alive...but it was dying. The industrial revolution was a good thing for many, but not for Mother Nature. All these changes that the world had to go through...bad changes. And littering isn’t helping this conundrum. So I thought that by starting with cleaning, we could save the earth, little by little. So, that’s what I decided to do. I’ve always wanted to do something, not specifically cleaning, but something to save our planet. Lucky for me, I came from a family with money. So I didn’t need to work for payment, and worry about buying for myself. Once my family understood my idea, they were very supportive. Even Gabriel. After a few weeks, I forced myself to see him again. Although he was definitely humiliated, he also said that he realized that we weren’t meant for one another. We grew to be friends again, after time healed the wounds, and he supported me like a sister. I was actually alright with finding my own money, caring for myself but my family always went the extra mile when I needed it. I decided not to go to college, at least for the time being, so that I could work on what I wanted to do. My family bought plane tickets for me to travel to places where it’s especially grimy. And though I didn’t like the physical work, I grew to love it. I loved my broom which fitted so perfectly in my hand. I carved little pictures in my water buckets. I made my job mine. And it really wasn’t the labour that I cared for. It was the after picture. Each month I would tackle a little village. I would help educate the people of the village I cleaned and soon, they started to help me, too. Then, after I finished my work, I’d make sure the people who lived there knew how to maintain the clean state. Slowly, I grew a team. People from villages I cleaned started to follow me, and came with me when I traveled. After two years I already had a team of more than five-hundred members. People also started tipping us, and we decided to build headquarters around the world, for us to stay in when we visited a specific place. And to this day, I have never regretted my decision. At first it seemed hopeless and tiring, and even needless, but my family motived me and I was encouraged to go further. Gabriel traveled with me the first couple of times to help me, and then, when I got onto my feet, he left again to continue his job. For me, the best part was to see the end picture. The picture of a cleaner world, green and alive, as it should be. I always made sure that I left a village in satisfaction. I knew I was satisfied when this warm sensation started to grow inside my chest, a feeling of pleasure and accomplishment after long hours of work. I loved that feeling dearly. And I hope that others felt it, too. After years of working on this, I realized that I wasn’t going to study anymore. But I didn’t care. I did something I loved so much and going to university would never be able to replace that. And I didn’t think I was ever going to benefit from it, because I wanted to continue what I was doing. I didn’t want to stop cleaning. There was something else I liked about my job, and I do think it is rather obvious. Traveling was such an amazing thing that I was blessed with. I was able to visit more than a hundred different countries in a matter of years. I’ve been to countless cities and villages, and I could learn a lot from all the different cultures. I even learned a little French, Spanish and Zulu, and I can say ‘hello’ in over twenty languages! What I’ve been able to do has really been a blessing. I don’t think I would’ve ever done it if I hadn’t made the decision of cleaning in my early life. I even met my present husband on one of my travels to Austria. Now we have three beautiful children (who have children of their own now) that I could not love more! “Like I’ve said before, I have never ever regretted my decision in any point of my life. It’s the year two-thousand-and-seventy-eight, and I could not be more proud of the earth’s evolution. I miss the times of my travels but now I am able to just rest on our stunning planet. The earth, even though very much urbanized, is very green again. I rarely spot someone litter or do anything negative to this earth. And climate change isn’t as much of a problem anymore. The ozone layer is on its way to repair itself, and modern-day scientists predict that if we keep going on like this it will be entirely mended in a matter of a few decades. Rising temperatures and inconsistent precipitation seldom occur now. People who live on small islands don’t have to worry about their homes disappearing into the sea now. So, my message to you is, whoever and whenever you are, keep cleaning. The world is in a pretty good state right now so I suggest you keep it like that. In case of any similar troubles, just do what we did. Clean. I’m leaving this message to the ones in trouble. You won’t find me in any other interviews, so this is what you need to listen to. Please. And with that, I hope you got my message. Keep the world beautiful and pure, you future generations, this message is for you. I’m Andrea Camila Steyner. Stay safe, and keep clean.” “There, all ready to go,” Amelie smiles, closing the camera. Amelie is Andrea’s granddaughter, who knows more about the modern technology they have today. “Is it off?” Andrea made sure, unable to tell that the absence of the red light indicates that the camera is no longer filming. “Yes, Oma,” the young girl reassures. Andrea beams at her. She is too beautiful. “Oma, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question,” Amelie confesses. “Sure, my child, what is it?” Andrea watches as her granddaughter fiddles with her hands. “Well, at the end of the month I’m graduating school, and well I was wondering if, well, I should skip latter-education , or ‘university’ as you call it, like you did...?” Andrea takes a seat next to Amelia, who is still distracted with her nails. “Well, my child, it depends what you want to do with your life, what do you?” the lady asks. “I...I want to change the world, like you did,” answers Amelie. “Then change it,” replies her grandmother. “But how?” Amelie wonders aloud. Andrea puts her hand on her descendant’s lap. “Well, to change the world you need to identify a problem. What is the world struggling with right now?” Amelie thinks for a second. “Uneducated children? I don’t know-,” she suggests, but her grandma interrupts. “Yes, my child, yes! You do know! You have, since a young age, been given the gift of sharing knowledge, helping others. Why don’t you do that, change the world that way?” Amelie takes a second to respond, then says, “As in, teaching those in poverty?” Amelie’s grandma lifts her shoulders and nods, “If you find pleasure in that. But if not, there are many ways to change the world.”


TW: death and suicide near the end, though they aren't a focus of the story Lee spent all afternoon every day charting the woods behind her school. She practically had a map of the entire twelve square miles in her head at all times, and when she wasn’t physically there, she was mentally retracing her steps. So you can understand why she was surprised by the sudden appearance of a large pond in the woods. She went over the area at least a dozen times before fully committing to the idea that this pond was not there yesterday. Where did it come from? Either way, its clean, transparent water was very alluring. She would’ve already jumped in, had it not been for the fact that she couldn’t see the bottom. A pond of this size and transparency should not be that deep, yet it was. It’s not like it got deeper towards the center, either. No; it became infinitely deep all the way up to its borders. Lee grabbed a rock and tossed it as close to the center as she could. She watched pockets of air slip away from its underside as it sank. It became darker and darker until, finally, it was gone. Then, more bubbles rose from the same spot. And more, and more, until finally, a stream of water was shooting from the pond like a fountain. Lee stared, unsure whether to be frightened or intrigued. The glistening beads of water began to change color. It was slow at first; hints of deep blues transitioning into soft greens and turquoise. Then purples, and pinks, and eventually a glittering golden stream was on full display right before her. It beckoned to Lee. There was no more school, no more home, no more woods around her. It was just her, and the fountain. She stepped forward onto the surface of the water. She didn’t sink, though that did not concern her. Her footsteps sent rhythmic ripples to the edges of her now small world. She reached toward the stream and let the golden beads pass between her fingers. Lee felt herself become heavier, and the once impenetrable surface began to give way. Blinking quickly in an attempt to wake herself from this dream-like state, she realized where exactly she was. Though, it was too late. As if she had suddenly been attached to an anchor, she sank deep and quick. What felt like several soft blades of grass tickled Lee awake. She thrashed around, scaring away what were actually hundreds of jelly bean sized creatures. Their tiny feet plopped along the ground as they scurried frantically. Her laughter attracted the attention of a large, bug-eyed fellow. His body was made up of colorful, round segments. She couldn’t imagine how he kept himself from falling apart. Still, despite his alien appearance, he did not give off an ounce of ill-intent. Lee was more curious than scared. “Oi’ las, what’re ya doing so close to da water? There’s no swimming ‘ere.” She looked around, realizing that the pond was the only thing that looked at all familiar. She was no longer in the middle of the woods, but rather some kind of industrial zone. Pink plumes of smoke rose from the top of giant spiraling structures. Everything looked as if it were made out of candy; much too bright for her taste. “Olright girl,” the creature seemed annoyed now, “if yer stayin silent, at least come back to the post wit meh.” A small, wooden shack stuck out of the ground just a few meters behind him. His segments began to topple over each other as they moved toward the shack. Somehow, his head glided along them, so as to always stay on top. It was pretty enjoyable to watch, Lee thought. She brushed the dirt and any bugs that remained off of her vest. “What’s your name?” “Ah, she does speak. I’m Mush, and wer goin tah meet One. You?” “Lee.” She smiled at Mush. The shack was only about a quarter the size of the pond, and barely taller than Mush, yet it was massive on the inside. Pulleys were dragging other odd-shaped beings between several stories, and each story had a team of workers; the clacking of old mechanical keyboards echoed from every direction. Mush stopped by one of the dozens of desks, leaving Lee to awkwardly stand behind him. “Yo, one-thousand-four-hundred-eighty-seven. You know wer boss man’s at?” His metallic arms stopped flailing on the keyboard. “Yea.” He peered over his glassless glasses to glance at Lee. She shivered. “Floor forty-seven,” he sighed, before continuing his sporadic flailing. “Uh, thanks,” he leaned over to Lee, “Odd fellow, that one-thousand-four-hundred-eighty-seven is.” Lee struggled to squeeze into the lift beside Mush. It didn’t help that its thin frame was loosely dangling above the ground. “So, is everyone here named after a number besides you?” She asked. “Pretty much. Oim a hired contracta, s’posed to pick up da trash and what-not ‘round teh post. Guess that makes you da trash. Or maybe teh what-not.” Lee took it as a joke, though Mush’s expression left it a mystery. “Anyweh,” he looked up and yelled, “Eighteenth!” A strange beast on the very top level nodded at the pair. As his nodding shook the lift, Lee realized that the rope holding the lift was inside of its mouth. It began slurping the rope, slowly at first, but it soon picked up the pace. By the time the lift had reached the forty-seventh floor, Lee was on the ground holding back her lunch; Mush was fine. “Right tis weh, little one.” There were no other desks on this floor. Instead, the beings here were all wearing what appeared to be hardhats. They all mumbled variations of “oh,” “uh huh,” and, “wow,” while staring at a specific wall on the other side of the room. “Oiii, One. Look what I found!” A strange tube with a pointed head slithered over to mush. When it reached them, the head popped open like a dandelion in bloom, revealing a face within. Its grin was unbearable. “Ahh, Mush. You’ve brought me a human! Thanks so much!” it hissed. “Ahh, so tis is wut dey look like. Didn’chu say you already have one? Why don’t we just throw ‘er back in da pond, save teh trouble?” Mush rolled just slightly between Lee and One. It was clear to Lee that he wanted to protect her, though her trust in this world was beginning to diminish. For a second, One’s grin flashed with malice. He quickly composed himself. “Well, yes, Mush. BUT, these humans are exotic creatures. You see, from what I’ve read, it takes two to make more of them. Besides, this one seems much more... aware than mine. It might actually be able to hold a conversation.” The tube extruding behind One’s head writhed and popped, revealing six nimble legs. “Anyway, I’ll be taking her.” Mush inched even further between the two. “‘Scuse me sir, but tis isn’t trash, n since I found ‘er, I-” One grabbed his round head and lifted his heavy body into the air. Squeezing, he popped Mush’s head like a balloon, sending his other segments rolling across the floor in random directions. Lee didn’t have time to scream before her body instinctually bolted toward the lift, narrowly dodging One’s grip. “First!” She yelled at the lift beast. The lift began to drop, but it only made it a few floors before One grabbed the rope. With nowhere else to go, Lee jumped onto the nearest floor and sprinted to the back door. Instead of being greeted by the pond, she was hundreds of feet above the ground. It was one of the structures she noticed earlier. With nowhere else to go, and One fast approaching, she jumped. Her body made a hard thud. “Shame,” One poked his head through the door. “Well, there are others,” he sighed, “I have to find a new trash collector now too.


Chew, chew*, Pop*! She certainly looked out of place where she was. A young girl, no older than twenty, blonde hair done up in pigtails, dressed in gothic Lolita attire and chewing bubble gum in an abandoned alleyway of some god forsaken corner of Nova Roma. Such a sight would be strange anywhere but more so here in one of the worst crime-ridden cities in the country. Yet she didn't care as she continued to stroll through the filthy ally. Of course, such nonchalance was bound to attract attention and eventually it did. A passing drunk with a posse wandered by. Perhaps it was the synthenal, perhaps it was the fact that he had others with him, or perhaps it was simply because he was stupid but this one decided to go and “ask” the pretty girl to spend time with him. He quickly matched pace with her and leaned down to look at her. “Well aren't you a pretty thing, why don't you come with me? I'm sure I can show you a good time.” ‘*Pop’* was her only reply. This angered the pig. “What, don't think I’m good enough for ya? You think I’m fat! You think I’m ugly don't ya!” He continued to project onto the young girl whose only reply was still ‘*Pop’*. “I’ll show you! Hmpf” He swung a fist at her head, or rather, where her head was. In his alcohol impaired mind, she appeared to dodge in a blink of an eye, when in actually he was just slow. The girl put out her leg, tripping him and with her right hand guided his fist into a nearby wall, smashing through the brick and becoming stuck. She then brought her pointed shoe back to deliver a kick to his unprotected groin. ‘*Pop’* Seeing how easily their boss was dealt with the goons panicked and fled causing the girl to sigh and move past the now whimpering degenerate. Before she could go any further however, a ringing could be heard inside her head. Tapping a button installed on the side of her head an image only she could see popped into her vision showing a girl and a waitress uniform with medium brown hair. Instantly her hard, unmoving features softened and she smiled, “Serena. How are you? I was just about to- “ Before she could get another word in Serena scowled. “How are you? How are you! I haven’t heard anything from you all day! I’ve been trying to reach you for five hours by now!” she grimaced remembering all the times she ignored her calls. To be fair, she didn’t want her to see what she was doing. “I just want to look out for you. What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t keep you safe?” “I know, I know. Look, I’ve been working and I couldn’t pick up my phone. If I did my clients would kill me. I’ve got one more stop and then ill be home. See ya.” And with that she ended the call. Her face once again hardened as the neon glow from the main road flashed, no need for anyone to see that other side of her. She wandered through the crowds until she got to the transport station. She stopped to get a new pack of gum and spit out the old, bland piece. Once in she went up to locker 224 and entered the usual combination. Inside was a guitar case. After retrieving the item, she began to move to the second location. She had found that one of the best ways to feign ignorance about her activates was to stand out. Everyone would see her so of course she couldn’t have done it. She smiled maliciously at the innocent act she pulled off every day. As she arrived at the high rise and began to climb the stairs, she thought back to how she got into this line of business as she continued to chew. *Pop.* It hadn’t been entirely by choice, as one you are recruited you can only accept or die. The training had been harsh but she pushed through and even excelled, graduating at the top of her class. Once out she chose to base in this city, one full of greed and corruption; perfect for business. The fact that her sister lived her was a plus as well. They had always been close friends but after their mom and dad died in a car accident, she was the only person she could rely on. Her mind came back to the present as reached the 42nd floor. The second room on the right from the stairs was where her handler had told her to go. Upon entering the room all she saw was a large window, a bottle of water, and an ear piece. She quickly put the ear piece in and opened the guitar case, revealing a disassembled sniper rifle. As she began putting the pieces together her ear piece cracked to life. “Agent 4, your assignment tonight is simple. The target is a waitress at the restaurant across the street. Company agents have filled to room and no other civilians should be within sight. Once you have finished cleanup will be handled by the usual team.” For a brief second, she paused, something about this didn’t seem right. The usual targets were much more challenging than this. It almost seemed as if the company was trying to make this as easy as possible. Yet it didn’t matter, she was a killer and kill she would. *Pop.* With a click she loaded the magazine into the rifle and aimed at the poor soul, seeing them for the first time. Her immediate thought was ‘that’s a lot like Serena’s uniform.’ And then she noticed the hair, and her posture, and eventually her face once she turned around. She gasped, the chewed piece of gum falling from her mouth. “No.” she whimpered, realizing what she had to do. Tears began to stream from her eyes. The ear piece crackled again, “agent 4 you must do this. You know as well as I do that agent can not have any emotional attachments. You told me when you started that you always dreamed of this life. You need to do it. Pull the trigger and become a true assassin.” She could barely hear her handler over the sound of her own sobbing. It was true, she had always loved spy thrillers and dreamed about that life since she was young. But was it worth it? Her sister had loved her, cared for her at her darkest hour. Was this how she would repay her? She knew her answer. After glancing around at the other agents in the restaurant she took a deep breath. *Pop.


Through my own heroin use personal experiences I always believed in the duck test that is a form of deductive reasoning. This is its usual expression: If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck. The test implies that a person can identify an unknown subject by observing that subject's habitual characteristics. In the case of Lolita heroin use the look fit to a tee. The swimming part fit and she most times flew high like a duck going south for any winter season. Yet in reality she was just your garden variety garden snake. Basically she was a no good for nothing heroin junkie. For those of you who may not be aware heroin is an opiate drug derived from the poppy plant, is a stimulant that produces euphoria. Though it has some medical applications, recreational use is illegal in the United States. Smack. Dope. Mud. Horse. Skag. Junk. Black tar. Heroin comes with many street names. Nevertheless, heroin abuse is a common problem. Drug addiction has caused Lolita Greenhowe to be accused about doing things she thought were impossible. When heroin, also known as the dragon, enters the brain, it activates receptors that will then release the chemical dopamine. This is where the feelings of euphoria and pleasure come from. The rush sends numbness through the body as it flows through the blood. The central nervous system is depressed so someone on heroin won’t feel pain. The heart is depressed and breathing is shallow. All of this results in a sedated appearance that is hard to ignore. Lolita’s constant use of many times stepped on heroin is one reason she couldn’t be a mom to her two children, who are being raised by their grandparents. I met Lolita during my 5 th or 6 th stunt at a rehab facility in New York City. She was ordered by some tea toting Judge to join our outpatient classes after being released from jail for drug trafficking and after violating the terms of her probation. Heroin has been Lolita’s primary drug of choice since she began using at age 17. All of us female heroin addicts who were forced or court ordered to sit around the girl scout rehabilitation campfire telling true or make believe stories from the crypt sitting in a circle. Lolita was now 55 looking like a young 85 year old sea and weather beaten junkie hag. When it was her turn to share the first story she allocated with us 11 other heroin addicts, was the time she got accused of killing a trick (A man that pays prostitutes for sex or a man that pays women to hang around him), named Balderdash. Even Rosie woke up from a nod to asked her how did that john (A man that pays prostitutes for sex or a man that pays women to hang around him), come up with a nick name such as that old lady rhyme who shot up so much heroin up her right scarred up arm that she didn’t know what to dos. Before Lolita could respond Rosie Perez returned to the land of nod. Lolita said for the record he got that name because he was one who acted senseless and stupid and used exaggerated talk after spiking up. This heroin junkie who called herself Peaches, yelled for Lolita to get on with her lying sordid story if you please! One thing about a heroin junkie is when they get interrupted is the fact that they have to collect their thoughts when intentionally interrupted. Where was I Lolita asked herself? Cookie Love shouted the trick the trick! You see Balderdash cashed in what was left of his 401K. He had accumulated over $62,000 at the junkie age of 50. Rumor had it that he was some kind of broker. Everyone in the group started laughing even Rosie laughed as slobber dribbled out of the side of her big painted green lips. She looked more like the Joker than the real Joker. As all of you hookers well know, what really happens when you have excess to a lot of dough. Rhonda croaked. Yeah them trickin days is over. Anyways me and dashed shacked up and an abandon building for a little over a week. All we did was shoot up constantly. Whenever he called the dope suppliers they came as fast as FedEx. When he died of an overdose. Everyone blamed me for his death. I even got charged with conspiracy to commit murder. If it wasn’t for me being held in a mental institution when they discovered his decomposed body those charges may have stuck. After I got released from that god awful place I was ostracized on the streets. No one believed me when I tried to explain to them that I asked him to take a day off. You see in truth when Balderdash found out that he was dying from aids there was no stopping him. Besides, he only had about 8 grand left in which the police found in my purse. One thing about heroin junkies they have a short memory especially after I started spending the money I acquired to watch someone who insisted on killing themselves. The sad part about my life is that in a few months later I was accused of murder again. This time it I was with my pimp Macaroni. Sure he treated me and all his streetwalkers like dogs and sometimes beat us with a clothes hanger, but that didn’t mean I was the one who killed him, even if the thought of killing him crossed my confused mind a million times. Someone shot him up with enough anti-freeze that the police thought his body would never overheat or thaw. Whoever did that to him left the syringe in my purse when they found me all beat up and half dead. If it wasn’t for the 8 ball (An 8-ball is one eight of an ounce of heroin, approximately 3.5 grams, enough to OD on) I shot up that day I probably wouldn’t be sitting around you sorry junkies trying to prove my innocence. The room wet silent for a few minutes and all that could be heard was the snores coming from Rosie. I swear on a bag of bad dope that I didn’t have nothin to do with his timely demise from this world but no one ever believed me, I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. The doctor who saved my life testified to the grand jury that I was just a victim of circumstances. Whatever that meant. It taint easy trying to convince heroin junkies that you didn’t kill no one. Lolita completed the 30 day treatment and I don’t know if I should share what eventually happened to her. Anyway through the street grapevine it was rumored that since she was accuse of killing two people. She decided to kill herself. I can’t say that I believe she was all that innocent of killing those two losers because she didn’t even leave no suicide note or nothing.


Okay so this is my short story about mental health. It’s my first one and I don’t think it’s bad, so please let me know what you think!! It means a lot to me and I thought I’d share. He was walking by the target store when he felt a breeze of fresh air. He smiled; he felt good as he felt the element on his face and as he listened to one of his favorite songs through the airpod in his ear. He was feeling the happiest he had been in a while, and he felt proud of what he had accomplished for himself. He drove home with his parents, and got ready for bed, considering the target run had been late at night. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, and made sure to put some medication on any pesky pimples that might be apparent on his face. He made his way to his room, and, when he was finally in bed, he prayed and closed his eyes, letting the black soundness of sleep take him away and bring him back some couple of hours later. When he woke up, he was lying on his back. He squinted his eyes and yawned, as one usually does when they wake up, and he stretched his legs. He quickly noticed that something was not necessarily normal in regards to his awakening. Everything was fine, but he could not shake the feeling. When he sat up, still in his bed, he looked around, and he was a bit startled. After looking towards his desk area, he noticed that he could not see the desk properly. He could see it properly, it’s shape and all, but it’s almost as if the bright white desk had begun fading into a greyish color. He was confused, obviously, so he wiped his eyes to no avail: the desk still appeared grey, now even moreso. He got off of his bed, and made his way through the rest of the house. Everything else seemed fine; he could see the colors of every object in the house correctly, just as he had seen them so many other times. He decided not to say anything. To him, it was probably just the lighting that was in his room when he had awakened. He went by his day like the occurrence never occurred. When he got home from school, he made his way to his room to change into more comfortable clothes. When he opened the door, he was even more confused than he had been that same morning. It seemed that the newfound greyness of his desk had spread somehow to the objects that were directly on top of his desk. He was scared to go near it, so he avoided the area. He took his laptop out of his backpack and he did his homework on the kitchen table. Still, he decided not to say anything because it seemed insignificant. He finished his homework very late, and after doing his usual routine, it was time for him to go back into his room. Again, he opened the door, and again, more of his room had fallen victim to this greyness. Now, the closet door closest to his desk had taken on the color. He rubbed his eyes again, plopped into bed, and went to sleep. He forgot to pray this night, not something necessarily out of the ordinary for him since sometimes he went to bed really tired. 7:30 am. He awoke, and looked straight up at his ceiling. He was scared to turn his sight elsewhere in the room. In the same eye-view, he noticed a grey border, apparently bordering the rest of his white ceiling. Shit. He thought. Lowering his chin to see what was going on, he noticed what he thought was happening. The color had spread, now encompassing the whole front wall and the first quarter of the ceiling. He decided he would tell his mom about this later that day, possibly after school. On the drive to school, something weird happened. As he went to open the door to get out of the car, it was grey. What? He grabbed it, pulled it, and he walked out of the car. He was scared now. Why is this happening to me? It’s okay, don’t think too much of it. No, my vision is turning grey, of course I should think much of it. Is this even color blindness? There’s no way. It’s objects that I’m seeing grey, a slow progression. He paid attention in school and he knew this was not an ordinary case of colorblindness. It’ll go away soon. He sat down and went to grab his pen out of his backpack. He put his backpack on his lap. What the hell. My backpack too now? Damn it. He tried to push the situation out of his head and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. But in reality, how could he do that, when it was such a peculiar, sudden, and strange thing? As he went along his day, he noticed more and more of his world turning grey. The situation was weighing on him so much, and by the time he got in his mom’s car, half of his world was grey already, and he was too tired and down to say anything. He felt scared. He thought maybe it was permanent, that there’d be no treatments. He thought they’d think he was lying, among other things and prejudices the human mind can produce. He said nothing. He got home, did his homework, and got ready for bed. He was already in bed when he realized he hadn’t even checked how much of his room was grey at that point. He sat up. All of it. The only thing left was the upper half of his bed that he lay on. Great. He stared at his ceiling, producing a tear. Two nights ago, he was happy at target with his parents, and feeling proud of himself. In two days, he had been given a completely different world. He lamented that loss. He sobbed silently, wishing he could jump into a time machine, and go back two days, and not remember the progression of his last 38 hours. He could not do that. He cried, and cried, and cried, and he fell asleep. Strangely enough, the tears still fell from his eyes as he slept. The grey made its way up his bed. It eventually got to the mattress, swallowing it up. It took the blankets he was using to cover himself with. Then it took him. The greyness took him. His color changed, light brown to grey. As he changed colors, the tears stopped flowing from his eyes, and he took a long, last deep breath. The greyness took him.


I sit and I stare at the assignment. My English teacher thought it would be a great idea to make our winter break assignment all about new years resolutions. And I had tried to write it before Christmas. But that wasn’t a thing. It has to been a list of five things with explanations about why we want to accomplish each one. I was usually a by the book, stick to what you know and things you plan kind of person. I stayed to myself, stayed out of trouble, got good grades, I was never one to rock the boat. Looking back on my last year it was kind of a hot mess. And not in the cute or ironic way either. More like in the “everything I thought I knew is suddenly in question” way. I was stumped. What even did I want to do? I didn’t get into the college program I wanted to go to. And I would have reapply to the same college if I wanted to try to go the first year as undecided and attempt to get into the program the next year. Even though I had the grades, I was lacking in extracurriculars and there were other applicants who were more qualified than me. I didn’t even know if that program was even something I wanted to do anymore. I wanted to do it because its what my dad had always encouraged me to do. He wanted me to go into a STEM field, he thought it meant I would get a good job and be set for life. Me and my boyfriend had broken up. We had been together for over a year before we broke up. Tragically enough we had almost every single class together. And so we did the awkward avoiding each other even though we had been a public couple for most of our high school experience thing. So we each brought our “box of stuff” to homeroom and exchanged it. And of course the box didn’t fit in my locker, so I had to carry the box to every one of my classes that day, a public display of my shame. My former best friend hated my guts, and her new best friend wanted to make my life a living hell. We used to spend literally every day together. She practically lived with me, she slept at her own house maybe one day a week. Her parents were strung out druggies who didn’t care what she did or where she was. Her and her friends were anti social stoners, so I guess you could say that I was too. I had to become one to fit in with the people I had made my life revolve around. I have no idea what to do with myself. I feel like this is not how your senior year is suppose to go. We were suppose to all go to prom together. Get ready for graduation together. Celebrate all of the small moments and “lasts” of our senior year. Together. At the beginning of this year I thought I had everything figured out. I had a solid color coded five year plan. I am not even kidding about that. I had it in a binder with tabs and sheet protectors. Car, college, good job, wedding, home ownership, and kids. I created this path for myself. And I thought the people I had by my side at the beginning of this year would be the ones who would do it with me. But now I’m not even sure about who I am. And my five year plan is as good as fucked. Making this stupid list has lead to some serious soul searching if I actually wanted it to mean something. I could google “new years resolutions” and just pick some that sound good. Or I could just scroll down my Facebook feed and copy someone who looks like they have a lot of fun. But that just feels like cheating. And its all fake anyway. I would rather be genuine or why bother doing it to begin with? Resolution One: Figure out college. I have a scholarship. So as long as it’s a college in Indiana I wouldn’t have to pay for it. And my grades are decent. Just not good enough to get into the program I wanted. There isn’t a school in Indiana that teaches the major I would actually love to go for. Genetic zoology. Its states away. And if I live in a dorm that means living with some stranger who I might want to murder. I need to figure this out fast. Because I know if I take a gap year I will never go back. So resolution one, figure out what to do about college. Resolution Two: Meet new people. I had lost my boyfriend and my best friend in one fell swoop. And the saddest part of that is I don’t even really think I liked them, as people I mean. We didn’t like the same things or have any similar hobbies. Neither one of them could even come close to saying they “got” me. Half the time we didn’t even get along. We were only friends and only together because of location and circumstance. Because they approached me when I was lonely, at the time it was easier to hang out with them then to be alone with me. It was time for me to let that go, let them go, and get past it. So resolution two, meet new people. Who I like, and who like to do the some of the same things that I do. Resolution Three: Create more art. I love art. I love making art. I write, and I draw, and I do ceramics. But I never spend the time I would need to for it to actually improve. And its something I actually want to do. But no one else did. Everyone in my friend group was too busy getting high, and “relaxing” to do anything even close to being productive. That’s why I never took the time to. Because I needed to belong to them so badly that I wasn’t going to break rank for even a minute. So resolution three, create more art. Resolution Four: Be real about my feelings from now on. I never addressed how I felt with people in the past. My friends, my boyfriend, even my family. I knew when things weren’t alright. I could feel all the changes and I tried to hide it from even myself. And I don’t want to do that anymore. I let my dad move out of state with his wife without telling him I so badly for him to stay. He didn’t even take the time to say goodbye in person. My mom and I have had a questionable at best relationship for my entire life, and neither one of us have addressed it even though I lived with her for almost two years. So resolution four, actually address my feelings. Resolution Five: Focus on me. I think that may be the point of this assignment after all. The reason behind why people write new years resolutions year after year. Because we get so wrapped up in everything and everyone else that we never really stop and look at our selves. We don’t ask ourselves what we actually want. So people set aside a special time of year when its okay to look at their selves for once. Most people focus on things like losing weight, or quitting smoking, or taking a cooking class, or going to the gym more often. But I think its so much more than that. If you really want to be happy you cant just ask yourself these questions once a year. And if you aren’t happy and you want to be, you are going to have to make changes. And change isn’t always the most comfortable. But its what we have to do if we ever want life to look like we want it to. So resolution five, focus on me. None of the things on this list are easy. But easy hasn’t ever really been my style. And for a long time I stopped caring about “my style” and I lost myself to what everyone wanted. And so, for the new year I want to find myself and be me. Because no one else is going to care about it if I don’t. So in writing my resolutions I ended up with a question, Who is me? Sometimes I think English teachers are secretly wise old wizards who know everything. So thank you wizard for the sage advice, I think I get it now.