The Disappearance of Gabbie This is a true story of how my friend disappeared. This story begins in 2010 when I started high school. Elementary school had been problematic for me. I was stuck with the same group of uninteresting and somewhat displeasing personalities. People liked me, but I had few friends and wasn’t very social. What friends I did have where a bit of a hassle, as these friendships were very one sided with me just listening to what they had to say so I wouldn’t feel lonely. High school promised new adventures and a better environment for my growth. I was getting away from the stale personalities that had surrounded me for the past 8 years and leaving the more annoying of my friends behind. The school itself seemed promising and exciting! To an extent this was true, but I was still a sad, lonely little teen with little social skills. I still found myself in friendships that felt empty and awkward. Then I met her. In my grade 9 music class I met a girl named Gabbie. She was a shy nerdy girl who played clarinet just like me. From day 1 I could tell she had a crush on me, and despite my desire for a girlfriend, I wasn’t really interested in her. High school continued, and our friendship grew, until grade 11 when we became best friends. We shared a lot of classes so we went everywhere together. She introduced me to Doctor Who and we played Dungeons and Dragons. I was desperate for a girlfriend or a date or something, anything to make me feel less lonely. I was aware of my desperation and I knew that it wasn’t healthy because that attitude would lead me into an unfulfilling relationship that would do more harm than good. But then there was Gabbie. She understood me, she introduced me to so many interesting things and listened to what I had to say. The person I was looking for was sitting right in front of me and was waiting for me to love them back. Our relationship began awkwardly, but we quickly fell deeply in love. She became my emotional support where I had none. You see, my family is sort of an empty shell, at least for me. My parents may be my parents, but I don’t feel I can approach them about my troubles and they have little interest in what goes on in my life. This was the reason I felt so alone up until that point. But now I had someone to be there for me and couldn’t be happier. However, I became more aware of this problem as we continued dating. When I visited her place and saw how she acted around her sister and father and his girlfriend, it was so different from the way my family interacted. It felt right. One day I even jokingly asked if I could live with them. 2012 turned into 2013 and in January I got a concussion from horsing around with my friends and had to stay home from school for a couple weeks. I could tell she was worried about me. She suffered from depression and had starting taking medication when we start dating. I worried about her and the effects the medication had on her. On top of that, she had recently found out she was allergic to diary and glutton. Overall, not a very good time for either of us. Nevertheless, I did my best to show her my love and try to take care of her. The problem was despite having dated for 3 months she had still not fully opened up to me. She had some trust issues and kept most of her worries to herself. I knew she was doing this and wanted to help her, but she remained distant. But in trying to get her to open up, I was devoting myself more and more to her, and she wasn’t doing the same. Unknown to me, the relationship was becoming one-sided and was headed for disaster. I began to worry that she didn’t really love me, that I was doing something wrong. I kept these worries to myself and they began to build and build. One night I snapped. I had invited her and some friends over to hang out as I recovered from my concussion. One of my friends was getting a little too friendly with her and I was getting frustrated, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left. In my own house, I stormed off and hid, leaving my friends to wonder what had happened. They became concerned and called my mom who came to investigate. All I wanted to do was see Gabbie and talk with her; my mother wasn’t going to help me. My mom got Gabbie to talk to me and I told her I needed to know that she loved me, she said “of course”, but at that point it was too late. I don’t remember much of what happened next and there are certain things which are a complete mystery. We tried to talk it out, but neither of us could say what we wanted to say. I hid from her and she got angry at me. My only line of support had turned against me but I continued to hide from her, which drove us further and further apart. I made some feeble attempts to try and talk with her, but that only made things worse. I was hurting her even though all I wanted to was help her. I was advised by the school guidance counselor to stop talking to her and to forget her. It was over. That year was the worst year of my life. I needed that support more than ever, but it was now working against me. My parents tried to help me, but they only made things worse. I became severely depressed and felt unwanted and alone. If it weren’t for my other friend, I probably never would have made it. All through the rest of high school she stayed on the back of my mind. I hoped beyond hope that somehow something would let me at least talk to Gabbie again. Even if I couldn’t do that, I just wanted to make sure she would be alright. I learned that before we had started dating she had tried to commit suicide. This only made me worry more. We didn’t have to date again, if only we could be friends. If only I could make her see how much she meant to me. While this was happening, she began to change. She dyed her hair, she got piercings and gained some weight. It seemed the shy but feisty girl I had fallen in love with had gone. Whenever I heard her and her friends talking, they always sounded so negative and depressing. Somehow I made it through grade 11. Grade 12 was better, but I still could not be around her. I often fantasized what I would say to her if I could go back in time before we broke up, before all this started. I just wanted to let her know how much she meant to me. When the summer of 2014 rolled around, I told myself that I would never see her again. I was gone most of the summer for cadet training, home for 2 weeks, then it was off to university far away from my hometown. She would go somewhere else and I would be forced to forget her. Goodbye Gabbie. University has been the best thing that has happened to me yet. I should point out that the major reason I am not still suffering from depression or something similar is that I am an optimist. I’m always looking on the bright side of life and I find it exhilarating to be alive! This became more apparent in university. In first year, life seemed amazing! School wasn’t too hard, I made lots of friends and built up my social skills, and I went to parties. It seemed like my life had completely turned around. For the most part I was care-free. But Gabbie still haunted me. Since about the start of 2014 I had been searching for someone else to love. This search became more successful in university, but Gabbie remained my first and only girlfriend. And so she sat at the back of my mind and reminded me what it felt like to truly love someone and mocked my at my futile attempts to talk to girls. That being said, in my search to get her off my mind, I analyzed our relationship with more mature eyes and found that it probably wouldn’t have worked anyways. Because she was an introvert and so shy, we may have been deeply in love, but the actually relationship wasn’t all that great. I realized there was more she could have done to move it from a friendship to a relationship. As summer approached, my friend introduced me to another girl. She was vibrant, full of life and adventurous, all things I wanted more of in my life. I made sure to myself that this was no going to fill the hole Gabbie had left. This new relationship was going to be different. I was going to learn from my experiences with Gabbie. However, in some ways this new girl and Gabbie were the same. They both were unwilling to open their hearts. Gabbie arose from the depths of my mind to haunt me again. The new girl tried to help me, but she had some issues of her own which made it hard. This new relationship was an improvement and gave me lots of self-confidence, but there was no love. Fortunately, I was able to end the relationship gently and we have remained friends, although don’t get the opportunity to talk much. At this point, I was fed up with Gabbie. She was the only thing that was holding me back. She was getting in the way of my future relationships and haunting me in my darkest hours, and she wasn’t even around. I was doing this to myself through her. Although I knew that, I couldn’t make her go away. She was the only thing holding me back from having a good life. I needed to sort this out once and for all. But then I was reminded of the full effect she had on me. I needed to see her face. I needed to face it head-on and confront my fears. I couldn’t meet with her, I was too far away and it would only end in disaster. Thankfully we live in the age of the internet. However, at the mere sight of her Facebook profile picture, I began to panic. I tried many times, but could bring myself to look at her for more than a couple seconds. I tried messaging her closest friend, hoping she would understand that I didn’t want this to continue, that this was for the best of both me and her. I didn’t want to put her though anymore hardship. All I said was “HI” but her friend never replied to the message. Life kept moving around me and I was forced to leave my darkest secret unresolved. I have matured greatly since high school, and so has my goals for a relationship. No longer will I jump at any girl that shows interest in me (only to somehow screw it up); I want something meaningful. I want to date someone that is confident and capable that I can lean on if I need to. Someone who is steady so I can feed off their steadiness but no rely on them as my sole pillar of support. I want to find someone passionate and insightful. These criteria maybe a bit close-minded, but I am not, I am willing to let the chips fall where they may. I have more confidence and I am quite charming. So once again I seek to free myself of Gabbie. Although I recognized her as the one thing holding me back, I can’t hate her; she’s only human. Besides, it’s me that is doing this to myself. The other night I decided to face my fears again. I was going to see what Gabbie was up to, and let that be the first step in letting go for good. I looked her up on Facebook on my phone, as I did a couple months before. Nothing. What? Nothing?! That impossible! There is no Gabbie, or Gabby, or Gabe that I was looking for! What about her friends, surely they have her in their friend lists? Nothing! Her sister, maybe she got new friends. Nothing from her sister! Even a Google search only turns up old Prezi presentations of hers from back in high school. She’s gone! Like completely disappeared! That impossible? What if she committed suicide? Please don’t let that be the case! Anything but that! But there is nothing of the sort in her friends feed. There are still pictures of her from back in high school, but otherwise, she is gone. I texted my friends, the one who had helped me through those dark times. The one who had been there when she couldn’t. Nothing. He had lost contact with her. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well that night. It continued to bug me the next night. I continued my search. No one just disappears, not from the internet. Did she block me? Is it possible to complete remove yourself from Facebook to one person? Searching on my laptop didn’t help, even when I checked her parent’s pages. I found myself on her friends Friend list. There were a couple of categories, maybe that will help narrow the search. I check the “university” tab, I know they go to the same school. Nothing. Wait. I see a familiar face, but the name doesn’t match up. Let me explain one thing. Gabbie’s friend, whose Facebook profile I was currently snooping, had never known her father; she was a test-tube baby. In protest to this, she had changed her last name from her father’s to her mothers. Gabbie’s parent had split up, so I considered she might do the same. Sure enough, this familiar face had the same last name as Gabbie’s mother. But the first name was that of a male. It’s worth a shot! Sure enough, it was her, or him rather. He had completely changed and was even growing some stubble, but this had definitely once been Gabbie. This was a completely different person who even seemed happy about themselves. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to think. I knew she had been sort of a tom-boy, that was what I liked about her, but I never thought she would go and become a he. My shock wore off and everything began to settle in. I realized that I was alright with this. Actually, it suited him. I felt a bond with this person. It felt like if we were to ever meet – if we assume they were a new person – that we could get along. We might even get along better than me and Gabbie. But I was also right knowing that I may never get that chance. This new person probably had a satisfying life of their own. They had been freed of their past self and was living the life they wanted to live. Gabbie was gone. Gabbie was no more. Since she had started changing just after we broke up, you could say that sort of when it happened. That was how I had felt before and it had helped me cope – thinking that Gabbie wasn’t Gabbie anymore. But now it was true. It had actually happened. Gabbie had disappeared. I still wish I could go back and see Gabbie one more time. I would let her know what she meant to me and that she was such a wonderful person that was capable of so much. Most importantly, I would get the chance to say goodbye. I think I wanted that most of all. This now has the added realism of being that last time I could talk to Gabbie. Because after that, the shy but beautiful girl I feel in love with in high school would disappear. Not long has passed since I discovered Gabbie’s disappearance, so I’m not totally sure if I have made my peace or not. But I hope that in telling this story I will find that peace. I am seeking out professional help to make sure that I am the best person I can be, but this is a huge step in the right direction. Best of luck to this new person which has just recently been brought into the world. Thank you for everything Gabbie, goodbye.


My mother never spoke to me anymore unless she was telling me how I was a mistake and when she did, I could smell the rancid scent of strong whiskey on her breath and choked on the stench of rotten flowers radiating from the excess of expired perfume. Her blue eyes, now cloudy from years of cigarette smoke and never seeing the light of the sun, would stare at me, full of resentment and loathing. She always told me that if it weren’t for me, she would have been the most famous artist, a painter of unimaginable stature and skill. Instead, she was stripped away from that future, doomed to be a mother.

She used to love me, I think before my father left, another thing she blames me for. She used to sit me on her lap and paint beautiful landscapes of flower fields and bouquets of ultra-realistic flora. Her eyes were a striking blue, the color of the sky on a warm summer’s day, and her face was beautiful and happy. She still sold her paintings and filled galleries back then. I can still remember, although I was only a toddler, her and my father taking me to the openings and seeing all the people in awe at how real the paintings looked and praising her talents. I try not to forget them when she gets into her alcohol and nicotine-withdraw-induced moods.

My father met my mother at one of her gallery openings and soon after, I was born. They didn’t plan for me, and my father asked her not to have me, but my mother couldn’t bear the thought, which she says she now regrets. He learned to love me, or just pretended, but for my mother’s sake, he never hurt me, at least physically. When I turned seven, we learned that I have a rare, but deadly, allergy to pollen. No more flowers, no more walks through the fields of wildflowers and poppies, no more going to flower festivals to gather inspiration. If a speck of pollen got into my system, I would have an almost instantaneous reaction and choke. This was when my mother’s love turned to enmity. Her art, her true passion, blocked by her child. She went into a deep depression, stopped painting with me, stopped painting in general, stopped leaving the house, stopped knowing me. She never smiled and she began to drink. I think my father saw this opportunity and escaped, not being able to take care of the dying flower that my mother was. She never recovered, him leaving being the last petal to fall.

I tried my best to make her happy, maybe bring her back to her normal self. I began to try and copy her style of paintings, of flowers and fields. I could never quite get it right. I filled the house with faux flowers and used floral perfumes, but nothing worked. She never left her studio except to use the toilet and to eat, even then, she’d sometimes not eat for days, full plates of food piling outside her door. She doesn’t paint in her studio, just sits in front of a blank canvas. Her mind probably creating beautiful images of roses, lilacs, and baby’s breath; of lilies, and orchids, and sunflowers. Her hands longing for the feel of the brush beneath her fingers and the scent of oil paints and fresh flowers mixing in a strange duet of smells. All this locked away, deep in the recesses of her minds, covered by the long, thick vines of depression and despair and resentment towards her own flesh and blood.

Even though I could never exactly produce that same level of art my mother could, I am still regarded as one of the best up-and-coming painters in the country. I have my own studio where I have countless books on flowers so that I can best replicate their delicate beauty. My mother doesn’t know about my skills or about my studio, I think she would resent me more if she thought I was becoming what she says I stole from her. I credit my talent to her in all my interviews and I praise her work. When people ask me why she doesn’t release any more pieces, I tell them that just resides in her garden, painting for her own private pleasure. I think that this is only a partial lie. Her mind, to me, is a garden, filled with flowers, and she sits there, in her mind, painting, and reminiscing.

In my mind, she, herself, is a flower. One who was the most beautiful in the field, that all the people flocked to see. Then one day, a tree’s branch blocked the sunlight and the flower slowly began to die. Slowly losing its radiant colors, shrinking back into the earth. The people stopped coming to look at the flower and moved on, only one remained and tried to bring that flower back to its past brilliance. The person cut down the branch, watered the flower, and tried her best to give the flower life again. But the flower couldn’t become what it once was, and the person tried her best to keep the flower from withering away entirely.

My mother’s words still sting after all these years. She still wears the clothes of the style from back when she was her true self. The distorted 30’s silhouette stands out among the fuller skirts and brighter colors of the late ’50s. I imagine her as she once was before I knew her, a beautiful, intelligent, caring lady whose talent with paints made her bloom. I think that she is still like that in her mind, a flower in full bloom. She lives as if it's her past is the present. Her mind hides her new, changed appearance from herself.

I now sit at my easel, palette in hand, the brush moving in fluid motions across the rough surface. I am painting a rose, withered by age and rough weather. The surrounding bright and sunny, the rose hidden and bent in the shade of a large tree branch, its petals without vibrance. A single beam of sun cuts through the shadow, illuminating a fallen petal. At the bottom of the page, I sign my name in one swift gesture,

Flora.


“I told you to stay away from the back. Someone will see you.”

“ You will. How else are you supposed to find me?”

Wade sighed. “You’re going to get caught. And that’s not going to be my fault.”

“If you say so.” Addon emerged, head-first, from under a woody jumble of dirty shipping crates. “All clear?”

“If it wasn’t, you’d be in danger, stat.”

“All clear, then.” Addon stood up and did a complimentary quick pants-brushing. He punched the side of Wade’s arm. “Love you too.”

Wade had never actually said the L word, in hopes that Addon always meant it as a joke. And while it was true that whenever Addon used that word, it wasn’t exactly with great sobriety, the two were hardly ever in situations they allowed themselves to think of as somber. Every circumstance personally encountered, if they were being honest with themselves, was incredibly depressing; if they viewed everything as it came they’d be dead within a few hours.

So Addon, with Wade in tow, preferred to look on the bright side. When there was one.

“I--I have this for you.” Wade withdrew his left hand out from under his jacket and handed a packet to Addon. “Ah, a delicacy,” Addon said in a poor French accent (he’d never been outside of London), sitting down on a stray wooden packing case. He patted one next to him. “Dine with me?” He started unwrapping the soft brown paper encasing Wade’s evening gift. “I already ate in the shop.” Still, Wade took a seat next to him and rested his elbows on his knees as he watched Addon’s uncharacteristic slowness in revealing the evening’s dinner. “Oh, I almost forgot--here’s this.” He reached inside his jacket again and pulled out a lukewarm brown-tinted glass bottle, hesitated a moment, then set it on the cracked pavement between the two. “We can share.” “What is it?” Addon had finally opened up the package to reveal, unsurprisingly, a hunk of crusty bread, a soft apple, and a single piece of pastel pink hard candy in a clear wrapper. “Oho, you got me dessert this time, eh?” He slid his feet forward and laid the paper packaging like a plate on his lap. “It’s--the drink--um, it’s cola.” A pause. Wade swallowed. “It’s beer.” “Honesty, we do love to see it.” With a snap , Addon twisted the candy’s wrapping away and popped the sweet between his teeth. “Do you have a bottle opener?” “Shoot, I forgot.” Wade positioned the heels of his hands against his knees, in a hesitant attempt to stand up. “I’ll go get one from inside.” “No need.” Addon scooped the bottle up, somehow not disturbing the contents of his dinner, and, turning slightly, set its bottom on a corner of the crate. He slid the edge of the silver ring on his middle finger under its cap and popped it off before Wade could fully realize what he was doing. “Bon appetit.” Addon held the bottle out invitingly. “Oh, and you can swear. More risque than ‘shoot,’ if you want. Full permission.” Wade frowned. “Where’d you get that?” He took the beer. “The ring, I mean.” “Ah, it was my dad’s. He believed in vampires. Are you one?” Addon reached over and cupped his hand over Wade’s, waited a moment, then released. “No burn marks, I see. That’s nice. Classy.” Wade took a slow sip from the bottle. “How come I’ve never noticed it before?” “Used to be on that chain, under my shirt, y'know? Recently took it off so it could be somewhat lethal if I ever need to, er, quickly determine if someone’s a vampire. You’ve got to watch out for them these days; I hear they’ve started filing their teeth.” Addon’s cheek caved in with the quiet sucking of his candy. “And wearing makeup, too, to disguise their deathly paleness.” He glanced at Wade, who was taking another drink. “Speaking of, when’s the last time you’ve seen sun, buddy? Are you ever not working?” “It isn’t a choice , Addon.” Wade stared straight ahead, his dark green eyes fixed on the alley wall. “You know that good and damn well. It was the only way to get out.” “Well, or running away. And nice cursing, by the way.” Addon stuck his tongue out. “Is it pink?” “Of course it’s pink. It’s a tongue.” Wade sighed and handed over the bottle. “Addon, if I had snuck out, I wouldn’t be able to babysit you--you realize that, right? We’d both be starving, and parentless--” Addon snapped his fingers. “Don’t say that.” He took a quick swig of beer. “You know I have a mother.” Wade blew out his cheeks. “You’ve never even met her, Addon. You don’t even know if she’s real! You’ve only seen her in your head, when you’re asleep with the rats and haven’t eaten in god knows how long--” The bottle hit the alley floor forcibly, shattering on impact, brown wedges of glass mixing with whatever urine-colored liquid was left inside, fizzing out to a mixture that vaguely resembled vomit. Addon swept the food off his lap and stood up. “So we’re making this a classist thing now, hmm? Just because I don’t break my fucking neck working for some pig in a rich person shop all day means you get to invalidate the one single person I can possibly call family?” Wade’s bottom lip was trembling. He stood up and faced Addon, their same-smelling breaths tingeing the short distance between them with traces of alcohol. “I thought I was your brother.” “Oh, God, I want to laugh. Christ. Jesus Christ.” Addon turned and kicked the bottom of the narrow brick alley walling them in. “I actually am going to laugh. Give me a moment.” Addon laughed--a bitter sound completely devoid of heart--and spit before turning again to face Wade. “My brother ? My brother. Wade, darling, do you actually believe that when I say I love you, I mean it as a brother ?” He shook his head. “Christ, you’re stupid.” “Addon, please, not now--I’m sorry--” Wade tried to back away, but his heel only met shipping crates piled against the wall. “You’re sorry. You’re sorry. A change of heart; how comforting. What, exactly, are you sorry for?” Addon’s narrowed eyes, a deeper brown than his sun-tanned skin, searched Wade’s face. Wade swallowed. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I hate to see you like this.” “Like this? Like what ?” Addon threw his hands out. “Wade, when I ran away from that ghastly orphanage and you got employed here to get out--something you swore you’d never do--and searched until you found me, brought me food, showed me places to hide--that was as what ? My babysitter? My brother? My mother?” He took a step closer. Wade dug his teeth into his lip to stop it from shaking. “Your friend.” Addon laughed, a sound as equally heartless as the one before. “My friend.” He exhaled and looked away, then back. “Why are you shaking? Friend. ” “I’m--I’m cold,” Wade said, in a somewhat normal voice. “I’m not used to--to being out here. Like you are. I didn’t expect we’d--I’d--stay this late. I should get going--” “Oh?” Addon interrupted. He reached inside Wade’s jacket and pulled out a warm brown bottle. “Then what’s this?” Wade swallowed. “How did you know that was--” “I pay attention to you, dearest. And your numerous pockets aren’t as subtle as you’d have yourself believe. Wait--” Addon cocked his head, then smiled, much more genuinely than the laughs. “You brought two bottles, yet we still shared.” It had grown so dark by now that, surely, Addon wouldn’t be able to see the hue of Wade’s cheeks-- “I know you’re blushing,” Addon said quietly, and reached up, ran his hand along the side of Wade’s face. “Christ, you’re so cute. Your eyes are so pretty.” He dropped this beer (it fractured, too), and used his other hand to gently tuck a dark lock behind Wade’s right ear. “Listen to me.” Addon brought Wade’s head so close to his that their foreheads were touching. “I’m not going to hurt you, Wade. I know what your mother did to you; she’s a terrible, terrible woman. There’s a reason she’s dead. And I get if you don’t want to do this, right now, but you’re blushing; you made us share the bottle even though you didn’t have to; hell, half the clothes I have on belong to you. I have a feeling you do. Want to do this.” Addon stroked Wade’s earlobe with his thumb. “I’m not your mom, though, so I’m going to ask. Do you?” “Shit.” Close as they were, Wade managed to make his eyes look anywhere but at Addon. “I’m so scared to say yes. I don’t want to ruin this, Add. We’re not even adults yet. I--” “Hey. Look at me.” Addon breathed in slowly. “It’s been a really long time since anyone kissed me (or, more accurately, since I ever kissed anyone), and since I’m a selfish hedonist who is usually very poor at communication, I’d like for you to answer right now: Can I kiss you?” “I don’t know,” Wade began, then stopped himself. “No, that’s not true. Yes.” He laid each of his hands over Addon’s. “Yes, you may.” “Thank Christ, I was afraid you were going to say no.” Their faces drew even closer, then their lips met, Wade’s fingers were curling into Addon’s hair, Addon was grasping the sides of Wade’s face, and their souls opened up. Wade tasted yellow, like beer and flowers and starch and spit; Addon tasted red, like candy and blood and fruit and life. After an indeterminate amount of time, Wade broke off, half gasping. “Wait, wait, I need a break.” He stumbled his way backwards, towards a crate. “Let me just--sit down--for a second…” “Fine by me.” Addon bent over, grinning, and picked up the neck of the second dropped bottle. “It’s a shame I did this. Good beer gone to waste.” He threw it to the side, and it shattered further against the alley wall. “I can get more,” Wade offered, standing up. “It’s--I have the keys.” Addon continued smiling. “Then what, exactly, are you waiting for?” Wade smirked and ran over to the rear door. “Back before you know I’m gone,” he promised, and disappeared into the shop. When he emerged only a few minutes later, three beers hanging from in between four fingers in his left hand, Addon was nowhere in view. “Addie?” Wade called quietly, scanning the nighttime alley. “Psst. Here.” Wade followed the sound to where it led him: Addon, slumped on the alley floor, in between two hurriedly constructed walls of wooden boxes and one metal trash can. “Step in and close the opening,” he whispered. “I left some crates for you to finish the job.” “I--okay, but not for long,” Wade cautioned. “I have work tomorrow.” He set the beers lightly on the ground.” Addon laughed quietly. “Eh? Then why’d you get three bottles?” Wade’s response was to stack several crates in the opening to their makeshift whatever-it-was, so that, both sitting down, they wouldn’t be easily visible from the outside. Not that anyone important ever came into this alley, anyway. Addon had already opened a beer, and Wade brought the other two over and slid down on the wall beside him, setting the bottles to the side. Addon took a good, long swig, before handing the beer to Wade. “Let’s get drunk,” Addon submitted, and Wade, for perhaps the first time in his life, actually agreed. In the morning, there they were: The two brown-haired boys, intertwined in each other, empty beer bottles scattered among their feet like glass mice taunting an elephant. In the shop, an aproned, fat, and angry red-faced man would be storming about, furious at his assistant’s tardiness; but in the alley Wade would remain sleeping, far into the morning, his head on Addon’s chest as the latter kissed his love’s curls, softly, and wordlessly asked the sky just what antics they were going to experience next.


August 21 st 2020: The Present He pulled out the heavy suitcase from beneath the old coffee table in the attic, immediately covering his nose as he felt the tingles of a sneeze in the making. The room was dusty, as was expected, as his parents had not ventured up there for years. It was a big day. In more ways than one. For the first time since he was admitted, Mason was going to visit his father at the nursing home. The timing too was fitting as the day marked nine years since his sister's passing. A few tugs and some unfastened clasps later, he pulled out the bag that lay folded neatly atop the contents of the moth-eaten luggage. The costume was intact, its blue and red fabric glistening beneath the tattered plastic covering, the shiny silver goblets - the eyes of the mask -reflecting the pensive expression on his face. It would be totally out of character for Mason to show up at the Wings of Care Nursing Home, dressed as a superhero, but it was much more than his character that was at stake. As if on cue, a spider scuttled hurriedly across the web-tangled floorboard in front of him and Marley's laughter echoed reminiscently in his ears. He felt her presence then, cheering him on in the silence of the empty house, convinced that what he was about to do was good and right. ***** Marley I’m Marley Cadence Elliott and I’m the baby that Geoffrey and Lisa Elliott had planned for. They were high-school sweethearts that stayed in love even after attending college in separate states in the US. They tied the knot a year after they graduated and began trying for a baby in their fourth year of marriage. Geoffrey’s a musician who loves Reggae and Rhythm and Blues. He attended Juliards on a scholarship, going on to manage a chain of radio stations called Citadel Group and founded a small recording studio in Miami. Lisa Elliott is the daughter of the prestigious dentist Albert Atkins, fondly known as "Dr. Tatskins". He gained the nickname after running a marketing ad for his practice, featuring a teenage girl on anesthetics getting her tongue twisted saying " Stanks Dr. Tatskins. Sthat didn't hurth a bith ". Lisa was a brilliant academic, an aspiring dental surgeon like her father, but midway through college, she discovered a greater love for animals instead. Graduating with honours from veterinary school, she became employed at a licensed Vet clinic as the lead Dentist and Oral Surgeon after three years in residency. I was supposed to be their bouncing baby boy. Geoffrey coveted the name Marley, after the famous titled reggae singer Bob, because during the early stages of their pregnancy, I responded with kicks and thumps whenever they played me songs by the popular band The Wailers. As they claim, the sequence of my movements seemed to be rhythmic and purposeful, like a cadence. Hence my unusual middle name. It wasn't until the third trimester that I turned in the womb, the gynecologist noting no sign of testicles on the ultrasound image, indicating that a little girl was on the way. My parents were mentally unprepared for a daughter, far less one that was diagnosed with PKU. Phenylketonuria (PKU) is an inborn error of protein metabolism, a condition which has no known cure. The rare disease occurs in children, usually from birth, commonly inherited from their parents. It prevents the body from properly breaking down proteins, specifically phenylanine . When the body is unable to break these down, phenylanine builds up in the blood causing problems throughout the body which commonly result in seizures, developmental delays, memory lapses, irritability, behavioural issues and intellectual disability. My parents were devastated when a simple breakout of eczema and the pediatrician's shrewd observation of my delayed growth at my three-month checkup led to the diagnosis. No one in either of their families had the condition and it was unfamiliar territory for them both. Oddly enough, I grew steadily throughout infancy and toddlerhood and I’d even dare say that I’m a smashingly successful thirteen-year-old-girl with ailments. I’m smart and observant, respond well to my treatment and strict diets, despite my occasional episodes of mood swings, seizures and anorexia nervosa. My parents were so busy working around me - my treatment, special education, diet and routines – that the morning sickness, fatigue and general inertia experienced by my Mom went unnoticed until she stepped on the bathroom scale one morning and recognized that she had gained six pounds! That was nine years ago. The time that I learned that I was going to be a big sister. This time the baby was not one in the planning but they were extremely fidgety, always doing checkups, nervous and anxious, and - the part they would not say out loud but I knew to be true – praying that the baby would not be like me. I prayed hard for that too. And for me to have a healthy baby brother. ***** Mason It’s difficult being the second child in a family where your older sibling isn’t the same sex and also has special needs. That's mostly how I feel whenever I’m alone in my room and my parents are busy fussing over Marley. It helps that my older sister is not a fan of the attention but chooses to rise above her disabilities, lavishing me, her younger brother, with all the love and attention that our parents unconsciously withhold; taking on the world one day at a time, with the energy of an all-male football squad (it’s her and my favourite sport). I’m the baby of the family and the “normal” kid. Everyone expected me to be like my Mom: fierce and determined, especially when she gets her hands on a drill (it’s part of her profession as a “doggy dentist”). That’s why they named me Mason. Mason Albert Elliott. But the only drills I’m good at are the ones where my family stops in the middle of dinner and a movie to rush to Marley’s aid in her episode of a seizure. Or my enrollment in football summer camp that would be cancelled as they have to use funds to go out-of-state with Marley for treatment. Or the bi-monthly sibling support therapy sessions I’m forced to attend with other kids with special-needs siblings. I’m nine-going-on-ten and overly acquainted with these drills that have become an integral part of my life. Marley had been doing really well for the past eighteen months until she suddenly lost seven pounds in under two weeks. She started having tantrums, forgetting things and being really crabby with everyone, including me. Her doctor referred her to a specialist at the Children’s Hospital in Boston, which is out of state. Dad had a huge contract signing for an album recording with a local artist who’s getting really popular and Mom has rolled-over vacation (whatever that means) so she booked the trip with Marley. They’ve been gone for over a week. Dad just got off the phone with Mom and it sounds like Marley isn’t doing so great, but the good news is that they’re coming home. He doesn’t bother to tell me what’s happening in detail, just the tidbits that he assumes my little nine-year-old brain can absorb. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and timid, mostly reserved and quietly observant. Except when Marley and I are together. And she’s having one of her good days. I’m happy she’s coming back but also confused as to why I’m sad to give up the attention I’ve been receiving while it’s just been Dad and me. At least we’re half-way through summer and football camp doesn't end for three weeks, so I just might get a late enrollment. ***** July 28 th 2011 He wore a Spiderman costume to greet her at the airport as it was her favourite superhero. He didn’t care about the long stares and the wary looks of the masses. His wife and his daughter were coming home after being at a children’s hospital in Boston, where the latter had been undergoing treatment for PKU for the past eleven days. Marley was his pride and joy, his little girl that he admittedly didn’t hope for initially, but the child that strummed all the musical strings of his heart. When she was eight, he had read her the children’s fictional called Charlotte’s Webb and she'd become enthralled with spiders ever since. When Marvel comics launched the modern remake of the blockbuster Spiderman Movie, she was already in her pre-teen phase and she immediately idolized the character. It was her smarts, coupled with her innocence, that caused Geoffrey Elliott to love her fiercely. Her illness never defeated her as she was as resolute and determined as her mother. Marley had the spirit of his wife Lisa which made her a fighter. He would do anything to make his daughter smile and today, smile she would, when she came through those arrival gates. At least that was the plan. He sat patiently with his son Mason as they watched scores of people filter by. The flight had landed on schedule and his wife and daughter should be looking to disembark at any minute. Suddenly, in a fit of nerves, he needed to pee. He had not factored in getting out of the suit to take a leak but couldn’t hold it too long. An elderly lady that sat next to them offered to watch Mason while he slipped off into the nearby washroom. Meanwhile, a guy acting suspiciously was being shadowed by airport authority officers. He slipped out of the washroom hastily as Geoffrey was entering. He noticed the guy mainly because the hem of his white shirt was sticking out of the fly of his dark blue cargo pants. “Hey!” Geoffrey called out, stalling the guy in the process. “Check your fly man” he continued as the stranger slowed his pace, glancing sheepishly down at his trousers. Just then, three officers approached and suddenly the man took off running in a sprint. Everything happened quickly – armed officers encircling, people pulling away in a frenzy, voices echoing through walkie-talkies, sirens and shouts over the PA system. They caught him, sequestered him and grilled him with questions. Geoffrey was making his third attempt to get out of his Spidey suit after the frenzy died when officers entered the washroom, evacuating everyone inside. They found a bomb in one of the stalls. It was chaotic. Flights were delayed, others rerouted. Airport wing had to be evacuated. Marley and her mother, along with other incoming passengers had to be cordoned off at an evacuation point away from the landing strip. He never saw them until many hours later that day. Somehow, a video still-shot of him in his Spiderman suit calling out to the bomber was captured and circulated on the evening news. The running reports tagged him as “The Spider that Caught the Fly”. He was credited as the hero who managed to alert authorities of a man who had somehow managed to plant a bomb at an international airport in broad daylight and without detection. May 12 th 2015 Fame seemed destined to follow her and she had become tired of it. Her father was well-known. Her practice was the most popular in the state. And her husband had made their family a household name when he was tagged four years ago as The Spider that Caught The Fly. Maybe to the world he was a hero, but to Lisa, her husband had failed. Losing a child is difficult for any parent. So when their daughter Marley died three and a half weeks after the airport bomb fiasco, she felt like her world had come crashing down. Sure, she was not the anticipated baby they had hoped for. Marley was supposed to be Mason. Her firstborn should have been a boy as she had wanted and as they had planned. But she loved that little girl with the fire in her eyes and music in her blood. Now, Lisa Elliott couldn’t face the tune of silence in the aftermath of her only-daughter’s being. What made her grief compounded was her husband Geoffrey’s bizarre behaviour that subsequently ensued. He became irrational, uncompromising, an overly-emotional alcoholic, who was apathetic toward her and particularly to their son Mason. The therapist said it was unconscious and unintentional, an unhealthy form of coping with his grief. But the behaviour, and his subsequent medical diagnosis took its downward toll on their marriage, bringing Lisa to a point of no return. As she sat in the courtroom, she registered no disappointment at Geoffrey’s absence for the divorce hearing, his lawyer instead stepping in to act on his behalf. It was almost four years since their daughter died and her marriage had officially reached its point of death in pursuit. Thoughts of her son and a resolve to do better by him are what kept her chin upright as she listened to the lawyer’s recital of her husband’s missive – one in which he resolved to let her take everything (as she was the breadwinner in the marriage) including full custody of young Mason. June 6 th 2013 His name was recognized in his new school and people began to pay attention to him. Many of the boys wanted to be his friend. He loved the attention, craved it actually, and bought into the stories that developed in his head. He was the son of the famous Spiderman that stopped an airport bombing by pulling on the hem of a man’s shirt through his open fly. That was Mason’s polished version of the story as an eye-witness to the event. His embellishments of the facts of that day were grossly exaggerated but for once he was among the cool kids and he felt it necessary to keep up whatever façade was needed to bolster his newfound social status. His parents did everything in their power to show him love but he never felt like he was loved as much as his sister. After Marley’s death, his father started behaving weird, much like his sister would whenever she had relapses, and his parents started fighting frequently. He never showed any physical evidence of his need for their cuddling so they always assumed that he was alright. Marley’s death took a toll on him too. But as usual, they were too preoccupied with themselves and with Marley’s loss to truly notice. It was Career Day at school and they were tasked to dress as the professions they intended to become. His mother fancied him for engineering and design, or anything along the lines of drilling and concrete works (she silently pressured him to consider dentistry like his grandfather and her). His father was neither here nor there, lackluster in his energy or interest in what his only son would become. But Mason saw himself as his father’s son. It was his Dad who had made him famous at his new school, his father who had indirectly won him the attention that he needed. He told his parents over breakfast that morning that he wanted to be an entrepreneur. He dressed in one of his smart suits that his grandfather had bought him to wear to Sunday Mass, but secretly, he stashed the Spiderman costume that his father had never removed from Marley’s bedroom. He was at the front of the class, dressed in the Spidey suit that was too big and too long for his tiny frame, addressing his classmates, teachers and the parents that took time off to be in attendance. As Mason explained that he wanted to be a superhero when he grew up, he went into his made-up version of the airport bomber incident with his Dad. Just then, the doors to the classroom flung open and his father came barging in. He was angry and seemed ready to tear Mason to pieces as he spotted him donning the precious costume. But as his father listened to Mason talk about how much he’d loved his sister Marley and how he wanted to be a hero Dad to a little girl in the future, just as his father had been to her, tears fell steadily down his face and he ran up to Mason and embraced him. It was the first time in Mason’s memory that his father had hugged him so passionately and whispered words of love and comfort to him. That was the last time they had shared a tender moment, before his father was diagnosed with FLTD and their family was ripped further apart. August 21 st 2020: The Present Much had happened in my life over the years and I'm thankful for my psychological growth. Life has dealt me so many bad cards that I could become bitter or better as a result. Thoughts of what life would have been like if my sister Marley had not died often flood me, leaving me overwhelmed with regret. But I've learned to be thankful. There's a reason and an explanation for everything that happened. Though I may never get the answers to the “whys”, I find solace in the fact that hope still lives. Frontotemporal lobar degeneration (FTLD) is the cause of my father’s behaviour. Grief and compounded traum are the causes of my mother’s steely countenance and her defensiveness. Significant loss and changes in my early childhood are the reasons for the many mistakes I've made and the difficult journey I endured to becoming my true self. I will salvage the remains of the relationships I've lost with the persons that I love the most. My mother Lisa will be there today too... A sense of peace engulfed Mason as he pictured his father’s expression when he would learn that Spiderman was at Wings of Care and had come to pay him a visit that day. ****


I woke up and said to myself “I am going to get a vacation!” hoping that saying it allowed would help it become true. I excitedly went to work hoping to in the time I don’t have work to do research vacations. Once I got there my coworkers and I exchanged the usual “hellos”, “how are yous”, and “I'm fines” and went about our days. I didn’t have much work to do as I'd already done my work knowing what I planned to do today.

I looked for a while and then found a vacation with all paid expenses trip to Hawaii for 1,000 dollars! I didn’t have that money so I knew I’d have to go to suspicious steve. His name isn’t actually suspicious Steve, just Steve, but he is always suspicious. He always has ways of getting what you need and seems rich but still works a 9 to 5 job.

I went up to him and said “Steve. You got money?” Steve looked at me with confusion and said “What money?” “Well I was hoping you knew of a way to get 1,000 dollars, but I also wanted to sound cool” Steve rolls his eyes at me, but in a cool way, somehow. He hands me two packages, one labeled “burn”, another labeled “give''. “burn this one, and give this one to a guy a few blocks away. You’ll need to burn all of the one labeled burn to ash. Show me proof you’ve done it and I’ll give you the money.

If you ask questions, I’ll have someone else do it. I’ve texted you the address to the location.” he stops for a moment then glares at me “If you mess up, you’ll regret it. “ Hesitantly, I agreed. The rest of the workday was normal so it’s not worth talking about, but what is worth talking about is afterward. Once the workday ended I crept to my backyard, which in hindsight just made me more suspicious, and prepared to burn the one labeled burn. I wanted to look inside and see what it was but

I worried if I did he’d have my head or id ask questions and then he’d have my head.

Either way, I'd be without a head, which is a thing I prefer to have.  I started a recording and threw it in. I waited till it was complete ash which took a while, but before It was all ash I caught a glimpse of a picture of a face, It looked like an ID. I pushed away thoughts of what I just did and how unethical it was and walked over to the place, unable to push away thoughts of what I just did. I worried, did I just abide and aid murder? I kept trying to reassure myself that maybe it was an old ID and they were really precautious, or that someone died in a non-murder-y way and so they burned old items. But considering it was from suspicious steve and it was a person’s face, I would imagine it’s either a murder or a cover-up of someone’s identity. I focused on the fact that this was for a vacation the rest of the way to avoid thoughts of murder and cover-ups. Once I arrived I knocked, a suspicious person opened the door and in a hushed and angry voice said “What?” I tried to match their voice, partially to seem cool, and partially for them to be less likely to want to kill me, and said “I have a delivery from steve.” He quickly takes it and closes the door. If it is what I think it is, then it’s really weird his name is steve. I never thought drug deliverers’ names could be so normal. It’s like being like “I have a drug delivery from billy”, it just sounds normal and too innocent. But I guess not all people who do weird things have weird names like “ax” or “Murder”.

I took a recording of me at the door with no more packages and sent them to steve, with no reply I got an online cash deposit of 1,000 dollars.

I quickly left and went home. Not sure how to continue, I bought a ticket and waited for my day. Nothing very weird happened well I waited though, except for me. I kept sneaking around places and acting like I did a crime, which I did, I think. One day I crept into working thinking someone would catch me in what I had done and all my coworkers stared at me. Also, all of the “how are yous” turned into “are you oks”, the answers still the same though even if I did commit a crime.

Once it was time to go on my vacation I ordered an uber and got all my stuff and put it in, the drive there was pretty calm. We did run into traffic and so I decided to do the only thing I could do which was grab my stuff and start jumping on cars to get by. I’m not kidding, I did actually do that though, I really didn’t want to miss my flight. I did pay the driver first though! So at least I’m not an avoids-paying-for-ubers-car jumper. Also, as a side note, car jumping is really fun! Hard, but fun!

I got to the airport and had a relatively normal flight, I think a passenger was trying to flirt with me though, which was sweet but annoying. I sat through the flight and read a magazine since somehow I forgot to bring something to keep me entertained.

The flight attendant suddenly said “And now we are flying over Hawaii”, I went up and asked if this was a flight to Hawaii, which is what I thought, she said it wasn’t though. It’s a flight to China. I must have clicked the one below the Hawaii one…. I asked where the parachutes were and as they pointed in a confused manner I grabbed my stuff, the parachute, and jumped off the plane. I heard lots of surprise gasps as I jumped off but it was worth it to finally get to relax in Hawaii. That’s my totally normal story of how I got to Hawaii. “What about yours?” I said to the person next to me. They looked at me and walked away slowly, I guess that was a weird trip in their opinion, oh well, more alone time for me.


I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for the neon-yellow slip flapping against the wind. The sky was booming, and my hands were beginning to cramp from the bags of groceries I was carrying. I had to get my groceries in before the clouds began to weep.

Still, I dropped one hand’s worth of groceries on the ground and picked up the note, which was slipped onto the split ring of a penguin keychain. The keychain was sitting in front of a rather worn-out looking house. Before I could examine any longer, a gust of wind threw my hair ablaze. As it howled an ominous warning of the storm to come, I chucked the keychain into one of my grocery bags, then hurried the rest of the way home. *** Luckily, I didn’t get too wet. The rain was now in full session, pattering softly against my window. After shuffling away my groceries, I made myself comfortable on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and the TV remote. I was about to play a movie when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bright yellow note and keychain sitting on my kitchen counter. I tried to ignore it- I was feeling so cozy on the sofa- but something kept tugging my attention towards it.

“Ugh!” I groaned as I picked myself up and grabbed the keychain, then sat back down. The keychain featured a crocheted stuffed penguin, about half the size of my palm with beady little eyes and gray and white yarn for fur. It seemed to be in fairly good condition. Why would someone give this away?

“You’re quite cute…I wonder if you have a name,” I pondered aloud. “Mister Penguin.”

I froze. I know that did not come out of my mouth, because it came from a deeper voice. Was I hallucinating- “A kind woman gave me that name. She-AGHHHHH!” When the voice spoke again, I yelped and tossed the keychain into the air by reflex. As the scream traveled in the direction the keychain was falling, I realized that this unfamiliar voice was coming from the crocheted penguin.

“What is wrong with you, lady? Are you crazy?” The stuffed penguin squawked. As if that wasn’t already terrifying enough, it started to helplessly wiggle, trying to get into an upright position.

I screamed. It screamed. I screamed again. *** After hushing it (it had somehow managed to scream louder than me) in fear of alarming my neighbors, we both agreed not to scream at each other anymore (or toss anyone into the air again, for that matter).

“Okay, so let me get this straight: you’re a talking stuffed penguin on a keychain.”

“Yes.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“You’re only going to make yourself crazy trying to make sense of it. Why bother?”

For the sake of my sanity, I decided to no longer bother. “So you said your name was Mister Penguin?” I asked, remembering what it had said right before it sent me into a plight of terror.

“Yes. That’s the name she gave me.”

“Who’s ‘she’?”

“My human. The one who took care of me. I have to find her,” Mister Penguin said. Even though his eyes were made of beads, I felt as though I could see a glint of determination in them.

I was hesitant about what to say. I wasn’t sure if I should mention that, just before he came to life, he was left swinging on a stair rail outside someone’s house.

“Um…were you always able to talk?” “I was always watching. It felt like she always knew I had a presence, without me having to utter a single word to her.”

“So why speak now?”

“Because it appears that I’ve gotten lost! One day, I was feeling quite sleepy and took a nap. Next thing you know, I’m in your stuffy apartment!” “Hey! Not everyone can afford a house, you know? I’m barely making enough to cover my rent,” I quipped back.

“Alright- forget your tiny apartment,” Mister Penguin gave a dismissive flap of his wing.

My mouth gaped. The audacity- “I have to find my human. She needs me.”

“What do you mean she needs you?”

“She kept me in good condition. I’m a bit like her support stuffed animal, you see. And I need you to help me. Please.”

Somehow, this stuffed penguin managed to evoke sympathy from my heart. His eyes looked anything but lifeless, as they filled with expressions of worry, concern, and a deep sense of care.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you. But before that, there’s something you should know.” “What’s that?” “When I found you, you were left outside someone’s home, with a note attached to you saying ‘free, please take.’ That’s the only reason why I brought you back to my place.” “What?” Mister Penguin let out a chirping chuckle. “No no, that can’t be. The last I remember, I was still on her key ring, the one she keeps closest to her. She wears it on a lanyard…” I slowly shook my head.

Mister Penguin’s eyes widened. “There’s no way…” his eyes casted downwards, glancing back and forth in confusion. “Maybe- maybe there’s an explanation for it,” I reasoned. “But something must have happened.” “Very well. I’ll tell you my story.”

“Oh. Well in that case, let me grab the popcorn-” “It started a crisp sunny morning…” “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic…” “ What’s this?” She picked up the keychain laid outstretched in his palm. “Oh my god, it’s so cute!” she gasped. She gazed at the little stuffed penguin, appearing to have been hand-crocheted, sitting in her hands. “Where did you get this?” “At the fair they were having last week. Someone was selling their hand-made keychains.” “I see,” she replied. “Why a penguin?” “When I was a kid, my dream was to sail the world and study sea animals- specifically, penguins.” She laughed. “They’re adorable,” she said, studying the small gray plush.

“I always thought they were fascinating,” he noted. “For giving up what their wings could’ve been to live a life at sea.” “Interesting,” I mused. “So how do you feel? For giving up what could’ve been a grand life flying across the world to live at bay?” “It’s a sacrifice- the kind that you make when you know, with utmost faith, that it’s worth it.” I had a feeling that Mister Penguin wasn’t talking about penguins. “You’re fairly poetic for a talking stuffed penguin.” I paused. “I think.”

I could’ve sworn I saw Mister Penguin roll his beady little eyes. He continued- “She took me everywhere she went. She also loved him as much as she loved me.” I felt like it was the other way around, but chose not to say anything.

“They stayed together for a good two years, but between his shop and her classes, it seemed they needed different things at different times.” Mister Penguin shook his head in pity. “After she finished her classes, she decided to support his business full time. But that didn’t seem to make him happy.” “I don’t think you should work here anymore,” he said, a tone of frustration in his voice. “You’re not happy-” “You don’t get to tell me what makes me happy!” she shouted. “I-I want to be here. I want to help you. And once we get your shop off the ground, we can-” “There’s no ‘we’ in this plan. There’s only me. I know what your dreams are, and I know it’s not this!” he let out a heavy sigh. “But with where my business is going, I don’t think there will be space for your dreams to grow.” “But-” “This is a huge life decision. You need to know what you want, and you need to try. Right now, you haven’t even bothered trying because of my store.”

Silence filled the gap. Her eyes tear as the realization dawned upon her. “So…what are you saying?” “I’m saying-” he stopped himself as he brought a hand to his mouth. His eyes lingered on the ceiling for a moment, his expression unchanging. “I’m saying,” he took his hand away, “that you should pursue your dreams, and I ought to keep going with mine.” She didn’t know what to say.

“I still love you. And I always will. And maybe, one day, our paths will cross again.” Not a single tear was shed. “But right now, I think we need to go our separate ways.” “After they left each other for the last time, she went home and cried for months on end. Eventually, the crying lessened over time. She still took good care of me, but she was never the same after that. It was like…a light died in her eyes.” “She sounds…heartbroken,” I said in thought. The unfortunate reality of circumstances.

“Which is precisely why I need to find her again. Without me, who else will be there to comfort her?” I let out a breath. “Fine. We’ll head back to the house tomorrow morning.”

*** The next morning, we stopped by a local cafe to grab a cup of coffee on the way. While I was waiting in line, I heard a voice coming from my bag: “Psst! Hey! That’s him. The guy who broke her heart!” “Stop shouting! People can hear you!” I whisper-yelled to Mister Penguin, with a hand cupped over my mouth.

Mister Penguin, who was chained around my purse handle, looked up at me. “No need to worry about that. No one can hear me but you. That’s the fun in magic, eh?” “...Great.” In other words, I look absolutely crazy to the public. Good to know. “Who did you say you spotted?” “The ex-lover. Black hair, gray sweater. He’s sitting by the window- wait…”

I leaned over to get a better look. “There’s someone else sitting at his table,” I observed. “Do you know the woman he’s with?” “It’s definitely not my human…hold your fishes, I think I’ve seen her before.” “Who is it?” I exclaimed in a low voice. “That’s…that’s one of his good friends. They’ve known each other for a while. I saw her at his shop!” “What?” “I asked what you would like to order, ma’am.”

I whipped my head around, not realizing we had made it to the front of the counter. A lady stood before me, with a sharpie and cup in hand. “Oh I’m- I’m so sorry! Um, I’ll take a medium caramel latte…” *** “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me,” I groaned as I stepped out of the coffee shop, latte in hand. “That was so embarrassing. She probably saw me spying and thought I was talking to myself.” “For all that she and everyone else knows, you were talking to yourself,” Mister Penguin retorted.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I turned my attention back to the cafe. “Those two in the coffee shop…they seemed to be quite friendly, huh?” “I can’t believe him,” Mister Penguin shook his head.

“I mean, they could have just been catching up over coffee, as friends do,” I explained. “She had her hair and makeup done, he was dressed up…they looked like they were having fun. She kept touching his arm throughout their conversation, and would lean into him whenever she laughed…oh gosh. I think they’re-”

“Dating! Unbelievable- with that woman, of all people. How could he do this to her?” he uttered in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Mister Penguin. But-” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was bound to happen, sooner or later. “Maybe she’s doing better now, so this won’t really bother her?”

Mister Penguin didn’t say anything. We walked the rest of the way in silence until we reached the front of her house, the place where I found Mister Penguin just the day before.

“Well, we’re finally here. Are you ready?” “Hey, let’s just head back.” The hesitancy in Mister Penguin’s voice caught me off guard. “Why? What’s wrong?” “Well, I did some thinking while you were walking. I think she left-”

Before Mister Penguin could finish his sentence, the front door swung open and a young woman stepped out with a trash bag in hand. She looked to be about in her twenties, with chestnut brown hair held in a messy updo by a hairclip. We made eye contact, and she stopped in her tracks.

“Um…can I help you?” She asked, eyeing me curiously. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to, uh, be creepy or anything. I just- I wanted to give you something…” I slip the keychain off my bag and show it to her.

Her eyes widened in recognition; but before she could say anything, a voice called out from the door, grabbing May’s attention. “May! Are you there?” May turned back to me. “I’m so sorry, I need to attend to my grandmother first. Um, would you like to come in?”

*** “I’m so sorry for the mess, I didn’t know May was inviting someone over today. Make yourselves at home!” With that, May’s grandmother left. The room we entered wasn’t all that bad- it was a cozy little space with perhaps a bit of clutter, although it looked to be mostly family photos and little trinkets. A table stood next to the window, displaying a sewing machine. Several pieces of fabric were draped around the room’s furniture.

May quickly picked up a couple pieces of cloth and dropped them on the chair by the sewing machine, then motioned for me to sit down. “Sorry about my grandmother,” she sighed. “Oh, that’s alright. I’m sorry for intruding.” May shook her head. “Don’t be. If anything, she’s probably excited that I’m actually talking to another human being right now that isn’t her.” We both shared a small laugh over that sentiment.

“So,” May began, “you said you had something for me?”

“Oh! Yes,” I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the keychain. “I believe…this belongs to you?” May stared at the penguin for a couple of seconds before gently taking it into her own hands. While she didn't say anything, I watched a flurry of emotions and memories flash across her eyes as she gazed at the stuffed penguin.

“Yes, it used to be mine. But I gave it away. I left it outside this house, with a note saying it was free to take.”

“Yeah, I saw. I took it home.” She blinked at me. “Then why did you bring it back here?” I wasn’t sure how to explain that part. “Uh…I just had a feeling that it missed you?”

To my surprise, May let out a small smile. “I bet he does,” she replied, feeling the yarn over with her thumb. “Someone special to me gave me this keychain.”

“I see,” I said, pretending as though I didn’t hear the whole story from the penguin himself.

“Even after that person…left, I still kept the keychain. It reminded me of many sad memories, but also many happy ones. Most importantly though, it was the only place left where hope still lived.” May casted her eyes down to the stuffed penguin in her palm, a look of sorrow etched across her face. “But,” she continued, “one thing led to another, which led me to realize that as much as I loved this little penguin, I had to give it away. I loved it too much to throw it out, so I decided to leave it outside in hopes that someone would see it and take care of it. And it seems like Mister Penguin has found a new home.”

That was when it struck me. May already knew.

“Oh- Mister Penguin was the name I gave it. I know it’s silly, so you can change it if you want-” “No, that’s okay. I like that name. It’s very fitting.”

May breathed a sigh of relief. “Well,” she handed the keychain back to me, “I believe this is yours now.”

I wanted to ask her one last time, just for good measure, if she was sure she didn’t want to keep it; but when I looked into her eyes, the question died in my throat. She had love- a lot of love, but she was ready.

Soon after, I picked myself up to leave. As May walked me to the door, a piece of clothing hung over the table caught my eye. “That skirt is really cute,” I noted. “Hm?” May turned to where I was looking. “Oh. Thank you. I actually sewed that,” she replied. I gave May a look of shock, to which she laughed. “Sewing has always been a passion of mine. My dream is to become a fashion designer.”

We head over to the entrance. Before I stepped out, May spoke. “It was really nice meeting you, um…what was your name?” “Oh, oops. I never introduced myself. My name’s Lilliana. You can just call me Lily.”

“Lily. It was nice meeting you, Lily.”

As I made my way to the bottom of the steps, I paused in my tracks. Before May shut the door, I turned around. “Hey, May?” I called out. May stopped and creaked the door back open, tilting her head at me. “Yes?” “I’ll take good care of Mister Penguin.”

May gave me a heavy smile. I thought I saw her eyes glimmer against the sun. “Thank you,” she said.

As I made my way to my next destination, I glanced down at the gray stuffed penguin, just as quiet and still as it was when I found it. While it no longer carried the life it had just this morning, I could still feel its vitality, thriving with all the love, hope, and ardor that May left it with.

What a magical penguin it was.


I think we were always competitive until the day when we weren’t anymore. It was always chalked up to two cousins seeing who could get the best of the other, but in reality, we never were that close or particularly fond of each other. The times when we did do things together it was because of something our parents arranged or seeing each other at those family functions that no child wants to go to when they could be at home doing anything else. But eventually we all grow up, and we realized that if we focused our competitive nature together on a mutual task rather than trying to one up another, we could accomplish things that no one in our family had ever done before, reach levels no had ever dreamed of ascending to before. We complimented each other perfectly, he was Heavy Metal and uber aggressive, where I was more laid back and liked to let life come to me as it saw fit. I came from a semi-strong parental background, where his mom, my Aunt, wanted nothing to do with him and had him on his own since he had started fourth grade. But I needed that to counter what I had, and he is the perfect counter. Argumentative days and minor fist fights gave way to teens running the streets, we were and are both street punks, dropping off packages for the drug dealers for twenty dollars a pop, hustling pool in places where we were the youngest ones by at least twenty years, cruising up and down the streets as the music bumped solidly and the cool air of the night ricocheted off the black top roads that just hours earlier had blistered heat and launched an aroma that only someone familiar with street life could understand. Sticking our heads out the window to take in the night air and let the wind blow relief over our sweat encrusted faces, life seemed so open even though we were on a fast track to the only destinations being jail or death, the world still seemed open with our ignorance guiding us throughout. We knew the dealers, the bangers, the prostitutes, we knew it all, and for that two mile stretch we were the kings of nothing, but at least we were kings. It was probably about ten years later and the world changed with the internet taking over. All of a sudden, every dream and every impossibility seemed within our reach and very, very possible. All you had to do was go online and read the numerous stories of people who were hustling and succeeding. Jay-Z became our inspiration for someone who come up from the hustle and made it big, while also making everyone around them successful. With our diametrically opposed personalities, we knew we could represent something that had never been seen before, and it truly felt like the beginning of a brand new gold rush. We wanted it. We wanted happiness. We wanted money. We wanted the new life money could buy. We had heard all the sayings before on how money couldn’t buy happiness, but have you ever been miserable when there’s no food and you can’t afford any? When the winter drops the temperatures below zero and you can’t afford heat or electricity and all you can think about is how there’s absolutely no hope? Now, have you ever been depressed when there’s a refrigerator full of food, or sad when the winter has the outside world below zero, but inside you are walking around in a house that’s in the mid-seventies with so much electricity every room is a shining beacon unto itself? People who say money can’t buy happiness are correct, but it can put you in a lifestyle that allows you to be happy. We had always found that people who say this never knew what it was like to be alone for days on in as a nine year old kid when no parent comes home. How at that time you have to find whatever it is you can find to eat because your parent has long since stopped caring, and now they’ve just stopped remembering. The hopelessness as you eat toothpaste, or on the rare occasion it was there, dog food. The utter panic that a nine year old has during these times, but not having the mental experience to know what these new feelings that utterly decimate your soul are. The days when you have to go the hospital to see your parent having their stomach pumped due to overdoses or suicide attempts. How in the fifth grade you don’t how to buy deodorant but know exactly how to pump your parents stomach with a charcoal milkshake? The absolute suffocation of despair as it seems every breath, every step, every moment of hope is just something that allows for a greater depression to wrap its claws around your neck and further squeeze out what little hope you have for life left? Very few people understand how before you even make high school the only air you can breathe is the air that makes you realize nothing will ever get better, better times are for people with watches, you have death or suicide, when the only hope is that maybe the next life will get it right. We knew this, we experienced this, and once we understood we were both here, we knew we could do it. If someone’s Hard Knock Life could lead to a Yellow Brick Road, then ours could as well. The streets prophet even waxed poetic on the Rose That Grew from Concrete. And with the internet, we could make money with the kids in the neighborhood who were C++ straight and moving on, we would finance them and ride the success. One of the women we knew, a stripper who was using her money to become C++ and go into business for herself, was looking for backers, not fuckers, but backers, and we told her we could spot twenty grand. She agreed, we panicked. Twenty grand only existed in a state of verbiage for us, that was a reality for preps, not street punks. But we had two months until she needed it, so we fell back on our only steady in our life, the streets and the hustle. My cousin and his girlfriend would come up with ten, me with ten. During the days I would run whatever packages I could for the hustlers, at night I would run guns for the dealers. Deuce-deuces and deuce-fives, sixty for unloaded, eighty for loaded. That was my hustle. I never slept during that time, not only because I was on the clock for twenty-four-seven, but this wasn’t me and my stomach and nerves reminded me of this at every moments peace. My dreams were nightmares worse than the nightmares of my reality, but we had to do it. We only wanted the little biggest slice of the pie, and this was our break. The two months came and I had ‘made mines’ about a week prior. I went to see the stripper on the day we agreed, my cousin and his girlfriend made theirs, but as she danced away and I sat, my cousin never showed. I told her he had it, just to give it another week. During the days I searched everywhere I could for him, but no where was the only answer I could get. On the third night of me waiting in the strip club, his girlfriend showed up. He had left. She came home one day and he was gone, took everything. And just like that, I was dead in the water. All the memories I had of us, coming up, times spent running the streets, laughing, fighting, discovering life only the way you can with a family member, all gone. Now when I drove the streets, the air seemed colder and the smell of the piss painted black tops never seemed to leave. It was all over, as was my faith in humankind. That year closed in utter depression. It was about a year later a frantic knock on my door woke me up. I could see one of my cousins at the door, pounding on it. I opened it up to the panicked tone of someone who was in shock. He was in his backyard is what I was told. I didn’t have any clue as to what my cousin was talking about, so I told him to calm down and tell me again. THE cousin. He was in his backyard. A bullet in the chest and buried alive. I was shocked. I asked what happened. I was told what would’ve been about two days before we were supposed to meet with the stripper, his girlfriend came home tweeking, and he told her she had to go the rehab or get out of his house, so she shot him in his sleep. He wasn’t dead, it was a chest gunshot wound, but then she buried him alive, where he died. For a year he stayed buried while she lived there. When I met up with her and we drove all around the city looking for him, she had already shot and buried him. After she was arrested, my cousin was added to a national database for Domestic Violence Fatalities. It turns out being born of a dad who left, a mom who didn’t want him unless it was to put down or verbally abuse him, had left him to find a partner just like that. Abusive. He wanted out not only because of the streets, but because he just wanted to escape all the abuse. My cousin and I. We who fought many, surrounded by machismo bullshit all our lives, and he was going home to an abusive partner. He never would’ve told me his girlfriend was abusing him. And now his last words were whatever was being said as the dirt piled onto him, his final stop in this world, an unwanted son buried alive with a bullet in his chest.


Missiles rained from the sky, hundreds at a time, exploding with mighty bangs and clangs before the villagers of Rena could let out a shocked cry. In seconds, houses, shops, dogs, children and more fell to the ground, engulfed in orange -red flickering flames ,all begging for death to soothe their pain. In an hour, the Iralion soldiers had stormed the Castle grounds, finding and beheading the prime-minister that had hid in the bottom bunker, hands pressed against his ears to block out the deafening wails of the people. In a month, the name Sadar was wiped to oblivion—the tyrant province of the Saran empire, buried in ashes and despair—forgotten by its three sister cities.  My mother said it was a good thing. She said it was time the Sadarians were stopped— whatever that meant. You see at the time, I was too young to comprehend the apparent wickedness of my sister city. Barely eleven, with cardboard for breasts, I couldn't understand just what my people had done, but I smiled nonetheless. Proudly, if I must add. We were saving our empire and I watched it with my own amazed eyes. With the help of our drones that followed our soldiers into the attack, I watched the head of the raid burst into the central castle doors, gunning down the palace guards one at a time as he made his way to the king. It was muted but I could hear the grunts as the men fell in their blood and took their last breath.  I remember how silent we all were when my people had found the King's bunker. My mother had ordered the servants to take me to my room but I had been persistent. I hadn't watched this far to not see the ending, because at the time I was watching a movie, not the massacre of a civilization, but a gruesome action packed movie. It was fun. The head of the raid pulled off his mask, the veins on his shaven head visible as he held out his gun. That's when they un-muted it.  "Ikular Saran Borayong" For the love of Saran , he said and that was how I watched our emperor die at the hands of my father. It was a befitting ending to my movie.  My father came back a hero and our remaining two sister clans made him head—the new emperor. No one returned to Sadar, no one spoke about it , asides the survivors of the raid, who were branded on their necks and transported to my city- Iral.  My father said the branding wasn't to torture or isolate our sister but to keep our people safe—trust was something we'd never have with them. A decade wasn't enough to change that. Reduced it ,but didn't change it and we lived like that, with the family members of our victims freely living amongst us, with our culture, our rules, our names and our leadership. 10 years ago I didn't understand it…And I wanted to change that. Hence, my presence at the gates of yooni-market, a sure place to meet any Sadarian. For a reason or two they were never at the central city and it took a great amount of planning, bribery and next level sneaking to escape the castle grounds, but I was finally here. What I would do when I found my target, a complete mystery to me. I adjusted the identity cloaker necklace I borrowed from my father and stepped into the bustling space. My feet strolled the busy market, eyes taking in whatever they caught sight on and hands clasped behind my back. The sky shops hovered over me much like the ones at the capital but their yelling owners contrasted to the calm and collected shop keepers mother and I visited. The street—tiled path, was littered with people in different patterned anshikris and trousers, and some women woret the same, save some that wore the gowns. The street wear resembled the capital also, so did the inch high trees and colorful flowers that decorated every place not occupied with human activities. So far this part of Iral just looked like a busier extended version of the capital and for some reason I liked it.

But then, if only I wasn’t so engulfed in my sightseeing, I would have noticed the men following me and would have been prepared when they swiftly dragged and threw me into a narrow corner. I blinked the pain away as I sprung to my feet. My elbow ached and I examined the small bloodless scratch. “Mother wouldn’t like that,” I grumbled to myself. “That’s a pretty cloaker.” I raised my head to see a stout man, probably tanned yellow from the afternoon sun, with the skin around his crinkled eyes a lighter shade.  “Wonder if you’re the same under it.” I turned to see the brick wall behind me and my eyes moved to my only exit that was blocked  by a huge man looking to the market who’s back faced us. I gulped and lowered my gaze to the stout before me. “I’d really love to give this to you, but I can’t,” I told him. He gave a hoarse snicker as he stepped forward. “I’m not asking, baby girl.” “Well, that’s rude of you. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” His smile dropped. “Give me the damned necklace before I hurt you.” “You’re not very intimidating. Try again,” I said and his eyes widened a fraction. He lunged forward and I dodged . I circled my arms around his buff neck and pulled out my knife. Before he could react, I placed the cool metal against his skin, and bent to his height, till my lips were beside his small ears. “Have you seen a poisoned blade before?” I whispered, turning the tip into his cheek “You’re….you’re a witch.”  “Aren’t you told too old to believe in witches?” “Kiran!” the man shouted, probably signaling for his road-blocker friend and I hissed. With a slash of my knife, I made a small cut by stout's ear and he fell to the floor. “It’s just a small doze. You’d be up in a few minutes,” I told him as he wiggled on the ground and I stood tall, waiting for road-blocker to attack.

“You’re dead ,you bitch,” road blocker growled as he stomped forward. “Trying to sound American, are we?” I giggled to myself while taking cautionary steps back.  Knife in hand, I kept my focus on his towering physique, hoping I had enough venom to knock him out. He looked too heavy to go head on with, but I could always run past him. Then again, I didn’t know what weapons he hid under his baggy shirt and I didn’t intend to find out. I filled my lungs with the necessary air, but before I could let out my award winning scream, road-blocker came to an abrupt stop. My gaze shifted to the reason, and it raised an eyebrow over road-blockers shoulder and I raised mine back. The man was just as tall as road-blocker, but less intimidating, yet he had a hand firmly placed on road-blocker's shoulder as he turned him around.  “What’s happening?” my helper asked and I witnessed road-blockers broad shoulders tense. Just then stout’s poison wore off and he’s worm-wiggling had come to a shameful end. His eyes locked with mine and he shuffled backwards till he got to his feet. Like a fairytale, helper walked to my side and I took a cautionary step back. Without a word he turned from me to the two other men and they broke into another language.  “Ri sor alimar y kator?” helper asked the men and they replied judiciously. It wasn’t Iralian, so I stood there, my heart beating erratically but body standing firm, with my eyes faced with the back of the tall helper as he shielded me from the men. I returned my knife to its place and continued listening. “Y lora dikaro sukar,” he said. There was a certain charm in his voice, I’ll give him that and I found myself staring. “I’ll handle it,” he told the men and he waited till they were both out of sight before turning to me. “Somnida. Alinye irim,ee ?” Sorry, I’m Alinye, you? He said and my heart lightened. He spoke Iralion.  I smiled and shook his stretched hand. “Raylene,” I said truthfully and he raised a brow. “Like the princess?” “Exactly,” I said gesturing to my long cottoned skirt and worn out shirt, with a comical curtsy.  He nodded and walked to the side and took a seat on the bricks on the ground. “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked as he leaned to the wall, stretching his long legs before him. “Better you get going before the sun sets.” “It’s just noon," I said and I dusted my skirt. “Barely even evening.” Plus I hadn’t completed my task. If I was going to get locked up in the castle when I returned ,I at least didn’t want risking my freedom to be in vain. “It will be past that before you make it back to the capital.” I furrowed my eyebrows and he chuckled. “You don’t look like someone from here.” I looked down at my clothes and then to him. “No one is dressed that badly,” he explained and my lips dropped to a frown, but he continued, “It seems like you wanted to fit in but knew nothing. Means you’re from the capital…or somewhere around those parts.” My jaws clenched and I suddenly felt self conscious, but my self-pity and embarrassment was distracted by his chuckle. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He shrugged. “Seen worse.” That… did not make me feel any better. “And you?” I asked, walking to take a seat beside him. Guilt rustled in the pit of my stomach, as I pondered on his words and the slight fact I had insulted him some way. “You seem to know a lot about the capital. Do you live there too?” He stretched, flexing his muscled arms behind as he spoke,” Can’t imagine living there. So busy, so detached from what’s actually going on,” he looked to me.” D’you know how much houses cost there?” I didn’t but I shrugged with a faint smile. “So you just can’t afford it?” He laughed heartily and my grin widened. His joy was contagious. He looked down to me, his lips twitching to the side as though he was thinking and the air around us stilled. My task forgotten I slightly tilted my head, and with that moment I took in as much as I could. His dark brown hair— that could pass of for black —curling down his head and covering most of his forehead, and which lead to his stretched but scanty eyebrows. He was a few shades lighter than me, what the Europeans could call olive, but  I preferred wood brown. He reminded me of a tree, strong and tall, yet beautiful in its own uniqueness. He was a sight to behold. I blinked as my cheeks heated, but I don’t think he noticed because he scoffed playfully. “Well,” he said, “in my defense, heard it’s very busy and the buses don’t carry just any one.” I tilted my head.” Are you sure about that?” “Hundred. Them conductors are picky with passengers. You’d have to be some celeb or something.”  “What if I was injured?” He smiled a dimpled smile. ”You can always try your luck,” he said turning to face the brick wall and that's when I saw it. Infused in his skin; an arrow pointed downwards with a thin line circled around it. In other words: the brand of Sadar.


The Wompup creature was a curious thing. The fact that I'd found it first made me want to sing! A little thing, nestled in a hole in the ground, so quiet and soft, it didn't make a sound. Tiny little wings adorned it's sides, and when it's lids blinked open, I saw bright yellow eyes. I carefully reached into the hole, and brought out my discovery that was as black as coal. The sweet little thing refused to move, but slept in my hand and I had not a clue what to do. Should I give it up? Should I let it go? Or should I keep it as a pet until I grow old? The last question appealed to me, so I kept my new friend. Although I didn't know of the powers it held within. As I brought my new companion inside, my siblings bombarded me; Nancy, Kurt, and Clyde. "Get away!" I yelled, protecting my pet. "We want to see!" They yelled. I replied, "Not yet." I ran to my room as fast as I could, being careful not to drop the little creature as black as soot. Once in my room, I shuffled around. I was looking for a habitat, but none could be found. I softly laid my fuzzy friend on the bed, and wondered what in the world this little guy could be fed. I tried orange slices, hot dogs, kale and penne, but my miniature friend didn't have a liking for any. We tried fruits, liquids, dairy and meat, but I found after while that my friend liked beets! I would chop them up small and serve them on a doll's plate, and my pet would scarf them down as if he needed to leave the house and he was very very late. After he finished I sat next to my window that looked out over the town, and suddenly the creature's eyes blinked open, and were staring me down. I gasped as little black nose twitched, and his small clawed foot reached up to his tiny ears to itch. He made a little yawn and made a squeaky sound, then sat up like a tiny dog, his wings flapping around. He cocked his head and looked at me, straight into the eyes. I daresay if you looked close, his face almost looked wise. "I'll call you Wompup." I told the little guy. The name just came to me and I liked it, don't ask me why. I reached out to pet his head. He jerked away quickly and scooted across my bed. Suddenly he jumped off the bed and scampered to my bedroom door. He scraped on the cherry wood, wanting to be outdoors. I ran to the trapped little guy and slowly I sat down beside. He looked up at me with his yellow eyes, and purred like a cat, to my surprise. With utmost caution I pet his fuzzy coat, hoping he wouldn't bite me with his tiny fangs as white as snow. "Sorry, little guy, I can't let you out. You were sleeping in my yard, and I found you. You're mine now!" He looked at me sadly and laid on the floor. I wondered what else he wanted that was outside my door. I swept my auburn hair out of my eyes and stroked the fluffy creature who had the aroma of cherry pie. Cherry pie? I thought to myself. What could give this weird creature that great smell? I shrugged my shoulders and thought: After everything I've seen, who could ever tell? Maybe I could search the black puff, and see why I could find. I looked over at my computer and I made up my mind. Slowly I picked up the jet black thing that couldn't get any cuter, set him on my bed again, and sat down at my computer. I went to the search bar to find out what he was. But nothing I found looked like my little ball of fuzz! After a while I gave up and sat back down on my bed. I reached out to tap his little nose, but he still would not let me pet his head. Suddenly his wings started flapping, but he did not fly. His miniature wings were the reason why. It squinted it's yellow eyes, and to me it looked like it was trying to disappear. I scoffed at it's sweet attempts until it vanished into thin air. I gasped as my hands became void of my companion. I looked around my room, up, down, underneath, out, and in, I could not see the little creature as small as a rat. Where did he go? Where was he at? All of the sudden, a plop sounded into my laundry basket. I peered inside, and what did I find? My cute little Wompup, trying to climb. I reached in and pulled out my magical pal. He was the most interesting thing I'd had in a while! I marveled at his disappearing act, every day he'd practice disappearing out of my hat. For days I kept him in my room. "Did you know I am super happy to have you?" The little guy never replied, but I could see in his eyes how desperately he wanted to be back outside. "What do you want? Aren't you happy here?" The jet black creature responded with a flick of his little floppy ears. I didn't want to loose my pet, it would be too hard, but I followed my inclinations and took my boy out into the yard. I hoped he wouldn't disappear, finding him would be quiet hard. I watched as his little body made it's way through the tall grass. He found his way back to his hole which I saw was deeper than I had noticed last. Suddenly my little pet squeaked, calling to his own kind. Three little heads peeked out from the hole, each as black as coal from a mine. I gasped in realization that my little Wompup had a family. It was time for him to go. It was time for me to let him free. He looked up at me with a kindly glance, and finally I got my chance. I pet his head and his fuzzy features, knowing this might be the last time I touch this creature. With a flap of his wings and a blink of his yellow eyes, my Wompup scampered back into his own life. The one thing in my mind that will forever ring... The Wompup creature was a curious thing.