Hestia and her young neighbor slide the oak sapling into the gaping hole dug in the earth. “Hold it straight, now,” Hestia says gruffly as she shovels dirt around the root ball. “I can do this part, if you want? I’m younger and, uh,” the neighbor trails off as Hestia gives her best scathing look. They finish the task in silence. --- 40 Hours Ago Hestia opens another Diet Coke, the crack and fizzle a welcome sound to her ears. She knows it will be the death of her, but it is her vice of choice, and she will gladly take it to the grave. When the acidic bite of the first sip fades, she raises the binoculars with one gnarled old hand and peers Westward between the cracked blinds of her bedroom window. It is a good window, an upper story window that faces her back yard and more importantly, her neighbors back yards. She pays a neighborhood boy to haul his 10-foot ladder over and clean it from the outside once a week. Nearly a year ago, while on a walk with her dog, Peanut, she had seen him cleaning out gutters. Now, she gives him 2 dollars a week for the single window. The others she can do for herself, as they are all on the first floor. Once, he’d tried to dicker with her, but she'd whopped him on the back of the head and told him to respect his elders. He’d glared at her then but nodded, and the deal was struck.

She needs the binoculars to see the house two down from her, number 17. A family lives there, a nice one if you didn’t know any better; a couple, two small children with angelic blonde hair, and a big dumb dog. As it is, the dog likes to chase poor Peanut and the kids cause an awful ruckus when they play out back. Plus, children are not interesting. She’d written them a very pointed letter where she suggested a shorter outside play time and a shorter leash for their menacing mutt. Yet, the Heathens ignored her letter, and the snot-nosed brats continue to do whatever they please, to Hell with everyone else. The new generation is doomed, she is sure of it. Hestia had then spent several satisfying weeks tipping over their trashcan until she noticed that the tell-tale red light of a security camera had appeared on their front porch, and now she is forced to consider alternative methods of punishment. Currently, their yard is empty, and their windows are dark. She belches loudly and turns to yell for Peanut, who either can’t hear her or ignores her. He is getting old, 14 or 15, so she can’t tell if he is hard of hearing or is being purposely disrespectful. She narrows her eyes, mutters, and turns back to the window. The house sandwiched between the Heathens house and her own, number 18, is quite boring. An old man lives there. He is older than her, single, and he has no discernible family or friends. No one ever visits, and rarely does he leave. His groceries are delivered to his front porch once a week– very new age of him . His name is Arthur, but she calls him Humpty because he looks like an egg. Humpty likes gardening, and more than once she’d had a go at him for letting his rose bushes creep between the cracks of the fence that separated their properties. Honestly, she doesn’t care much about it but wants to see him riled up. He is, unfortunately, unflappable. She spends the least amount of time watching Humpty and hopes he will die soon so that someone else will move in. She takes another gulp of Diet Coke and calls again for Peanut. This time, the elderly chihuahua pads into the room and lays down on the threadbare dog bed near her feet. She croons to him softly and nudges the bowl of Old Roy’s towards him which he sniffs, unimpressed, and lays his head down. Hestia rolls her neck several times, finishes her drink, and tosses it in a white trashcan overflowing with identical cans. She peers out the window at her own back yard. It is overgrown and unkempt. Her husband, may he rot in Hell, had been crazy about the lawn. He’d worn spiked shoes when walking on it, lest he leave any footprints, and he forbade her from ever stepping foot on it. He would often go out just to prune a single branch and then come back inside and stare out into the back yard as if willing everything to grow just so . After he died, she’d taken great pleasure in watching the yard become wild and unruly. The dickering window boy had offered his services for that as well, which she’d declined acidly. She lifts the binoculars and peers Easterly to the house two doors down in the other direction, number 21. It is a vacant house which has been on the market for eight months. Hestia concludes that the woman who is selling it mustn’t be desperate for money since she has been too stubborn to lower the outrageous asking price. So, the place has fallen into disrepair during its lengthy inoccupancy. The yard is cut once a month by persons unknown, but as it is summer, it often looks as wild as her own. Finally, she turns to her most interesting neighbors, number 20. A young couple moved in a year ago and things were quiet at first. She guessed they were 30 or 35 years old. The woman has bright red hair and likes to read on the back porch when the sun is low in the sky. The man has a dark complexion and looks foreign -- Serbian? Columbian? -- she doesn’t know, all foreigners look the same to her. She calls them Jack and Diane. Diane occasionally waves at her from the front porch when their comings and goings coincided. Hestia appreciates the neighborliness and decides, magnanimously, not to send them a letter about parking their car so cattywampus. They don’t play loud music and they don’t have kids or dogs. The man keeps the lawn short and the bushes meticulously trimmed and shaped. But no one knows better than she the darkness that hides behind the costume of a carefully manicured lawn. Eventually, the fights began; huge blow outs that spilled through the screen door where she can clearly hear them when she cracks her window. The general flow of these goes like this: Diane, who seems generally quiet and reserved, will argue whatever point she is trying to make. Then, Jack will inevitably start yelling over her, and Diane will take it for a while until eventually her composure is lost and she starts screaming in this high-pitched psychotic tone where Hestia can barely understand what she is saying. Sometimes, there is the sound of breaking glass or slamming doors. Occasionally, the sound of a car door, an engine revving, and a car speeding away from the house. Those are becoming more common place, so Hestia greedily watches number 20 whenever she can. Hestia hopes Diane gives as good as she gets. There had been a particularly nasty argument about money earlier, but all is quiet now. When nothing happens for several long minutes, Hestia sighs and resigns herself to another lonesome night watching CSI with Peanut. She makes her way downstairs to the kitchen and retrieves a frozen dinner from the icebox and heats it up. She settles into the dingy couch in her living room and watches reruns while she finishes her dinner and promptly falls asleep as the sun retreats beneath the horizon. --- She dreams that her dead husband is alive and standing at the foot of her bed holding his beloved hedge trimmers, a dark substance dripping off their sharpened tips. She awakes sometime later startled and disoriented. Peanut is snoring lightly beside her, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth where several of his teeth are missing. She listens intently, but the only other sound is the quiet tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. She can’t fathom what time it is, but it seems preternaturally dark. She groans from standing and makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom. She peers outside and sees that the moon is barely a sliver in the sky. A glance at the bright red numbers on her bedside clock tells her that it is 2:59 AM. Her neck is stiff, and she gingerly turns her head this way and that to try to ease the ache she knows will still be there in the morning. Clink She jumps, still on edge from her nightmare. She brings one hand to her racing heart and wills it to slow. Clink She edges towards the window and waits for her eyes to adjust to the nearly moonless night. There. She sees the vague outline of a hooded figure in the yard at number 20. They are near the edge of the property line where carefully tended grass meets suburban woods. What are they doing? Is it Jack or Diane? It is impossible to tell. Clink Hestia’s hand flies to her mouth in sudden realization. Her eyes are fully adjusted to the scant light now and she can see that they are digging, the metallic glint of the shovel appearing and disappearing beneath the earth with each successive clink . Now, why would someone be digging a hole at this hour? There is only one reason she can think of, and it isn’t to get a leg up on the gardening before the summer heat rolls in. She knows it instinctively, not just because of the couple’s explosive fights, but also because she herself has thought about doing the same thing to her husband a million times before the scoundrel had the gall to drop dead of his own accord. The real question is which one of them is doing the digging? Hestia watches, transfixed, as the person continues to dig. An hour passes, then two, then three. She nods off in her chair twice only to snap awake moments later, unable to stop watching the crime unfold. It takes much longer to dig a grave than I thought, she thinks . And then, what a stupid place to bury someone. Just before dawn, the figure walks back towards the house and disappears for several long minutes. When they return, they are dragging a misshapen bundle slowly towards the too-shallow pit. When the figure reaches the grave, the hood of their jacket slips back revealing red hair so vivid that it is impossible to miss even in the darkness. Not realizing she has been holding her breath, Hestia lets out a gasp of delight. “You naughty girl,” she says, a Cheshire grin spreading across her face. It is unfamiliar, the smile, and she realizes it is the first one in a long while. She lets her mind wander into a daydream where she is the one doing the digging. The grin slides off her face, however, when she realizes that Diane is sure to get caught. One didn’t report a person missing and get away with a fresh mound of dirt in the back yard, did they? But perhaps Diane wouldn’t report her husband missing. No, she quickly casts that idea aside. Hestia knows that Jack’s mother stops by regularly – she drives a horrible little minivan that backfires obscenely—and she occasionally joins her son in casting noisy aspersions at poor Diane. The woman would unquestionably look for her son, no doubt about it. Diane’s goose is as good as cooked. Unless… The rusty cogs in Hestia’s mind turn more quickly now. Unless someone else intervened. --- By 3 PM the next day, Hestia’s yard is looking more like it did in its previous life. The hedges are trimmed, the grass is cut and watered, flowering shrubs are planted, and one dickering neighbor boy is $100 richer. Hestia complains aloud to Peanut but is secretly quite satisfied at her progress. Like clockwork, Diane’s car rolls into the short driveway of number 20 at 3:45 PM. This pleases Hestia, who had been worried that Diane may have done a runner when her car pulled out of her driveway at 7 am. Based on the time, Hestia concludes that she must have gone to work to keep up appearances. Smart girl. Now that she is certain that Diane will be around to appreciate her thoughtful plan, she collects her notebook and makes a draft of what she will say to the police. --- That night, Hestia creeps into the silent back yard of Number 20 and digs up Jack’s poorly concealed body and drags it back to her own. She rolls it into the deep hole she had the neighbor boy dig and covers it with a layer of dirt and then a layer of manure, leaving a foot of unfilled space which she will address the following morning. --- The redhead hands her strange old neighbor her spare suitcase. “Here. Where did you say you were going again?” “Florida. Airport broke my old luggage,” Hestia says, waving a hand. “And now you want me to help you plant a tree?” Diane asks slowly, trying to understand. She has never spoken more than a quick greeting to her neighbor in the entire year that she’s lived next door. Hestia thinks Diane looks like Hell has swallowed her and spat her back out. She has a cut lip and a black eye and Hestia speculates if she went to work after all. The redhead’s eyes are dull and her clothes are a wrinkled mess. Hestia has no doubt that if Diane was her usual self, she would be more suspicious. “I’m an old woman,” Hestia says by way of explanation. She is, in fact, quite sore from the previous night’s activities. “Er, I’m a little busy,” Diane says. “It’ll only take a minute. I just need someone to hold the tree steady.” “Okay,” Diane says reluctantly. Minutes later, Hestia and her young neighbor slide the oak sapling into the gaping hole dug in the earth. “Hold it straight, now,” Hestia says gruffly as she shovels dirt around the root ball. “I can do this part, if you want? I’m younger and, uh,” the neighbor trails off as Hestia gives her best scathing look. They finish the task in silence. When they return to the front yard and Diane turns towards her house, Hestia quickly offers to make some fresh lemonade –well, the powdered kind, anyway – to thank her for her help. Diane shrugs noncommittally. “Great!” Hestia says a little too loudly and quickly makes her way to her kitchen, stashes the luggage in the hall closet, and promptly phones the police. She makes the lemonade slowly and comes outside just as two police cruisers park in front of Number 20. Balancing the tray with lemonade and a stack of plastic cups, she shuffles over to Diane, who looks like she is going to be sick as the police officers exit their vehicles. Hestia leans closer to her neighbor, imagining that she is in one of her favorite crime dramas. “Listen to me. Get a lawyer, say nothing. Follow my lead,” she mutters under her breath, barely moving her lips. Despite her apparent terror, Diane turns to look at her shrewdly, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Good morning officers,” Hestia says brightly, wondering if she sounds as fake to their ears as she does her own. “Would you like some lemonade?” “Ma’am. Miss,” one of the officers says, nodding his head. “No thank you, we’re here on official business.” He turns towards Diane. “Do you live at this residence? Number 20?” Diane nods, not trusting herself to speak. The second officer turns to Hestia and says, “Ma’am, this is a private matter. I’ll ask that you return home now, please.” Ah, so you’re the Bad Cop, then. “Well, you see, I’m the one who phoned you, actually,” Hestia says sheepishly. Diane looks at her, one eye wide, one eye swollen half shut. “Is that so…?” Bad Cop sends Good Cop a conspicuous look. “We’ll talk to you both separately, then. Ma’am, would you kindly lead me to your place of residence?” Hestia catches Diane’s gaze one final time, makes a subtle zipper motion over her lips, and allows the officers to lead them in separate directions. This isn’t exactly the way she had planned for things to go. She thought she’d make a big stink of things in front of Diane, explaining that Jack was abusive, and Hestia couldn’t take the fights and didn’t want poor Diane to get hurt anymore. That Jack had run off on foot and she had seen him with a suitcase walking that way ( the direction of the bus station). But now they are separated and there is no time to get their stories straight. Hestia bites her lip hard enough to draw blood and hopes that Diane doesn’t incriminate herself or all of Hestia’s careful planning will be for naught. --- In the end, something Diane says or does is suspicious enough that she is labeled a person of interest and carted off to the police station. Later, more officers appear and search the premises of Number 20 where they find blood, but it is almost all Diane’s. They also find the freshly churned dirt in the back yard and a team is sent with an excavator to dig it up, where they turn up nothing but worms. After two days, the authorities are forced to release her due to insufficient evidence, much to her confusion. In time, the tiny sapling in Hestia’s backyard grows into a beautiful Oak tree and no one is the wiser, not even Diane, as to what lay beneath.


When I loved you, I loved you deeply. I poured so much of my being into you, that there was nothing left to fill the mold of who I was supposed to be, so I depended on you to tell me. You broke pieces of me, little by little harboring them in a glass display case to wander past each time you thought of me. And when I sobbed at night, it was you that held me despite being the reason my lungs couldn’t maintain the air to speak and the reason tears escaped my eyes, running across my face like meteors. And when I left, you still had your hold on me. Never keeping me too far. Giving me many gifts that were inspired by my niches you cared to remember. It was like you were saying to me *No one will love you like I did.* And when I still kept those gifts because for some reason their presence only symbolized that no one did love me like you, but I didn’t want them to. Every time I start to get close to someone the acidic pain that you left in my veins begins its dreadful current straight to the command center of my brain which makes the conscious decision to shut them out. *No one will understand you like I did.* The pain that shoots through me only makes me feel that it’s true. No one will understand me like you did, but that’s exactly how you were able to make your poisonous words so effective yet seem like such a requirement to live. Before I had actually left, you knew exactly what to say and do to make me come back to bed with you. To lie next to my attacker and believe that he was my lover. You made me believe that love was supposed to be that way. Hurting each other as deeply as you could because it’s the withstanding of pain that proves you belong together. Secretly despising each other only makes the sex better. And when I swallowed those pills because I couldn’t stand a life where we didn’t make sense, yet made so much sense, it was you who I saw in the foggy haze of revival. Certain movies I can’t see, certain smells that scrape at my insides with a painful coldness. Certain places I refuse to go, people I refuse to see. *No one will care for you like I did.* I think the thing that I hate the most is that there are nights where I lie alone in a bed too small for me, in a room too empty for me, and wish that you would roll over and embrace me again. What a foolish idea. I tried turning my mind off, prescription drugs weren’t enough to keep my mind from trailing off into fits of PTSD and episodes of dissociation. The sadness I feel when I start to think about being with someone else is too much to bear. I can feel the anxiety of even thinking of it, losing someone again. Letting someone have control over me. I can’t begin to describe how much it hurts that I may never have someone like that again. I miss the love you gave when it was genuine love. When you actually cared, but at the moment I can’t think of any moments where you may have shown that you do. As this year ends, I am left with a melancholy reminder that 12 months ago we were happy in our little apartment with our dog. Six months ago I was still yours. Broken, but yours. I have damaged myself mentally, spiritually, and financially desperate to try to find anything that will make me feel like everyday is not a waste. Like I don’t regret taking the wrong pills and confessing my plan to someone else. Since then it hasn’t felt worth it. Still, I live. Barely surviving but surviving. Even surviving a car crash that seemed to make matters even worse, yet it’s my soul that is telling me to strive forward. Something in my soul is telling me that something big is coming. I hope it is something to set me right, make things better, make me stronger and more independent. I never knew independence when I was with you, because you were so much a part of me. Now I hope that I can continue forwards towards whatever paradise my soul is secretly and so subconsciously leading me towards. I hope I can truly begin to focus on myself and be the person I need to be and truly am. I just hope you know that you didn’t fully break me, but I appreciate you trying to.


To start this off: This isn't a true story and the town is fictitious. I'm Detective Brad Markus and I'm a detective for the Florida Springs Police Department. We are a small Panhandle town in Florida, of course. It's called the forgotten coast of Florida. We like some tourism but not a lot. Florida Springs has a nice state Park which is Florida Springs State Park which for much of the year is deserted or at least it was back in 1981, especially in December. This was about 17 days before Christmas. I had the day off, so me and my wife Sandy decided to have a picnic lunch. The day wasn't cool it was around 75 degrees. We ate our lunch sitting on a large beach towel which had large starfishes on them. We watched the waves which were very light. The waves in the gulf are very light compared to the Atlantic. From a distance, I could see Old Man Wilson (this is what he liked to be called) sitting on his beach chair. Usually he would wave to me when I did patrols in the area or came to the beach and today was no exception. He would sit out there all day and sometimes into the evening. He would only leave and walk the short distance to his home when told to leave. His home was the only one on the beach (once he died the house would be torn down). Old Man Wilson was 80 years old and in good health, so I don't see that happening any time soon. He will live there until the day he dies. Beautiful home. Me and Sandy stayed till the sun went down. It was starting to get cold and the wind was blowing. It looks like a storm would be coming in and right as we got home, the storm hit. It rained for several hours. By midnight the storm was over and you could see the full moon. The next morning, the ranger called us and said that he had found a man in the surf face down with a bite mark on his neck. He had a bite on his torso. A capsized boat was seen drifting in the water nearby. This was about a mile from Old Man Wilson's beach house and technically in the jurisdiction of Florida Springs. It was decided that Florida Springs would take over the investigation. I went to Old Man Wilson's home. His hearing isn't that great and he usually doesn't wear his hearing aids. He wasn't of any help. The medical examiner called me and said that the man who was identified as 23 year old Mark Marsh was attacked by a shark, most likely from falling out of the boat. He also had been drinking and had been smoking weed. This guy had no family and no one claimed him which was very sad. Old Man Wilson felt sorry for him had paid to have a funeral and a resting place for the man. February 1982 This you would think would be the end of the story until I got a letter about two months later from someone who claimed that the death wasn't accidental. The letter told what happened but from the evidence that we have, we could neither prove not disprove. The anonymous writer said that they knew the identity of the killers but couldn't come forward.. What was odd is that the letter was sent to me from a post office in Austin Texas. Was this for real or was it a joke. I know that it wasn't Old Man Wilson who sent the letter because he doesn't have a typewriter and he's deceased. He died a couple of days into the new year. It's been two months since I've received the letter, but I haven't told anyone yet. I mentioned to our local press three months later that we needed additional information regarding the death of Mark Marsh and for someone to please call us. No one did and the case went cold. For some reason I kept this paperwork and took it with me when I retired. Not really supposed to do this but I did. June 2019 - nearly 40 years after Mark Marsh was found on the beach, I get a call from Debbie Wilson Youngman who is the granddaughter of Old Man Wilson. She has breast cancer and doesn't know how much longer she has to live. She has information about Mr. Marsh. She lives in Pensacola and is in a hospice center there. Let me give you some information about me. I became Chief of Police in 1987 and retired in 2013. This was after 40 years of law enforcement service. I started out at age 18 in 1973 at a officer for the city and by 1978 I was detective. A lot has changed in Florida Springs. In 1973 it was about 1,500 people and by 2019 it's about 6,000 people. More hotels and condos. They put the condos across the street from the beach. Some of it, I don't like. Sadly shortly after Old Man Wilson died, someone kids vandalized the place and then one of them who was smoking threw the cigarette butt on the floor and the house was destroyed by fire. So, I'm on my way to see Debbie Youngman. Will be interesting to see what she has to say.  December 1981 Old Man Wilson was surprised to see his granddaughter Debbie Wilson arrived a day early. He had just came back from the beach. Debbie brought some food and made dinner. Debbie was tired. She had flew in from Pensacola and had taken the taxi to the beach house which was 40 miles. They decided to turn it early. The storms on the beach sometimes unnerved Debbie but Old Man Wilson it didn't bother. By midnight it was gone and a full moon was out. Debra couldn't sleep and went out for a walk. It was 3:00 am. She loved doing this as everything was so quiet. As she came closer to the house, she noticed a group of men hanging around. She hid herself where she could see them but they couldn't see her. "He doesn't know that we are here. " said one man. "Hey, let's go in and rob the place." said another man. Dogs could be heard in the house barking up a storm. "Don't think so. The Old man has nothing to rob. Leave the man alone. Come on let's get out of here."said a third man. Two of the men Debbie didn't recognize but the third one she did. She watched as they left her grandfather's house and walked down the beach. She went along a trail where she wouldn't be seen. She was careful not to make any noise. She saw a man with a boat that was waiting for them. She saw them overpower the man, tied him up and put him in a boat that sped away. She was afraid to go back to the house. In the distance, she could hear screams and then nothing. A short time later, she then saw the men make the boat capsize and then placed the man next to it. They then left by boat. She ran back to the house. Her grandfather was asleep and never knew she had left. "I know I should have called the police, but I was in shock and was too scared. Ranger Burns found the body a couple of hours later. He came to my grandfather's place and I hid.. My grandfather his memory was very bad forgot that I was there. He didn't of course see anything. I was nervous the whole time I was there. Debbie took a sip of water and then continued. "The next day two of the men that I didn't know. came around. I was at the house when I saw them approached grandpa and asked him about Mark Marsh. They didn't see me as I was in the house. I watched very nervously. Ranger Burns walked up to them and asked if they had seen anything. They hadn't of course but I knew they were lying. They quickly left. I never saw them again, although from time to time Mickie Larange would show up in the panhandle but not here. His grandparents have a beach house in community of St. Joe 40 miles away from Florida Springs. He came during the summer. Both his parents and grandparents thought he was a special person who could do no wrong. I knew who Mickie Larange was. Bad news and a bad person. He was a rock star that was adored nationwide and worldwide. If they only knew, but they didn't and even if they did, well........ "He had people who covered for him big time from the time he was a child till today. He got away with a lot of things, because they weren't violent in nature. Stole things from stores. Wrote bad checks. Tried to get away with not paying restaurant and motel bills. Took a car for a joy ride when he was a teen and got into an accident, totaling the car. Daddy paid the man whose car he wrecked. Broke young girls's and women's hearts. Doesn't pay child support unless he's force to You get the picture. I knew who he was and what he looked like and his reputation but never had any interaction with him, thankfully. " I nodded. I never had to deal with Mickie Larange as he didn't come around Florida Springs and the State Park but I'd heard about him from other law enforcement agencies that came in contact with him. He was never arrested until two years ago when police arrested him in California for failing to pay child support. My wife remembers how angry he was and how he treated two of his ex-wives. He called one of them a liar and something else I can't repeat and then he spit in the face of the other ex-wife. When his own children said he was a jerk, he said that they were spoiled brats. My wife likes to watch all that on TMZ. Not me, have no interest in it." "I was the one who wrote the letter back in 1982. I had to tell someone. I never told anyone about this." We talked a little bit more and then I left. Sadly there isn't much I can do. A couple of weeks later I get a call from one of the men who was there, former body guard. Like Debbie, he's very ill and doesn't have long to live. The third man died 20 years earlier in Prison. He was another body guard. Two months later Mickie Larange is arrested in California and he denies everything. Later he is put on trial in Pensacola Florida. He tries to blame the other two men saying that they threatened to kill him if he didn't go along with them. It was clearly proven that he was the mastermind behind the crime. The reason was because Mark Marsh was going to write a book about him, detailing what he had done. He couldn't have that and he took action. The jury convicted him. Even though he's in jail he still gets letters, gifts and money from adoring fans. A sad footnote to this story. Shortly after Mickie Larange was convicted, Debbie Youngman passed away and so did the bodyguard.   .


In a distant time, in a distant place, there lived a very old eagle. The eagle had lived a long life, but always thought that he was still a young bird. When his feathers turned ragged and gray, he insisted it was just dirt. When his beak and talons weathered away, he blamed the rocks of his nest for dulling them down. When his wings grew too frail to fly, he lied and said that he no longer wished to soar the winds. The eagle refused to accept his age and pass on, even after all of his other animal friends had gone away. Rhino. Elephant. Giraffe. Lion. All of them were gone now, but the Eagle was stubborn, and stayed. Every day, the eagle would take the long walk down the cliff to the murky watering hole nearby where he would take a drink out of his broken beak, and use his dull talons to dig through the dirt for worms. One such day, the eagle was dragging his talons through the mud when a dragonfly flew out from the marsh. "Sir eagle, I see you here every day but I must ask- why do you dig for our worms when there are rabbits that run through the fields?" "Because..." Began the eagle. "The rocks of my nest have broken my talons. I cannot hunt for rabbits anymore. I can only dig for easier prey." The dragonfly landed on a nearby rock. "That may be so, sir Eagle, but why do you drink from our murky waters? Surely there are many more ponds with fresh, clean, water to drink." "I do not wish to fly anymore." The eagle lied. "I grow tired of the winds and want to walk the earth. This is the nearest pond to my cliff, even if the waters are murky." The dragonfly hovered behind the eagle. "There is no need to lie, Eagle. Your feathers tell the truth. You are as gray as a thunderstorm, and your wings are brittle like dried grass." "I do not lie, insect. My feathers are simply coated in dust, and my wings are as strong as they could ever be. Do not insult me again or I will eat you like these worms." The dragonfly hovered upwards, out of the eagle's reach. "You may try, eagle, but we both know that it is not in your power to succeed. You may have been the hunter of the skies many seasons ago, but now you are weathered and aged. It is time to move onto the land beyond the horizon." The eagle began walking back to his cliff. "I am not an old bird like you suggest. I am noble, strong, and proud, and have many more years left." The dragonfly followed the eagle as he began walking up the cliff path back to his nest. "You are designed to fly and hunt down your problems, not run and hide from them. Do not keep tricking yourself into thinking you are a hatchling anymore." "I know that I am no longer a chick, but I have no intentions to lie down and die." The eagle crossed a log but was halted by the dragonfly blocking his path. "You need not lie down, sir eagle. I simply ask that you understand where you came from. Do you have children?" "Yes." Said the eagle, pushing past the dragonfly. "They travelled north towards more bountiful lands." "And how about a wife?" "Once, but no longer." The dragonfly hovered around the eagle's head. "What of your friends within the savannah?" "They too travelled beyond the horizon many seasons ago." The dragonfly dared to perch upon the eagle's feathered skull. "So you are the last member of your life, eagle?" "Yes." "Then why fight destiny? Why must you cling to a world for which you may provide nothing more? Your legacy will be carried on by your children, and their children, and their children's children. The scratch marks of your talons amongst these stones will forever tell your stories, long after you are gone. You have ensured that the world will remember you, so I ask again: why must you keep walking across the earth instead of soaring the skies beyond the horizon?" As they crested the edge of the rock and entered the eagle's nest, the eagle looked around. His grey, weathered feathers adorned the ragged mess that were the remains of his nest. He did not have the means to repair it, but as the twigs and branches fell away, he could recall distant, faint memories. His wife, with her beautiful feathers. The pair of eggs that sat in the center of this very nest so, so long ago. His friends that would look up towards the rocks and cheered when he flew down to meet them. The eagle's old eyes narrowed as he looked at the dragonfly. "Because I am afraid, dragonfly. I do not wish to forget the wonders of my life. They are the feathers that I scatter among the winds. They are the sun and moon, the stars in the night, and the clouds in the sky. They are my heart, my soul, and everything I was, am, and ever will be. I am afraid that if I move on beyond the horizon, I will lose my memory of everything that gave my life purpose." The dragonfly flew towards the nest, perched at the edge of the rock, and stared towards the sunset. "Sir eagle, there is not much more time for you to remember. I will not claim to know what lies in the land beyond the horizon, but I do know this. If you truly wish to remember, then those memories will never fade. In every world, in every life, you will always have the wonders of your life with you. They will stay in your heart, and move with you wherever you may fly. They will love you as much as you love them, and will never, ever let you forget them." The dragonfly turned to look at the eagle. "Everything that the light touches will eventually crumble in time, but love and memory will persist beyond every obstacle. If you wish not to forget, then you will always have what matters most wherever you go." The eagle stepped forward and ruffled a few feathers. "Then what do you suppose I should do next?" "Fly to the horizon, and proceed to the land that beckons you." "But I cannot fly! My wings are too brittle, my feathers too frail!" "You can." Said the dragonfly, who began hovering in the air. "When fate beckons, the breeze will carry you where you need to go. All you need to do is spread your wings, remember what matters most, and let the winds take you beyond the sunset." As the dragonfly smiled, gave a wink, and buzzed away down the rocks, the eagle took another step forward until his dull, broken talons scraped at the edge of the cliff. He felt the breeze pick up around him, and he flexed his frail wings. For the first time in many, many seasons, he was not afraid of falling. As the wind caught his feathers, they scattered amidst the gust and blew into the shapes of his wonders: His wife. His friends. And not now, but maybe later, after many more seasons have passed, his children. They all beckoned to him, and a smile crossed the eagle's face as he let the breeze lift him into the sky. While his wonders fluttered around him, he too danced in the wind and let out a mighty screech to join in their song of rest. The horizon grew closer, though the eagle's fears didn't return. He may have been on his last flight, but he flew all the way home.


I looked at my watch, "what could be taking her so long?" I sigh "I hope she's okay." I plop down in my good ole recliner and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Honk! Honk! "Oooh!" I screached almost jumping out of my skin. "I don't know why she does that to me everytime." I shook my head and grabbed my purse off the counter and sauntered out the door. My granddaughter sat in the driver seat of her black 1998 Honda civic in my drive way, she looks up and smiles as she sees me. "I'm sorry I'm late, I over slept as usual." She shrugged, "that's alright lady bug you're here now aren't ya?" Tissshhh! A loud crashing sound came from the back of the house, glass no less. I threw my arms up above my head caught off guard by the ruckus, "what the crap was that!?!" May yelled, clearly ticked off. She threw her car door open, slamming it shut behind her. "Now be careful, you don't know who's back there it could be unsafe just hold on a second!" I hollered "Damn girl" I sighed as she took off running toward the back through the gang way, I quickly shuffled after her. "HEY! Come back here!" She screamed, "what the hell is wrong with you!" She chased after someone that I could see running down the alley. "Just let them go! It's alright, it's just a window it can be fixed, get back here girl!" I yelled. May turned around and jogged back to the house her cheeks scarlet from running. "All I know is it was a girl looked like she was around my age, I can't believe she tried to break in your house!" She gasped catching her breath. "You don't know that that was what she was doing, innocent untill proven guilty, you know that." I nudged her in the side with my elbow. "Yeah well usually If someone breaks one of your windows they're trying to get in or they're a kid throwing rocks and she's clearly not a kid playing around." She frowned. "Oh well we have somewhere to be." I said, "we'll clean this up later, let's get going." I grabbed my Bible from the book shelf and made my way out to the front porch and sat down on my porch swing, the swing my daddy built when I was just a kid. I put my reading glasses on and got ready to spend some time with the good Lord as I swayed back and forth enjoying the cool evening air. I was just about to the second verse of the book of Job when I heard a can rattle across the cement in the backyard. I sat up straight and put my book down "Here we go again" I whispered to myself. I got up and slowly walked around back I was shocked to see a young girl huddled over my trash can I use for soda cans, "Ohh." She jumped as I startled her "I'm so sorry, I was just coming back to leave some money for the window I broke yesterday all I have is 25$ but you take it please, I was just looking at your cat in the window yesterday and I fell into your window on accident, I got scared and took off when I heard yelling. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble ma'am." She sputtered out as she twisted her fingers together in front of her and stared at her feet. "I see, yes that baby in there has to be the most beautiful cat on God's green earth, I believe you alright." I took in her appearance all at once, I hadn't noticed her tattered jeans and holey shirt and her shoes that were falling apart at first glance. "Here take this money, I know it's not enough but it's all I have." She sighed. "Why was you so interested in peeking in on my kitty cat now?" I smirked. Her eyes grew wide as she began nervously "I love cats they're my favorite animal, borderline crazy cat lady I guess, I lost my cat 2 months ago and yours looks just like her, so I couldn't help but look closer." She said kicking dirt off her shoe. "Keep your money honey, my husband already has glass from another house we used to live in, back there in the garage, so we won't be needing to purchase a new window. " I handed her back the twenty dollar bill and the five ones, I glanced at the crease of her elbow as she reached out to grab the cash, she had obvious bruising and many track marks like freckles on her skin. She noticed me looking and hurried up and snatched the money back and wrapped her arms around her body, as she stood there hugging her sides I decided to ask her if she wanted to come sit with me on my porch swing and have a glass of iced tea. She nodded obviously some what leery of what my intentions were. We walked around front and I slid into my side of the swing and she followed suit. I looked at her and said "Are your mother and/or father also addicts? I asked a little worried of her reaction. She slumped her shoulders and sighed, looking back at me "Yeah, no neither one had a drug problem, my dad used to drink when I still a baby, but my mom got tired of it and told him it was either her or the alcohol, and well he quit drinking, he's been sober ever since." She stared at her hands folded in her lap. "My brother is an addict, well all 3 of my brothers are addicts, technically the 2 half brothers are alcoholics and my full brother is a junkie, just like me." She shook her head. "I'm sorry to hear that, usually the parents have a problem that they pass on to their kids, so how did you start all of that?" I asked with great interest. "I don't really know, to be honest, like one day I was with 2 friends and they had a small bag of weed and a pipe made out of metal pipes from a kitchen sink they made, and we chose to try to smoke it." She grimaced and shook her head staring off towards the street. "That was the begining of the end, it instantly hooked me, I was changed forever that day at the park at the top of a plastic slide hiding from view so we wouldn't get caught and get in trouble." She explained. "I guess I was just meant to be a drug addict, because after that one hit of smoke that's all I could think about, it's all I wanted. I didn't want to be sober or clear headed and clean I wanted to be high." She picked at her nails and bit her hang nail as she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, it's not your problem ya know, I don't like to talk about it." She said. I put my hand on her shoulder and patted her a couple of times. "Honey sometimes all we can do is talk, talk about the hard stuff, the misery, and the pain. It's when we don't talk about it that were letting poison seep into our bones and rot our souls." I smiled at her. "I asked because you look like you need someone to talk to, and I think I am that someone. That is if you want to, I'm all ears, no judgement here." I said as I lifted my hands up the palms facing out dramatically. She smiled and sipped her tea finally as she sat back into the swing and relaxed her shoulders for the first time since I caught her in the back. "Why do you put needles in your arms? Aren't you afraid you'll cause damage to your body one day by accident?" I asked worriedly. "Yeah, yeah I do worry sometimes, but it's never enough for me to actually stop doing it." She sighed. "It's funny, the person that showed me how to shoot up for the first time told me before she showed me how to do it that, that she didn't like to be the person that helps someone start shooting up." She snorted. "Yet she still stuck that needle in my arm and stripped away my only grasp on getting clean." She spit through her teeth as she talked, "I lost my boyfriend, my home, my son, my dignity, and my self worth that day in that car that was parked behind her cousins garage in the alley on 14th street." A tear slipped down her cheek as she struggled to steady her breathing to keep from crying. She wiped the tear away angrily. I sighed, "I'm sorry you've had to discover one of life's many spiritual wars. Some of us are destined to suffer more so than some people, while others live carefree lives." I looked at her and gave her a look of empathy. "Exactly!" She forced out rather quickly, "I'm cursed, and my life is never going to be the way it was before I took that first hit of smoke, I'm ruined. And there's nothing I can do about it." She hiccuped holding back tears that threatened to spill over her eyelids. "Ya wanna know why I asked you to sit and talk with me?" I questioned her kindly. "Why?" She asked, "Well honey, I too am one of the chosen ones who knows many miseries and has suffered a many a decade or two maybe three or four. I saw myself in you when I found you around back tonight." I smiled as my voice cracked a little. "My drug of choice was crystal meth, but I did just about everything there was as long as it kept be from being sober." I said. I know exactly what you're experiencing because once I was a junkie just like you, with bruises and track marks that marked my skin, my arms, legs, and belly would be covered in unsightly black and blue from breaking blood vessels putting needles in my skin over and over again desperately trying to find blood in that syringe. I was also diagnosed with anxiety, depression, schizo affected disorder, and schizophrenia caused by the stimulants no less. But I've struggled many times with my burdens. But I never gave up hope." I smiled at her and patted her shoulder once again. I can't tell you why God wrote our stories this way but there's undoubtedly a purpose for every painful thing you experience. Don't ask me what that is. Only you and the Lord can figure that out together." I said as I looked up at the sky. The stars were starting to poke out behind the clouds that painted the night sky. "Ya know what? Hold on just a second, I have something you might like, it may give you reassurance when you're feeling hopeless some night." I said as I stood and made my way into the house. I hurried upstairs to my jewelry chest I kept tucked away under my bed, I opened the lid and found the false bottom underneath all my trinkets and sterling silver. I opened the bottom and pulled out the Platinum skeleton key, not just any skeleton key it was one my great great great grandpa gave to my grandma when they married. On top of the key where the usual half moon hoop would be, two little cat ears as well as whiskers on each side laced the top of the key in the shape of a cat's head with diamonds for the eyes and smaller diamonds for the whiskers. That key was the apidamy of strength. You might think it's silly a key with a cat as the handle but just like my grandma she was a crazy cat lady she'd move hell and earth for her kitties, I too have the cat lady gene and would die to save my Lil Buns anyday. I walked back out on to the porch and sat down, I smiled some what sheapish, you said you were admiring my Lil One in the window so much so that you could have been injured breaking the glass." I smiled and laughed a little bit. "Hold out your hands" I told her. She held out her hand in front of her and opened her palm I placed the key in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "This has been in my family for many generations us Yates women fancy ourselves cat conaseures you could say." I laughed. She looked down at the little key and she grinned from ear to ear, "Oh how cute is that!" She exclaimed with pure enjoyment washing over her words as she spoke. "A cat once saved my life, she was all I had when I lost everything to my addictions. That baby was my soul, she kept me here when I was ready to be done and pass on." I smiled. "She looked at me surpirised, "it's the cat in the window, isn't it?" She asked curiously. "You betcha, now I'm going to send a cat with you that can hopefully be of some comfort when you're fighting a battle that seems like it will never end." I said as I stood up and walked to the front door. "Well honey I'd better be off to bed, I need my beauty sleep." I winked as I made my way into the house. I smiled as I walked in and saw my husband fast asleep on the couch. The man that never gave up on me. That man let me bring my Lil One home with me that day I finally decided to get clean and come back home.


(IP) The Horned Menace There were rumors of a creature who terrorized villages, with long, wickedly pointed horns and eyes that glowed like flaming coals. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, but for the claws on its hands and feet. But the whispers were eventually proven true: livestock and crops were dying mysteriously, and more than one villager had disappeared, both in town and within the wood that kept the village hidden. For her part, Flora thought that it was all stuff and nonsense; she was certain that there was a logical explanation for all of these events, and that everyone was just frightened of their own imaginations. She was working in the pub down the street from where she lived, and all everyone would talk about was ‘the horned menace’. The latest person to have disappeared was the town crier, and they’d lost their news in the morning as a result. There was no real proof, but science was foreign to her fellow villagers, especially a girl. *Don’t you have more feminine duties to attend to, Flora? Some mending, perhaps, or needlework? Maybe you’d be better off with your mama, at least until you’re of marrying age.* No matter how many times she said that it was an education she wanted, just like a man, she was always laughed at. Her cheeks were always burning; no one ever took her seriously, saying that her parents had spoiled her beyond measure. An idea formed in Flora’s mind: a crazy, half-formed idea that could pan out or mean her ruin. A soft voice sounded in the back of Flora’s mind. *Ruined? In their eyes, you already are. Where’s the harm in actually giving them something to talk about?* \*\* Her mind made up, Flora counted down the seconds until the sun set, and she was relieved. Slipping a fat sack of coins into her apron, she walked out of the building, going over the things she needed mentally, again and again. *Rope, flint, oil, firewood, a cask of watered wine, a crust of bread, a bit of good, salty cheese. And the heart she would harvest in order to lure the beast into the wood, where she would kill it. She couldn’t let herself think about the outcome.* But it wasn’t the village’s safety that was on Flora’s mind; no, she was braving the night for entirely selfish reasons. And anyway, it was difficult to care for those who’d cared so little for her. She’d been sentenced as odd, strange, an interloper. She would’ve been blind not to see it. She wanted to see if this beast was real, if the whispers of magic gone awry were true, or if the shadows that lurked within people’s minds had somehow been given life. She went back to the hovel that was her home, a ramshackle, decrepit affair. Dimly, Flora found herself wondering if she was going to slay the beast, all to win the approve of people who had never wanted her. But her choice had been made. She would find the truth, no matter the cost.


So here I am at Griffin High , It is the best school in North West ... It's quite cold today , could be my own bad fate just show casing itself very much into the climate . Here's what I am thinking as I walk into the school's corridor "Everyone has forgotten, Everyone has forgotten..." " Wrong! " No one will ever forget that I ruined Jessica Parker 's party . So here is what happened … *** It's been a week since I was enrolled into Griffin High.

I just moved here with my mom and dad. I was raised by the most loveliest interracial couple ; mom is originally from Uganda

and dad is the most English guy that you could ever meet . She and dad met when he was doing a tour around all the African countries. They fell inlove and you know what happens when two people fall inlove ? I happened! I had lived all life in South Africa

until last month dad said, " We need a change " . I was home schooled up until now so it's my first high school and I am going to make the most of it .

" Hey Laura "

, said Jessica.

"Hey " , I said. Okay so that was Jessica and she is plastic . Nope , her heart is.

"Coming to pep rally ? "

"Yah sure . I guess.

" I know she's upset with me because I took her sister's spot in the cheer team. You don't just take the Parker sisters place just like

that especially when it comes to the cheer team.

If you wanna be popular everyone knows that you gotta make friends with the Parker sisters and here I am making enemies

with the goddesses.

We were sitting at pep rally when the weirdest thing happened , Jessica walked up to and .

"You are invited ." "To what? "

"Check your Instagram messages. Don't be late. " "I won't. " Oh my word ! I have been invited to Jessica Parker 's party.

The party was starting at 6pm but everybody knows that high school parties start much earlier and end pretty much late. I had told mom about the party before hand so that we could go shopping . I knew that i looked cute. When I got to the party I could swear that there were mostly seniors there.

I immediately noticed Nora . She and I are in the school's newspaper club. She's a bit odd. Jessica had asked me not to talk to her. I don't know why but Jessica just says weird nonsense all the time. I mean how can I not speak to Nora , she was the first person to speak to me on my first day .

" Hey Laura . You're looking

cute. ( We kiss on the cheeks) ".

"Thanks . You too ." "Can I get

you anything? Maybe some punch.

" , said Nora.

"Maybe some punch. I don't really drink. " From nowhere comes this guy who decides to put his hand on my waist. "Hey sweet cheeks never seen you around here before. " (Me proceeds to remove his hand around my waist ).

" I'm new ." , I said. " Hey Laura ! Having any fun yet? "

"Not yet (I chuckeld "fakingly)" "Hey Boris leave Laura alone she's here to have a good time " , said Jessica "I can show her a good time!"

I decided to exit the scene for some air and

maybe look for Nora when suddenly I noticed… Jessica's

room. I never snoop but I haven't had a good feeling about her so who cares ? No one. "Give me more please ! Please ! ." , said some girl inside . It wasn't a good tone

It sounded like she was moaning and begging . I decided to peep . Was that marijuana and cocaine that I just saw ? Yes ! Oh my word !

There's possession of drugs in the

Parker 's home. I need to find Jessica . I began looking for her in her million dollar mansion. This is gonna be hard because there are about hundreds of students inside partying. It wasn't all that I saw. While looking for her I came across the pool.

The students were exchanging drugs , I even saw one of the students drug a young girl's drink , possibly

Jessica's sister.

"Hey stop it ! Leave her alone ." "Hery don't be such a party pooper. NOBODY LIKES A PARTY POOPER! " "Jessica! Where's this girl?

". I just kept screaming but it was pointless. Never in my life had I encounted such a moment where I had felt like my eardrums where about to drop. Except for when I listen to loud music whilst trying to ignore mom who always gives me endless chores. Every one began throwing up and from then onwards things became much worse. The neighbours rang Jessica's doorbell. I was the one who opened. "Where's

Jessica ? " "I don't know

ma'am. " "Keep the volume down or else I will be calling tge c cops! " " That won't be necessary ma'am . "

I don't know where Jessica is. This party is getting out of control.

These seniors were breaking everything.

People where having sex everywhere...I know right . I am not used to seeing all this. I went up stairs and honestly I was shook. Jessica Parker the dictator of my life for the past week was lying around bags of cocaine and there was money everywhere. Now I don't know what to say or think.

I ran down stairs immediately.

"Watch out Laura! " screamed Nora .

"Sorry!

I gotta go home ." Something just ate me up . A sick feeling overwhelmed me. Nora was almost fully undressed.

"Wanna join me Laura ? We could use a hand . "

I wanted to cry so badly . Was this what high school was all about. I decided to call my mother and I did.

"Mom ...I am in trouble please come" " I am on my way sweetie!" When my mom had gotten

to Jessica 's door she arrived with the cops. I began to feel angry , scared…

Why did she call the cops. The police quickly raided the house. The seniors and juniors began to fled like mice . Great stuff! I am officially a nerd. Behold of the girl who decided to call her mom who called the cops to raid a high school party. What a bummer !

Since then I haven't heard from Jessica or anyone after the party. And by the way no one speaks to me anymore as if I had many friends to start of before.


It had been hours since Hurricane James rumbled through the northeastern part of Florida. They said it would only come down as a Category 3; it was like overnight a demon had taken control of the storm, making it a Category 5 when it touched. If you’re from Florida, you would know a Cat 5 is the only category of Hurricanes that would make even the most stubborn of us leave. We’re told that we can better prepare for a big storm with all this new technology and take the proper measures days ahead of time. They don’t prepare you for when mother nature takes over with all her power and fiery. We live on the northside of Jacksonville, away from the coast, we are usually the last to evacuate. When the report came out that James was coming in as a Cat 5, we were all asleep. It wasn’t until 5 AM that the wind really started picking up. Our family woke up to the sound of our roof being taken off. The worst part didn’t last long, and the roof and a part of the garage took the worst damage. No radio, no power, no water. We did have our cellphones, but the rest of the city was in chaos, and we had our own stuff to deal with. “Well, what do we do now?” asked my mother, Lydia. Dad answered back, “We have no roof; all we can do is grab the tents we have and set up camp in the back.” We lived on 2 acres of woodland on a dirt road- we would be the last to get power in any situation. Growing up, our dad went camping every other weekend with his parents. It wasn’t until our Grandpa Randy died 5 years ago that he stopped taking us. Camping was a huge event to Grandpa Randy, and our dad hasn’t looked at it the same since his passing. My sister Andrea and I walked through the beaten house to the back closet, where we had 2 tents stashed. “It’s been years since we even touched these things; I hope this doesn’t make dad go into his dark place again.”, The dark place is what we called the phase of life our dad went through after grandpa passed. He was withdrawn from our family for months, it felt like, not even being able to face us at dinner. Here we are now with a broken home, our city full of destruction, and having to live in our backyard because of it.        We walked outside to see our backyard in shreds. Trees that had snapped and flew across the yard in the wind, our entire back patio had also taken a huge hit. Our family house was no longer the same one we went to sleep in the night before. Andrea and I started to set up tents in the corner of our yard where the earth had been spared. Our mom walked out to see how things were going, “Your dad just got off the phone with the power company. It could be weeks”. Andrea looked at me and then back at mom, “Are we supposed to live in our backyard until that happens? What will we do for food? Or for water? Or heck, even a shower!?” “We will figure that part out,” mom said. I continued to set up the tent while they went back and forth. I wasn’t worried about camping out back. I thought it could be a great adventure for us. I was concerned about dad; camping brought up emotions in him that he tries hard to suppress. It took us about 30 minutes to set both tents up. Mom and Andrea walked the property, picking up small limbs so that we could build a fire. The rain from the hurricane subsided and nothing was left of the storm except for the damaged path it left. I walked around the house until I saw dad in what used to be my parent’s room, sitting with his back against the wall. “Gian, why don’t you go back outside and help your mom and ‘Drea?”. My dad looked at me with pain in his eyes. “I just wanted to see how you were holding up. The house will get fixed with insurance, y’ know. Camping out back will be great, don’t you think?”. My dad looked at me with his sad eyes, “I guess you know why I’m in here all depressed, huh? Camping makes me miss Grandpa too much”. We sat and talked for a while about how Grandpa Randy made them catch their own dinner, or how he could always find the best fishing spots on the campsite, so dinner usually wasn’t a problem finding. After what felt like an hour, Andrea came in and asked us to come outside. Mom was standing by the two tents with a small fire, tiki torches left untouched by the storm all around the tents, and dad’s old fishing pole in her hand. The look of sadness in my dad quickly turned to gratitude for what my mom and sister had done. “This looks great, Lydia, where did you even find that fishing pole?” mom replied, “When we were rummaging around in the garage for the torch fluid and saw it sticking out of some debris, Andrea searched under piles of stuff for your tackle box, and we rigged it up for you too.” Dad walked over to my mom and gave her a huge hug and took the pole. “Let’s go, Gian, we have dinner to catch.”        My dad and I walked down and through the woods to find the pond behind our property. I could tell he felt lighter and the burdens that were weighing on him earlier went into the back of his mind. When we reached the pond we walked around until he felt he had the right spot. He cast his lure into the creek, and we sat while waiting for a bite. “Grandpa used to catch fish with a piece of bread, I don’t know how he did it, he was a true angler.” He said that as his line started jerking. He stood up, locked the fish in, and started slowly reeling it in. At the end of the hook was a catfish. My dad was great at handling Catfish. We used to catch them by the pounds for family fish fries. We sat and fished for about two hours. Six Catfish later, we make our way back to the house. Mom still has the fire going while Andrea is walking the yard again for extra wood. Dad gets to work preparing the Catfish while I round up some kitchen utensils from the house. That night we ate catfish dad cooked on the fire, a can of green beans from our emergency stash, and drank some warm beer we also had stashed. We talked all night about dad and grandpa's adventures and how much we all missed him.

The next day dad charged up his phone to see what was going on for storm control. Me, mom, and Andrea were sitting around the tents waiting to see how the rest of their city took the storm. Dad came back after making a few phone calls and told us that James had touched down with 170 mph winds. Tornados roared through the inner city and tore down multiple buildings, houses, and apartment complexes. "We got lucky. The neighbors a few miles up the road lost everything. Grandpa Randy was looking over us".

The next week we spent every morning and every evening catching Catfish, sitting by the fire, and bonded for the first time as a family in a long time. My dad brought up Grandpa Randy with ease and thanked him every day for protecting us in the best way he could. After the worst of the storm damage was cleaned up, we could go into town and get food for different meals. We decided to camp outside for an entire month while waiting for word on how the house would be fixed. Hurricane James changed our lives, but we will never forget the experience.


(WP) Between a Rock and a Hard Place After all these years of wondering, it was time to go find her people. The humans had been quite kind, and had raised her as their own. But all her life, she’d known that something was wrong. Not wrong, per se, but something was… different. Even as a child she’d known. She was taller than all the rest of the kids in her classes, she was absurdly, impossibly strong, could run long distances in just a few strides, and she loved to garden and be around plants and flowers. One night at dinner, she and her parents were mostly quiet, until, at last, she couldn’t take it anymore. She dropped her silverware on the plate, and the loud clang made her mother jump. “Rose, what is it?” Her mother asked, her brow furrowing with worry. “Is something on your mind?” “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, Mom,” Rose said, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “And… I have some questions.” Her dad frowned silently, sitting up straighter in his seat. “We’ve always known this day would come, since we adopted you.” He murmured quietly. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that his eyes were glimmering with tears; it jolted her. Was she somehow violating everything that her parents had done for her, by being curious about her biological parents? The last thing Rose wanted to do was offend them, or make them think that she was ungrateful. She was happy with her life, despite her differences between herself and the humans. She had a loving family, had good grades, had won a full ride to one of the best colleges in the country on a track scholarship. She had friends, and she was even harboring a crush on a girl in her class. But there was a distinct void in her heart, the dark part that wondered where she had come from. From who she had come. She had wrestled with these questions, late into the night, since they’d told her that she was adopted. And it had felt like she was running in circles, endlessly. “I mean… Is this okay? Is this… Normal?” Rose asked, staring at her plate, wishing that she could push away from the table and flee to her room. But she’d started this conversation, and it was too late to turn back now. Besides, didn’t she deserve some answers? “Of course, it is, honey!” Her mother said, her voice thick with unshed tears. Her father, for his part, looked as though he was holding something back, like if he didn’t speak, he would explode. “Rose, you’re a giant. Well. A half giant? Your dad was a giant and his wife was human. And the giants demanded that you live with the humans, because you weren’t full human or giant.” \*\* Rose stared at her parents in shock. Of all things she’d thought they’d say, that was the furthest thing from her mind. Mom was staring at her, holding her hand and rubbing her back as if she was frightened her daughter would start screaming. “I’m a giant? A giant? Those don’t even exist! This isn’t a fairy tale!” Rose spluttered. “Sweetheart, you came from a fairy tale and your mother gave us to you to make sure you’d have a happy ending, even if she couldn’t.” Her father said sadly.


Hey. First post ever on Reddit, maybe you can relate. Non-native speaker...etc. etc. Edit: Changed some format stuff so it's easier to read... **Meeting with myself** Eyes. Open up. I can’t sleep. Get out. Coat, keys, phone, tying shoes, been quite a while since I’ve done that, takes me longer than most, tying a knot, loop and the other one. Could’ve learned that way sooner if some people cared. Thumb. Okay, I’m ready. Sorry to keep you waiting, please stay with me. I try going downstairs quietly and opening the door. Locked. Two times. Whoever does that is mad. Get out. I lock the door behind me. Good. Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. I feel cold. I feel the cold air around my wrists and my legs. I get cold fast when I’m outside at night, but that’s okay. It’s good. Again. In and out. Stay calm. Isn’t even that difficult, is it? I still can not think clearly though. The sky looks nice. I see the stars. I don’t know what I should think about the stars. They look nice. Scary, too. Often I imagine how they explode. I really have no idea what’s wrong with me this time. Don’t forget to breathe slowly. You know, at some point it really sucks that you have to freeze yourself to death only to calm down. To stop the spasms, because your mind is too weak. And if you don’t even know what tipped you off this time again, I don’t know, sucks. I hate it. Okay, last time. Breathe in and out. Can’t go back yet. Down to the lake. Hey. Hey. What’s your name? Not in the mood, sorry. I’ll go soon enough anyways. Not in the mood, either. Just wanted to go breathing. Fag? I don’t smoke. Me neither. Only when I’m down. Almost tried though. My fingers are freezing, shit. Why didn't you? I thought you'd go soon anyways. Yea. So? Nevermind. Had a good help. Helped me out with a few things. Me too. Still went back. I know. We're having difficulties breathing, remember. What happened? Thought about love. Cute. Doesn’t matter. Yes it does. Else you wouldn’t sit here. You? Saw too much in someone. He doesn’t love you? Yea. He knows I do though. Again? Yea. Happens a lot to me, too. You seem like it. What’s your name? Elena. Chris. What is love? Baby don’t... What is love? I don’t know, okay. Why does nobody love us? Chance. Never. It is. Definitely not. Look, we are funny, we are emotional, we don’t look like complete shits, sure. So why does nobody love us? We need too much affection. Or it’s chance. Are you sure? No. It’s unfair. It is. But we don’t do very much against that, either. Stars are scary. Plus one. Romantic. We can’t. Don’t say things like that. We can’t. Why? You know. Too similar. Yes. Too similar. I just want someone I can love with all of my heart and someone who loves me back with all of his heart. Is it that difficult? What am I doing wrong? Why are all people getting the love I don’t get?! All of them are so happy without me. All of them know how to be happy. I’m not being loved. I could love you. We’ve been there already. Don’t you want to be loved? I do. But we can’t. I know. I. You okay now? My hands seem to be dead now. Thank you. Sorry. I wish I had someone like you. Me too. I do love you, okay, just not the way we need it. Me too. Thank you for staying with me. And tomorrow? Will you have one again tomorrow? What? Attack. I don’t know. Me neither. When does that ever happen? Happened tonight. Yea. But not again. Not at the same time. One can hope. Don’t. I don’t want to go. Me neither. So? Don’t stay longer than you have to. We are strong. I know. Breathe. Thank you. Thank you. Goodbye.


The events of the night were coming back to him slowly—a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories and blurry visions furiously shifting, rearranging, and merging to form a rough timeline. Had he broken free in time? Why couldn’t he feel his legs? The memories were fuzzy and distant, yet in a very surreal way, they were visceral and blinding. Ah, yes—that’s right. He was out searching for something. Was he hunting? No, he was searching for

it . And he encountered it. It was rumored to appear at the heart of the ancient, whispering forest during the first full moon of the new season, its arrival shrouded in mystery and expectation. But to what end? No one knew for certain. Speculations by the nearby townsfolk oscillated between a malevolent trap and a generous opportunity, each tale more tantalizing and terrifying than the last. Though many wondered, few possessed the courage to seek it, undeterred by the provocative, bone-chilling tales of its survivors. For it was more than a simple rumor; it was a Seductress—a spirit cloaked in ethereal beauty, blessed with the gift of divine insight but cursed with a ravenous appetite for human consciousness. Its form was a mesmerizing fusion of light and shadow, shimmering with an otherworldly glow that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the forest itself. Its eyes, deep pools of starlit wisdom, beckoned and ensnared. To gaze upon it was to surrender to its majestic will, to be drawn into its orbit with little hope of escape. If one could toe the line of seeking holy counsel with this celestial being—engaged in a whimsical, hypnotic dance, the price of said counsel—without pushing their body beyond the point of death by complete exhaustion, they would return with a new perspective and wisdom beyond their years. If one could toe the line. Many who sought the spirit were often scholars and theologians, shamans and scientists, lured into its domain by its reputation for prophetic accuracy. Others, the majority, were laypeople, seeking self-righteous glory or perhaps even to challenge the being. He, however, was a different breed. A man of wealth and privilege, he had been born into a life of comfort, his every need met with the snap of his fingers. Yet, this life of abundance left him hollow, yearning for something more, something beyond the tangible luxuries and social accolades. He fell somewhere in between these seekers, among the crowd of those whose hearts yearned for the relief of understanding, led into the trees by that same troublesome curiosity that drove all who dared to stand before the elusive spirit. This insatiable desire for deeper meaning gnawed at his soul, propelling him in search of answers only God could provide. But God would not be so easily found. His search lasted for hours. No, all night, was it? He remembered. The moon had risen, peaked, and just begun its descent. Leads led to dead ends, and suspicious sounds revealed themselves to be mere nightcrawlers. His eyes were growing heavy, and his attention drifted from his task to his conundrum—that nagging, unanswered question burned a hole in the recesses of his mind. He would not leave empty-handed. Dance with me. Then, his feet were shuffling across the moss, his head bobbing, his arms swaying through the midnight air. He was unsure when it happened, but he was not alone. The moonlight cast both their silhouettes across the thick tree trunks.

What could a man like you possibly need from a thing like me? “Spirit,” he lauded, “I seek your wisdom.” That much is obvious . The words blared directly into his mind, perhaps even his soul. Its voice was no voice at all, rather pure intent originating from nowhere. The only sounds his ears could make out were the staccato snaps of twigs under his jostling feet and the deepening heaves of his own breath.

To what end? He remembered trying to quiet the commotion in his mind, to be fully present in this once-in-a-lifetime moment. But he had been chosen by the deity of his people. How could he possibly? “What is the purpose of this life,” the words leapt from his mouth just as he had rehearsed. To live. That answer stunned him, his racing mind ignoring the burning in his calves to focus on the deeper meaning behind such a trite response. “Yes, but surely there’s more?” More to life than living?  Their movement had drawn a crowd. Tiny eyes perched high on tree branches, hidden within the safety of bushes, and peeking through obscure burrows watched as his sweat-drenched body flung itself in circles. The burning had spread to his thighs, creating a stiffness in his lower back. His shoulders also labored to keep up with the increasing tempo of the Spirit’s whimsy, but he paid this no mind. Yes of course, there had to be more to life than simply existing. Why wouldn’t there be? “What else would drive men to conquer their environment or sail the seas?” Had he thought that last question or spoken it? So, you seek to know about the curious nature of humankind? Is that why you’ve come? “No, I apologize. Perhaps I have not been clear. What is the purpose of

my  life?” Your purpose is to live. Much of the night was still shrouded in a murky haze, fragments of memories slipping through his mind like sand through fingers. He knew, however, that this was when his recollections began to fray and unravel. Time had lost all meaning. No longer was he merely tiptoeing across the forest floor; Instead, he was pirouetting through the foggy, moonlit air. His body groaned uncontrollably, levitated by the Seductress's pure will. What had once been a graceful dance had reduced to a spasmodic, desperate scuttle. His arms flailed and twitched, as though conducting a symphony of madness. Frustration mounted within him, boiling over with every passing moment, for it seemed impossible to articulate his innermost desires and fears. Words eluded him, slipping away just as he grasped at them.

Say what you mean, human.  It was as though his thoughts were no longer private. “Why am I not satisfied,” his soul demanded, for his throat was too parched to form the words aloud. “Mine is a life that most men would envy. I have a flock of 10,000 sheep grazing the richest pastures and 5,000 oxen plowing fields of abundance. I possess more gold than I know what to do with, glittering in my coffers, and my businesses thrive beyond measure. My wives have borne me many sons, all healthy and strong, their laughter filling our halls. I sit upon the council of the chief himself, his ear mine to influence, his decisions swayed by my counsel.” The night air seemed to mock his anguish, echoing his spasms, but still, he did not relent. “And yet, it is not enough. Please, Spirit,” he implored, gazing into the Seductress’s inscrutable eyes, “when will it be enough? There must be more to my life than this.” The muscles in his legs and arms locked in agony, his lungs dry-heaving for whatever last few vestiges of air they could muster.

But the spirit merely returned his gaze with a detached stare. As I've said, it's in your nature to be plagued by insatiable curiosity, a restless yearning that drives your kind to explore the unknown. You speak of conquering environments and sailing seas. Yet here you are, driven by that same thirst for understanding, for meaning. The vision was slowly fading from his eyes, but the sight of the indifferent, unyielding Seductress remained hauntingly clear.

Here you are, risking this enviable life of yours to ask me a question that I have answered twice now. Yes, there is more to your existence than those transient things. He fought to understand, to feel the truth in what it was telling him, to decipher its riddles—when suddenly, understanding washed over him. It was clearer than it had ever been, and perhaps even more obvious than he expected. Of course there was more to this life, “but only if I live to experience it.”


“That’s it! This is the last time I’m smoking that stuff!” screamed Mikayla as she burst into her dorm room. In front of her lay three sets of blank white, terrified faces. The bloodshot in their eyes was as red as the exit sign behind Mikayla in the hallway. The three girls dressed in mismatched sweats and baggy t-shirts from Universities they have never visited before and likely will never go to, sat there guiltily on various chairs and bunks as Mikayla exclaimed. “I can’t even throw these pizza boxes away without feeling like I have the eyes of every soul on campus staring at me while I walk out back to the dumpster”, Mikayla expressed. Once the girls realized it was their responsible friend who was coming through the door with such force and not an overly suspicious resident assistant with an army of campus safety officers they were able to breathe again. “Well maybe if you didn’t look like a bum dumpster diving in the back of the dorm at 1:00am, maybe people wouldn’t be so alarmed by your presence”, chimed Mikayla’s roommate and close friend Gracie in her regular sarcastic tone. Gracie grew up in a privileged family in an upper-middle-class suburbia with no concept of struggles. Regardless, she acts like she’s been through it all because she has two older brothers who would constantly tease her and call her Bracie since she required 6 years of consistent trips to the orthodontist to correct her teeth. Mikayla rolled her bloodshot eyes as she was already used to Gracie’s comments. For the past year, she has been dealing with them on an unrelenting basis as the two have been practically inseparable since they met in their first year of college. “Anyway, do you guys want to watch something?” asked Mikayla trying to ignore her paranoia. “We’re watching You ”, said the three girls collectively in excitement which seemed almost scripted. “Whoa whoa now, I did not like that! Did you not see how freaked out I was just two seconds ago?”, Mikayla asked with a look of slight fear that had some truth behind it.

“We’re talking about the Netflix show you tweaker, we decided as a group while you were gone, just take a deep breath no one’s watching you”, said Mikayla’s friend Sammie. “Yeah, you’re not pretty enough” snarked Gracie. Mikayla rolled her eyes yet again and brushed it off. She knew Gracie well enough at this point to know she was kidding and that she just likes knowing she can snap back quickly if she needs to have someone’s back. She was a good friend, loyal and trustworthy, but wow she could be a lot to handle. “Sammie, did you three plan that little trick, or did some evil stars align tonight to not let me fall asleep?” Mikayla questioned. She always went to Sammie when she needed a straight answer from her friends. Sammie was a naturally smart girl who almost seemed like a television character in the way she was always dependable using logic and experience to get through life. Her first-year roommate left the school after only 6 weeks and was able to quickly hit it off with Mikayla and join the group with ease.

“No I wish!”, she shouted. “I don’t think any of us are thinking straight enough to come up with anything like that. Maybe it’s a sign that you are being watched”, she said as she fluttered her fingers in front of her face, clearly trying to get Mikayla riled up.

“Did you see that?” Erin cried with fear as she pulled the blinds on the window and pointed outward. Mikayla’s heart basically stopped at that moment, this was all too much for her to take in at this point. She sat down pushing her face into her hands pleading to make all these feelings go away. “Got yaaa”, Erin said toyingly. She was the friend in the group who everyone loves, but the term ditzy is a vast understatement. The type where the room can turn in synchronicity with the collective thought of “there’s no way that girl just asked that” after asking something she felt was a valid question. “We’re just teasing you, Mikayla, it’s all jokes, you know that. Now everyone shut up so we can watch this” commanded Gracie.

The girls sat and watched, but did not make it very far into the show. Erin fell asleep within minutes, followed by Gracie who made it maybe 20 minutes, and finally Sammie shortly after. Mikayla paused the show to go to the bathroom and turned at each one of her friends now realizing they were going to have to restart the show another time as they were all sound asleep.

As Mikayla stepped into the hallway she was briefly stunned by the seemingly bright lights which would feel normal had she not crawled out of the pitch-black cave her friends were asleep in. Having lived in this room for two months she obviously was aware of the communal bathroom location being to the left down the hall, however, given she was still under the influence she mistakenly went right out of her room. The building was a large square with rooms on both sides of the hall and a courtyard in the center where ecology students would test soils, beautiful flowers, and other various plants; students of other disciplines would sit and study with weather permitting. The stairs to the emergency exit were located at the end of the hall in the direction she was walking, the same stairs that she took to throw away the pizza boxes. “ Thump, thump, thump ”, Mikayla heard from the stairwell. She immediately averted her attention to the beige, metal door to the stairs. Specifically, the small square window with metal wiring laced through it as if that serves as some sort of security blanket. She caught what she thought was a shadow against the dusty white wall on the other side of the stairs. “What am I doing?” she asked herself as she snapped back into focus and realized she was walking in the wrong direction. Now much more cognitively aware of her surroundings after her brief scare. “I really need to stop smoking that stuff”, she told herself knowing she actually meant it this time.

She turned around and headed in the correct direction towards the bathroom, listening more carefully now to her environment, but heard nothing. Before leaving the bathroom she splashed water onto her face and had never felt more refreshed. She caught a glimpse of her bloodshot red eyes as she dragged her fingers from her forehead down her cheeks just below her jawline.

“Why do you always tweak so much?” she questioned herself. She knew the answer to this. Sober or not she was always questioning what was going on around her, worrying for no reason, and always going to the worst-case scenario. She thinks it’s in part due to her parents growing up always worrying about how to pay the bills even though in her eyes she was always able to get or do whatever she dreamed. This was hard for her to understand, their constant worry, everything always seemed fine to her. If anything she viewed herself as being more skeptical of others than having paranoia.

Just then she heard the creak of the bathroom door open and for the third time in the last hour her heart skipped a beat and she struggled to take in air. “Are you okay?” asked the girl who just came through the door realizing how shaken up Mikayla was.

“Ye-yeah, sorry you just startled me”, Mikayla managed to get out before heading toward the door realizing how long she had just been staring into herself through the bathroom mirror. She didn’t know the girl's name but had seen her around the floor plenty and knew she was not a threat. She turned the corner and started towards her dorm room, but through the film of her dry eyes, she saw something. She quickly rubbed her eyes, putting all of her focus into the small square window to the stairwell which seems to be stretched miles down the hall. At that moment she felt like she did just seconds ago in the bathroom. That someone was staring into her. Terrified, knowing that her dorm room was in the direction of the figure staring at her through the glass, she turned and bolted back toward the bathroom. Behind her, she could hear fumbling of the door knob followed by the asymmetric thumping of footsteps growing louder, almost as though they were displaying a poor attempt at galloping. She breached the bathroom door like a SWAT team and quickly shut it behind her as she slid her back down the door, her hands falling into her knees. “Alright now are you okay?’ the girl asked as she was standing at the sink washing her hands. At that moment the girl had the same expression of fear as Mikayla did a minute prior when she first entered the bathroom. Before Mikayla could gather the composure to answer she was jolted forward by the force of the door. This brought her to her hands and knees, but her feet still blocked the door. Again, a push at the door, this time with less force, and Mikayla was able to keep it closed. The girl at the sink was able to catch sight of the intruder through the mirror. “What are you doing? Open the door!” the girl exclaimed. Skeptical of the command, as always, Mikayla felt fear for her life but at that moment realized she had no other choice but to move out of the way. To her, this may be the end, but still, she removed herself as the human barricade just before the door swung open for the third attempt.

Mikayla’s fear dissipated as she saw a girl in black jeans and a gray cropped t-shirt dive headfirst into a bathroom stall. Mikayla heard the splash into the toilet water and was thankful the girl was able to make it through all the obstacles Mikayla threw at her.

“You need help”, the first girl said to Mikayla as she strutted out of the bathroom. Mikayla, now sitting on the bathroom floor with her arms looped around her knees, thought about what she just heard. The whole situation was ironic. Telling her she needed help just to leave a room that contained two different girls obviously struggling in their own ways. In this moment she realized that she wasn’t just tweaking, being skeptical, or distrusting all along. We are all constantly being watched by those around us, perfect strangers see us at our best and worst moments. They pass judgment, as it is the normal human thing to do, but it takes a special connection to break down those walls. She thought back to her friends sleeping in her room. Gracie, Sammie, and Erin are all different in their own ways, but all there for each other at a moment's notice. She wondered if they would be friends had they met under different circumstances. If their first impression of each other was at their worst moments, would things be the same? The fact is we’re constantly being watched and analyzed, expected to be our best when we all know that's an impossible standard to meet. We think we’re better than others going through pain and struggles and envy those who seem to have it all. There’s nothing human about being at the top of your game every second of every day. If you are, you’re only experiencing half of what life has to offer. Just then Mikayla came back to Earth and snapped out of her trance. Recognizing the situation she stood up off the floor and walked towards the occupied stall, door wide open. “How can I help you?”, Mikayla asked. “C-can you- p-please text my roommate?”, she struggled to get out between the dry heaves. Mikayla grabbed the girl's phone out of her back pocket and held the face ID over the girl's face above the cloudy toilet water and found the most recent text conversation with the contact name Roomieee with a heart emoji next to it and alerted the girl’s friend of her location. Mikayla sat there with her until the girl’s roommate came and took over. Mikayla walked back to her dorm room, more aware of her surroundings now than earlier in the night. She saw no face looking back at her in the stairwell window, and heard no suspicious sounds. Just the silence of the night and the occasional dry heave from the bathroom behind her. She opened the door to her friends still asleep and laid down in her bed. “Yeah, I’m done smoking that stuff.”, she whispered to herself before closing her eyes for the night.


When I'm watching TV, in the small home we shared, I look at the window to see you standing there. So, I close the blinds, because I'd rather be blind than to see the reflection of the man who died.

I watch and I watch the screen full of colours until I don't know what I'm seeing, then I watch some more. But I never turn it off because the image I'd see, reflected at me, is worse than white noise on the TV.

When the sky cries onto the earth, I see you in the reflection of mucky puddles. So, I splash in them until your face ripples away. I never cry on rainy days.

I avoid mirrors like a sickness because I know what I'll see. I don't like dry-heaving at a mirage of you and me.

But today, I must. I'm preparing for my date. The first since you left. And when I look in the mirror to adjust the silk of my dress,

I pretend I don't see you standing there, behind me. Your pitch-black locks shift when you shake your head. Something on your face crackles with hatred. And my chest starts to quiver when you bring your hands forth. They clasp around my waist. The warmth seeps through my clothes. You brush my brown hair behind my ear, then you bring your torso near. I tense and wait for the words to be said—the ones you never really spoke out loud, but somehow managed to lodge in my head.

Heat engulfs me when you finally speak.

How could you? I thought you loved me. My stomach sinks with the weight of those words. Your gaze might as well be that of a feline's, sharp and calculating. And I'm the hunt that ran away, unsatisfied. I try not to feel like a piece of meat, giving herself over to another lion's pride.

As the second-hand ticks away on my watch, unbearably loud in the quiet of our room, I realize it's the timepiece you gave me on our first anniversary. When I look into the glass, all I can see is a face that doesn't belong to the little clock or me. I unclasp it from my wrist and set it down on our cabinet. Then, I think again and shove it deep into the third drawer, where I can't reach it easily. I don't need your little brown eyes watching me flirt and smile, twirling my hair as I stare into the eyes of another man. I don't need the judgement that comes along with wearing you on my hand.

And with that thought, I look down to my trembling fist and see the golden little band that chokes me where it sits. It once played a tune of unity and love. Now it wails the sombre chords of a woman who is stuck. This I cannot stand, so I rip it off like it burns me, clattering to the dresser with a sizzling smack. I see your eyes in the mirror, offended at my heartless deed, enough to make my reflection crack. Even still, when bitterness contorts you, your skin glows like it did (before the cancer took your warmth away and made you grim and thin). And it hurts. Oh dear, how it hurts. We didn't have children like you wanted to. You never finished school. None of this is fair. We didn't go on our honeymoon because the money just wasn't there. Our bedsheets don't smell like you, they've been washed too many times. I still have your cologne that smells like cedarwood and lime.

Spraying it now seems like a sin like I'm doing something wrong. But it was you with the transgressions that spewed an aching on my heart. When you lied and told me that you would always stay, said you'd never leave me until I finally said okay. But your body told the truth, opposed what your pretty words did not convey. With a green face and pale skin, you took my hand in yours, shifted closer so I felt exactly how you mourned.

The contrast of our hands convinced me of the heartbreak held in your sickness and in my health, in life and in death. Since that moment I've been holding my breath. You said: When the cold cocoons it The bare branch with no leaves

It leaves you a promise

Of return in the breeze How weird...my hand. There's a trickling feel on my skin where a streak of redness trails. From my knuckles to my wrist, to my elbow when I twist. The blood reminds me again how stupidly human I am. How emotions can control me and make me do senseless things, like smash a mirror into bits just because I'm pissed.

I stumble to the washroom, cupping a hand under the blood, so none of it stains the carpet you always helped me scrub. This time, I won't smash the mirror, even when you follow me.

Turning the sink's handle is more difficult than I thought it would be. But when I lift my head to see you once more, you turn the water on for me, making sure it isn't too cold. Regardless, I shiver, because a warm, familiar, and safe arm cradles mine. And a flash of a memory sickens me. Then, I start to cry. Your hand scrubs my blood down into the drain. And I'm drained of all sanity when I feel the pain. Where each cut is open, a sharp sting passes through. Each movement of your skin on mine, makes me hurt for you. A sob rips past my throat, like a bird clawing free, and when I try to gasp inward, I find I can't breathe.

Of course, you wipe the tears and scold me for grieving.

I've been gone so long! Why are you weeping?! It's all I can do not to crumple and deflate. My date is supposed to be here at eight.


The roast was in the oven, and she had just poured herself a glass of Pino Rosso. Glancing at the clock, she had yet half an hour before he would arrive. Enjoying the feeling of the sound of her high heels hitting the hard wood floors, she had decided she might as well tidy up the hallway and throw a load in the washer. He didn't always notice these small gestures, but she enjoyed doing small acts of love for him. Knowing she held a value in their home by making sure he always had a clean shirt and a tasteful meal. The wine was having a slight drowsing effect and she felt as if in a dream-like state when the buzzer went off in the kitchen. 'Would you like me to top up you glass, hon?'. No answer, only eying the plate in front of him. 'Alright then, more for me I suppose'. She rose gracefully from her chair and took a moment to straighten her dress. Walked over to the counter with long strong strides, and topped up her glass. Filling it closer to the brim than the mid. She turned on one heel, and fixed her eyes on him. 'You know, when I make dinner it would be nice to be appreciated once in a while.' His silence and reluctance to meet her eyes was apparent. 'Well then, how did you like the meal?' Being ignored is not the same as being heard. Neither one was under any illusion of which strategy he was choosing. 'Could you at least look at me? Grunt? So I know you can hear me.' He made himself smaller, leaning closer to his plate. Turing again to the counter, she emptied the her glass and spoke as if to the trees outside the window. 'I took the liberty of throwing your shirts into the washer. You could imagen my surprise when I found your yellow button up.' Her nails were digging into the counter, and filled her glass once again. 'I never wear lipstick. You said you didn't want it smudged all over your face.' 'Will you say something!?' 'No, of course, now are be silent.' Turning back towards him, she saw a single line of blood from his temple. She smiled and sat her glass down on the counter. Grabbed her keys and a overnight bag from their shared bedroom. As the car started up in the driveway, she could see the glass though the window. A crisp red lipstick smudge was left on the rim. Matching the new red specks on the wall above the dinner table.