Brought to consciousness by the piercing chill of a mountain wind, a man wearily creaks open his eyes to see snow crumbling from his face and clenched between the grasp of his closing fists. Confused and groggy, he begins turning over to see the sun struggling to breach through the cloud that seems to surround him, and also finds himself coming face to face with a young woman; a woman whose long obsidian hair lightly brushes some of what is left of the snow from the man’s face, during its somehow gentle whipping in the midst of this forceful and brisk mountain air. Her complexion almost entirely opposed that of her hair color, and her carried expression was at a crossroads of longing and optimism. He met her gaze of acknowledgement with one of confusion. As he attempts to take in his surroundings and perhaps gain a clue as to what is going on and who this woman is, she places her hand on his cheek to softly run her thumb across it. The man turns back at this new development and begins to open his mouth to speak but is cut off when the woman voices herself in a demanding and caring tone instead. “You will remember, Ronin.” With that, the gentle, warm, and welcome touch of this mystery woman is replaced by a stiffer texture and a much dryer cold as the mountain top on which Ronin had seemed to be atop had now changed. Instead of the choked sun breaching through a cloud, the light is almost nonexistent except for some ambiguous glow that had no clear point of origin, shedding itself no-farther than arm’s length before tapering back into the darkness that seems to be so prominent in this chamber. The snow-covered craggy rocks are being traded for a much flatter and questionably worked stone, but it’s too dark to clearly tell if the ground has been cut. Once again having to gather himself, Ronin begins to shift up from the position he was lying in, atop the peak, all the while every movement made is echoing throughout this perfectly still chamber. The possible expanse of the darkness, growing each passing moment, as any semblance of walls grow farther away; the more fearful thoughts are put in. Ronin, finally getting to his feet, feels the blood begin to rush to his head for the first time in what feels like ages. Ronin exhales a short sigh through dry lips while brushing off what looks to be either dust or dirt, or perhaps even both from his coat buckled over with leather fittings. The clothes he’s wearing appear to fit perfectly and the leathers look to bare nicks from what could possibly be a blade. The slim cuts are too clean to be from the rocks of a mountain top, but he cannot recall being in any confrontation. In fact, reaching into the farthest depths of his memory seemed to show it as empty as this hollow atrium. Inspecting himself further revealed a mundane broadsword sheathed in a metal scabbard riddled with scrapes and pockmarks. Neither the sword nor the scabbard showed anything that would allow them to be identified with any person or place. Just as he’s taking this in, Ronin begins to hear a shuffle along with a murmur. His head begins to quickly spin around in an attempt to locate where these scattered muffled noises are coming from, but pinning a spot of emergence proves itself a hard task with the sounds reverberating off of whatever far-reaching walls are holding them in. Before Ronin has a chance to draw his weapon, a face emerges. And then a body draped in what looks to be, at one point, a beautiful set of ornate robes, now tattered by altercations or time itself. This entity was exuding its own light as it shown a pale green human like form that began to pace through what was still a mass of black. Ronin remained still, waiting for this creature to act. But it continued its seemingly pointless path, stepping back and forth while mumbling some incoherent phrases that trailed off into new thoughts. This moment is taken to more closely inspect what at first sight has the look of some incorporeal specter floating through the space only fifteen feet away, but now is proving itself to have some footing in the material world with each of its barefooted feet finding purchase on this now clearly cut stone. Filling the immediate space of this chamber with the pattering of skin and the sound of bone, it becomes clearer that what would be the skin of this hairless creature is not fully intact. Pieces of flesh missing on spots of the decayed cheek where the teeth are visibly clenched; the moving mandible jostling a chunk that batters against the throat which is vibrating with the indecisive speech of a man who has all but lost his mind. However, the most prominent feature this being possesses are the larger feathered wings that sprawl and twitch with every other step of the pacing. The wings themselves were missing patches and seemingly lacking an air about them, which must have once been a beautiful sight. Ronin then spoke out to this remain of what is now a miserable and wretched version of an angel. He managed to utter words through an extremely dry pair of vocal cords that produced a husky and worn sounding, “Hello?” Followed by his own cough and the completely still animation and noise of the angel. The head quickly turned to the space next to Ronin and then snapping to look him directly in the eyes, the sound of the neck turning being a mixture of dry bones and stringy sinew squishing out of a large gash in the neck, but no signs of blood or any other lubricant that would give it moisture. In this stare, it was now clear both the harrowing gaze this being possessed and also the intimidating size of the angel. The height reaching what could be guessed to be around thirteen feet and the wings, furling out in an uneven and curious manor, making themselves between five to six feet on their own. This towering stature mixed with its horrifying visage created an aura that infected Ronin’s own courage and began to turn it into a rot that he could feel eating away at any thought of fighting this fiend. Shakily the angel took its bony finger with its over-extended fingernails and rubbed its sickly jade colored scalp in almost a nervous fashion before bringing back down to interlock with its other spindly match. It was then that it seemed the angel began to notice Ronin’s physical presence as opposed to the dead stare that seemingly peered into his own doubt. The angel’s single step forward was met with two steps back from Ronin. There’s a pause and then the ghoulish being spoke. “Those like you should never walk among us. You should not be walking this HALL!” The angel shouted with an intensity and strength which heavily conflicted with its appearance but, nevertheless, reached whatever far lying walls escaped to the edges of this now named hall. “What are you?” Ronin manages to force out without showing too much shakiness in his voice. “He’s here you know...” The angel snaps his head back with a creak and a gasp as he stares back into the abyss-like void of no light that surrounds them both just long enough for Ronin to begin to look in that direction as well before whipping back around as the lobe of its left ear falls away onto the stone below. Now leaning in intently to Ronin as if guarding a secret. Strangely the stench of decay doesn’t permeate the angel, but rather, the smell of old stored away leathers left for years at a time. The cold, but still full of emotion, eyes looking into Ronin’s; two rings of white surrounding entirely dilated deep black pupils darting back and forth almost as if trying to figure out which of Ronin’s to speak into. “He...” The angel starts again but chokes out his own words by beginning to chew on the skin of the tip of his fingers beneath the nail. This making whatever apparent warning impossible to hear over his masochistic devouring of his index and middle fingers simultaneously, but still mumbling through them, nonetheless. “Come now Ithreaus, your revolting habits are no way to welcome guests, now are they?” A voice billows out of the dark that is much stronger and sure of itself than that of the angel’s, but still disembodied. “Yes, my lord.” Ithreaus says fearfully as he places his hands back into their interlocking positions resting on his chest as his gaze has now shot to the floor. “How was your slumber Ronin?” The faceless voice turning its attention to the, seemingly, only living being in this exchange. “My slumber?” Ronin scratchily works out. “How did you sleep?” Ronin now able to watch the unnaturally deep words ease themselves out of the smirking lipless mouth of a lion shaped face without a mane for contrast, made of what would appear to be burning coals or embers, emerging itself into the lurid pale green light emanating from Ithreaus “I find it hard to imagine lying underground for years, covered in dirt can be a pleasant and forgiving experience.” Now the entity has all but fully emerged from the shadow and showing its body wrapped in some form of dark toned tapestry. It is clear there is a scene embroidered upon it but being wrapped around this, perhaps, demon in a dark chamber makes it impossible to surmise. “I was asleep?” Ronin asks almost instinctually as to keep the conversation going while processing what it is he is seeing. “No, actually you were dead; for many years in fact.” The answer from this manipulated form of a feline creature grasping Ronin’s full attention. “If you’re saying I was dead? Then why am I standing here now? What are you? What is he? And what am I doing here?” Ronin, beginning to grow more comfortable with his place in the conversation, lets out a flood of questions that have been building since he woke here just a moment ago. “Careful.” The unnamed creature sternly warns with a snarl; all playfulness and welcoming spirit suddenly gone from its voice. This outburst is taken back immediately by Ronin who has had the tiniest bit of conversational leverage he perceived himself to have ripped away, and now feeling smaller on the standing on the cold floor than he had before. “You are a guest after all...do not overstep. You are alive now because I have willed it Ronin. Your resurrection was manifested by my hands. Not only does your life belong to me but so do your memories. I’ve found that if not withheld, memories cause the thralls to run back home and join in reunions, and I find that quite boring. I will say that I do enjoy watching their faces when they realize what trepidation they brought upon their families when I splay their beloveds on the ceilings of their homes or burn them all inside, screaming, while the one belonging to me feels no heat at all.” The devilish monster lets out an at ease sigh as it seems to be momentarily relaxing in a tranquil thought somewhere deep in a recess of his undoubtably horrific mind. “I digress; you’re the first of a new kind. You see I’m going to use you Ronin. You will be a vessel for me when I need it and when I don’t, you’ll be free to wander or do as you please. Doesn’t that sound much better than feeding the crawling worms beneath the ground?” Ronin takes a moment to consider. “If I were to refuse, what then?” While still extremely petrified by the towering figure that is more or less giving him an order, Ronin finds that no matter how frightened he has become there seems to be a bit of mettle that protects his own bravery from sinking too low in this darkness. The lion-like features on the face glow with a subtle light, almost emerging from some interior flame. This flickering glow extends to the hollow sockets where eyes would normally situate themselves. After hearing this question, a large grin begins to widen underneath the snout of the fiend. “Then you take his place.” He then gestures his smoldering paw towards Ithreaus who now has taken to his knees and appears to be rubbing the stone in careful detailed circles while one side of his face looks to be crying and the other seems to be in a dead stare into the distance past Ronin. “I’ll let you have a little taste of what it was to walk on the earthen soil instead of filling it; then you can make your decision.” Just as the demon finishes his sentence, the crushing sound of stone scrapping on stone fills the space just before a small light in the distance shines a natural light in the hall from behind Ronin. With this little bit of light now breaching through the pitch black that had become normalcy, Ronin is now able to see that the wide body of the dominating figure was human like but only in its shape and stance. Two muscular arms slipped out from underneath the black and silver tapestry; sprawling out below was what might have been its most terrifying feature. The body continued down unto two cat-like legs but where the body would naturally taper into a tail, the torso continued into a snake like design that looked to be moved by several more pairs of resting legs. The extent of the length disappeared back into the shadow. “Go on now.” The demon said with a smugness and a suggestive smile before extending a paw towards the opening in the room. Before turning around, Ronin took one last look behind the creatures and noticed a shrine along with what looked to be the shape of pillars leading out of view into the shadow of the darkness. He looked to be standing in some ancient place of worship lost for some reason likely only known by this malicious monstrosity. Slowly and suspiciously, Ronin began to turn to leave and as he did the nightmare now looming over Ronin moved with his eyes until he faced away entirely. The first sight to Ronin’s eyes is a staircase of twenty or so large stone steps descending into what shows itself to be a field of statues leading to the opening of light. Taking slow steps down these large stairs and occasionally looking back to be aware of any movements from the two stationary beings he’s leaving behind. The ember-glowing lion still smiling and Itheaus still on his knees but peering out past Ronin into the field of statues with a contortion of almost guilt animating his face, making his way down the staircase and now entering the long expanse of these statues all shaped into different stances. Walking through them now, he is able to see that they hold a strong likeness to Ithreaus if he were what he was before whatever fate happened upon him. Some of them stuck in mid-stride wielding great claymores or shields and others depict angels leaning down and perhaps caring for a fallen ally. All seem to be faced towards the staircase and toward the shrine. A few of the works closer to the shrine have faces twisted with fear or pain and others seem to be bracing for something. Walking through this underground field, it is clear there are hundreds of these, and the light continues to show more the wider his gaze expands. Eventually Ronin comes to find his way to the light, and he begins to feel the warmth of the sun melt its way through the chillness of the chamber. Slowly he climbs the last set of stairs, as the sunlight blinds his unadjusted eyes, leading back into a world completely new to him and holding a destiny that may or may not be his to decide.


“REMEMBAH KIDDIES! YOU WON’T GET YO PUDDIN’ IF YOU DON’T EAT YO MEAT!” she blared once again through that pie-hole that she called a mouth. Mrs Wizzlemuck, or as the children knew her (the kids were not very creative): Fucking Idiot. Fucking Idiot walked through the benches, lightly tapping the shoulders of all the children as she went by. Little Monty too was among the newest batch of burnt out children that were now to be crushed with overwhelming unnecessary pressures and shat down the poophole that is known as Education. He chowed down his disgusting food like a glutton with an appetite for the fattest horse in a rundown race track. His partner ate and continued to tell Monty about his older classes in a better school, with a proud, shit-eating grin. Monty remembered all the times that he had spent in his earlier classes. Fifth grade! Wow! That’s real big, lil’ dude! They had said to him two years before. This year too, his parents had told him Sixth grade! That’s real big, lil’ dude! Frankly, little Monty found this annoying. He was told every year would be more important, and yet he felt the same. When will it really happen? When will I feel more important? Or even better, when will I ever feel as important as they tell me I am? Little did Monty know that that would happen sixty years later when he would die from a stroke, choking on his own vomit and slowly setting his ass onto the nearest commode, defecating violently, and he wouldn’t even have the time to realise that it had happened. Moving on, as Monty shifted in his bench, moving his tiffin-box aside and looking towards his partner, he set his books in front of him. He took out the first textbook. ABSOLUTE SHIT THAT YOU WILL NEVER USE the title read, he looked a little lower on the front page: BY - SOME TIT WITH TOO MUCH TIME ON HIS HANDS. He smirked. He thought it was a math textbook. Apparently it wasn’t. He brought out the rest of the wonderful books he would be staring blankly at for the next year. BULLSHIT FACTS THAT DON’T HOLD TRUE ANYMORE and TEACHING KIDS SEX IS BAD SINCE 1978 were among them. Average, school-ey stuff. “WHY DIDN’T YOU EAT YER DAM MEAT YOU GOOD FER NOTHIN LIL’ BRAT”, a certain Fucking Idiot said, peering close into Monty’s little face. Her pimples, wrinkles and ugliness converged into the hideousness that is her face, which angrily looked at him. “AREN’T YOU SCARED OF ME KID? WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME YA?” “WON’T YOU LISTEN TO YER TEACHERS? YOU WANT A LIL’ SMACK ON YOUR NOGGIN DO YA?” And then, it hit him. Something happened to Monty. Whether it was a ray of light that fucked with his head or a sudden epiphany that would lead to a change in society forever, something hit him. But he thought of something. Little Monty thought: Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What AM I afraid of? What the FUCK am I afraid of? And then, it happened. Little Monty looked his teacher straight in the eye, got up, off his desk, and uttered words that were never uttered before in any school: “You fucking tit. Yes. YOU, you fucking tit. YES! I want a smack on my noggin. Come on. Smack my noggin. You BITCH.” Obviously, the very bounds of space-time stopped expanding. Every moment in time looked at Little Monty and thought, that’s a fuckin’ spectacle, that is. Time stopped, students stared, and the child next to Tommy very, very slowly moved to the nearest empty bench. Fucking Idiot stood there. She couldn’t have reacted. The very laws of physics would not allow it. She stood there, her pie-hole gaping, her eyes ripping out of their ugly, dark sockets, and her anger slowly pulsating into fear. “Come here, you Fucking Idiot.” Monty said, as he started to take his blazer off. He didn’t blink, nor did his gaze move an inch from Idiot’s crusty, shallow eyes. “HEY! Uhh, you’re uhh, kiddies go call the principal. Quick...please...” “WHY?” Monty spoke, really loudly. Every syllable echoed through the class. It might as well have been just him, and that Fucking Idiot. He began to unzip his pants. The teacher watched in horror, and reminisced the time she was abused as a child. Maybe that’s why she was a tit now. He unzipped his pants, and his face inched forward. Monty decided to use the only weapons he had. He lowered them, and they dropped to his knees. For that one split second, Fucking Idiot looked down at his naked knees, and then quickly back at him, with a horror that she didn’t know she could experience. Monty stood up, onto the desk. He dropped his underwear too. He then began to piss all over the desk. Everyone in the class could not control it anymore. They looked at him, his wiener, and the piss it produced. They looked back at Idiot, staring at the whole thing, as though it was an exhibit at a Piss Museum in Langley Lane. “WHAT! CAN’T A BOY HAVE A PISS IN PEACE!?” he said, as he strafed left and right on his spot, sprinkling a fine amount of his fluids over all the other benches, as the other students turned away in fear and awe. Fucking Idiot seemed almost philosophically struck. It looked as though Little Monty had touched some buttons, for she stood more in awe than anything else. She looked at him with wide, but pondering eyes, seemingly wondering something. She barely seemed angry anymore. “Oye, woman. Lookit here. Look. I’m pissing on the bench. I AM PISSING ON THE FUCKING BENCH.” Monty whispered in a frequency akin to most serial killers, as his now flashing red eyes looked at Idiot. Fucking Idiot didn’t make a sound. Neither did she make a face. “You look at me woman. Look here” Monty stopped pissing. Maybe he was done, maybe he was saving for later. He looked at her, and grabbed her hair with his left hand, and looked her in the eye. “Look. I have a lot of fucking stress in my life, okay? I don’t want to fucking EAT my MEAT.” “I don’t want it. I don’t want my meat. I don’t want the pudding. You can keep it, that’s fucking FINE.” The anger now started to quell up his throat. You could hear a very childish sort of, angry frustration in him. Monty got down from his desk, let go of Mrs Wizzlemuck’s hair, and sat down again. He looked at everyone, looking at him. He let out a loud scream, and started to cry. He looked at his nemesis once again, tears now streaming as fast as his piss did moments ago. He put his head down on his desk, forgetting about the puddle he had left there just a minute ago, and remained silent for three full minutes. “Leave him alone, kiddies.” Mrs Wizzlemuck said. “The kid's just tired.


I stare into the bottom of the glass and contemplate the last swallow. Absentmindedly, I swirl the wet tumbler in lazy circles over the bar. If I drain the glass, the question will be whether to order another or leave. And go where? Yes, unlike some, I do have a home with a roof, a bed, hot and cold running water. And echoes. Echoes of someone to come home to, of cold feet to warm, of comfort food to eat, of secrets, jokes, hugs and laughs shared. Of medication and nausea, of pain and helplessness, of fake smiles and false bravery, of promises that could not be kept, of plans that were never made, of time that ran out. With a sigh, I reach into my pocket and place a twenty on the bar. "G'night." Jake barely looks up from his track sheet, just a nod in acknowledgement. I shrug into my coat and huddle against the biting cold wind that comes up the avenue. About an hour later I call my sister. "Hey. Yeah, I'm good. No, really. I'm okay. Didn't wake you, did I? Good. Thanks for lying. No, I just got in a little while ago. Right, Jakes'. Nah, it was quiet. Just about as quiet as here. So, ... Yeah, I know... Actually. How can you tell when a dog goes into labor?" I hold the phone away from my ear and grin. When was the last time I grinned? "Sh. I think the neighbors heard you. Well, you know that alley behind Jakes?... Yes, the one off Race. Anyway, I thought I heard something... I know. But it sounded like a dog. You know that high-pitched nasal sound?... Exactly! Well, it was. I guess you could call it a small Benji -type. You know, scruffy... Well, sort of brown, dirty. Mostly. No. I think it's bigger than one of those Mexican things. It has one ear that stands up and one that flops over. I guess you could say it's cute. Someone had tied it to the dumpster. Can you believe that? Yeah, of course, I thought about her. God! In the middle of one of her coughing attacks she'd say she wanted one. Shit! Would make me so mad! As if she wasn't dying fast enough. You know what she'd say, right? Living went too fast and dying took too long... ... Sorry." I cough and swallow. " ... Sorry... Yes, of course, I untied it. I'm still human, sis. Geez! Sorry, you're right. You're right. Sure, it walked right with me. You know that all-night place on the corner here, right? With that old Vietnamese woman? ... Yeah, the grandma. I asked her about flea shampoo. She said, and I quote: "no fleas, babies." I don't know. I guess she saw the belly. Anyway, she sold me two cans of... wait a sec." I walk to the counter and give my sister the name of the dog food. "So, that's okay then? The old lady said, "Good stuff, good stuff." ... Ha. I know, right? Like that time, we tried to buy some dope, remember? We probably paid for oregano or sage, or something... So, the little thing ate half a can... No, no. A spoonful at a time... Right. And I gave it a bath... No, in the dishpan. Mostly just warm water. There isn't much to her, you know. Once all the dirt was gone. Just a big belly. How big? Well, she couldn't get up the stairs. She kept getting stuck... Well, yeah, her legs are short. But it seemed to hurt when she'd hit it. Yes, sis. I carried it upstairs. Wait! ... Oh, man! ... This is awesome! ...." Why am I whispering? I guess she doesn't need any help ... No, it's half out ... Kinda dark and slimy. Sort of like a wet blood sausage. Oof! There it is. Wait! She's eating it! ... Oh. Really? ... Why? Oh. How do they know to do that? And why don't people know that? No, I mean why do women have to have classes and go in hospital and get shots and all that? Sure, right ... Yeah. Hurrah for evolution. No. She's licking it now ... Go little fellow ... Go! Go! ... Go! ... Come on! ... There. He found a nipple. Will she have milk? You think she'll have more? Wait. There's someone at my door. Who would ...? Oh, Hi, sis. Where is she? Under the table. Why did you set her up there? She was still a little damp. Figured she needed the warmth from the radiator. Hey sweetheart ... Right, absolutely. My bad ... You better check, bro. Check what? Reach in there and see if there are any more pups. You want me to ... No way! Okay, we'll just sit here and wait, then. Alright. You want a drink? No, I don't want a drink. I want you to check. You want me to fist a little thing like that? Oh man! One finger would do it. Is that an eye roll? Let me ask you, sis. When you were having Maryanne, did you want someone to stick a finger up your ... Hm? -----. Right. You want that drink now? Yeah, sure. Something bumps my leg . Hey, little one. What can I get you? ... Oh ... Okay Some minutes later. I'm thinking of moving. Ground floor, walk-out. Wadda ya think? Sure. Good idea. Then you can get a Stairmaster. One of those things you hang clothes on? No, thank you. Can you train a dog to use a litter box? No. Bummer. What's she doing? Having babies. Cool. You guys want a puppy? We'll see. Yeah, that's parent talk for no, right? Hm mm. In that case, when are you bringing Maryanne over, huh? Not until you've found homes for these. Coward. Bully! .... How are you, really? I was at Jakes'. What does that tell you, hm? Even he didn't want to talk to me anymore. So, ... So, the Universe put her out there for you. Yeah, right. The Univers has nothing better to do. It saw me sitting on a barstool and said that guy looks like he could use a pup or three. ... It's just ... What? It's just a year too late, you know? Yeah. Maya would have been all over it, I know. She would have dressed it up in cute outfits. Yeah, I can see that. Right ... hm. I cough. Damn! I miss her. Yeah, I know. And you always will. Helpful, sis! And so optimistic. No. Realistic. You know you'll never forget her, and you shouldn't. So, just live with the hole in my life? Hm mm. That hole will be there anyway, right? Don't be afraid to look at it. Plant flowers around it. Make it more palatable. Flowers? Why am I fighting this? Figurative flowers, brother, dear." Another eye roll. " Like this dog. Plant the dog in the hole? Grr! Don't be dense! Think about it. Maybe she didn't come a year too late. Maybe she's here right on time. Maybe you are ready to think about, care about something again. The dog in place of Maya? Could I? Hm, maybe. Sure. Just do me one favor. What? Don't call it Maya. Right. Point taken. How about Mini? Mini? You know, Mini Benji? Cute! Yes. Now she's yours. What do you mean, she's mine? Mild panic. Only mild? Interesting. You named her. Mini is now your pet. You're her human. It's okay to keep on living, brother. Bring the lot to the clinic next week, I'll make sure they get checked over, okay? Now I'm going home and let Marc warm up my toes. Happy New Year. Happy New Year, sis. I stare into the bottom of my glass. Thoughtfully, I swirl the wet tumbler over the tabletop. Under the table, Mini and her two pups are huddled together on Maya's old afghan, snoozing near the radiator. Can I move on? Is that what people do? Wouldn't that be disloyal? Maya would have loved Mini, coughing and gasping for every breath, while hugging it. Do I have anything left to give or did I bury myself along with her? Am I ready to take care of something again? What if I fail? This little dog has been failed enough. Can I give her what she needs? Do I even know what she needs? How will I know? I guess I'll be googling tomorrow. "What is it Mini? Are you a proud mamma? You did a really good job, little girl. Oh, you want another bite? Sure. Here you go. Tomorrow we'll see if we can find a winter coat for you, okay?" Happy new year, Mini. And yeah, maybe happy new year me, too.


The Ghost Child There once was a child named Wren, an eerie looking boy of 8. He had long raven black hair and grey eyes, giving him the appearance of a shade or a dark villain. He was thin as a stick and pale as a corpse. He lived in a house at the far edge of the town, a miserable part of the neighbourhood. He had no family nor friends. His parents died when he was young and no relative was willing to take care of him. He tried making friends but made none. Anyone who saw him would always run away because he looked scary. Every time he tried to be friends with kids his age, they would be pulled away by their frightened parents or guardians. They were so afraid, they thought they looked at the Devil straight in the face. They would always warn their children not to get near him and tell stories of the "Ghost Child". As the story became popular throughout the town, the more people would turn away and scorn him. He could never go outside during the day but only at night, for fear that he would be killed by them. He could only see the outside world through the boards on the barred windows and watch the other children play. By nightfall, it was safe to leave his refuge. He begged on the streets for food. Never cared for money because he never learned how to use it. In lonesome nights, he would visit old shops or rummage through garbage to beg or look for something to eat. Most of the time, he would be met with a stone to the face or a stick on the arm but there are others that took pity on him and gave him scraps. However, that wasn't the only reason why he would wander around. He would sometimes search for toys and dolls, thrown away by others. Broken and abandoned. Just like himself. He would take them home and fix them up. It was the only thing he felt comfort with. There were plenty of toys on the old shelves around his room. Stuffed animals, meticulously mended, as if they look like it came from the shop. Dolls, excellently repaired, like it was created by its maker. It continued like this for about four years. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* On the night of his twelfth birthday , he finally snapped. The weight of infamy is too heavy to handle. In bitter despair, he wailed in agony. He had a toy in his hand, still unfinished. He threw it across the room. It broke when it made contact with the wall. He threw a tantrum and his screams can be heard outside. It continued for a whole minute. Then he stopped. The walls, already dilapidated, was riddled with holes. The bed was attacked with the tools he used for repairs and several pieces of wool flew from it. His eyes stared emptily on the ceiling then down to his worktable. A pair of silver scissors, gleaming in the moonlight, shone in his eyes like a star. He took it and examined it closely. Simple in design and sharp to the touch. These were the scissors that he mended the toys with care. And the ones that will end his misery. He pointed it to his chest, right on his heart. But before he could do it, he heard a voice. "Stop!" it cried. A girl's voice. He froze and dropped the scissors. He turned around and glanced at the doorway. A little girl wearing a blue ballerina's attire was by the door. She had short hair, white as snow, and golden eyes, the color of honey. She was not alone. A couple also stood behind her. A blonde woman in red with grey eyes and a tan skinned man with raven black hair. Wren had not used his voice when his parents died. It sounded coarse and gravelly yet retaining the child who owned it. "Mom?". She nodded. "Dad?". He nodded. He slowly approached them but hesitated to touch them. *They were dead.* He knows this. He saw them die. But it felt so real. He touched their hands. They are there. He couldn't hold back the tears and neither did they. The parents bent down to hug their son tightly, and Wren did in return. "That's not all, Wren," said the mom, in between tears. "There other people waiting for you outside," said the dad. "And they want to be friends with you." He could not believe it. *Friends?* He abandoned that hope long ago. Who would be friends with the Ghost Child. The girl led them outside the room and he could see the inside of the house. It's not the old gray walls and empty halls that he was familiar of, it was the complete opposite of it. The halls were colorful and everything looked new. The house feels warm and comfortable. But that's not all. There are also people there. A lot of unfamiliar and strange faces, and they are all smiling at him. It seems they are glad to meet him. Wren was baffled by their reactions. *Why would they be glad to see a child of a specter?* They went to the dining room. He could smell the wonderful food prepared in it. And it was a feast. Roasts, soups, sweets and garnishes galore. The table could barely stand due to the weight. He was seated at the middle of the table with his parents at his side. From the kitchen on the left, a cake was brought in. It was lit with a candle and it was placed in front of him. He looked at his parents to ask what is it for. "It's your birthday, Wren," said Mom. "It's for you." She held his cheeks. "Our little friend." He blew the candle and they all cheered. It was the best night that he could ever wish for. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* It was morning outside and the light brightened up the gloom. The people outside, woke up and readied themselves for the day. The children went to school and the adults go to work. However, a handful of people stood outside an old house. They heard a scream the night before and they decided to find the source. Others speculated that it was a demon or a ghost but others knew it was the fabled "Ghost Child". They quietly entered, lanterns and axes at the ready. Searching the halls and rooms for the phantom. A man stumbled upon a room with the door slightly open. He motioned for the others that he found it. They opened it. And saw the "Ghost Child". Or what remains of him. The child was slumped over a pool of blood and a pair of scissors, pierced in his heart. Surrounded by dolls and toys. He had a smile in his face. And it was proof that he was only a kind child, deserted by a cruel world. (First time posting here.


It was pitch black. It came so quickly, and the sheer horror of the fall along with it. Who knew that once it came to that time, you would freeze. The thing that you had always prepared for, the moment that you were so sure that when you were thrown into it, you would make the right decision. I looked up into the ineffably blue sky; the sun gleaming hard and unsettlingly into my eyes. I laid quietly, absolutely still as the thoughts of what just transpired seeped into my mind. How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this? How is it that only seconds before, I felt as if I were flying, and now? My eyes rolled back into my head as I replayed the moment over and over, trying to soak up each second of it before my memory went. “No,” I said. “I will not go today. I do not care how disappointed she will be. I will not go today.” “Tell that to her then,” Kristen replied. “I just can’t miss going to the barn today; she will have to understand, right?” “I’m sure she will. Just tell her.” “Okay, okay. Fine. I will just go over there and just speak. I’ll let the words flow. I will tell her that I cannot go today.” “That’s the spirit.” I gather myself briefly and march painfully and hesitantly over to where she was standing, my coach, leaning up against the rough brick wall that separates the atrium from the hallway, chatting in an animated, yet inaudible way with a fellow teammate of mine. I don’t want to interrupt, but I still feel myself inching closer, my legs unwillingly moving forward as I knew that I had to get it over with. I promised myself at the beginning of the year that I would practice. I cleared my throat and looked her in the eye with such failing confidence that I am pretty sure she knew immediately that I was nervous. “Hey, Larissa... I um.. just wanted to uh.... let you know that I can’t make it to practice today,” I sputtered. “Thanks for letting me know,” she returned. She gave a quick smile and resumed her previous conversation. I nodded awkwardly and walked away, wondering if that twisting knot in the pit of my stomach is a peculiar form of relief or just more anxiety creeping up on me. Is it weird that I don’t feel any better? I bypass Kristen completely and blow out the door, practically running to get to my car. Ah, comfortable and lovable Brad. I have always used my car to escape from troublesome situations, mostly because I can lock the doors and just sit for a while. I begin to drive home to decompress for a couple of minutes while I wait for my mom to get off of her meeting so we can head out to the barn. I grab a snack and munch on it quietly while I wait. I think about my horse, Bailey. She is absolutely gorgeous, with her slender, sculpted face; her eyes, one brown and one blue. She is sturdy and strong, yet lean at the same time. Her shiny, fuzzy, orangey-brown and white coat with her soft, gleaming mane and tail. I adore her. She is confident and sassy and I admire her simple attitude towards life. Maybe that’s because she’s a horse, but who knows? My mom interrupts me deep in thought, “You ready to go?” “Oh, yeah, I’m ready.” “Okay, let’s get going then!” She laughs and claps her hands excitedly. She enjoys this as much as I do, if not more. We jump in the car and head on our way. I look out the window eagerly as I just can’t wait to arrive. I started to unconsciously bite my nails. Damn. I need to stop that. After a dragging half an hour, we finally pulled into the dirt, currently muddy, driveway that belongs to Kimberly. The familiar sound of her four dogs yapping loudly at our car gives me pleasure and I jump out to meet them. After a couple of minutes of face licking, I get right to work. I go and grab my horse to start tacking her up. I brush her completely in minutes. I finish up and start walking out to the ring up at the top of the hill. Kimberly meets me halfway. “Hello! How are we today?” She said cheerfully. She patted Bailey’s face gently. I smiled, “I’m great! Bailey seems full of energy today.” “She should be, she stayed inside all morning.” Kimberly inspected her legs for nicks for a succinct moment and motioned for me to keep going. I tugged on her reins and clicked my tongue to usher her forward, and she followed. I lunged her for a solid ten minutes before deciding that she was calm enough to get on. I guess she isn’t so excited after all. I got on and immediately knew I forgot something. My spurs. My encouraging pokey sticks. I mentally slapped myself in the face because I knew that once she caught on to the fact that I was without them, I was a goner. I would have no power. I banished the thought from my head with a shake and carried on. She noticed immediately. I sighed slightly as her entire demeanor changed from tired and slow to snappy and wicked. She jerked around and played with speed, with me struggling to keep her under control. I quickly became frustrated at this ten-year-old. She should know better at this point. I had always let her do this. I let her win too easily and now she is taking advantage. That was one of my resolutions. I have to be pushier with her. I suppose I failed in that aspect. But no, I am determined now. I must get the better of her. I got the better of nothing this year. From the very beginning, I had promised myself a number of things. I promised I would speak up, for one, be confident. That didn’t take me very far. I had also said that I would work out more. Nope. Not even a little bit. The last thing I promised myself is that I would be a better horse owner. I never had enough confidence to make the effort to curb her behavior and in almost every way, she dominated me. I cannot let her win now. I snapped back, put some sass back into her and, guess what, it worked. She stopped. She dropped her head, arched her neck and lifted her back. It was beautiful. I was ecstatic. I had finally done it! I was so proud of myself that I didn’t see it coming. I stood up in the saddle and pumped my fist up in the air. The last thing I heard before it happened was my mom and Kimberly shouting at me to sit up. It was pitch black. It came so quickly, and the sheer horror of the fall along with it. Who knew that once it came to that time, you would freeze. The thing that you had always prepared for, the moment that you were so sure that when you were thrown into it, you would make the right decision. I woke up soon after on my back, everything aching. I couldn’t move. I struggled to keep my eyes open, if they were open at all. All of a sudden, it stopped. The aching, that is. I kind of just started feeling all fuzzy. I looked down at a figure lying in a mangled heap in a muddy ditch. There's no point in it all. Resolutions. They are promises that no one really intends to keep. I guess I still have time to complete at least one. Confidence. I turn around and walk, not looking back. Not ever.


I gritted my teeth and winced as the needle pushed into and pulled out of the skin of my left shoulder. With one final tug, I was done. I looked at my arm in the mirror propped up on the table and smiled. This was my finest piece yet. The tattoo was in a rich black ink; the lines were clean and bold. It depicted a lion, rearing up on its hind legs and roaring. Below the lion was a crest depicting royalty. This was indeed a tattoo worthy of a duke. I stepped back from the mirror so that my whole body was in view and pulled up my pant leg. My eyes traced the tattoos up my leg, across my chest, and came to rest on the new one now on my arm before falling back down and looking at the small markings on my foot. This particular tattoo, though crude and faded, would always be the most important to me. It was my very first. It grounded me, reminded me of my humble beginnings. It was a shipyard slave's tattoo. A mark applied by cruel owners to signify the bearer was nothing more than property, worth less even than the cattle they herded onto and off of the ships. Further up my leg, on my calf, was an eagle. This tattoo belong to a soldier, a man who was still a slave, albeit to a general rather than a cruel shipyard master. A man who had faced the horrors of gory combat and yet had fought bravely to earn his freedom. My second. My forearm bore the image of a whale with two crossed harpoons underneath. The tattoo of a man who had saved to buy his own ship. A man who had clawed his way up in the world and become a successful merchant. My first tattoo that had belonged to a truly free man. On my chest, above my heart was an olive branch. This tattoo had belonged to a politician. A man of the people. A man who had fought bravely against all odds in the parliament to enact laws against cruelty to slaves. A man who truly saw all humans as equals and spread that vision with a passion. Now, I wear the tattoo of a duke. My tattoos tell the story of a man's progress in the world. They tell my story. A story of hope. A story of a small man achieving greatness against all odds. They are my tokens, my reminders. I stared at the body lying on the floor behind me and scoffed. For being a duke, he had gone down without much of a fight at all. His arm glistened bright red in the moonlight where I had peeled the skin containing his tattoo. Looking one final time in the mirror I smiled at my handiwork. My stitches were small, clean... neat. Much neater than my first attempt stitching the slave's tattoo to my foot. As I hopped out the window and ran from the manor I glanced at my bare right shoulder. I heard that the king would be coming into town next month. Yes, this spot deserves the tattoo of a king.


On the night I met him, I knew he would be something special to me. I didn’t know what, but I knew. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I didn’t love him then, but I knew, at some point, I would love him. That night, we were on the bus back to the hotel we were both staying at and he asked if I wanted to share his headphones. We sat quietly, hands in our laps, afraid to let our elbows touch while our souls became tied together by the wires on his old earbuds that were just a little too short for comfort between us. As one song came to an end and the next began, he looked at me. “Please don’t make fun of me for this song,” he looked so vulnerable. “I love this song!” I said it a little too loud, trying not to make him feel like I was judging him. It was true, I did love that song. I didn’t say it then, but I’d been listening to it practically on repeat for the past few weeks. As we sat, I could see his eyes moving, and I knew where they were looking. Such topics are taboo among strangers, though. Nevertheless, he asked. “What happened to your wrist?” I became defensive, but his eyes weren’t the only ones wandering. “What happened to yours?” he just looked at me. We sat the rest of the bus ride in silence, but we could both sense the other’s anxiety. Just before we pulled in, he got a call, but he quickly turned his phone over. “Was that your girlfriend?” I teased. “Yeah, actually, but we both know it’s pretty much over.” I was quiet after that. We said goodbye and went our separate ways. He texted me almost as soon as I got to my room. “Hey :) what’s up?” I could already feel the butterflies when I saw his name pop up on my screen. I told myself I wouldn’t fall. I was 2,516 miles from home, and I had no idea how far away from me he lived. I pushed my feelings from the bus as far down into the bottom of my stomach as I could as we talked, but I couldn’t hold back the little smiles. He wanted to show me something he’d learned, and he asked me to come meet him in the stairs at 11:45. I was so nervous. I walked to the fire escape, and I could feel my heart trying to choke me before I made it down. I can’t remember what we talked about standing there in the fire escape just before midnight, but I remember walking away so happy. He would tell me later that after he left, he’d come back to the stairs to see if I was still there. He wanted me to go out with him that night, but he’d been too afraid to ask and I’d already gone. I still tease him for it, for being too scared to ask me the first time. We always wonder what would’ve happened if he had. Two days later, we were on different planes headed to different states. He wouldn’t go to bed until I was home safe. I’d never felt more special. Until then, I’d had no romantic endeavors, and the fact that he seemed to be interested in me made my whole world glow. In the back of my mind, though, I remembered the phone call. I could feel a small knot in the bottom of my stomach, but I ignored it. Little did I know this was the first time I would feel something I’d come to know like the back of my hand. About two weeks later, things officially ended with his girlfriend. For the next few months, I was on top of the world. He gave me everything he could, despite the 1,818 miles between us. Oh, how in love I fell. I remember the first time he told me he loved me, the promises he made, the little things he’d say just to make me smile. It seemed that finally, after so long, things were beginning to look up for me. My depression was becoming manageable and I had someone who I could talk to who knew what I was going through. He only let me call him baby once. He told me the distance would make a relationship too hard for both of us, but it was okay for us to love each other. He told me he’d always love me, and when the time was right, we’d make it work. I believed him. Around the fourth month, though, came the beginning of the end of my world. He and his ex, the girl who’d called him on the bus, began getting together again. It started as a way for him to manage his mental issues, but soon they were together again. Everyone knew it wouldn’t last, but I’ll never forget the way my stomach dropped every time I would see pictures of them. I was in a position where I held no power. I couldn’t tell him I didn’t want her around, I wasn’t his girlfriend. I couldn’t say I was jealous; I didn’t hold such a position in his life. For those few brief months, I toughed it out. Every night I reminded him that I loved him, and I’d always wait for him. Every day he’d remind me that he still loved me too, and we still talked about all the things we used to. All our dreams, all our hopes, how we couldn’t wait to see each other. Finally, when it ended for the second time, I sat and listened to him on the phone while he cried. In the weeks following, his drinking picked up. I’d wake up to him calling, drunk again, telling me how he was going to hurt himself, and I’d talk until he was sober, and I knew he was safe. It didn’t help that his relationship with his dad fell apart around this time, too. Oh, so many phone calls. So many late nights. But I loved that boy. One day I got a call. Nothing unusual, he called pretty often. I picked up and I could hear that he was upset. “She’s telling me she’s pregnant.” “What?” “I don’t know what to do, she’s telling me she’s pregnant.” She wasn’t pregnant. I had my suspicions from the beginning, but of course I had to be there for him first. He told me over and over he couldn’t do this. When the truth came out and he was in a place to talk about it, I’d ask him what he would’ve done if it’d been true. “Honest to God I would’ve killed myself. Not because I don’t want to be a part of the kid’s life, but because I couldn’t be any good for the kid knowing that I can’t even be good for myself.” I will never forget those words. For the next few months he stayed single. It was perfect between us. Until one day something changed. I still don’t know if my anxiety was just heightened that day or I was picking up on subtleties from him, but something was off. We were having a pretty regular conversation for us, and at the end he told me, “You know I’ll always love you, even when I get gfs.” I knew then. There was another girl, and it wasn’t long until I, again, took second place in his life. I was right, and thus began, again, a pain unmatched. Slowly, I fell apart. The days left on read or open, the fear to say how I felt in case he got upset. As the months passed, I could almost always take it. Almost. As long as he still loved me, right? He did still love me. Slowly, though, it became harder and harder to put the fact that I was still the second choice out of my mind. I’d break down more and more. When I needed him, he was almost always there for me. Almost. I fell into some of the worst times I’ve ever been through, but I couldn’t validate them for myself. “This is just your depression. A boy shouldn’t make you feel this awful.” I told myself, but deep down I knew the truth. All those tears, all that anxiety, it was all because of him. There was a time when he told me about the first girl who broke his heart. “You were the first person who I’d listened to that song with since.” I nearly puked. I knew why he didn’t want to be made fun of now. “She was the root of my depression.” In my lowest, in one of my breakdowns, I told him how funny it was that she had done such a thing and yet he seemed to have ho issues doing the same to me. “Are you saying I’m the root of your depression?” “No, no, no... I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t you see you’re hurting me though? Please don’t get upset that isn’t what I meant.” So many of our fights ended like that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m just having a hard time right now.” “It’s ok, kid.” This would be alright for a while; I’d feel bad and apologize again and again until we both forgot about it. But it became harder and harder to ignore the thoughts I knew I shouldn’t be ignoring. Then came the first time he wanted to end it with her. Another late night, up listening to him talk about what was going wrong. By now, I’d become ever so good at not allowing myself to be jealous. It’s something I pride myself on, actually. I’m not jealous of her and I do not hate her. I wish I could have what she has, though. I wish I could be the one making him happy. But right now I’m not and I know that. It became harder and harder to stop the panic attacks and the outbursts, to keep my stomach down when I saw the pictures. “Why do you keep me around? Do you still want me to tell you I love you?” “How many times have I answered that question?” “Too many, I’m sorry. I just get so worried.” But this brings us to now. What am I doing? I know how he treats me isn’t fair. But I can’t help it. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the first person I’ve loved. Maybe it’s that I just love him too much to walk away. Maybe I’m scared that I’ll never have someone quite like him. Whatever it is, I know I’m not ready to walk away from him yet. I’ve given him my everything, and I intend to continue to. People tell me I love too strongly. I don’t think a person can do that. I still can’t listen to that song, though.


We met in the basement of a house I didn’t recognize; a house belonging to a friend of a friend. I’m not sure who she knew, but I knew that I wanted it to be me. I approached her and tried to strike up a conversation, sloppily albeit successfully. She had no name, or at least none that she wanted me to know, so I came to find that neither did I. She spoke of hobbies that I can’t remember and books that I’ll never read. I spoke of movies and an unhealthy longing to write my own someday. We were selfish conversationalists. I asked questions so that I could answer them when she was done speaking. She batted her eyelids so that she could know she was attractive. We had hours until the ball dropped so we went on a walk. Chilly air stung my face and smoke my lungs. We were the rebellious youth. “You can’t tell me John Stamos isn’t the epitome of cool though.” “I wasn’t arguing that John Stamos isn’t cool, he’s undeniably cool”, she took another drag. “I’m only saying Uncle Jesse isn’t the most fuckable actor in the show.” “Come on. If the mullet man isn’t then who is?” She laughed. “Bob Saget.” “You’re crazy.” “You wanted my opinion I’m just giving you the honest truth. There’s something sexy about the dad role that just jumps my bones.” “Jumps your bones? My goodness I’m talking to an old woman.” “72 years young and counting.” I didn’t know how old she actually was or where we were going. She’d mentioned it was her favorite place on campus. We came to a hill, large enough to warrant admiration but small enough to be mostly unexciting. She started running and I followed. We laid out and watched the stagnant night sky intermittently hide behind veils of clouds. She had switched to cigarettes now. “...and that’s the big old sky snake. They say one day he’ll come and swallow the Earth whole, accidentally. Of course it’ll be our fault for having become much too bastardly. Terribly evil, us humans. I think we’ll get to the point where we don’t see anything wrong with being bad. But the snake will be there to consume us, an unnoticed breath of dust and other cosmic things. Gone and forgotten to time.” “Spooky.” “Yeah. What’s that one?” I was pointing to the sky. “I don’t know constellations.” “Neither do I, but I know how to make things up.” “Oh in that case,” she pointed to a spot where I couldn’t make out any stars. Or maybe I couldn’t figure out where she was pointing. In either case it didn’t much matter. “That’s the big old sky sheep.” “Sky sheep you say?” “Yeah, he’s a lot farther away so you can’t really see him.” “That’s so sad.” “It’s okay though,” she said with a smile. “He’s a lot faster than the snake, he has legs. And one day he’s going to catch up to the snake and stomp on him for what he did to us.” “But who will stomp the sheep?” She looked me in the eyes. “We will.” We returned to the party. A joyous occasion marked with excessive alcohol and loud music. Precisely the type of thing you want to be involved with when you’re young and you’re aging. We played drinking games and she stood by my side, and she started to seep into my heart. Just enough that I knew who I wanted to kiss when the ball dropped. And when it inevitably dropped I made sure it was passionate. Just passionate enough for her to know I was enjoying the night and her company. And she laughed and smiled enough for me to know she was enjoying my company. And as things are wont to do the party became increasingly intense. And we became increasingly sozzled. Falling into and over and through one another like the souls of people who are supposed to meet. We had to lean on one another to stay standing. But we kept drinking because that’s what you do when you want to have a good time. I couldn’t call it love but I could call it happiness which is more than I could call the past few months. “I have to go to the bathroom”, she said. “Do you want me to come with you?” “No, no, it’s fine,” and I hoped she’d come back. I found the guy I came with. He wanted to know if I was having a good time, noted that he noticed I had been gone, was thankful I found my way back. He asked about the girl, said he’d seen her around campus but had never talked to her. I responded she was nice, kept it at that. “You should get her phone number or something.” “Yeah I’ll probably try.” I woke up in my bed back home. A splitting headache in my skull and a terrible feeling in my heart. A sadness that I couldn’t place. That’s the last thing I remember. Making note of attempts. I grabbed my phone from the charger and checked my contacts with hopes of a nameless girl being found in the depths. Alas no nameless woman was to be found. I called my friend to ask what happened. “She didn’t come back” “What do you mean she didn’t come back?” “I mean she went to the bathroom and that’s it. You looked all over but couldn’t find her. Then I lost you for about 20 minutes. Found you face down in the toilet. We called a ride and got out of there. You cried in the Uber.” “Oh. Thanks.” “Yeah no problem.” So I tried to go back to bed, but all I got was a head full of regret and a longing for a name I’d never know. Still dizzy from the poison of the night before I thought of the stars and our tiny place in the universe. How small we all were and how silly decisions make us feel like shit. So all I could do now was wait. Wait for the ghost of a soul to find its way back to me and a giant snake to come swallow me whole. Wait for a sheep that would never come.


It’s raining outside, but it always rains here. I often wonder what kind of grudge the sun has against my hometown. My days are short and my nights long, and the dark sky matches my somber mood. Every morning when I wake up, I write my day off as another blue one. But I wasn’t always unhappy. At some point in my life, I used to like who I was. What I stood for. But now, whenever I reflect on my past choices, I just feel a sharp pain of regret. My happiness is like the sun, fleeting--and most days, just not there at all. Regret, my regret, is all consuming. It surrounds me. Devours me. From the faint, hidden cries of my Mom every night, to the empty look my father gives me every day. From all the hollow hugs, to the leftover pork roasts distant relatives keep sending over. My soul, my ambitions, my passion--they’re shattered. Completely, entirely, irrevocably shattered. School. School offers me no solace. No distraction. As I walked down the hall, I could hear voices shushing. All laughing stopped, and piercing stares began to follow my feet. An overwhelming fog of pity and polite condolences infected my air supply. It was fatal. I deserved anger. I deserved hate. I didn’t deserve pity. I reached my class room, breathed in deeply, and momentarily hesitated. A minuscule flash of hope appeared, illuminating the deepest crevice of my unconscious. Maybe today will be different. Maybe now things will be how they were. What a naïve desire. Upon my arrival, regular behavior ceased to exist. Mr. B, my teacher, stood up. He apologetically looked at me, sighed, and ushered in a new student. There was liveliness in his step, but his hands were shaking. I could decrypt a fake demeanor all too well. His forehead was covered with curling strands of black hair, and the corner of his ashen eyes crinkled when he smiled and said hi. His name was David, and as he was shuffling to his assigned seat in the back, our eyes locked. For the first time in months, for the first time since the accident, his eyes weren’t filled with sympathy. The gaze was held, and his striking grey eyes creased again as he smiled. He didn’t know. Not yet. My stare drifted towards the window, as my thoughts wandered away... for better or for worse. I was twelve years old, my sister fifteen. We were strapped into the sunken black seats of our family Tahoe. The sun was unmistakably out for that brief car ride, and the warmth was spread across half of my face. My sister was to the right of me, in her sweaty basketball jersey. It was spread across her body like paper clings to water, perspiring. Around her neck was yet another medal. The sunlight was bouncing and gleaming off the polished bronze, almost tauntingly dancing across the patterns on my shirt. Jumping from one stripe to another. My parents were happy, happy like they always were when my sister gave them something to be proud of. Soft smiles and bright eyes were painted across their worn faces. That expression was backhanded--because I liked to see it, but I could never give it. All I had to console me, in that moment, was my tattered journal. The pages were dog-eared, and the binding was falling apart, but it was something that accepted me for exactly what I was. With the warmth on my face, and the journal in my hand, I felt happy. Happy as I knew happy. It was third period. How could it only be third period? Looking at the clock, watching the secondhand tick, was maddening. If I didn’t concentrate on the time passing by, I would concentrate on other things. Other memories I didn’t want to remember. Whoever said time was fleeting was obviously very wrong. Because my second felt exactly like a second, and my minute felt even longer. It has been so long since my presence hasn’t drawn dismal reactions, that I can’t remember what just being a part of the background felt like anymore. As I watched the clock show another minute pass, making my day inevitably closer to the end, I noticed a curious stare peeking my way. David, the new boy, was staring at me. Without shame. My head tilted to the left, reflexively, as he began to speak. Asking about my name, my hobbies, how boring I thought Mr. B was. Small talk. Real, genuine small talk. I hesitantly started responding, and all too quickly he was dragged away by some classmates. It was like a scene from a film on mute. A cluster of people, making frequent glances towards me, with the same face that they always made--furrowed eyebrows, glossy eyes, and the corners of their mouth turned slightly down. That was it. He knew. The one person that could talk to me, without guilt or pity, was now gone. And who to think that my complete isolation was a result from their charity, not my wickedness. And exactly like I feared, memories resurfaced, like a boat pulling up from a crashing wave in the vast ocean. How could she? That was all I could think. How? Why? Did she have to have everything? It wasn’t enough that she had their approval and warm gestures, that she was the one they bragged about to family. That she was the reason I couldn’t thrive in my own talents and passion, because her shadow was always cast over me. It wasn’t enough for me to just be and enjoy, I had to win. Show results. Because if I didn’t, I couldn’t compare. I didn’t meet my expectations. So, I screamed. I screamed like I never had before. I told her everything. Everything years of oppressing emotions didn’t solve. Everything pages of journal entries couldn’t fix. Because why did she have to corner writing now too? Why did she feel the need to enter her writing in a contest to be published, when she was always better at everything else? And why did she have to win? I had this. Only this. And she took it away. My face was red, my eyes wide, and salty tears began falling down my cheeks. She looked at me, with a blank face, told me she didn’t know this was so important to me, and then she just left. Lunch was an okay part of my day. It meant I was halfway done with school. It meant I would soon be home, alone, in my room. Because when I was home alone, I could avoid the short, quick glances and shrugs. I unwrapped a sandwich I made myself this morning from its saran wrap, and smelled the bologna to check that it was still fresh. Shopping at my house has become a rare occurrence over the past few months. Scrounging for food is becoming a habit. As I was opening my mouth to take a bite, David sat across from me. Apparently he doesn’t know many people yet. His attempt at normal conversation was a ruse. I knew it was. He had become more withdrawn, more cautious. His words were thought out, as if he was running every sentence in his head first. I noticed he was careful to not mention his own family. I have had enough of people walking on egg shells around me. Without thinking, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time--I snapped. For the past few months I have had only one emotion. I was too emotionally exhausted to get angry. I was just tired. Gloomy. Sullen. Broken. But not today, not in this moment. Because right now my misery was replaced with rage. Was it not enough for my family to hate me? Did I deserve to be isolated at school as well? And isolated because of what? Kindness? Politeness? My wounds can’t heal, I can’t move on, if nobody else does too. With that, I walked away. I didn’t look back to see his reaction, but I imagine that was the last time I would see David, the new kid. It was about six o’clock on a school night, and my sister wasn’t home yet. My parents were pacing, worried. They had already interrogated me, asking me why we didn’t walk home together. Asking where she could be. My responses weren’t soothing to them, because they made sure to criticize my lack of judgement. Why were they so worried? I thought it would be nice having my parents to myself for a few hours, while she was off pouting, probably winning more awards. But I couldn’t even properly hang out with my parents. Because all they wanted to know was what happened to their other daughter. Despicable. Enough is enough. Because that’s what happens when you force my only therapy out of my hand. When you take away my pen and catharsis. I stared straight at them, and screamed as loud as I could. Would it really be that bad if she never came back? Because maybe then, for once in my life, I could have your attention. Your complete attention. I could make you smile the way she does. You can be proud of me. Proud of what I do, and what I stand for. And before they had any time to react, my Mom received a phone call. She held up her hand, pressed her lips together to ensure that I knew she wasn’t done with this conversation, and answered the phone. We never finished that conversation. Tears began spilling down her face, as she dropped the phone to the ground. Finally. Study hall. Thirty minutes of dreadful silence, and then I could leave. I did it. I will survive this day. I didn’t even have to count the minutes, because I actually had homework to preoccupy my thoughts. As I was working on my tasks, I heard a chair scrape back across the tile floor, and saw the outline of a boy sitting down across from me. I peeked up from my work, and I saw David. He didn’t say anything--not a word. He just smiled. That same, natural smile. And began doing his work across from me. My sister. How? How I could I do this to my sister? I was on the ground, and everything else was hazy. The only thing running through my mind, on repeat, was the last thing I said to her. How dare I get mad at her for taking my hobby, when because of my selfishness I took her life? The police dreadfully explained the whole situation to my now family of three. She went to the convention center featuring her poetry to withdraw her approval to publish it. On her way back, she was hit by a car. Only five thirty in the afternoon and she was hit by a drunk driver. What were the odds? It was as if the universe was punishing me--or rather, her. The worst day of my life. If only I didn’t scream, if only I didn’t give her a reason to leave my side. She would hate me. My parents must hate me. And I unquestionably hate myself. I survived another school day. I survived the melancholy stares. I survived the hushed tones. And now, I was walking home with David by my side. Walking right next to me. Talking about the rest of his homework and dissatisfaction with the school lunch. And then, we reached the stop sign. The point where he must go left, while I go right. He looked at me, smiled for the fourth time that day, and told me he would see me tomorrow morning. And with that, he left. One. Just one person. That’s all I need. Because to David, I wasn’t a victim. I wasn’t the girl who lost a sister. I was me. Just me. I am not okay. I am not fixed. I am not healed. But you know what? I will be. As I took the first step towards my house--not house, but home--I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I looked up to the sky for my sun, and it wasn’t there. But there was rain. And today, it wasn’t just a dark sky and accompanying storm. It was a new start. The rain poured, cleansing my hazy vision. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be different, because there will be one person that can see me for what I am... not a victim, but myself.


"Jules, come on." Carlos slumped on Jules’ bed, exasperated. "You have to come with us. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance!" "Carlos, you can go to Times Square on New Years' Eve any other year," Jules said. "We might die between this year and next year," Carlos said dramatically. “Jesus Christ.” “He’s not wrong, though,” Altair said. He was leaning against the door, seeming a bit nervous to come all the way inside after... well, The Kiss. It had been almost a week since it had happened. Jules had been waiting for him to say something, mainly because she was too nervous to say anything herself, but things had gone on as usual. Jules hadn't dared to tell Carlos or Nailah, as that would only have proved them right about the “chemistry” they kept talking about. "Thank you, Captain Optimism," Nailah said. "I will go, as long as Fintan isn’t there.” "Fintan’s still moping,” Carlos told her. “He’s not going anywhere. So, Jules?" "Please." Altair cleared his throat and looked awkward. "I mean, it'll be bad enough third-wheeling Carlos and Nailah. If you don’t come too, I think I'm going to go crazy." Carlos smirked at Rebecca. He obviously thought that if Altair asked, Jules wouldn't be able to say no. Jules was about to prove Carlos wrong and say no anyway, but she realized that without them around and Akira celebrating New Year’s at her parents’, she wouldn’t have anything better to do. "Okay, fine. Let me change into something warmer. *** It was obvious to Altair that Jules was not used to the weather being this cold. It rarely snowed in her hometown. However, it had been cold in New York City since October. She’d had two months to get used to cold weather "I wouldn't have come if I'd known it was going to be this cold," Jules said, pulling her thick jacket tighter around her. Altair wasn't sure whether she'd let him wrap an arm around her, to try to warm her up. Things between them had been a little awkward since their kiss. Altair could tell she was expecting him to be the first to break the silence, but he had no idea how to do that. "Oh, please." Nailah scoffed and rolled her eyes. "This isn't even that bad. Besides, all of these packed bodies should warm us up." "You should never say 'packed bodies' again, but you're right," Carlos said. He grinned. "Hey! Look, we're on the Jumbotron!" He waved at the camera enthusiastically. He'd mentioned that he’d never been to Times Square on New Years' eve before, so this was a big deal for him. Altair looked back at Jules, who was shivering and looking slightly grumpy. She looked up at him and asked, “You do this every year?” “Mostly,” Altair replied. “My sisters aren’t really interested in the ball drop, but they like the music.” Jules smiled. “That’s a nice family tradition.” She frowned over at Carlos and Nailah, who were whispering together. “What’s up, guys?” Carlos tried to look innocent, which wasn’t his strong suit. "Bathroom. Be right back." "Take someone with you," Jules said. "Buddy system. In case you get lost." Carlos grabbed Nailah’s hand since she was the closest person to him. "What are you up to?" Altair muttered, knowing enough about Carlos to know that he wasn’t going to the bathroom. "Just my best idea yet," Carlos said vaguely as he and Nailah went past. “You know what? Maybe we should all go,” Jules said. “Come on, Jules!” Carlos whined. “Don’t you trust me at all?” “Not a bit,” Jules chirped, grabbing Altair and Carlos’ hands. “But since you’re clearly not going to the bathroom, we should all go so we know if you get arrested.” As Altair had predicted, they did not go to the bathroom. They slipped right past security and ducked behind the Jumbotron. Nailah popped open the control panel and started messing around with it. Carlos pulled out his phone and started tapping away at something. "You know, this could be considered defacing government property," Jules muttered, glancing around nervously. "Is the Jumbotron even government property?" Carlos asked, not even stopping. "If it's not government property, it's public property,” Altair said. “and I'm pretty sure that's still illegal." Nailah laughed. "If it's public property, then --" a wire sparked, and they all jumped. “Jesus,” Jules muttered. "Sorry. If it's public property, then I'm sure nobody will mind." "I don't know why I let you do stuff like this,” Jules mumbled. “Because deep down, you know you love us." “I’m supposed to be the responsible one,” Jules lamented. “I think we all know Akira is really the only responsible one,” Altair said. “True. She’s got the one brain cell between all of us.” “And now she’s gone.” ”And now she’s gone. She’s abandoned us.” She sighed. “Whatever you two are doing, can you please be quiet and hurry up before we get caught and arrested?” “Can do,” Carlos confirmed, continuing to tap away on his phone. “You got that code, Nailah?” Nailah answered in the affirmative. The two of them finished not long after that, and they returned to where they’d been earlier. They watched the live musicians sing, joining them when they knew the words and having a good time. Altair had forgotten completely about Carlos and Nailah’s plot until he heard Carlos mutter, “Any moment now...” A few moments later, the Jumbotron flickered off, and there was a collective gasp. News cameras who were covering the celebration turned excitedly to the black screen and reporters started chattering fervently about malfunctions. Then, suddenly, the screen lit up again, but this time, the revolving words at the bottom of the screen read "ALTAIR AND JULES, SITTING IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G ;D" Nailah howled with laughter. Jules socked Carlos in the arm, blushing furiously. Altair wasn’t sure what to do, so he just sighed and shook his head. The Jumbotron, it seemed, could not be fixed. Carlos and Nailah’s message was to light up the screen for the rest of the night. *** Back at the dorm, their friends were congratulating Carlos and Nailah for their stunt. Fintan had come out of his room to tell the guilty party that they were stupid before grabbing a bag of chips and retreating back inside. Akira was back from her family’s house; her little cousins had been ordered to go to sleep and there had been nothing else to do there. She laughed at the duo’s retelling of their antics. "I cannot believe you did that!" "I still can't believe I let you," Jules grumbled. "Carlos do Céu, you are a terrible influence." Carlos was laughing right along with Akira and Nailah. It was obvious he thought he was a genius. To be fair, he was, but it still hadn't stopped Jules from rushing them out of there. They had to leave before someone found them. It wouldn't have been super hard, either, because they'd been right there in the front, in view of the camera, the only ones laughing their heads off. So it was decided that they'd celebrate the final moments of the year back at the dorm. It wasn't terrible; they’d still see the fireworks, and there would be food. And, even better, it wouldn't be exactly zero degrees inside, meaning Jules wouldn't need the coat anymore. The dorm residents were celebrating in the lobby. Some of the guys from the seventh floor were leading a very loud and rowdy version of "Auld Lang Syne." The four of them got into the festivities quickly. Nailah had found a party horn and was taking great delight in blowing it as loud as she could. Carlos had joined in on the singing. Jules preferred to watch the chaos. She grabbed a coke and sat down, taking in the scene. Altair joined her moments later. "Not into parties either?" He asked. "I prefer watching the party to actually partying,” Jules replied. “Look at Nailah.” Anne had gotten ahold of a second party horn and was blowing them both at the same time. She'd also found some Pop-its and was throwing them at unsuspecting people. "Wait until she finds the sparklers," Altair snickered. Jules laughed. "We should call the fire department now while we have time." Was it just her imagination, or had Altair gotten closer? Never mind, it didn't matter. "Or maybe we should just hide them." "Yeah. And don't let her anywhere near the fireworks.” Altair was definitely closer now. It wasn't something Jules noticed with discomfort. She hoped he’d finally do something, say something about the kiss. She sort of wanted him to kiss her again, but she wasn't sure she was ready for whatever they had to be public. Suddenly Jules felt Altair’s hand slip into hers. She looked up at him, and they spoke at the same time. “Altair -- "Jules, look, I --" They both stopped abruptly, apologizing quickly, and awkwardly tried to start over at the same time. Then both of them gave up, sinking into awkward silence. "Hey, Jules! Al!" Carlos had a hat with sparklers poking out of it. It looked like a fire disaster waiting to happen. He was waving the two of them over. "Come on, it's time for the countdown!" They all headed to the roof, where Jules could see Times Square. Her hand was still tightly clasped in Altair’s. She figured it was probably a good thing -- they would've gotten separated in the crowd if they hadn't been holding hands. They secured a good position close to the edge of the roof. Carlos and Nailah were a few feet away to their right, and Akira was pulling out her phone to film the experience to their left. Altair let go of her hand; he’d probably realized he’d still been holding it. Jules frowned and decided to be brave. She shifted closer to him and linked her arm with his. The countdown started. "10! 9! 8!" Altair looked down at her and she smiled back up at him, hoping she looked encouraging and not uncomfortable. She wanted him to be closer. "7! 6! 5!" Altair grinned back down at her and playfully bumped his shoulder against hers, prompting Jules to laugh. They joined the countdown at the last few seconds. "4! 3! 2! 1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The fireworks exploded. A million colors exploded in the sky. Jules and Altair joined the cheers around them. Someone started singing Auld Lang Syne again. Couples turned to each other and shared their midnight kiss. Jules had been hoping she and Altair would be a part of that, but she decided it just wasn’t their time yet. Maybe next year. She turned to Altair to make a comment about the fireworks, but before she could get out a single word, he took a deep breath and blurted out, “Jules, I know this is the most cliche thing ever, but do you think we could maybe --” he cut himself off and shook his head. “What?” Jules asked eagerly. “Nothing. Never mind.” Jules huffed. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself. She knew he wanted the same thing she did, and she was tired of him psyching himself out. “Altair, I want to kiss you,” she told him. “I don’t care if it’s a cliche. I like you, and...” why was she at a loss for words now? “Really?” Altair asked. “I wasn’t being too forward last time?” “No, I loved that! I’ve been waiting for you to make a move!” “I thought you were mad at me.” “Of course I wasn’t mad at you, you oblivious --” she sighed and shook her head. The longer they argued, the longer after midnight they kissed, and it wouldn’t be a proper cliche. “Altair... just kiss me. Please.” Altair beamed. He leaned down, then hesitated. Impatient now, Jules took his face and pulled him down so their lips met. When she was younger, she’d read romance novels about a kiss with your true love feeling like fireworks. Jules knew now that that was just another cliche. But that didn’t make this kiss feel any less special. She wound her arms around Altair’s neck, pulling him closer, until the world faded away.


Elon Musk spent his whole life inventing amazing things, his final 7 years were thought to be the best though. He wanted to create a rocket that could fly at the speed of light! He passed before finishing it at the ripe age of 102. He put the project into the hands of his son, X Æ A-12, and grandson, Jesse. Who gladly took over and finished the first model within 7 months. Elon was thought to also be working on a mystery project before he passed. Some thought it was a message for everyone who bought the first tesla. Others thought it was something, much, much bigger. Like a spaceship that could travel through time. "He can already go the speed of light, why not travel through time? The flash did it, so why can't Elon?" Is what some thought, but those people also thought the earth is flat, so obviously no one is going to believe them. We call them The Thinkers. A year before Elon passed I actually got to meet him. And even call him grandpa because I married Jesse, his grandson. Jesse and I have always been interested in space. We met in college. Randomly got paired up for a project and hit it off immediately. Jesse kinda kept his family a little bit of a secret, which I can understand now, but back then it was just a little fishy. I still couldn't help myself, I fell in love with him anyway. Even just the sound of Alex Musk and Jesse Musk is music to my ears. We got married in 2073, a year before Elon died. One of the last things he told me was that he is proud to call me his granddaughter and to never stop pursuing my dream. I still hold this close to my heart. For the next 5 years after the first rocket ship to fly at the speed of light was made, it was mass produced, until there were over a billion made! Enough to hold everyone on the overpopulated Earth and more. This is when nuclear power plants just started blowing up all over the world. There was no rhyme or rhythm to it, it was completely random. This was slowly causing earth to be uninhabitable because of the toxicity. They sent out my crew and I to find a new planet to inhabit. My crew was made up of six amazing people, Caleb Lowes, John Hickory, Eddie Johnson, Barb Lynn, Jannet Ross, and Jenne Aura. These six people are the most loving, caring, and helpful people on Earth. I’m so glad to have them in my life, and on my team! We loaded up into the space shuttle. We were lucky enough to be able to travel in the first one made; the best one. We got sent out on July 14th. I remember the feeling of the shuttle shake, a harl itself into the atmosphere. It was unlike anything I've ever felt before. Once we hit the atmosphere it was like everything stopped for 10 seconds. Just silence and beauty. Until Eddie announced “We did it guys, we're in space!” Everyone cheered. Caleb noticed that NASA put in a coordinate, all we had to do was put the shuttle into the ‘lightspeed’ setting and go. Jenne asked if we were ready, we all responded with “Affirmative.” She pushed up the leaver from normal to lightspeed and pressed the green button saying “Everyone hold on!” We sped into the abis. It was so fast I couldn't even feel it. It was like we didn't even move. We all saw a huge flash of pure white, then a gumble of dots and colors. As if I rubbed my eyes too hard. But the colors weren't colors I've seen before. A color no one can explain. Almost like an absence of color, but it was there. It came with a wave of extreme anxiety and terror. I hope we never have to feel that ever again, even if it was only for a few seconds. Within just a few seconds we were at our destination. Everyone kinda just looks around at eachother like ‘holy crap, what the heck just happened?’ Yet, we all stayed silent. Until Caleb said “What kinda Milano type ship is this?!” He thought he was being funny, but none of us knew what he was talking about. So he explained himself “You know, the spaceship in Guardians of the Galaxy?” None of us understood but he continued, “2014? Marvel? Avengers? Quill flew it to Morag to get the Orb for-” “SPOILERS!” Eddie interrupted. We all just giggled in confusion. Barb sarcastically said “You all are a bunch of idiots.” We all laughed. Caleb asked “You guys do know what I'm talking about though, right?” Laughing John replied “No.” Caleb was the type that could live off of old movies. He even says “Everything after 2021 SUCKS!” Basically, he’s a weirdo. I look outside and say “Well, we’re here.” Jannet asked “We gonna park it, or what?” Jenne pulled the switch into normal while John figures out a good place to land. We successfully landed the ship and tried to contact NASA. Nothing. “We must be too far away.” I said. Everyone agreed. Jenne asks “So, what are we going to name it?” Since we are the first people on this planet we get to name it. I blurted out “ReMusk!” Everyone looked very confused. Eddie hesitantly spoke up and asked “ReMusk?” Happily I explained to myself “Yes! ReMusk! Re, as in a redo of earth. And Musk, because it's the Musk space ships that got us here. Soooo ReMusk!” Silence. Pure silence. “No objections?” I ask. still nothing. They all just look at eachother, waiting for someone to say something. “ReMusk it is.” I say walking towards the door. I open the door and Caleb puts on some music he put on a CD before coming here. He would not survive without music. He probably made 100 CDs, all with 10-50 songs. The CDs range from 1920’s classics to 1980’s rock to 2000’s pop all the way through to 2040’s country. He likes everything!! Even “Yummy” by Justin Beiber, you have to be some kind of crazy to like that song! We unload everything and get settled in. Two days pass and we still haven’t been able to send out anything to NASA or have gotten anything from them. We all decide to take a nature walk. It’s all so beautiful. So peaceful. Every animal we have seen has been a herbivore, fearful, but curious. One animal was furry, fluffy, and looked almost like a dog. but walked on two legs, straight up, but had a third leg. The feet were like monkey hands. while eating it would stand on its smallest leg and use its longer, stronger, legs to grab and eat food. It was super friendly and wanted to stay around us the whole time. We named it Frank and kept it as a pet. Named after Frank Sanatrua, Caleb’s idea. Whilst on this nature walk we saw something move. Then a girl yelled “Hello?!” Confused, I yelled the same thing back. She frantically screamed “Please, don’t hurt me, I’m safe!” Still screaming, I replied “It’s ok we won’t hurt you. Are you injured at all?” She replied “No.” I ask her where she is and we meet up. All of us are very cautious, even Frank. Once we were within 10 ft. of each other Jannet stoped everyone saying “That’s close enough for now” Frank ran twards her super exited, like it knew her. She freaked out saying “Oh my gosh Frank!” Caleb asked what we were all thinking “You know it? And it’s name?” “Yes, I’ve known it since I’ve been alive. It’s mine actually. I lost it about a week ago, thank you for finding it! And as for the name, it’s name has always been Frank. My mom was always the best with coming up with names.” She said while petting Frank and looking at us. “Speaking of names, what’s yours?” I ask. “Oh, Ashley!” She replied. “And yours?” I answered for everyone, pointing at them when I say their name. “Now intruductions are over, I’ll ask what everyone else is thinking. How did you get here and how do you know english?” Jannet said. “Well I’ve lived here my whole life, my mother and her friends raised my freinds and I here. They all spoke english, so I do too.” Ashley answered with a pause “Do you think you guys can help me; I’m kinda lost. Sorry for the inconviounce.” We all ponder the desion. John wispers to all of us “How do we know if we can trust her?” Ashley heard and answered by saying “Well i know this planet better then anyone, so i can help you guys too. I can show you what you can and cannot eat, what is frendly and what isnt. You guys can learn from my mistakes! Please help me, so I can help you!” I ask if she remebers what direction she came from. She said “No, I’ve been looking for Frank and I have no idea where I am now. I think I’ve just been going in circles for awhile” I ask “Do you just want to follow us back to our base and if you see anything familiar, tell us and we will go that direction. If you don’t, just keep going with us and you can stay at our base.” “Yes, ok.” She responds. “This way” I say as I turn around and walk towards our base. We talk about our lives the entire time we walk. About my crew and I from earth. Ashley talking about her life on ReMusk. We get about 2⁄3 of a mile away from our base and Ashley notices something familiar and screams, “There! That way! There’s my base!” while pointing right. We start walking in that direction while Frank wags his tail at your dog when you get home after a long day at work. Once we get to Ashleys base we see 3 other people. Ashley and Frank run towards them and give them all big hugs, almost crying. She must have been gone for awhile. Ashley introduced everyone. “This is Cale, Jesse Jr., and Bethoney.” She says while pointing to them. I did the same with my crew. Everyone shook hands. I notice they kids look kinda familiar but i don't say anything. We all get to know each other and end up moving our base to theirs. I am honestly so glad there are other people here and we aren’t alone. Such a relief. We spend the next few days getting closer, researching, playing games, and simply just experiencing this new world. One day I noticed that Ashley has the same pearl necklace as me. This necklace is one of a kind. My grandma made it when she was little. Then I gave it to my mom when she turned 16. My mom did the same with me. I asked her about the necklace. She said that her mom also gave it to her when she was 16. Which I found kinda weird, but it probably just blew it off as a weird coincidence. There is one thing that I just couldn't get off my mind; how they look familiar. Then i figured it out! Cale looks like Caleb. Bethoney looks like Barb. Jesse Jr. looks like Jesse, my husband and a little like me. Same as Ashley. I don’t say anything to anyone, yet. I want to test something. I make a sharpie mark on my pearl necklace to see if anything happens to Ashleys. Nothing. I’m still unsure. So I chip the necklace with a screwdriver. I look at Ashleys and hers now has a chip in it when it didn't before. This is the same necklace. These are our kids. We are their parents. Everyone is playing poker. I pull Caleb aside and tell him, he might understand. He does, but he is very shocked. He agrees with me. “Do you think they time traveled somehow?” Caleb whispers to me. “What if it was us that time traveled? I mean, you remember what happened in the space ship when we were coming here.” I suggest. “You said we’d never speak of that again!” Caleb says sternly. “I know, but, comon. Are you really telling me that wasn weird?” I ask. “I’m not saying that, I just, is it really possible to time travel?” Caleb replies. “Yes! I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out. What if The Thinkers are right. What if Elon was able to make a shuttle fast enough to travel through time. Think about it. If you can travel a LightYear in a tenth of a second, or faster. We could have possibly just gone so far it was as if we time traveled.” I say frantically. “Well I guess that kind of makes sense.” Caleb says, still kinda confused. Cale comes out of the hut and sees Caleb and I talking. “Whatcha guys talkin’ about?” Cale asks. “Oh just asking him about a certain song” I reply hoping he doesn't ask any more questions. “Okay?” Cale says laughing. “Let's get back to Poker then guys.” Caleb replies “Yeah, Poker.” We walk back to the hut and play until everyone gets tired. Everyone goes to bed, but i can’t sleep. I bet Caleb can’t either. I go to the bathroom, which is in a different hut about 100 ft away from the main base. While leaving the bathroom I hear something making noise a little ways away. Its Cale and Caleb! I hide behind a tree to listen to what they say and see what they are doing. I’m like a spy! I can’t really hear what they are saying but i know they are arguing. Then I see Cale punch Caleb in the side of the head, knocking him out intimately. Cale drags his emotionless body to almost complete darkness, but my eyes have already adjusted to the darkness so i can still see them. Cale pulls out a knife, stabbing Caleb in the chest, and drags it down to his hips. Killing Caleb. I watch cale slowly fade out of existence. So it is true. Cale is Caleb's son. I ran back into the bathroom trying to pretend I didn't see anything. I eventually go to the home hut to try and sleep, but i don't think anyone can sleep after that. I lay still staring at the ceiling until morning. I act asleep as everyone wakes up. Once about two others are up I ‘woke up’. All day I had to act like nothing's wrong all day. Just pretend nothing happened. Everyone is drinking at the bar. I tell Jenne what happened because i just couldn't hold it in any longer, I NEEDED to tell someone! I made the mistake of telling Jenne because she told everyone else. Making everyone very mad. Causing a huge bar fight to erupt. But it was more of like a murder fest, because they just kept killing eachother. Bethoney killed John. Jesse Jr. killed Jenne. Jannet killed Jesse jr. Ashley killed Eddie. Finally Bethoney killed Barb, killing herself in the process. All in that order. I am hiding during all of this. Just watching all of my loved ones die right in front of my eyes. Leaving just Ashley, a bunch of dead and bloody bodies, and me. All I can think about is Jesse. I have to make it home to him. It’s just Ahshley and I, and I can't let her win! I have to kill my own daughter, who I haven't even raised yet. She is still looking for me, while she is turned around I pull out my gun and shoot her in the back of the head. I did it. I really did it. I killed someone. As all the blood floods out of her body, so does a letter. I grab it, it has my name on it. “Dear Alex, If you are reading this, my plan failed. I lost, you won. I bet you have a lot of questions. So i think i can answer a few. For starters, you were right, I am your daughter. Cale is Caleb's son, and Bethoney is Barb's daughter. You are very smart, I must say. I was born with a condition that leaves me in inimaginable pain every second of every day. You knew about it before I was even born. Yet you still had me. So you have to pay for what you have done. I decided to kill you before you can even have me. I know I couldn't just go back in time and kill you while you're sleeping. That's too easy. I had to get you to love me first. Give you hope. So I could rip it away from you. Make you in pain like you've done to me. You Did this to me mom! IT’S YOUR FAULT I’M LIKE THIS ALEX! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!! So I made a plan. Jesse would go back in time and blow up nuclear power plants all over the world after all the space shuttles were made. Then leave his time travel ship there, calling it The First Elon Musk Space Ship and assigning it to you and your crew. He stayed on the ship until you got here. He would then escape and come to our base. We would become close, giving hope. Then I would kill you. I’m guessing it didn't go like that though. So you won, I hope it was worth it. I'm sorry mom. Love, Ashley <3 P.s. turn around ;)” I turn around, Ashley is standing right behind me. With the gun pointed at my head. “Ashley, baby, you don’t have to do this! I can make it all better! I’m sorry” I plead. “Yes I do” Ashley says while pulling the trigger. As life fades out of me, Ashley’s entire existence does too.