The Wedding The garden is the site of my aunt’s second wedding to a guy named Phillip. Phillip. Like the prince. May he rest in peace. Technically, the garden is not the site of my aunt’s second wedding to a guy named Phillip. It is the site of the reception of my aunt’s second wedding to a guy named Phillip. It was April or March or...um...sometime early spring. I was only 10. Time works differently when you’re a kid. I once read that childhood is like being drunk: you don’t have much memory of it all, but everyone keeps telling you stories about it so you desperately try to piece it all together. But this story is about my aunt’s second wedding to a guy named Phillip. We drove endlessly from our home in my mom’s grey minivan up the giant mountain top to a church nestled in pine trees and a blanket of sow. I stood freezing in my little white dress, covered in tulle and water color style pink lilies. Everyone could hear the desperate sound of my stomach screaming for food. I couldn’t feel my toes. The church was all brown brick and concrete floors. The very best part was the sound of my feet, safely strapped into Mary Jane style white shoes, as we took our seats in the brown wooden pew up front. “Family sits up front at a wedding,” said my mother in a hushed tone, her warm, coffee breath against my ear. A man in a suit began droning on about faith and love. A beautifully tall woman with chestnut curls stood by my cousin. They wore matching pink dresses. I tugged on the dark blue velvet sleeve of my mother’s shirt and demanded her identity to which she replied, “That is your cousin’s new bride.” The man in the suit invites everyone to discuss the bride and groom. I looked to the wooden ceiling as I felt cold snow plop down on my button nose. The left side started first, strangers dressed in fancy clothes began speaking about Phillip. They called him handsome, intelligent, brave, and classy. I requested my mother to define the word, classy , “It’s a person with a lot of class.” I began to ask a follow up question, but she pressed a long index finger to her lips, and shrugged my shoulders because I didn’t know what class was so I sure as hell didn’t understand classy any better. Finally, the man in the black suit asked for us to speak about the bride. My Aunt. In her shimmering white dress. With the long veil which had a few pink rose petals, evidence of her walk down the aisle. She beamed. She glowed. It was in her I saw a woman in love for the first time. Her mother, my grandmother spoke. In her matriarchal elegance, she turned to face the audience. Her perfectly coiffed grey hair grazed the top of her beautiful magenta dress. “My beautiful daughter is an artist at heart. She flourishes in anything creative, finds joy in the little things, and is an incredible mother,” compliments gushed forward from her classic red lips. My aunt mouthed thank you. I leaned forward on my toes and popped back on my heels. Clack, clack, clack. My mother’s long fingers reached for my hand. I needed to stop. We all processed out of the church and followed the trail of colorful cars down the long hilled driveway. We merged onto the highway. I was relieved when we could start listening to the radio again. Rain began to pour down our windows. I jammed a stubby thumb on the window and raced the drops of water down, down, down. A pop song about love filled the car and I began to wonder what life would be like once I got married. I would have a long veil just like my aunt. My gaze darted down to my shoes as I decided I would wear real high heels at my wedding. Like the one my grandmother wore. A smile crossed my face as I began to doze in the backseat. “We’re here,” announced my mother. We unpiled ourselves from the car. The backyard was much warmer than the mountain top and as we weaved into my grandmother’s home, extended family rushed Tasha and I. They gave perfumed hugs, lipstick filled kisses, and picked us up so we could feel their scratchy beards on our velvet cheeks. Eventually, we were free to run into the backyard where Tasha and I made a beeline for the tree house. In our fancy dresses and perfectly white shoes, we climbed the worn rope ladder up the oak tree. Our cousins waited for us and we all rushed to the windows to peer out at the adults below. They rushed around with wine filled goblets and swarmed my aunt like moths drawn to a single porch light. They bobbed in and out of her orbit in a kind of dance. The garden was in full bloom behind my aunt. A sea of rose buds surrounded her. She looked like Venus in that famous painting my mother took us to see a replica of. Instead of cupids, she had birds and butterflies to create a crown around her. “Here,” Lily held out a wine glass filled with water for me. My mouth closed and I blushed with embarrassment. We all clinked our cups and pretended to be fancy while sitting cross legged on the scratchy wood floor. The Birthday Bash The garden is the site of my uncle’s 50th birthday bash. 50. That feels old. I mean technically, not that old. “Given the fact that people live well into their 80s these days, I wouldn’t fret too much,” comforted my mother when I raised the question of mortality. We piled into the grey minivan and cranked on the AC as high as it would go. My uncle was born on June 30th so my grandmother planned a birthday/4th of July bash. We waited in traffic for ages. My sweat filled face searched for the best place to crane towards a little more breze. “This isn’t working,” huffed my mother as she tugged on the tiny spaghetti strap of her sundress which was falling off her shoulder. She turned off the AC and opened all the windows. I leaned my face out like a dog. The orchestra of beeps and honks from annoyed drivers along with the passive aggressive rush of traffic on the other side of the highway lulled me into a sense of exhaustion. The heat did not help. I pulled out my compact from my little black purse bought by my grandmother. In the tiny hand held mirror I stared in horrified amazement at the make up literally melting off my face. Desperately, I reached for my lip gloss and applied another coat. Strands of my long black, hair clung to it instantaneously. I blew raspberries out angrily. We finally arrived at my grandmother’s house. I teetered up the long driveway in my very high red heels. I smoothed out my tiny black pencil skirt and adjusted my newly found cleavage before I entered the kitchen. Relatives swarmed us like ants on a picnic. However, I had discovered a new weapon and offered kisses on the cheek, “Just like the French,” praising my grandfather. His prickly face smells like cologne. I brush him off while heading for the white French door leading to the backyard. Outside is a picnic table covered in deviled eggs, crudites, and cold cans of soda. I load up a red plate with lots of goodies. Tasha trails behind me. She picks plain crackers and little wedges of cheese. We sit silently next to one another on a few lawn chairs. Our cousins toss bean bags in the yard, hollering at each other. “Hey, look,” says my sister. She had positioned an apple slice on her top lips and pursed her lips in a duck face so the apple is a big, red mustache. She giggles. The apple falls and I roll my eyes while whipping out my cell phone. It’s 12pm. I told Marcos I’d call him at 4pm. It can’t come fast enough. My uncle and his father exit the kitchen side by side holding large platters of raw meat. They stroll over to the BBQ, chattering. I watch as they discuss temperatures and seasonings before they expertly toss the meat on the grill. My mother approaches Tasha and I with hugs. Tasha asks if she can have a soda. Cracker crumbs cover her little mouth which elicits more eye rolling on my part. I take a long, dramatic drink of my cola. “Of course you can have a soda,” my mother says while looking at me. She takes my sister’s seat, “Put that phone away. We’re at your grandparents’.” “Why?” I ask. The phone feels hot and heavy in my hand. “We’re here like all the time,” I complain. “Not all the time, now put it away,” responds my mother. The look in her emerald eyes means the conversation is over so I stand, toss my plate in the black trash can, and tuck my phone in my purse. I dramatically pick it up and walk across the pristine, green lawn to the garden. There is a stone path, lovingly set by my grandfather, which cuts down the center of the garden. I am greeted by bold pink and white tulips. Their waxy petals are enticing. A plastic, ruby red press on the nail falls off when I try to stroke one. A blush the color of the roses that follow fills my cheeks. The roses perfume the air with a romantic day dream filled scent. I lean down, imagining myself in a movie. A tall, handsome man in a suit will wrap his arms around me. We will admire my handi work together. “There’s a lot of work your grandmother puts into this place,” says a deep voice. Startled, I gasp and face my grandfather. His face is worn like leather and full of laugh lines. I dramatically raise my hand to shade my eyes. “Come on,” he says and he leads me around the garden. He shows me the cucumbers and the carrots. I recognize the veiny vine of watermelon. His voice is full of excitement and pride. I glance back at my sister as my stomach rumbles. “Um, Grandpa, can we just like, go eat?” I ask as my uncle calls everyone to the table. Grandpa smiles and kisses the crown of my head. We leave the garden behind. I take a seat next to my mother. She is discussing school with my cousins. They’re sitting in a circle underneath the shade of the big oak tree. The one the tree house used to be. “Do you kids remember climbing up there?” asks my mother. Everyone looks up while I roll my eyes and sneak a peek at my phone. It’s 1:15. “What’s so important there?” inquires my aunt. She takes a bite of her cheeseburger. A hint of ketchup lingers on her lip. Phillip wipes it away. I blush and shove my phone away. “Oh,” responds my mother, “She’s just obsessed with her new boyfriend.” “Mom!” I exclaim and feel humiliation fill my heart. “Wanna see a picture?” demands my mother. She has placed her plate on the grass and is reaching for her purse. She whips out a worn out photo of Marcus and me from his homecoming dance. I am wearing a long, red, strapless dress that we bought in Cancun the year before and heeled sandals. Marcus has on a black suit, white dress shirt, and cyan colored tie. My relatives ooh and aah over the photo. I stare at the garden as tears fill my eyes. My lip burns with pain as I bite down and taste iron. I toss my plate on the grass and stand. Relatives surround me demanding to know if I’m ok. My mother calls my name and I ignore her. I tear through the living room to the guest bathroom and dab water on my cheeks. My mascara is running. My eye liner which I carefully applied this morning is smudged and runny. I dry my hands on the powder blue towel and take a deep breath. Out of the corner of my eye, through the little bathroom window, I see my grandfather in the garden. The Funeral The garden is cold and grey. It is covered in a soft winter blanket that hangs on the brown leaves of my rose bushes. I stand in a sea of black. The faces around me are haunted like Halloween masks. They have deep bruises underneath their eyes and when I reach for my mother’s hand, it’s trembling. I take a deep breath. My aunt conducts all of us as we discuss the mountain of a man my grandfather was. My relatives take turns sharing stories. Their words crash against me like a raging sea. My own heartbeat rises with each person. Eventually, we break for food. Tasha loads up her blue plate with crackers and cheese before we take a seat on the living room floor. “Hey, look,” she taps me on the shoulder. I see my sister with a red, apple mustache and we giggle. A few tears escape our eyes. I don’t eat much, just push my food around. Tasha nibbles half heartedly. I decide I need some space and weave through the kitchen to the back door. The air is cold and shocks my hot skin. Some part of my soul leads me down the porch and out to the garden. My arms wrap around the rough skin of the tree as I stare up at the shell that remains of our tree house. A graveyard of dead leaves peaks out beneath the dusting of Jack Frost. I decide that even mother nature is sad today. My black heels clack, clack, clack on the stone path. The tulips are hidden in a warm, dense, blanket of earth. The leaves of the rose bushes look green and cruel without their beautiful flowers. I lean down and imagine their perfume. Brisk snow tickles my button nose. I glance down the path to where I know the cucumbers will go. To the future home of the carrots and the watermelon. My legs fold underneath me and I sit on the cold stone of the cold garden. The one my grandmother and grandfather built over their six decades in this home. When I raise my head I imagine the laughter that filled this yard during barbecues and backyard camping nights. “I promise to visit her once a month, Grandpa. Granny will never be alone. I promise,” I whisper in the shelter of the garden.


Calvin The Comic A bead of sweat dripped from Calvin Hoopers brow. He was filled with the exhilaration of the audience on the other side of the door. Soon it would be his turn, he could hear the people laugh at the comic that was on stage now. Open Mike at the “Trollies Tavern”, always the highlight of Calvins dull week. Not much excitement as a gas attendant. Mundane was the existence of the gas jockey. , It was when he discovered the comedy open mike at “Trollies”, that a spark was once again lit in him. To laugh, free and simple to do, but to truly Calvin had taken the job as a bridge to something better, that bridge seemed to go nowhere. Now five years later still pumping gas making little enough to rent his little room to laugh from the belly free from the strife of life. He was free, observing the comedy acts at first. The bravery it took he felt to get up on a stage in front of strangers, and with only your wits make them laugh. Days were spent designing jokes in his head. Lost in a comedic fog Calvin tried to see the humor in everything. But to tell someone a joke of his. To cross the line of sharing the comedy that was brimming within. As the truth be told Calvin was a very shy individual, always had been. His mother would say he was so timid that even the mice were not wary of him. Timid one-line jokes came across lame with no comedic emphasis put into it. Still every open mike he was there studying the comics. Later he would go home mimic them to himself in the mirror. Alone in his room he was not timid, he would tell funny stories to himself about various aspects of life. He would make funny faces to accompany punchlines and practiced the art of body language. This went on for months Calvin was a student of humor yet could not find his voice. It was a cool autumn day, Calvin was sitting in his booth thinking of a good ending to a joke about an Eskimo and chopsticks when a red Audi convertible pulled up to the pump. Calvin walked over to the car and was taken back by how beautiful the driver was. She looked at him with her olive-green eyes and with just a hint of sultriness said, “Fill me up, premium.” Calvin quickly set about the task of fueling the car when he heard her say,” You go to Trollies on open mike nights don’t you?” A little surprised Calvin turned to look at her and with all the will he had muttered the reply, “Ah, Ah yeah, I like to laugh.” Feeling like an idiot knowing he could have said something better, he was surprised when she gave him a big smile and said “Yeah, I like it when you laugh at my jokes.” Just then Calvin recognized her as one of the regulars on comedy night. She was one of the funnier women, her humor matched her beauty. Shyly Calvin asks “How do you do it? Get up on the stage I mean.” She studied him for a moment then replied “Life is hard, Laughter heals people if I can make a few people laugh, make them happier well then it’s my duty.” The pump clicked off and Calvin took the nozzle and closed up her gas cap. As she handed him the money she said “Sign-ups are at 7, I hope to see you on the other side of the stage this week. All you have to do is make one person laugh and you’ve done something.” The engine roared to life and with a wave and a smile, she was gone. Calvin went back to his booth and thought about it. If he could make one person laugh he had done something. On his way home that night he stopped at the local thrift store. In the back they had men’s suits, selecting a brown tweed suit with smokers cuffs. If he was going to perform before the people he had to establish a look. When he went home and looked at himself in the mirror, it was a different Calvin looking back, was that a hint of confidence in his eyes. For hours he practiced in the mirror. “If I can make one person laugh I have done something.” The day arrived and Calvin could feel a tightness in his chest that only grew stronger the closer it got to performance time. All day at work he went over material, mentally picturing himself presenting the jokes to a crowd of strangers. Would they laugh? Or would they boo him off stage the duality of the situations that could occur terrified Calvin. When he got home he put his suit on and looked at himself. “I will make someone laugh tonight.” He went over his routine one last time to himself. Over and over in his head, as he walked to the club, “I will make someone laugh.” It seemed as if this mantra not only calmed his inner fear of people but fed a larger need to interact with them, make them laugh. He entered the bar and walked over to the sign-in table. A fat bald man was collecting the registration fee, it cost ten dollars to get on the stage, Ten dollars seemed like a small sum to the years of introversion Calvin had endured. He paid the man and was directed to a door in the back if any preparations for your act needed to be made. The din of the crowd sent an electric tingle down Calvin’s back. He went to the door in the back and entered the stage room. There were about fifteen people milling about. Off to the left was the sexy Audi driver. Calvin made his way over to her and her mesmerizing smile encompassed her face when she saw him. “Glad to see you on this side of the stage,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. “I’m here to make someone laugh tonight,” Calvin said with triumph in his voice. She burst out in laughter and said “Honey you and that suite already did.” A smile crept across Calvin’s face. “Maybe after the show, you and I could have a drink and talk shop,” he didn’t know where this courage was coming from. She looked at him intently with her exotic green eyes and said “Sure, I would like that but what do I call you?” “Calvin the comic”, he said with a chuckle. “Calvin the comic, I like that.” A gruff voice yelled “Sally, your next.” “That’s me,” she said getting up. “Good Luck tonight Calvin, cant wait to hear your material.” Leaving a hint of her perfume in her absence, Calvin couldn’t believe the turn his life had taken. He listened to the laughter it fed something inside him he never felt before. The tightness was still in his chest but so to was excitement, no more was the fear of the crowd there, replaced now by a yearning to entertain the people. “Calvin, your on in five.” Taking a deep breath and looking at himself in the mirror he was not Calvin anymore, he was “Calvin the Comic”. THE END


I’m leaving the VA with a bandage around my arm and a mask over my face and I’m thinking, What was the point? I was in there for... three hours? They drew piss. I bled in a cup. We played that little word game we always play where they ask, “Are you thinking about harming yourself or others?” “Know, and know,” I said. It’s what I always say. Because I know they’ll know the truth, if they just pay attention. Yes and no. No and yes. Sometimes. Not always. Not now. Earlier though, and definitely later, no doubt about it. But I don’t say that. Because they didn’t ask the right way. Ask the right questions and you’ll earn the answers I have left to give. See? It's a game. You get it. I’m good at giving directions. But you can’t say that stuff in there. Even if they ask. Especially if they ask. It’s a test. It’s a game. And you wanna pass, right? You don’t wanna lose? I can tell you do. I can tell you don’t. That’s why you turned around, just now. I saw you looking at me, thinking the same thing I was thinking, Pass me, please just pass me . At least, I think you were thinking that. Don’t worry, I can’t read minds, not anymore. Not since they put me in a gown and grippy socks. That was forever ago. Now, I punch pillows since their pills pull punches. Welp. There it is. I said it, didn’t I? Or I might as well have. Yeah. I haven’t been taking them. You caught me. Are you working for them? You have to tell me if I ask, ya know? You gonna check under my tongue? AHHHH. Just kidding. But seriously, they can’t check under your tongue at your apartment. Mine either. So yeah, back to that other thing. The thing you were thinking about a second ago. When I said I can’t read minds, what I meant was I’m not the one doing the reading. They’re actually read to me , like a book on tape. That’s what happened with you, just now. Someone read your thoughts out loud, it wasn’t me, but I heard them because I couldn’t help it. Pass me, please just pass me. Pass you what? I don’t have anything. What more do you want? I already gave you my piss and my blood and you’ll get no more tears from me. Tears not tears, like the kind you might find in a diary. Past, pass, we pass, you pass, and I pass after we pass in the past. Puff puff pass, each other and the tests and the page. I did it, and so did you. The past thing. Then, I turned around, and so did you. The passed thing. Is it destiny? Is it worth pursuing? What’s your name? I’m not making a pass . I am the past. You are. We are. Does it feel weird yet? No, not this. The words. Of course this feels weird. I mean the words feel weird. I mean, the world feels weird. Words of the world are weird when they don't feel real, I fear. Sometimes I lose myself in them. The words. You know what I mean? It happened earlier with “pass” because we were saying it a lot. And even earlier with “know”. And just now, again, with “know”. You know... when I said it, the word “know”, in the last sentence, and even in the one before the last one, and even this one, it feels weird. But it felt especially weird in the last last sentence, no, I mean the last last last sentence, because it was, or is, technically, sitting so close to the word “now”. See? Because “now” is inside “know” and “no” is inside “now” and “know”, but “no” doesn’t sound like “know”, when it’s inside “now”. It sounds like “ow”. And now you know, no? What? You wanna go inside now? Well go. But I’m not going, I just came from there. Where do you think I got this bandage around my arm? Why do you think I’m wearing this mask on my face? But also, I’m not talking to you, VA parking lot man, and I haven’t been for a while. Right now, I’m talking to the readers I have left. MY READERS. What do you mean? They’re right here. Of course you can’t see them. No I can’t see them either. Because they’re in the future. But they’re the ones I’ve been talking to this whole time. Well OK, you got me there. Sure. I’m talking to you now, technically, VA parking lot man, but I wasn’t just a second ago. I was talking to them. You, Readers. Not him. Sorry, he keeps butting in. NO! NOT YOU, VA PARKING LOT MAN! THEM! I KNOW I’M TALKING OUT LOUD! HOW ELSE ARE THEY GOING TO HEAR ME? Hold on, I’ll get back to you in a second, Readers, let me deal with this psycho who just stopped me in the parking lot. STOP! What are you doing!? Why are you pulling out your phone? You shouldn’t walk backwards in a parking lot. What? I’m not following you? Why are you recording me? Come back here. Whoa. We’re inside now. When did that happen? Why are you crying? You’re fine. We’re fine. We’re fine! Everything is fine! This idiot just keeps trying to read my mind! What do you need a GUN for, officer? Stay back!! Tell them to get back! They’ll listen if they think the thoughts are their own! Was that your idea or mine? I don’t know why I’m shaking. Is it you? Is it me? Are we cold? You’re in my head, but are you in my body? Readers, is he in there with you? With us? Hello? Tell them what I’m thinking, Readers, they’ve been dying to know. What? KNOW. Not no! NO! No one is dying today. I... I don’t know why I thought that. I feel weird. The words are getting weird. The world is getting weird. I’m lost again. Everyone is panicking. I hear explosions. I hear crying. I hear screaming. There are teeth in my lies. There's no blood to my pain. There are bullets in my memories and bombs in my brain. How did we get here? How long ago was the parking lot? When did they sketch my blood? When do we play our game? Hello? He’s gone. We’re back in the VA parking lot. We’re standing in front of the drivers side window of our car, staring at a man with an arm around his bandage and face over his mask. I take it off. He takes it off. We hear alarms. We hear sirens. “You doing alright, son? Get the help you need?” A voice calls out from the other side of the world. Or maybe the other side of the car. Or maybe the other side of the window. Doesn’t matter much. Because we’re alone now. It’s just you, and me, and us, and our reflections. “Know, and know,” I say. It’s what I always say.


"You have to stay away from The Light," they have always told me when I was growing up. I was just told to fear The Light. Humans used to live with The Light, but not anymore. We now live in protection from The Light, they said, but I think it's more like hiding away, in underground labyrinth and caves. "You mustn't see into The Light," another warning and rule the society said. Sometimes the warmth and brightness reach into our cavern, but we're continued instructed to shy away from The Light, and move fast when traveling in the constrained labyrinth. Every mumble and jumble and warning fueled my burning desire to escape and step into The Light, see it for myself. Why should we fear something that was warm to feel and bright to see. Tonight, or today rather, was the day I found out the truth. I have been studying the map of our labyrinth, planning and researching escape point. I finally found one, and tonight was the best night to do it. For whatever reason, no guards blocked this point tonight, and plenty of graffiti stained the wall with warning about stepping out, yaddy yadda. I used the tools I brought along to scale the wall, and quickly I was out of the confinement of the labyrinth I once lived in. With the past behind me, I made a quick dash toward the dim Light glowing in the distance, before anyone noticed me and dragged me back to this prison. I sprinted like a madman, excited to see such brightness I have never seen before. Every step I took toward The Light, every step I'm free from this blabbering hell. When I finally got out of the cave, I saw a white orb hanging over the blue ceiling without a string or attachment, or I just didn't see it. I was panting and catching my breath, but the view was different from what they had told me! The ground was tan and brown and black, lighter and brighter shades than the rocks in the labyrinth. In the distance, I see structures that looked like it would be what human used to live in The Light. I took several steps forward, still catching my breath. The world outside have so much to see, so much to understand. I felt dizzy. I felt nauseous. I laid on the rocky ground, because I can't lean or hold onto anything. I felt sick to my stomach and vomited on the ground. However, that feeling did not stop. I vomited again. Did I run a little too fast? Perhaps I did. Was it worth my effort to escape the depth of the earth? Yes. I laid on the ground, panting, and rolled a little bit away from my earlier vomits, but the sickness did not stop. The white orb felt warm continuously, shining on my body, but I am going to faint, perhaps for a while. And I've never woke up from that warmth.


The years were blazing fast for Leo. Riding down the highway on a cool 40mph, he sat there only half paying attention to the road. The night was young and looking for trouble, and who was he to not take the moon to the bar with him. After what he would consider a hard days work he would usually relax and unwind at the local bar, usually with a terrible headache afterwards. The resented tax for the night of waste scolded him in the morning; he knew it was bad for him, but where was he ever going to go with his life? He was content with his twin lovers. He knew he would eventually get what had asked for with his life of envy and sloth; and if that resulted with and eternity in hell so be it. From his point of view he was doomed since birth. God something or other. Chewed up and spit out onto the lonely streets, he made his way. No one could tell you how to live your life and this is how Leo lived his. Using his funds to fuel his background character lifestyle. Never for the benefit of anybody. But i'm not saying he never cared or felt raw emotion. He usually spent the sober hours with the moon on wet cotton. Often in his own self pity, it never lasted long. He had a heart, even if it was drowned out in salty liquor. Leo was in a sort of mopey attitude that day; going through the usual movements he slid his way into the bar. Where he sat alone at a booth, wondering what the bottom of the glass looked like. Of course it was just glass as he stared thinking his drunken thoughts alone. The bar was usually dull on weekdays but this was something different. The empty atmosphere was uninviting to anyone looking into the bar from outside, and especially to the people looking out into the street. Leo sat there in deep thought. For some reason his drunken state seemed to dissipate and he became very aware of his own mortality. Looking down on his body he felt a deep, raw sorrow and started to fill up his own cup with his tears. He stopped very abruptly and looked down to the table. He shouldn't be crying. His body became heavy and he had no intent to get up. He got up anyway and stumbled his way through the door. The moon welcomed him and shone bright in his appearance. The empty street was lonely and accepted the company to dull the pain of being driven on. Leo kept his head down and was warm even though he only had a t-shirt on. He kept walking to no destination something that was new to him. Looking up he realized how bright the night was. He could see even without the street lights. That made it easy to spot the kid in the alleyway. The familiar sound of spray paint hissed through the silent air. Leo called out and the kid went off running; dropping his backpack and leaving everything where it was. Leo just wanted to say hello, but he stood there watching the kid run away. The kid turned the corner and was out of sight. He stood still staring into the dark alley. The night slowly went quiet again and forgot all about the events prior. The black alleyway beckoned him, sang to him better than a siren. He looked left and right like a little child that just stole some candy. He walked quickly and energetically toward the bag and spotted a couple of spray cans sticking out of the little kid’s pack. This nothing out of the ordinary sight reminded him of a better time. Without the stress of an adult. Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. He always knew that he took everything for granted but never showed his gratitude. He figured that it was too late to thank his parents, but he was used to being too late. He had a knack of procrastination and what seemed like bad luck. He knew everything that was wrong about him, and he didn't know himself as much as he thought he did. He couldn't care what was wrong with him. He sat; a lazy sack of excuses and regret. A perfect victim for the steal claws of the bar. He knew he was trapped and sat there, wasting his life away. To him he couldn't believe that he could do anything. To late, pretending life is meaningless to satisfy his conclusion. A fatal conclusion but name a conclusion that isn't. A decision isn't going to give someone immortality. So why bother making one if you can't escape the inevitable? At this moment Leo despised himself. Taking a good long look at himself, he got a sudden sickness in his stomach. He didn't want to be this husk anymore, but he was afraid of change. He knew he needed to or he would die an early death (something he always seems to gloss over). Going all the way back to his childhood he could remember all the after school specials and lessons to prepare him for adult life. Did he look like a guy that paid attention? The only class he had ever had an A in was art. Suddenly, something came over Leo. A wave of his own despair? The urge to become someone different? He never gave an answer. But I do know that Leo went down to pick up one of the Spray cans. Leo took a long look at the wall which had a large red line going straight down the center of the empty space that the kid had made. Something about this line sent Leo a message. He wanted to change. A calm and collected mind found him in a sea of clarity. He scolded himself for wasting his good years. No, his good years were in front of him. Still, why was he so oblivious to his ability of change? He was told to follow his dreams, he was told to make himself happy. He still could. This marked the moment when he decided to have his revolution. The hiss of spray paint flew through the quiet night once again. Even though its been years since his last art project , Leo still painted like he was a professional. Naturally of course, he had no time to practice his craft. He realized now that he did have time. It was again stolen from him. All of his time he wasted with the devil daughters did nothing for him in the end. Just gave him a headache and a death wish. He couldn't stop lingering on how much of a weak baby he really was. If he had any ounce of manhood he would stop and make something of himself. Somehow the paint painted with more determination. The moon stopped dead in its tracks and laid down its bright blanket so her friend could see. Leo didn't realize it at the time but the moon really was there for him. Minutes or hours passed, he couldn't tell what he was thinking about. The hissing drowned out any and all of his senses (or he just wasn't paying attention). That made it exceptionally shocking when the police officer tapped him on the shoulder. Leo jumped up and dropped his can in surprise. He turned to see the officer confused and intrigued at the paint. The officer started talking but I couldn't catch what was said over the siren. He pulled out a breathalyzer and had Leo breathe into it revealing to him that Leo was drinking earlier. Of course he was drinking earlier. He had Leo get into the back of his police car and drove off. Then the night was still. The wall accepted the new work of art that was hung up on it. The street winced when the car drove over it. The moon continued over the horizon letting the sun peak at whatever Leo got himself into during the night. Letting the crowd of daywalkers swallow the remains of whatever peace the night held. Including Leo who was getting fined and charged to two weeks of community service. (Found this from a while ago, my first ever story. Go little me!) .


“Wond’ring in the night, what were the chances, we’d be sharing love, before the night was through?” Frank Sinatra lilted through Laura’s headphones. She flicked a mosquito off of her face. The moon hung high in the sky, glowing with the light from the far off sun, but the warm, sticky, summer evening was getting to be too much. She had vowed on New Years that she would go for a walk every other evening. Her beginning of year self-had been all about “wellness” but now she was tired and less inclined to listen. After all, she was older and wiser than she had been 6 months ago was she not? A thick silence hung in the air, broken only slightly by the distant croaking of frogs and chirp of crickets hiding in the bushes. She had decided to take a route off of the normal path, winding through willow trees and looming oaks. The moon peaked shyly from behind the leaves, providing her with incredibly little light. She wiped sweat from her forehead. Her hair was already frizzing up from the humidity. Oh my god she had just straightened it this morning. Executive decision, it was time to turn around and go home. Just as she was about to turn around however, she suddenly noticed what seemed to be a pair of large, glowing eyes blink down at her from the trees. Startled, she backed up a few feet, squinting to get a better look. Probably just a cat. She turned around, but only got a few feet before she heard a rustling behind her, and a light sound hitting the dirt. “Who’s there?” She whirled around and was surprised to see a woman standing before her. She looked to be in her mid-twenties perhaps, but there was no way because, this woman was most certainly not human. Her hair hung down to her knees, in the moonlight Laura could see that it was an emerald hue. The woman’s skin was tinted a pale green, and vines seemed to sprout from her arms and legs. Her large eyes glowed ever so slightly in the dark and she slowly blinked below long eyelashes. Her dress was crafted from intertwining leaves and vines, and she was completely barefoot. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of English came out a lilting song. The language, Laura could not identify. Instead, she stood there, astonished. The woman seemed to notice her surprise and cleared her throat. “I am sorry, English is not my first language.” “I-I-uhm it’s fine. It took me a while to learn too, up to the age of 5 I think.” What on earth was she saying? And why was she even talking to this woman? No, this...creature? The woman smiled ever so slightly. “Who are you? Why are you in my woods?” “Y-your woods?” The woman nodded. “I am the spirit of this forest. A dryad. People do not stray from the path here; it can be hard to find your way out.” “Yes, I mean I was slightly concerned about that. I-I’m sorry, am I hallucinating?” The woman actually laughed this time. “I should hope not, that would make me a figment of your imagination and I would hate to see this forest left uncared for. It is beautiful after all is it not?” Laura nodded her head, still in a daze. “What’s your name? Even if I am imagining this, I may as well feed into this. The walk has been so terribly boring.” “Well, I don’t truly have a name, but the name commonly given to me by humans would be Vedia. Holy spirit of the forest in Teutonic.” “You’re a...forest spirit?” “In a sense, yes. As I said, I am a Dryad, but more so I am the forest itself, a part of nature but simply personified. I am the life force of nature shown in a way that your human eyes are able to see.” It was difficult, admittedly, for Laura to wrap her head around this. The night was hot, she was tired, this very well might all be delirium, but it was damn cool at that. “Why would you, I don’t know, show yourself to me? I mean you know better than anyone the shit humans are doing to forests. I could kill you or something. I mean, I won’t, believe me I won’t, I promise. But...I don’t know.” “The path you wandered to end up here does not show itself often. And it does not show itself to anyone.” Laura perked up slightly, a small flicker of pride blooming in her. The dryad must have noticed this however because she quickly added on. “You do not possess any sort of magic; you are simply a good human. No purity of heart is involved, I simply know that you do not wish to harm the environment here.” She smiled warmly, the sides of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. Laura’s heart picked up in pace. “I-no, of course I don’t. I really was just going for a walk. I was actually thinking about turning around...but now I don’t want to.” “It is best not to dwell for too long in these woods. Life force is concentrated here and is not the most suitable for humans to be around for long periods of time. As I said before, you will lose your way.” “If I leave will I be able to find you again?” “If the forces allow it. I will guide you home.” “Wait I-” But before Laura could finish her sentence, the woman disappeared. Laura cursed herself and turned towards the dark woods. Suddenly, a ball of golden light apparated before her and lazily wound through the trees. She was being guided back. Through the nearly black woods, she followed the light until she was spit back onto the park path. Damnit. “Something in your eyes was so inviting, something in your smile was so exciting, something in my heart told me, I must have you.” Laura’s manager called her in for extra shifts every single day that week. Lindsey called in sick, Derek had a family event, Portia was on a trip, so Laura was stuck shaking cocktails at the hotel bar until 2am. One of the nights was slow, and her mind was drifting, memories of her encounter with Vedia drifting to the surface. Laura did not think she had ever seen a being so beautiful in her life. The way she just seemed to radiate the moonlight, how light bounced off of her hair, and her graceful movements. “Hey, can I get a Southside?” A light voice broke Laura out of her head and she looked to see a young woman standing before her. She was on the shorter end, light brown hair fell just below her chest, complimenting her blue eyes. Freckles dotted her nose and cheekbones. Her brown lipstick set apart the rest of the look. She wore a navy suit, a white blouse blooming beneath the collar. She radiated confidence and beauty. “Yes, of course I’m sorry.” She turned to grab the gin and limes from behind her. “I don’t blame you for spacing out. I’ve seen you working late every single night this week. Co-workers bailed, huh?” “Yeah, unfortunately. How often are you in here? It’s hard to notice that the bartender has been consistent every night.” The woman chuckled. “I’m staying here for work, the lounge is probably the most relaxing space in the hotel, I’ve been working in here at night.” “What do you do for work?” “I’m a marketing consultant for the aerospace company in Seattle, I live in New York maybe three quarters of the year but during the summer they send me across the country to help them fix all the marketing strategies their team needs help with. What’s your name?” “Laura, what’s your name?” “I’m Margaret. Laura, can I take you out to dinner on Friday?” “Sorry, what?” “I said can I take you out to dinner?” “Well, I mean I suppose so- yes. Yes, no of course you can.” “Wonderful. Are you available to meet me in the lobby at 7:00 on Friday evening?” “Yes.” Was all Laura was able to get out. Margaret smiled at her. “Could I have my southside?” Laura looked down; she had been in the middle of pouring the simple syrup into the shaker, but had seemingly stopped midway. “Yes, I’m sorry.” Margaret gently took the drink from Laura. “I’ll see you on Friday.” Friday evening Laura stood in the lobby for nearly half an hour. Well, in fairness to Margaret, Laura had gone down to the lobby at 6:30 fearing she had misunderstood the time. She wore a dark blue navy slip dress and black kitten heels. Her hair had been slicked back into a claw clip that her hair spilled over in the back. Layers of delicate gold necklaces lay across her chest and gold bangles clinked together as she pulled her phone out once again to check the time. 7:00. “Not one to be late I see.” Margaret stood behind her smiling, hands at her hips. “Well, I wasn’t completely sure what time you said, so I just got here at 6:30, and I didn’t want to be late, and-” “You look nice.” “So do you.” Margaret did look nice, really she looked gorgeous. She had on a dark gold midi dress and dark blue heels. A gold and sapphire layered necklace hung at her neck and blue rings of various sizes studded her fingers. Her hair had been swept up into a loose up-do, and she had traded in the brown lipstick for a dark red. “Are you ready?” “Well, I’ve got nothing else going on this evening.” Margaret laughed and extended her hand to Laura. Saturday morning, Laura thought she would go for a walk. The previous night, she had been out until nearly 3am with Margaret. Once they had been asked to leave the restaurant after they had overstayed their time, they barhopped for a few hours and finished the night with ice cream. Margaret was so easy to talk to, although many times Laura was at a loss for words when she would glance over and see Margaret staring deeply at her. Her skin tingled and her face warmed. She did not think she had had a nicer evening in a while. She grabbed her phone. The bright light of her lock screen glared back her. 8:00am. She wouldn’t have to go into work until 6pm tonight, she should definitely get out. “And ever since that night, we’ve been together, lovers at first sight, in love forever” Laura trudged through the back paths of the park, vaguely remembering a certain path in the back of her head. Where she was going she wasn’t sure, even what she was looking for she could not recall, but she felt pulled by some sort of energy. A sort of gravity leading her through the woods. She must have been wandering for nearly 2 hours when she came across a large willow tree. Pulling back the delicate hanging leaves, she was revealed to Vedia. Oh right, Vedia. She did not seem to notice Laura yet, and was kneeled at the base of the tree, melodically trilling to a rabbit that was cuddled in her arms. There was that foreign language again, and there was that quick heartbeat. “Vedia.” Vedia startled and the rabbit jumped out of her arms, darting into a hole underneath the tree. “You scared him.” “Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to but well, I wasn’t expecting to see you. Or well, I was I suppose but something had fogged my memory. It is good to see you again though.” “Hello Laura.” Vedia smiled and patted the ground beside her. She looked slightly different today. Her eyes did not glow like they had a few nights ago, but rather sparkled green and blue in the rays of sunlight peeking through the willow leaves. Her hair was twisted into an elaborate braid falling beside her knees, and she seemed to glow in the sunlight. “I’d like to teach you some things Laura. I can feel that you will be a constant presence in this forest. An important presence in my very existence.” Weeks passed, months passed, a year passed, and nearly every morning Laura visited Vedia. She showed Laura the flow that nature had, the life within the forest, and the beauty behind the life force that coursed through every living being, including Laura herself. It was not hard to find Vedia, Laura was drawn to her in ways she could not explain. The moment she would lay eyes on her, energy zipped through her body and warmed her inside. One evening they layed in the grass, stargazing. Vedia’s voice was soft, her knowledge of the stars vast and beautiful. Laura quietly listened to her stories. She liked the idea that from nature she had been born and to nature she would return. They were less than an inch from each other, and she knew they could both feel the electricity in the small gap. The small gap that internally, Laura knew she could never close. She woke up the next morning that same distance from Vedia, so close she was nearly curled within her arms. She had been officially with Margaret for 7 months now. It had taken a while for Laura to muster up the courage to ask her to be her girlfriend, but they were settling into a life together. Margaret was set to move in 3 weeks from now, and yet Laura would visit Vedia every morning. Her presence filling Laura with joy and a sense of belonging. The day before Margaret moved in, Laura woke up early that morning, being sure not to wake her sleeping girlfriend and left to walk. Laura could have done the journey with her eyes closed by now. She came to the same tree, pulling back the leaves, but Vedia wasn’t there. Laura paced around the area, peering behind bushes, squinting up into trees, calling Vedia’s name. Nothing. Her eyes began to water, and her breath came in short spurts, had she lost her? Had she lost her love, her energy, her life force? Was Vedia gone? “Laura.” She whirled around to see Vedia standing behind her. Laura rushed over, gravity pulling her towards the dryad, towards her Vedia, but she stopped short in her tracks when Vedia extended her arm to stop Laura from coming any closer. “What? What’s going on? Where did you go, I got so concerned I-” “Laura, you need to stop coming to see me.” “What? No, I can’t, I can’t do that you-” “Laura. I am a holy spirit, I am not mortal, I am not of your realm, I cannot be with you.” “That’s ridiculous, I’m with you every day, we see each other every day I-” “You know what I mean. Laura I am not even truly the form that you see me in, you cannot spend a life with me. I am of the earth, and I am concerned that you do not realize that. I knew this from the start, at least I suspected it.” “Vedia. Please you have to know-” “I do know Laura believe me. I know what you feel, and the only reason that I had not stopped you from coming here every day was because I felt the same. The same connection to you. I felt everything that you felt in my own way, but you would never be happy with me.” “But I love you. Every day this year when I have been in your presence I have felt an energy that nothing else can make me feel, not even...” “Not even, your girlfriend?” Laura’s head dipped in shame; her heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Margaret, she loved Margaret. She knew she loved Margaret. “I feel a different way around you I can’t describe it it’s-” “It’s the life force Laura. When you are with me it is within you, it flows through you. You are feeling it in your soul because it makes up everything that I am.” Laura held back tears. “My feelings for you were real.” “I believe you. But I also know that the life force eats away at those it inhabits if they take it in too much. This is why I told you the dangers of it. I should have stopped this earlier. Before you-” “Fell in love with you?” Vedia stepped closer to Laura. “Be with Margaret Laura. She is your future; she is what you need in your life. Not me. I’ll kill you eventually. My presence will kill you.” Tears streamed down Laura’s face, she felt weak. Nearly about to collapse. “I can’t stop you can I?” Vedia shook her head, gently reaching towards Laura’s face, but pulled away abruptly. “Go home Laura.” “I’ll never see you again?” Vedia did not reply but stepped closer. She gently kissed Laura, life force flowing through one body into the other. She opened her eyes to see a glowing golden orb floating through the sky, glowing with life and radiance. She wiped tears from her face and trudged back down the path. Years passed, and Laura loved Margaret. She really did love Margaret. They moved in together, Laura proposed to her one day, and they got married 5 months later. It was a summer wedding, and their friends and family attended with joyous tears streaming down their faces. Laura picked a very specific spot. Right underneath a large willow tree. They were pronounced newlyweds, and as they kissed, Laura heard a whisper of love in the air, a warm breeze flowing through her, warming her soul.


Anastasia felt fear, reluctance, about leaving her tiny village in Greece’s Dodecanese islands. For her entire life, she made her home in Aperi, a wee village on the island of Karpathos. Living near the Aegeian Sea, she breathed the ocean breezes every day of her life and gazed upon the extravagant splendor of the deep turquoise ocean. Today, she could not breathe at all, her very breath became a suffocating gasp of fear. “I cannot leave,” she thought, “How can I leave my home, my patritha ,* with a man old enough to be my father?” That man, Panayioti, was her husband, their marriage arranged by Anastasia’s father when she was an infant. With bags of all the belongings they were allowed to take, Anastasia and Panayioti sailed for America, a huge country across the ocean that seemed to Anastasia to be a celestial, magical place where everyone found their fortunes. She was thinking, though, that her fortune was in Aperi and could never be anywhere else. She thought to herself, “What more fortune could one want when they already see life as a beautiful blue graced by accents of white -- blue skies, sparkling blue ocean waves cresting with white, glistening foam?” Anastasia obeyed her father like a young Greek girl always did. She left with Panayioti and their children -- baby Fotene and toddler Vasso -- to build a new life in the land of promise. She had read about the words engraved on the stately statue that seemed to rule over New York Harbor: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free...” “How odd,” she thought, “I cannot breathe at all in the presence of this most beautiful Lady Liberty, who lifts a torch that offers a light of welcome.” Then she entered the long, crowded, unfamiliar lines at Ellis Island. There were lines of immigrants as far as she could see, and she thought that the mothers probably felt just like she felt, probably were just as afraid as she was. “Perhaps they can’t breathe either, fearing this new land, fearing for the children they are bringing here.” At Ellis Island, the lines of immigrants seemed endless to Anastasia. The air was damp and heavy, with a musty smell of people who had crossed oceans to get there. It was a difficult kind of air, with smells and unpleasant scents. She couldn’t breathe. Because of the dank air, because of her fear? She really didn’t know. She did know how it felt being completely surrounded by strangers, and she felt tears falling down her cheeks. Before long, the immigrant families began to talk to one another. They shared their names and where they came from, their stories, their feelings, their lives. Anastasia began to breathe again, at least a little easier, because she discovered that all the new friends around her also began to breathe easier. “It’s because these strangers became friends,” she thought, as they shared their stories with one another -- how they were feeling, what dreams they had, their hope for the future, where in the United States would they go. The hours and hours of showing passports, health records, spelling your name over and over were almost coming to an end. The hours had been grueling, exhausting. Everyone feared they would have to be quarantined after their medical examination. They even feared being separated from their children or even losing them in the crowds. Anastasia always believed that they could even be deported. Back to where they came from -- an idea not so troubling to Anastasia, who never wanted to leave her home country in the first place. “What will it be like to adopt a new home land? Or maybe I should say a home land adopts us. Either way,” she thought in a pensive moment, “I never dreamed of being here in this unpleasant, disconcerting place.” So Anastasia was in a line that felt like the last one, spelling her name and her children’s names one last time. “Thankfully!” Anastasia thought. While still in her village, she had practiced spelling her name in English over and over, but still she simply could not, as hard as she tried. She had never spoken any language but the Greek of her village. So her newly found friends met while standing in the immigration lines had now scattered . . . en route to Birmingham, Charleston, Chicago, Wheeling, everywhere, to places Anastasia had never heard of. “Strangers again,” she thought. I have brought my baby girl and my little boy to a land of strangers. I have separated them from aunts and uncles and cousins and the people in Aperi who loved them. What have I done?” ”Let me get up from here and go, immediately, before I start to cry.” Anastasia had no time for tears, so she stood up and moved on, resolutely, with baby Fotene in her right arm, Vasso holding her left hand and Panayioti walking behind her. It was a scene to never forget in Anastasia’s life drama. The young woman wearing a nice dress and a flattering hat was a sight to behold, standing as tall as she always had and walking with a confident, determined stride. She had pushed out her fear hours ago. Now she moved ahead, ready to go with her two little ones into a foreign environment. She knew she could survive this life change, and from that moment, she steeled herself to live and learn and accomplish everything she encountered on this journey. When they arrived in Charleston, South Carolina, they were greeted by a host of cousins and aunts and uncles who were overjoyed to see them. Some of them Anastasia had never met before, but they were definitely not strangers. They were countrywomen and men, compatriots who never spared a thing in the grand welcome feast they had prepared. After an almost endless round of hugs and kisses, Anastasia was graciously guided to her seat of honor at the feast table by a cousin she had never seen before. This cousin was instantly not a stranger. Instead, she would be a friend, even more than a friend. She would be a mentor and guide, an interpreter and teacher of English, a “godmother” to Anastasia’s two little ones. At that huge dining table, surrounded by dozens of TV trays for those who could not fit around it, Anastasia looked around and realized that these strangers had become her friends. Then she took a long, deep breath. * Patritha means homeland.


As an unexpected torrent of rain began to fall, you began to make out the form of the train station in front of you. You quickly rushed towards it after exiting a taxi you had taken from your home on the outskirts of the city. Your beating heart was rapid as you recalled the last words your mother had told you before leaving her for the beginning of a new life. Your mother had said only three things before saying goodbye: to be careful, to stay safe, and finally that she loved you dearly. Even though you didn’t think much of it at the moment, a sudden feeling of remorse began to sink in as you realized how much you were going to miss her. The two of you had had plenty of ups and downs in your relationship, but now looking back on those moments, you saw how she was of the few people who truly understood you. Still, deep in your thoughts, you almost didn’t hear the announcement that your train would be leaving soon. You again quickened your pace, but this time instead of the station, you headed towards the boarding area, and quickly your mind was again consumed with the excitement of embarking on a new adventure. You smoothed down your peach-colored, finely tailored dress, and approached the attendant who was standing by the train’s entrance, ticket in hand. Once boarded you promptly chose a window seat and began to sort through the food you, along with your mother, had stored for the trip. There were plenty of snacks you had stored from home. In a small, brightly decorated plastic canister you found your favorite homemade meal as well as a thermos filled with hot chocolate. After choosing a snack -saving the meal for later- the train finally began its departure and you realized that the surrounding seats had been filled by your fellow passengers. To your right, you saw a couple, a mother and father not much older than you, with what looked to be their newborn son. You watched as they fussed over their baby and appreciated how much they truly seemed to care for him. Your thoughts continued to trail as you considered just how bittersweet the process of growing up could be, just 17 years ago you were in the same position as that child, receiving that pure love from your parents with your entire future ahead of you. Sometimes you couldn’t help but selfishly wish that you could have remained a child forever, receiving the benefits of unconditional love with nothing but your hopes and dreams in your mind. Of course, that’s just not how life works, and here you were now on the precipice of adulthood, seeking out new opportunities alone. This was a sad thought and you could feel yourself quickly falling into darkness, so you reminded yourself of the reasons why you were on that train. Just 2 months ago you were accepted into the prestigious Zarzinger College, only 11⁄2 hours away by train. You were surprised by the acceptance at first and a flurry of self-doubt had almost been enough to keep you from taking that huge step towards your future, but that changed after you reread the essay you had submitted as a part of your application. For the majority of your life, you had felt lost, but reading back your own words to yourself it was like you could physically see what it was that you wanted. You were always afraid to admit it, but you wanted to leave home, you wanted to grow up, and more than anything you wanted to be a writer. The words leaped off that page and formed the image of a young girl filled with dreams too big for her small head, it was you. That was when you decided to move away from for college, to others it might have seemed like a small development, but for you -and your family- this was massive. Thinking back on that day a new wave of confidence washed over you, allowing you to finally relax. By now your train ride was beginning to near its end, you looked out of the window and took in everything that you were seeing since your endless thinking had distracted you from any sort of sight-seeing. Outside you could see an endless sea of green as you passed an apple orchard, the night before you had read about the intense agriculture of this area in a brochure, and now you were beginning to see the proof. You began to think about how funny and slightly peculiar it was seeing just how obsessed this town was with apples. There were apples around your seat, you saw people around you in apple-themed clothes, and most -if not all- of the food in the menu that you were provided was apple centered. This little bit of quirkiness helped you to feel even more comfortable about your choice to move, it’s weird, but the absurdity reminded you of home. Now in this new state of comfort, you decided to write a poem to express the feelings that you had at the moment: Feeling like a cast-away I face myself with new eyes I view a sight so mundane A girl who’s obviously shy Still, I see a spark hidden in that mind One that will grow with each new hill Challenging that climb every time You failed to think of a final line but were content with what you had been able to come up with. You still needed a lot of practice -obviously- thought there was also a reason why poetry wasn’t your specialty. Right after placing your journal back in your bag was when you heard the announcement that you would be arriving soon. Gathering all of your stuff together your mind was finally empty of worry and even though you knew this wouldn’t last you still to bask in your peaceful state of mind. Beginning from the moment that you stepped out of that train, you were truly going to be alone, your own pillar of strength and you could not wait. Under your breath, you quietly muttered two final words of encouragement, “I’m ready.”


Sensitive Content Warning: eating disorders, underage drinking Oliver hoped that this Thanksgiving would be better than last year's. To be fair, he didn't think he was setting a very high bar. Family members that Oliver only saw once or twice a year made comments about how much more beautiful his sister was now that she was “all better,” Oliver sympathized with her but didn’t dare to comment on how horrendously inappropriate the comments were, especially coupled with the next set of comments being about how much Oliver had grown and how his appetite must be huge as a growing boy. This Thanksgiving would certainly not be better than last year’s. “Actually, we don’t make comments about people’s bodies here. We all worry about ourselves and what’s on our own plate,” Adalyn said with a forced smile directed toward one of their clueless, old-fashioned aunts. Adalyn’s group therapy sessions included rehearsing these comeback comments for weeks leading up to Turkey Day. Turns out, it had been entirely necessary. Oliver looked to his sister as his aunt stuttered an apology in her general direction; Adalyn nodded as if she was listening but her eyes were fixed firmly on her plate, stabbing a few poor defenseless, saltless, butterless green beans with her fork. Adalyn shot Oliver a look, prompting Oliver to look back at his own plate, which had been overfilled with greed. Not to mention the soda he’d been drinking. He did need to worry about his own plate. - “You’re better than this...” Oliver said to his reflection in the steamy mirror. He wiped away the traces of vomit from his face with a piece of toilet paper and threw it in the bathroom trash. His family was downstairs, all chattering about, watching football, drunk off of cocktails, and heading towards a food coma territory from the abundant Thanksgiving spread. Oliver was drunk off of power from having used the Thanksgiving dinner undo button he had discovered last year. While he could get at least most of the food up as if it had never happened, he couldn’t seem to fix what really led him here. Thanksgiving was once Oliver’s favorite holiday, but these days, thoughts of food and weight have made it the most dreaded holiday of all. This was a day that everyone was supposed to be thankful for what they have, so what do we do about it? Binge. If anyone knew what he was about to do when he left them all downstairs, they didn’t mention it. Fine by him. But if anyone had dared to ask him what he was up to or speak a single word of concern toward his behavior lately, he thought he might spill his guts to quite literally anyone who asked. Maybe it would have prevented the entire crime scene he had to clean up from the bathroom before anyone found out. There was no use trying to cover it up anyway; his ever-so-perfect sister had once been in his shoes and the hubbub over her was colossal. Their mom and dad had dropped everything for her; their mom had stayed home with her to make sure she was eating even long after the treatment center stint. After all, she’s a girl and everyone knew what to look for. A rite of passage in a way, falling into the same traps all of the girls in the family seemed to. Oliver’s struggles had gone unnoticed. You can’t be a boy with a girl problem and expect people to notice. When Adalyn had gotten sick, he’d been angry. He had to live in Adalyn’s movie and she was the main character. But now Oliver knew better, life is more like an ensemble piece. Just as Adalyn had her very special episode, now it was his turn. He cleaned up the mess he’d left, and almost as an afterthought, he got into the running shower to turn the lie he’d told into a half-truth. - After the adults had all sobered up enough to go their own ways until they would meet again on Christmas, and the parents were upstairs gossiping about the new family drama, the two teenagers were left alone. Adalyn appeared with a half-empty bottle of wine and two plastic cups in her hand. “I figured we could use a little treat after the horrors we have endured,” she said with a smile. Oliver’s eyes darted back and forth from the bottle of wine in Adalyn’s pink-nailed hand to her face. She rolled her eyes. “They won’t notice, there’s still plenty left.” She set the cups on the coffee table, pouring the remainder of the wine into them. When one had a little more than the other, she poured from the fuller cup until she was sure they were even, and handed one to Oliver. “How are you doing?” Oliver asked her, both hands cupped around the chilled cup of wine as if it was going to warm him up. Adalyn took a long sip before she answered. “I’m fine, really. I’m doing a lot better,” Adalyn said. “But how are you?” Oliver hesitated, and followed suit by swallowing a mouthful of sparkling wine, but found that he had nothing to say on the subject. “I mean... I’m fine.” Adalyn blinked at him a few times before turning her attention back to her drink, she stared into it as if it had answers that Oliver didn’t have for her. “I know what you’ve been doing,” Adalyn said, then took another sip without looking back up at her brother. “I’m not doing anything,” Oliver said, shaking his head. Whether he was trying to deny it or ignore it was anyone’s guess. “Then why did you leave in the middle of dinner?” Adalyn asked. “I was taking a shower,” Oliver said, holding up a few strands of his still-damp hair to prove his point. “In the middle of dinner?” “I felt gross,” Oliver said, shrugging. “I know,” Adalyn said pointedly. Oliver crumbled, he knew he’d been caught. As much as he thought he wanted someone to notice or care, he'd already seen the consequences of his sister being caught and he didn’t want them. He didn’t want the fanfare and he didn’t want to go away like Adalyn did, and most of all he did not feel ready to let go. “I know I’m better than this.” “No. You deserve better than this.”


"So...you've been inside?" "Yeah, I explored the house and then called you to check it out for yourself. Idiot. No, I haven't been in, yet." "Sarcasm's a new look for you, not liking it. Someone broke into your house and you call me ? Why? No one else wanted to deal with this mess? Or were they just not in the mood to come over in the middle of the night and look for possible criminals?" "You have the least to lose, you know...if you happen to die." "Thanks." It was true, even if it was a low blow. "Just go inside!" I urged him. "It's your house. You go in." "Why did you come over, if you don't even want to help?" "Ugh, you're intolerable." "Cause I think and question your actions? I'm sorry if you're not used to it, but some of us use our brains on a daily basis." "Do you want to argue out here all night, or actually catch the robber?" "Fine, let's both go in then." Why did I even call him? I didn't need this, not now. His annoying, arrogant behaviour was never welcome, let alone when I was freaking out about being robbed. Although it was a good distraction, even if it's only temporary. I unlocked the door, and reached for the lights, he caught my hand, shaking his head. He started signing something, but without the moonlight and the street lamps I could barely make out his silhouette, not to mention understand his gesturing. I stared at him hoping my eyes would get used to the dark, but nothing. He stopped the gesturing and leaned in close. This was new. "I think we should stay together, seeing as you'd be useless on your own." What?! I was about to protest, when he took hold of my hand, feeling the warmth of his, I realised how cold mine were. I was nervous, maybe even scared. "Let's first check upstairs, okay?" He sounded so gentle and caring. I know Ashley said he was sweet deep down, I just always thought it was too deep down for it to ever show. He was the one in our friend group I barely talked to and not out of chance. I did in general feel uncomfortable talking to guys, however with Jamie and Gavin it seemed easier, but Justin. He's just so- A creak! I gasped as I managed to hold in the string of curse words trying to escape. Justin just looked at me, I couldn't see his expression, it probably featured annoyance. Now I was sure of it, I was scared. I heard a voice coming from one of the rooms, I tried signalling Justin, but he didn't seem interested, and I was not about to check it out on my own. We crept around, me hiding behind his shoulder, keeping my fear under control, barely managing. As we finished with the living room arriving back at the front door, Justin flicked on the lights. "Tell me honestly, was it you?" He seemed concerned, very out of place emotion for the situation, I thought. "What?" "Did you break the window?" He sighed. "Nellie, have you seen the doctor Ashley recommended?" "No. I don't want to go to a shrink. I'm fine, other than the whole stalker thing. It wasn't me, okay? I didn't break my own window. I'm not crazy!" He didn't believe me, I could see it in his eyes. He seemed worried, trying to take hold of my hand, but I pulled away. Why does everyone keep looking at me like that? All pitiful and concerned for my mental health. What about my physical health? No one ever thinks about the actual problem. The stalker. "Please, just... I'll go with you if that helps." "Justin, I'm not ill, okay? Why can no one wrap their mind around that? The only sick one is that weird guy following me around." "Nellie. If there's no problem, then at least you'll get to say I told you so, isn't that worth it? You always want to stick it to me, now I'm letting you." He smirked, knowing very well how to bait me into going. "What if they find something? What if I'm misdiagnosed, maybe even mistreated, what if they give me some meds, that hurt me?" "They would notice before anything serious happens." "Oh, really? What if they don't? Would you risk me getting poisoned ?" "Oh, come on, they study for almost a decade, I think they know what they're doing. Besides this is only a consultation to see if you even need tests. It's not a big deal, promise." "Will you go to one too?" "Hell no." He replied without missing a beat. How could he expect me to not think it a big deal when he himself is so repulsed by it. "So why should I?" "Cause you're sick! Okay? We all see it! It's not healthy. This, the whole delusion about stalkers and doctors poisoning you! You're imagining it all! No one ever saw that guy, the stalker, you keep talking about, only you! We try our best to handle it, we come whenever you cry wolf. Like now, even though I knew that probably no one was in your house, I came! Just to make you feel safe! But we can't keep doing this, we all have our own problems and lives to deal with! You. Need. To. See. A doctor!" He facepalmed himself and pulled his hand down his face, groaning. "This is not how I wanted to do this. Sorry. I didn't want to shout. I, we worry about you. If not for yourself then for us, go." "Why do you even care?" Even I was surprised that I could talk. His yelling would've made me broke down if it weren't for the topic. (I'm bad at handling conflict.) Or at the least made me speechless for a few minutes, but somehow I found my voice. "You're our friend, how could we not?" "You are not my friend, we barely talk." All I knew about him was that he's an orphan. I hung out with him and even watched him play, but talk, have a conversation? Nah, only if we were forced, even then it was mostly weather and school. "We talk enough for me to care for you. How did you say it? I'm sorry if you're not used to it but some of us use our hearts on a day to day basis." "That's a very cheesy li-" I couldn't finish my sentence, as my breath hitched, my body froze, except for my heart which beat as if I'd just ran a mile. The stalker, he was here. I could see him outside the window. To an untrained eye, they were undetectable, mostly with the lamps reflecting on the glass, but I've seen that dark red hoodie enough times to recognise it. All those times, they were never this close. Most of the times there was a whole football field between us and I was surrounded by people. "They're here." I kept repeating in my head. I must've said it out loud as well, cause Justin shook me, and asked: "Who's here?!" "The stalker." "Where is he? Nellie, point, or say something!" I raised my hand, my eyes and attention still transfixed on the lean stature across the street. "I can't see anyone. Wait, is that...?!"


\[HR\] Seismic: Part 1 Herd Mother had crossed the desert three times before. The first time was when her grandmother made the journey to the God Beneath the Mountain as a sacrifice. Herd Mother had only been a calf then. Since, she’d made two other migrations for the elders of the herd to participate in the sacrificial rite in her lifetime. Now, it was her turn. Before she could do her duty for the herd and insure another Herd Mother’s reign was blessed by the Gods, they would have to make the crossing. This year, crossing the desert had been far more costly than any Herd Mother could recollect. \- - - For three nights and four days, the herd had trudged its slow, heavy path southward beneath the blistering sun and swirling sands. They needed to get far from the edges of the desert, to the shadow of the mountains and the thick cover of the trees, where root and stone protected them from the blowing dust, the heat, and the thing that lurked beneath the shifting northern dunes. The herd had fought with all its might to defend its vulnerable members, but the monster from below was far too powerful for even their strongest bull. When they had formed the defensive circle, forcing all their calves to the center. In response, the monster had simply burrowed beneath them. The earth had trembled furiously, startling them into a panicked flight. A massive hole opened in the center of the herd--three calves and two mothers vanished into the abyssal mouth of the creature before the last remaining calves managed to flee. As suddenly as the monster from below had arrived, it was gone, its passage evident only by the long, snaking ridge of sand pushed up from its subterranean movement. \- - - Now, thirsty, hungry, and desperately exhausted, what remained of the herd marched on. Massive grey feet pressed into the desert, taking each step with care. Healthy members of the herd walked near the elderly and the young, lest they stumble or collapse. Since the creature from beneath the sands seemed to be drawn by the earth-shaking tremors of the elephant language as well as any concussion with the ground, the herd had gone silent. They had lost the ability to communicate with the God Beneath the Mountains. All they could do was walk forward and hope to reach the jungle before their tormenting predator returned. \- - - Gaal Druz was not a patient creature. She didn't have to be. She was the queen of this land, and that fact had gone uncontested for a very long time. So when she summoned her cattle, she expected a reply. THUM, THUM, THUM! She rumbled the ground, sending out her seismic message to every herd within thirty miles--calling them to her---calling them to fulfill their oaths. Her herds always answered, and she always fed; that was the way of things. It was a necessary sacrifice on their part, and in turn, she protected them from many enemies. Where in human-infested lands elephants were slaughtered by the hundreds,-- Gaal Draz only took their old, their sick, their dying-- and only as many as they offered her. Once she had hunted the elephants down, tracked them across their vast empires of territory, and slain as many as she needed to satisfy her hunger. In recent centuries, she had learned that compliant, subservient cattle were easier to manage than wild, fleeing prey. Gaal yawned languidly and stretched out her massive elephant head from the hundred feet of black scaled, coiled muscle which composed her serpent body. As her unhinging jaws inhaled the dank, chill air of the cave, her nine-foot tusks and rows of serrated teeth glinted from the smallest sliver of light penetrating to the depths of her lair. She rarely emerged from her subterranean kingdom, but today she had to discern the cause of her northern herd’s distress. Gaal would survive without them. She had other herds which paid homage to her and the jungle was abundant with wildlife on which she could feed, but her northern herd was her largest and most devoted. *If it can threaten a herd of elephants that size, maybe it will be a worthy opponent,* Gaal hoped, trying to remember what if felt like to have a real battle. Gaal Druz emerged from the mouth of the cave, her trunk swaying and arching, sniffing the air for all the scents of the surface as the jungle filled with the myriad cacophony of alarmed, fleeing creatures. Monkeys leaped away through the trees, retreating in silent haste and gripping their young. Birds took wing, and even the mighty tigers and leopards slunk swiftly to safer shadows. All that remained was the God Beneath the Mountain. She extended her massive body up to see over the swaying green canopy of the jungle. Above the trees, all she heard was the wind. She felt the trembles of the land beneath her, as her eyes scanned the horizon to the north. The herd was moving. She could see them approaching the jungle from the desert expanse beyond--depleted and afraid. Very few things aside from humans were capable of truly threatening elephants, and Gaal Druz suffered no humans upon her land. Something else was out there now, something massive and ancient. *One of my kind?* She could not let that stand. She was the last Grootslang, and only for her, did this land have space. Grumbling deep within her primeval throat, she flattened herself to the ground and slithered towards the desert at tremendous speed. Despite her mythic size, Gaal Druz passed through the forest as a whisper, leaving little trace aside from the wide trail her body pressed into the undergrowth.


"Are you coming tonight?" Memory asked. An innocent question that signaled an alarm to every cylinder of my brain. My breathing accelerated, I knew what I had to do. A battle between what I wanted and what my brain would allow. I wanted to go out. I wanted to be seen and heard and felt. I wanted to dance and sing on tabletops and be a star but that’s not me. It was never me. It was her. Everyone wanted to be Memory’s friend and for some reason, I can’t articulate, she wanted to be mine. Before I met her my world was so cold and when I kissed her she became my own personal sun. She lit my world on fire and I threw myself into her flame to keep her warm. If she is the sun then I am the moon bringing light to the darkness. We met last year at a bar. She sang karaoke and I attempted to become one with the wall but she noticed me. Our own game of hide and seek. I always hid and she always found me. She pulled me into her circus, and oh how I wanted to be her freak. I am an enigma only revealing my shrouds of mystery behind closed doors. And just like the moon, I had a tendency to drive people crazy. You would think for the amount of money we paid for this hotel room the covers would be soft. Though unlike me most people didn’t stay in bed for the entirety of their vacation. I threw the scratchy tan cover off. My first strike in a war against anxiety. Just say yes Helena, my brain screamed. You can’t stay in the hotel every night. You can’t keep avoiding this. You have to ask her. My mouth opened and retracted almost instantaneously. A vibration built in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. My fingers pulled at my chocolate-colored hair. A sad attempt at distraction. The derealization of reality. Memory shifted her weight from one foot to another, waiting on my answer. Had a few seconds passed? or a few minutes? I admired her patience and the way she never pushed me. She was always there offering comfort. Even if I was acting like a melodramatic mental patient, she didn’t seem to mind. We were polar opposites but she was the only person who ever got me. Her head tilted, blocking my mortal enemy, also known as a lightbulb. A dim luminescent light glowed through her perfect jet-black spiral curls, outlining her silhouette. The first time we went out in public and she grabbed my hand an older Christian lady told us we would burn in hell. I stepped back into the closet. Memory laughed it off and jumped on a float at the Pride parade. I am so afraid that if I don’t go out she will leave me behind. That night I decided I wouldn’t let mental illness win. “Yes.” I closed my sketchbook and walked to the mirror. My space buns were an adorable mess. I took off my oversized black sweater and threw it into the corner. I couldn’t hide my scars forever. A cheeky smile overtook my face. Why had I spent so much time hating myself? Letting the world tell me who I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to wear. Who I was supposed to love. Memory’s emerald green eyes softened. “Are you sure?” No one knew about my battle with a razor blade but her. When she found out she made me promise to never hurt myself again. I kept my promise and she bought me a new sweater so I didn’t have to feel self-conscious about my scars when I went out. I threw a Xanax into my mouth and took a gulp of soda. “I’m sure.” *** I jumped into a puddle destroying a reflection of the moon. “Where are we going?” I asked. She pointed, “To the moon.” Memory had always loved the moon and I vowed I would give it to her. No more waiting, or holding back. Tonight I will give her the moon. One stair after another each foot effortlessly flowed in front of the other. The ghosts of everyone who had entered this stairwell flooded my mind. Where did they go? What had they seen and left behind? How many first kisses and last glances had these walls seen? We reached the top and a sign on the door read exit only. If this hotel had a heart would it spill pages of heartbreak on how it too had been abandoned. My mother left me when I was six and I spent a lot of time loathing women until I discovered I loved them. I loved them in a way society taught me was wrong. I loved their eyes and their smiles and their curves. I loved the way they tell you they aren’t hungry and steal half your food. Magical, mystical creatures. Memory straightened her pink mini skirt and opened the door leading me to the rooftop access. The wind whispered but I couldn’t discern its secrets and I hoped Memory never figured out mine. I was tired of keeping her a secret. Keeping us a secret. I never knew my father but I would like to think he would have approved of our relationship. Tiny bumps took over my previously smooth twenty-something-year-old skin. My teeth chattered and I regretted my decision to leave my sweater behind. “Aren’t you cold?” Memory scrunched her nose and put her arm around me. “A hoe never gets cold.” She gently placed her oversized cheetah print purse on the ground. “Help me move this couch closer to the edge.” We placed our hands behind the moldy maroon couch and pushed our weight into it. It screeched across the pavement without much force. I wondered who had sat on that couch and how it got there. A warm, happy sensation coursed through my veins, slowing my heartbeat down. My anxiety medication had started to kick in. We stopped a few feet from the edge. Tiny lights that represented people zoomed around town. Humans always had somewhere to go or something to do. Memory pulled out a small black cover I had once seen her use as a cape when she was plastered. She unraveled the cover revealing a small bottle of red wine. She draped the cover over the couch and grabbed the bottle. “How many people do you think have had sex on this couch?” I broke into a high-pitched laugh at the preposterousness of it all. So many people die never having lived at all and here I was with the girl of my dreams breaking the law and making a memory I knew I would never forget. We sat on the couch, wrapped in her secret cape drinking wine straight from the bottle. Tonight the world couldn’t touch us, tonight the world was ours. I nestled myself into her arms, taking in her scent. She smelt of hopes and dreams. I grabbed the back of her head pulling her in closer. My lips met hers and somewhere in the middle, we found love. “I love you,” I said. “I love you too Helena.” I took a deep breath and tried to form the words. The words I so desperately yearned to ask her. I had tried again and again but tonight I would tell her how I really felt. Everything could go wrong with this one question, but everything could go right. I pulled a ring out of my pocket but not a normal ring. It wasn't a diamond or sapphire, but a piece of the moon. I placed it in her hand. "How’s forever sound?" A single tear fell from her left eye as she placed the ring on her engagement finger. “Forever sounds fine.”


05:00 The alarm sounds, immediately he is awake, the sound emitted by this torturous box is a piercing wail breaking the respite which slumber provides. Before the senses can fully adjust reaction slips in, taking over. Instantaneously he is, sitting erect on the edge of the bed, spine stiff, his hands clench the mattress, his feet planted firmly on the floor. He has taken care of the alarm long before his wife could be aroused by it's incredulous scream. It is always just at this moment the gears of his mind begin to turn, he curses the day and all of the ills it will surely bring him. Ageing gracefully is a concept lost on this man. He mutters imperceptibly to himself as he, using his night table for support, rises from his position. He begins his journey to the coffee, the same as he has done every morning the past thirty-one years. He is older now and his routine, perfected over the course of three decades now, takes a few moments longer, and a few more steps than it used to. He is not as young as he once was and knows that by the time he gets to the coffee it is the medication he truly needs to get through his day. Something stirs deep in the recesses of his mind and it makes him uneasy. He questions himself wondering what it is about the medication that gives him such concern after all these years. Having always possessed a strong, quick mind he was not one to write himself notes but his memory is failing him at this moment, perhaps the coffee will jog it. Standing now, he carefully makes his way around the foot of the bed, across the room to the door, he exits, closing the door softly behind him, and proceeds down the hall to the top of the stairs in darkness. Twenty - six steps in all, one more than yesterday. His walk is purposeful as he makes his way, he knows the path through the house which leads to the kitchen well, he has traversed it many times. Mindful of the creaking boards he side steps the soft spots as he continues to the landing at the middle of the stairs. Seven steps. It is at this point lights to the downstairs living room can be turned on. Continuing his decent to the bottom of the stairs he knows the light is not needed and the switch is ignored as he passes. Three steps. The children are long gone as are the toys they would leave on the stairs after abandoning their play. He continues down the stairs, mindful of squeaks, as he descends. Seven steps. There is an oversized leather arm chair on the left, and a part of this high backed wing intrudes at the bottom of the landing. He could never quite convince his wife to move it and that it was a painful intrusion into his life should he come into contact with it. His wife offered a smile and a simple suggestion when giving her response, "Well, you will just have to stay over to the right a bit, now wont you dear!" she would tell him. He smiled at the thought of this, his wife always provided a smile and solution to counter life's inconveniences. As he sidesteps the chair he crosses the living room and makes his way to the front door of the house. He takes smaller, more calculated steps in the darkness though the toys are long gone such is his routine. With the passage of time twelve steps has evolved into fourteen, "thirty - one years" he mutters. He releases a small sigh as he reaches for the door handle, the paper had better be on the porch today. He is tired of telling that kid and swears to himself, for the umpteenth time, if that damned paper is in the driveway again he is cancelling his subscription. As he opens the door he looks down and sees his paper is laying where it should be, on the porch in it's little plastic bag so it would not absorb the morning dew. Slowly, and with a great deal more effort than it used to take he bends down to retrieve the paper. As he closes the door he turns to the right and proceeds through the dining room, twelve steps, and into the kitchen. He makes his way to the coffee pot sitting on the countertop opposite the doorway. Ten steps today, one less than yesterday, maybe things are looking up. The coffee is brewed and waiting for him when he arrives, but first the medication. Again the word triggers an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, hairs stand on the back of his neck. His fists clench the countertop and he blinks, once, and again. He relaxes his grip and reaches for the cupboard containing his medication. He grasps at the unpainted, wooden door, it is grooved and splintered, odd, he thinks to himself. His unease grows as he attempts to pry open the cabinet door, the medication is most necessary this morning. The door is ripped open and he is suddenly enveloped in a bright, intense, blinding light emanating from inside the cabinet. Pain and light are all he is aware of as a loud booming voice demands "Take your medication right fucking now, stop resisting!" There is no resisting, both he and the attendant know this, it is all part of the routine. A speculum is inserted into the orifice that was once his mouth, it is engaged and the loose flesh that made up his lips and cheeks is spread wide revealing a rotting hole long devoid of teeth, most of its tongue rotted away. A watery, acrid substance, a combination of drugs and nutrition, is sloppily poured from a wooden vat onto his garishly disfigured face. They are not concerned with accuracy or dosage as enough of the substance will find its way into his now gaping mouth hole and into his system. It is time for the medication. The realization of what he is comes rushing back to him as the medication runs into his orifice and pools in his throat, he struggles to swallow. The liquid pours over and around what is left of his face, streams through remnants of the matted patches of hair, finally falling through the sluice he is strapped to and recycled into a new vat to be used on the next floor. The medication must not be wasted. He is no longer in his kitchen about to have coffee, all thoughts of his wife are gone now. There is nothing but pain accompanied by light, combined with screams, groans, and wailings of both himself and many others around him. Straps are tightened although there really is no need as his muscles atrophied long ago but it must be done, such is the routine. Its 05:00 as the lid is secured back on his box, the light gives way to blackness and the medication has taken hold. The alarm sounds.