7:39 PM October 6th Seven days. It’s been seven days since I turned fourteen, and the only things I can think about are the cake I ate, and my mom’s decision to abandon her only daughter and husband. The shock that went through my body rapidly transformed into indescribable sadness the moment I read the text she sent. Every inch of my flesh feels like it’s burning with rage, yet frozen from the cold black mirror between my palms. A rush of chilly breeze brushes between the surface of my skin and my clothes. I habitually glance down at my body, completely occupied by the fact that I had been abandoned over a text message. I see my veiny hands holding my phone, and without notice, I shatter it on the pavement. How can she do this? A bond between a mother and her daughter should be invincible, shouldn't it? The little moments of joy and grief, the big events such as your wedding or your first day of high school. When you’d come home from school with a craft that you had just specifically created for your mom, the day you found out you had gotten your first period. It should all be in there. Shouldn’t it? I struggle to get up from the park bench. I push myself up slowly, yet I still feel the dizziness going through my head, spinning throughout my thoughts. And for a moment, I feel emptier than I have ever been. I feel every organ in my body rubbing against my bones, every vein, every movement. It was a pain I have never experienced, pain that only was caused by a simple text. You are so stupid, I tell myself. I dig my hands into my pocket, look at my broken phone, and restlessly walk back to my house. I’m barely even able to drag my feet on the ground, but I observe every motion in the distance. The mother cradling her baby on the park bench across the park, the boy trying to cross the monkey bars, the muddy dirt on the grass. You deserve this. I hear the voice in my head louder than the leaves crunching under my feet. I feel a rush of anger running down my spine before I enter my house. But the moment I step foot on the doorstep, I am attacked by my dad. “She took them!” He yelled, referring to my brothers. I look around and every piece of furniture in the house is exactly where it should be. The couch on the left side, just an inch away from the black, wood side table, The white curtains hang perfectly off the curtain rod, the carpet is pure white, the family frame on the fireplace. But my dad’s mind is not where it should be. I stare back at him as he launches towards me. “She took them!” I recognize this tone. It was the tone he used when I would come back with a B. It was the tone he used when his soup was a little too hot for his desire, the tone he used if I wore my hair a certain way. “I know,” I whisper with any and all courage I have left in me. “And she left you here with me. What am I even supposed to do with you?” He clenches his fists, hovering around. He suddenly stops in his tracks, looks at me, raises his hand, and without doubt, he swings it against my cold cheek. I don’t even flinch. I can smell the strong scent of alcohol in his breath. I look down at his left hand, holding a glass of whiskey, his favourite. “You made her leave,” He points at me. “If you weren’t so difficult all the time!” He raises his voice louder. “Why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t you just eat? The food is right in front of you. Why is it so hard for you to understand this?” Silence. 10:03 PM October 6th I grab my small notebook and a pen, and with relief, I start recording my intake for the day: Apple- 95 Calories, 0.3 grams of carbs; Green Tea- 0 Calories, 0 grams of carbs. I stare at my notebook with pride. It is the only thing I am able to control. Every bite, every chew, every swallow. It is the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind, it keeps me sane. But it was only a matter of seconds when my peacefulness would be disrupted. My father shows up to my room uninvited, and in his hand, he had a slice of cake on a plate. “You’re going to eat this cake.” It’s a big slice of chocolate cake. My birthday cake. The brown frosting is messily smeared on the plate and the fork in his hand. “I’m okay, I just ate dinner.” I lie. “This isn’t a question Ria.” He replies quietly. He isn’t doing this for me, he’s doing this to get my mom to come back. “But I’m not hungry” “You’re going to eat this damn cake or you know what’s going to happen.” He says in a stern voice. I tense up. I feel my heartbeat in my throat, I hold back the tears. He brings the plate to my bed, places it in front of me, and steps back a little bit, only to stand there and cross his arms. I smell the cake, and I immediately feel nauseous. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I bite the first piece, then the second, then the tenth. He just watches me. 7:34 AM October 7th I wake up the next morning with a still full stomach. I feel the heaviness of the cake on my arms, my stomach, my thighs. I immediately run to my scale. Forty-six point two kilograms. I feel a knot in my throat, I feel the tears streaming down my face. I can’t go to school like this. I can’t be fat. I cannot be fat. I will not be fat. I am in control. School was when all of this started. That one little comment that sparked up the conversation between my friends about my eating habits. I started to notice any comment that had even a slight mention of food or my eating habits. I remembered every bite I have ever had, every meal at a restaurant, every sip of a carbonated drink. That was the first time I truly understood what shame felt like. It wasn’t a feeling I got when I failed a class, it wasn’t a feeling I got when I cheated. It is a feeling I only got when I ate food. It is a feeling I get when I bite into a sandwich or a fry. It is a feeling of disappointment, defeat, weakness. As time went by, I started getting repulsed by the idea of food more and more. I thought that if I started to eat healthier, then I would have a different outlook on food. I made meal plans that had designated days for certain foods, a specific amount of water I would have to drink per day, and I definitely made sure to never eat more than two bites of something in front of any of my friends. Now the only thing on my mind is that cake. It took all of my mental strength to pick that fork up and eat it. I told my dad that I wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to bed just so I could process the fact that I finished the cake. All I feel is humiliation. Sitting on my bed, the only thing I can think about is the nauseating feeling throughout my body. My stomach, for once, feels full and I can feel my muscles in my throat tense from eating that much. It wasn’t even a lot, just a slice, but my body feels like I just ate enough to feed a small country. All I know is that I need to lie down. I can feel my body getting heavier from that cake. I feel disgusted with myself. Fat, fat and more fat, is all I see in the reflection. I feel my heart start to beat out of my chest as if I can feel every cell in my body move through my dense figure. I could feel my stomach getting bigger. My fists are clenched so tight around my waist covering the vile image staring back at me. This has to stop. The only way to feel better is to gain more control. I have to, that is the only way I will stop feeling so revolted. I am in control. I close my eyes and start to count back from one hundred. Something about numbers calmed me down. I think it was knowing the exact number that would come next that grounded me. I knew I was right, and I knew I was in control of what I was saying. 3:23 PM October 7th I came to my house after school, with no motivation or energy to do anything but sleep. My head was spinning and I have my usual migraine. I can still feel yesterday’s dinner in my stomach and I want to curl up into a ball underneath my sheets and hide from everything. The only thought pounding in my head is the chocolate cake. I grab the bottle of water standing on my nightstand and chug it, feeling the water stream running down my throat, filling my stomach just a little, sufficing my intake for the day. I grab my notebook from my bag again and I write down today’s intake: 7 bottles of water, 0 calories, 0 grams of carbs. I weigh myself again, forty-five point eight. Not enough. I hear a voice in my head. I lay in my bed, frantically searching for a way to calm my breathing, but it isn’t stabilizing. I suddenly feel the world around me spin. I am engulfed by a wave of panic, and the next moment, I’m on my feet getting ready to go for a run. Running is the only time I feel like myself. Running is the only thing that can create a safe enough atmosphere for me to live in. I’m on the sidewalk, my feet are in motion, and I am Ria. The wind gushing against my face brings back a rush of blood to my lifeless, pale cheeks. I could hear and see every little thing. Every falling leaf, every voice in the distance, every face in the perimeter. My breathing is controlled, my eating is controlled, my body is controlled. I am in control. I manage to avoid my inebriated father after my run and skip dinner by pretending to study for a test, which is probably the biggest accomplishment of my day. I do not have the mental capacity to handle the same emotions that went through my head last night. I just could not feel the same way I felt last night, it was horrifying. By the time I get under my sheets, I notice my body shaking, my teeth jittering from my cold figure. My shoulders roll forward, caving into myself, my legs tuck into my chest as if I’m protecting my body from distant criticism. My head was dizzy and I could hear my stomach growl, almost a euphoric sensation. Allowing my body to feel like it was swaying in my bed, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. 5:47 AM October 8th I just woke up, physically. Emotionally and mentally I’m drained. The weight of the guilt from the cake still sinks my chest. The weight of my mother’s departure creates a larger force on my body, deluding the number on my scale. I step on it as I do every morning. I don’t look at the scale right away, my anxiety is eating me inside out. I feel a slight rush of heat travelling to my face. I rub my hands against my thighs, attempting to remove the gallon of sweat I managed to make in ten minutes. Forty-five point three kilograms. The number was looking at me, practically laughing in my face, making fun of my inability to achieve such a simple task without messing it up. I pinch myself. I brush my teeth vigorously, knowing the mint taste will prevent me from taking a bite of anything. I need to lose five kilograms. I am in control. My legs are bouncing as I brush my teeth, anxiously waiting to go for my morning run. I take a deep breath, I shake my limbs. Right arm, right leg, left arm, left leg. I repeat that again, and again, and then again. I did it four times. That's bad luck. My heartbeat starts to race, but I try to brush it off. I run my 10 kilometers. I come back before my dad wakes up, and quietly leave to go to school. 10:17 AM October 8th The only thing that is occupying my mind is the number on the scale. Forty-five point three. Four, Five, Three. Was I really that big? Did I eat too much? Was I not trying hard enough? It has to be the cake. It’s the cake. I can barely keep my eyes open during class, I’m exhausted, consumed by the three numbers on the scale- Four, Five, Three. My hands are too cold to even write anything, too cold to even tuck my hair behind my ear. I subconsciously lead myself to the library, skipping my third-period class. As I sit down in the chair, I feel my eyelids shut close. They weigh fifty pounds. It is so cold, I start shivering. The weather is changing, which is what had to explain my drowsiness. After school, I go straight into my room, eager to see my scale. It’s been seven hours and I have not had anything to eat today. I hope that helps. I take my clothes off and weigh myself. Forty-five point three. That number taunted me. I can’t remember the last time I was so frustrated with myself. For sure the number would have had to drop at least a little; I didn’t even drink water today. I was doing something wrong, I was eating too much. 6:27 PM October 8th I’m so exhausted, I’m trying so hard to finish this repetition of crunches. I can’t even do a hundred. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine... 3:48 AM October 9th I wake up on the floor. I don’t even know where I am. My anxiety starts to build up as I quickly realize I’m in my room. I look around, it’s pitch black. I try to scramble for my phone before remembering that I broke it. I start to panic; I have to know the time. I have to know the time. I jolt up from my anxiety. I feel lightheaded; I stood up too fast. I lay on my bed to calm down for a minute. After I regain awareness, I immediately head downstairs to the kitchen. Every step I took down those stairs felt like stepping on knives, every bone in my body felt like glass, every inch of my skin felt like paper. I look at the microwave- it’s almost four in the morning. I’m trying to recollect memories to put yesterday's pieces together but I can’t even remember past three in the afternoon. I try to go back upstairs, but I can’t, I'm so tired. I lay down on the staircase, and I feel every glass bone break, and every paper skin rip. But the exhaustion was overpowering the pain. I can’t stay awake. 9:32 AM October 9th I wake up to a force on my head. I try to lift my head up. There’s no one there. I fell asleep around four o’clock in the morning. I was so tired. I could not move a muscle in my body; breathing became so difficult as my rib cage felt as though it was crushing my lungs. My head is spinning as I try to process my thoughts, but last night’s nightmare suddenly replays in my head. I dreamt that my mom was serving me dinner. She put a plate in front of me; on it were two steaks the size of my face, a steaming mountain of mashed potatoes with peas rolling down the side of it like an avalanche. I was forced to eat it, or else my mother would leave again. It felt so real, so I ate. I snap back into reality, but I quickly start to feel a panic attack coming. I pinch myself, bite my lip, bite my nails, none of which were able to calm me down. My leg is shaking so fast, that stresses me out more. I feel the deep emptiness, contradicted by the flooding amount of emotions going through my body. My mind is racing. 12:59 PM October 9th I can barely walk up the stairs at school. Every tiny movement is a marathon for me. It feels like I’m walking out of time. I head to the washroom, close my eyes and sit on the floor. My stomach is finally empty, no more cake. It’s paradise. I finally feel like I am me again. I feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head and I enjoy every second of it. I sit on the floor for ten minutes relishing the feeling of my body finally being able to let go of any tension and relax. I feel satisfied. I am in control. Next period is gym class, my favourite class. On my way to the locker room, a girl stops me and compliments my physique. She asks what workouts I have been doing. I love hearing that. I tell her I have a whole planned routine for the week and tell her she could find the same workout online. For a minute I feel accomplished. I feel as if the drowsiness and the shivering were worth it. I knew it is worth it. I empty my gym bag and begin to change. I stand up and all I see are stars. I knew I got up too fast, I keep doing it. My entire body starts to feel like an electric current is going through it. I have to sit down but I can’t move. Every noise around me amplifies. I can’t have a panic attack now. I can’t get a panic attack now. My head starts to spin and I feel a harsh force hit my side. I was out cold. But only one thing matters- I am in control. 2:36 PM October 10th I barely open my eyes, the bright light above me is blinding me. I try to speak but the dryness of my mouth prevents me. I can’t move either, I can’t do anything. I try to make a noise, a grunt, a sigh, but nothing is coming out. I start to get really anxious. What time is it? What day is it? Where am I? All I want to do is scream out to my mother, all I want is for her to be next to me. But she’s not. With all the power that I have, I turn my head ever so slightly. My head feels like metal. I see my dad sitting in the corner of the room, snoring. I tried to call out to him but I barely got a whisper out. I had no energy. My eyes start to rapidly move around the room. I look down at my body and see three IVs stuck in my arm filled with potassium, sodium chloride and another chemical that I don’t recognize. I immediately realize I am at the hospital. My thoughts start to rush, I start to panic. I can’t get admitted now. I haven’t lost all the weight yet. The heart monitor starts to ding faster, and before I knew it, my father is awake. He looks at me, sighs, and walks out of the room. He walks back into the room with a doctor. “Hi Andria, I’m Dr. Fenech and this is my intern Oliver Yaseen. How do you feel?” I can’t speak. The fluids coming from the IVs create a burning feeling in my arm and I just want to rip them out of my arm but I can’t move. My father is sitting in the corner, drinking his coffee, but I know he mixed alcohol with it. ”I know this might be confusing to you right now, but you’re in the Intensive Care Unit. Your body gave out during gym.” The doctor clicks his pen. I don’t respond. “Your body is extremely malnourished. It’s a miracle you’re even alive right now. Have you been eating?” Every word that comes out of his mouth created a feeling of hatred, loathfulness, despise in me. But it was myself who I hate. I hate my brown hair, my brown eyes. I hate my round face, droopy eyes. The way my nail beds look, the way I laugh, the way I speak, my voice. It’s silent. “Your inpatient program start in a week, right?” Dr. Fenech asks. I try to nod my head, but all that came out was a sigh. “I understand it’s frustrating for you right now. However, we might need to start tube feeding you sooner.” My heart rate starts going up. The doctor notices it. “Your vitals are extremely low. Technically, these vitals shouldn’t even be real.” That doesn’t matter to me. I think. Voices start to fade, and before I know it, I’m asleep. 8:11 AM October 11th I woke up to the nurse fiddling with a plastic bag. Her blonde hair effortlessly fell down her shoulders. Her blue eyes are observing the bag so carefully she didn’t even notice I woke up. I look around the room and it is empty. It feels so peaceful whenever my dad is not around. His traditional personality oppresses me. His desire to make me look presentable and be the girly girl he wants all the time made me hate being the only girl. I started straightening my hair in grade five because my curly hair was too messy. My clothes were all picked out by him. His absence leaves me at ease and calmness, but not before the nurse realizes I’m awake and smiles at me. “Good morning” She speaks so softly, but loud enough that I can hear it. “How are you feeling?” “Okay, I guess.” I whisper. She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows, alluding to her inability to hear me. I shrug and she chuckles. Her laugh is so cute. “I’m sorry to hear. It might not be the best time for this right now but I have to insert the feeding tube in you.” I can already hear myself think about all the ways I could burn off these calories. The idea of even gaining the slightest bit of weight makes me feel like five hundred kilograms of weight are dropped on my chest. I’m not in control.


I sat on a chair and watched Tobias gather his thoughts. He lay on one of the beds, sporting the hotel’s white bathrobe with his hands over his stomach. We both were wearing the robes, since we’d handed in our clothes for laundry last night. “That’s it?” he asked after a moment. “That’s the summary,” I said. “You just jumped over a whole year of your life?” Tobias continued. “Jumped over the part where you learned to use magic?” “I didn’t think it was important to the story,” I said. “It wasn’t important to *your* side of the story.” I opened my mouth for a retort, closed it, and finally took a deep breath to calm myself down. I didn’t want to repeat the whole hide and seek again. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s not something I want to share... yet.” Tobias nodded. At first, it had felt great to spill things off my chest. But now afterwards, I half-regretted it. As if I’ve given Tobias a weapon to hold over me. “Can you recite that incantation for me?” Tobias asked. I shook my head. “I don’t even remember the first syllable. It was like I was being possessed. Was that Rosa — ” “No.” Tobias’ voice shut down my idea. “It has nothing to do with Rosie.” “How can you be so sure?” I asked. “You were wrong about her actions after the Hunters sealed you. I’ve seen her experiments with magic, combining different schools and triggers. Could she somehow put a spell which triggered when a Darmitage touched a Sarsen stone?” “I know Rosie, she wouldn’t open a portal and let demons into this world.” “Didn’t you listen? She was torn and angry after the Hunters sealed you. And I opened it due to one of her memories taking over me.” Heat rose up my face matching my level of frustration. Tobias was too biased, too blind to not accept that his sister might have done something wrong. “Nadia.” The way he said my name made me pause. I thought he would’ve raised his voice to match my tone. But instead, he’d said it with an outbreath, almost as a sigh. “You may have some of Rosie’s memories but I have shared a life with her,” Tobias said. “I know her better.” What a load of crap. But I bit down on my tongue and held my words. “How did you get sealed?” I asked, switching subjects. “You were the strongest out there. It didn’t seem like anyone could’ve matched your strength during your time.” Tobias shook his head. “Strength might win a battle, but it’s the mind which wins a war.” Someone had outsmarted Tobias? The guy who plunged himself into books and scrolls whenever he encountered a problem? A doorknock interrupted our conversation. From the other side, a maid addressed that our clothes were cleaned. I opened the door and received the bundle and headed to the bathroom to change. It felt much better to wear my own clothes than prancing around in a bathrobe. Tobias didn’t touch his pile. “I prefer wearing the robe,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.” “You’ll have to wear something else when we go outside,” I said. “Speaking of outside, what’s your plan?” “The plan was to ask the Calamity to help against the demons, but now…” I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Don’t you have any questions?” I asked. “About Darmitage, about the current world? Anything?” “Loads,” Tobias said. “More than you can imagine.” “Well, let’s figure those things out first,” I said. “What are you wondering about?” Tobias looked at me with serious eyes. “What’s ‘witness protection’ and ‘mob family’?” “What?” “You mentioned that you thought your parents were under ‘witness protection’ or they were part of a ‘mob family’, what does that mean?” It took me a moment to understand what he referred to and I realized my mistake. I had been churning on and on without taking his background into account. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, matter of factly. “Let’s take a walk. We’ve been stuffed inside for too long. We’ll get some clothes for you, eat something and I’ll explain what ‘witness protection’ and ‘mob family’ means.” “And ‘lottery’ and ‘passport’ and — “ “We’ll take a *long* walk.


I lie in my crumpled bed, bathed in unease. I anxiously peek at the dim light of my alarm clock which reads 4:35 AM, as the first light of dawn peeks through my curtains. Sleep escapes me more often than not at the moment, and my body feels tense. My mind is abuzz with grim anticipation of the coming day’s sleep deprived work. But my frustration is suddenly lifted as I feel the familiar pull of slumber. A heavy blanket descends on me, as my body relaxes and my eyes fall through the back of my head. Slowly the sides of my bed fold in and I start to lower into the dark, in my casket being committed to the soil. My room disappears along with the pulsing in my temples, and time stops for a half of a moment. I am adrift in a small lifeboat in a gentle sea, surrounded by endless dark. The boat is softly furnished and more comfortable than any real bed, so I allow myself to float quietly, swallowed by the soft cushioning. No horizon is visible beyond the sides of my vessel, only a perpetual obsidian. But buried deep in the distance I see a faint light, dancing like a thin wisp of cloud caught in moonlight. I am compelled towards the light to seek its warm glow, so I take the paddles and begin to row towards it. The waters are almost silent as the paddles dip in and out, and only the faintest ripples are audible. I continue on my journey but I am making no progress. No matter how far I go I never get any closer to the light. Defeated, I drop the paddles into the waters, and watch them slowly roll into the abyss. I lie back down to avoid the taunting allure of the light and close my eyes in resignment. As I lie stranded in the vast waters my calm deepens. I focus on my breathing as its waves gently lap in and out of me. My mind turns inward and the light exits my consciousness. As soon as I forget about the light, I start to feel an ominous presence enveloping me. I smell Christmas dinners with family, and homemade bread. I feel the familiar wrap of an old jacket, and a lost lover’s embrace. I hear birdsong in the forest, surrounded by fragrant blooms of lavender. Cold winter feet thawed by log fires, and the first warm breeze of summer. The rough tug of tree bark on young hands, and echoes of old friends' voices. I embrace the bliss, bask in its warm glow, gliding in nostalgia. A sharp buzz shatters my illusion and I quickly awaken. Harsh reality floods back into my mind as I open my eyes to see the clock blinking on 8:15 AM. I roll over to stop the annoying sound, and turn off the alarm. I stare through the ceiling and clench my jaw. Another day begins too soon.  .


     I have to do it. It doesn’t matter if I want to or if I don’t, I have to do it for the sake of my family. I didn’t always want to lead a crime family, actually, as a child, I hated the idea of it so much I run away multiple times through my pre-teens. But, now that I’m almost eighteen I’m dealt with the difficult decision to become a leader or an outcast. I look over to my little brother Marcus, he’s barely seven, I can’t burden him with this responsibility. After all, it is my fault my father is dead in the first place. Marcus grabs my hand from the table I’m sitting at and leads me to the dance floor. He dances with such joy, such pure ignorance to the world, that I can’t take my eyes off him.

  My mind is made up, I have to become the next mafia boss. I can’t bear to strip Marcus of his innocence at such a young age, I don’t want him to have to go through what I had to. I leave Marcuses and I walk to the front of the huge dining hall. I step on stage and a chill runs through my spine. I hate violence, I hate money, and I hate my father, but this is the price I have to pay for Marcus’s freedom. I walk to the center and I grab the microphone off of the stand. “My name is Isabella Selena Anson, and I am the next boss of this family,” the words feel uncomfortable in my mouth as I step back. I feel sick thinking about what I just proclaimed, hundreds of cheers coming from the crowd, sending me into a panic. I run down the steps of the stage trying to find a route to escape, my family members surrounding me in a congratulating sea of people. I finally make it out of the backdoor avoiding nearly every confused glance and sneer as I finally reach the back patio.

  I take a deep breath and put my back to the wall. I may have just sold my soul, I think to myself laughing at the absurdity of my situation. I let my mind wander for a bit, thinking of past memories of high school, old friends, and even a boyfriend or a few before I’m startled back into reality. “Isa,” Marcus says, taking a step forward. “Why did you do it,” he looks at me with a confused, almost dazed expression. “I had to,” I say, straightening my back. I can’t bear to answer any more questions, expressly from him right now. I turn my back to him and start walking back into the party wondering if I’ll ever do the right thing.

 Sometimes I reflect back on my past choices and I feel unwell, usually because I made the wrong one. But here and now I have the same feeling even though this is the only way. When I walk back into the party I am greeted by the smiling faces of my so-called “family,” family doesn’t tell a seventeen-year-old girl that if she doesn’t sacrifice her future to the mafia that they will bestow that burden on a little kid. My childhood best friend, Amber, wraps me into a tight hug of congratulations, but honestly, it makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I exchange tight fake smiles, I thank everyone for being there and I finally get to return back to my apartment upstairs of the dining hall. While walking I look at our family portraits and wonder how many of them were forced into leadership just like I am. When I open my apartment door I make a beeline to my bed and drift off in what seemed like an instant. I wake up to the sun shining directly into my eyeball and a maid yelling into my ear. I walk downstairs for breakfast, still half asleep might I add when I hear Marcus screaming. I bolt up the stairs and when I get there I see Marcus screaming at a poor maid as hard as he can. “Marcus what's the matter, buddy,” I say trying the soothe him but he doesn't even blink an eye at me. The maid walks over to me and starts, “I was just telling him about his schedule, Breakfast, Horseback riding, lunch, getting ready, and then the big meeting tonight,” she says in awe of the boy still panicking in front of her. That's when I realized what this was really about. I walk over to Marcus and I Scoop him up, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

  Marcus calms down when we enter my room, his panicked breathing coming to an end. He takes a deep breath and begins,” If the coronation happens that means that dad is really gone and that you’re leaving me,” he says beginning to cry again. I process this as well as I can, he was supposed to inheart dad’s business, but with the suddenness of the situation and his age, that's no longer an option. Maybe I could have taken Marcus and fled the country, maybe we could have dyed our hair and took on new identities, maybe we could have joined the circus. But none of that matters now, I have to deal with the decision I made. I wrap my arms around him and after what seemed like forever he calmed down enough to go to breakfast.   My mother died when I was young, when it happened Marcus was just a baby. My dad died barely three months ago, but we always knew to prepare for it ever since we were little. Now I’m in my bedroom, I look in my closet for something to wear to the meeting tonight but I come up empty. My hands brush the fabric of the finest dresses money can buy, but still, nothing seems worthy enough for a day like this. I walk slowly to my mother’s old closet, while a lot of the clothes are outdated (considering she died in 2014) I still manage to find a gorgeous Lavender gown. I remember the day she wore this distinctly, it was the day my father because boss after my grandfather died. I walk down my staircase, and the grief begins to set in. The rest of my life is gone I am now dedicated to cause I don’t even care about. When I walk into the dining room the usual upbeat mood is not replaced by seriousness and hostility. I sit at the head of the table for the first time in my entire life, that seat is reserved for the top dog, which I guess is me now. The chatter that surrounds the room comes to a close as soon as I take my seat. The curtains are drawn, the doors are shut, and briefcases are placed in front of me. My uncle Rowan starts the meeting, “Before I being I would first off like to start congratulations to my little niece Isa” the erupts in claps and cheers.   “But, moving on from that we under a major threat right now, our brothers to the east have turned on us and joined Mathis’s family,” we all share looks of concern and confusion. “Last night after the party three of our men were ambushed and killed,” Before I even know what's happening I agree that we should attack. Rowan said we were to set up a little after dawn so we have the night to rest and plan.

After the meeting, I slowly walk through the silent halls on our manor and make my way towards Marcus’s room. I open the door and crawl into bed with him. My father wasn't around a lot when we were growing up so I became a sort of mother figure to him. He shuffles around and looks at me in a half-asleep haze, he recognizes who it is and we both drift off.

I wake up around 3am to the sound of rain lightly tapping on the roof. I hug Marcus and kiss him on the check and I make a quiet exit out of the door. When I walk into my room the first thing I do is head straight to the shower. After, I dress and head down to the main level of the house. When I walk down the stairs I'm greeted by about a hundred of our family members in a rushed breakfast haze. After everyone finishes eating we load up into about fifty different cars and we head to our place of attack. When we arrive at Mathis’s headquarters it's dead silent, I clutch my gun in my hand. After about fifteen minutes of waiting in a car with some of the others, I hear the first bomb go off. We charge out of the cars carrying all sorts of weapons dressed in bulletproof gear. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass of a window and I realize, this is real and I'm really doing this. I see Mathis jump out of one of the back windows. I run after them and, I pull the trigger. I made a mistake that can never be undone.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: “Her destiny was calling.”** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - A written letter plays a role in the story.* This week’s challenge is to use one of the above sentences in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense/pronoun if necessary, but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without one of the above sentences will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings As I recover from the flu, rankings are postponed. Thank you for your patience. *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Claire, will you please go and see that?” Lillian Evans, the detective, called out as she heard the doorbell ring. “A bunch of young girls, Madam,” said her help. “Please send them up. I’ll be there right away.” Miss Evans replied. Settling down on a sofa, Miss Evans smiled at the girls. “Please introduce yourselves.” “Clarice Brown, 21” “Janice Wright, 26” “Bexley Allen, 25” “Celine Miller, 24” “Melanie Ellison, 25” “And what brings you here?” asked Miss Evans. “An attempt to murder me” replied Clarice. …………… Previously… “We ought to report it right away!” Melanie whisper-shouted. “Yes! If it happened once, it can happen again,” Bexley piped in giving a slight shrug. “Right, but I don’t have the slightest idea about who’d want to kill me!” This time it was Clarice who spoke. Celine was the only one who had remained quiet, after all, would she really care if Clarice was gone? Just a little while back, the five girls were taking a stroll in the Northwood Park. “I will go get some ice-cream’’— Bexley rushed off. Melanie followed her-- “I’ll go and help her!” The other three— Janice, Clarice and Celine walked through the soft grass, not knowing about the unfortunate happenings that were about to occur. Celine, on the other hand, wore an expression of despair, determination and slight hope. Right as they flopped themselves down on the soft grass, a bullet flew right past Clarice’s shoulder. The three startled friends got up immediately. “The bullet came from behind us!” Janice exclaimed. “That bullet…it was meant for me, wasn’t it?” Clarice hesitated trying to get a grip on herself. “You’re awfully lucky that the bullet missed you by an inch, and landed on this tree instead.” Celine replied with a slight tone of mockery in her voice surprising everyone. “I’m back!” came a voice as Bexley ran up to them with five scoops of ice-cream. “I say, what’s the matter, did you want a different flavour?” she continued catching the worried look on their faces. “Heavens, what a shock! Who’d want to kill Clarice!” Bexley exclaimed after hearing the story. “I say, where is Melanie, I thought she said she was going to help get you the ice-cream?” Janice asked looking around. “Melanie? Why, no. She wasn’t with me.” Bexley replied taken aback. “Here, I’m back. I totally forgot about helping Bexley out! There was a bookstore nearby and you know how I can’t just walk past one without entering it!” “Well, that’s all very good but Clarice here has almost been shot. The police need to be informed immediately.” Bexley said cutting her off. ……………….. Celine stopped her narration seeing a man walk into the room. “Oh, there’s Inspector Jones. Good evening.” “Good evening, mademoiselle.” Inspector Jones greeted taking off his hat as Celine started all over again. “Oh, excuse me for just a moment please, that’s my boyfriend calling.” Clarice flushed taking out her phone. Miss Evans observed the picture of a young man that had appeared on the screen. “Jacob? No, I’m not at home at the moment, I’ll call you when I get back, alright?” “Now, Clarice, could you tell us about your family?” “Well, my parents recently died in an accident. I don’t have any sibling but my mother had told me that she had accidentally got pregnant before marriage. Since she was too young, she had to give that child away.” “Alright, my schedule is packed for the next few days, but I’ll get back to you all in a while.” Lillian Evans announced putting her left leg over her right one. “Well, what did you understand from all that?” Inspector Jones asked when the others had left. “Not much, not much.” Lillian sighed as she ruffled her fingers through her auburn hair. “In other words, you managed to understand something!” Inspector asked raising her eyebrows. “Janice knows something.” ………………………. “Solving a crime is like solving a puzzle, unless we have all the pieces, the mystery isn’t completely known. And that one piece might be the most important one, the one determining the entire picture” Lillian Evans said walking down the road with Inspector Jones. “We are going to the Lorest Apartment in the evening, that’s where all five of them live. We’ll inspect their rooms and ask each one personally what their idea about each other is. Who knows, we might get something that might help us.” Meanwhile, in their apartment, Janice was getting ready to go for her bath. “Hang on, I’ll get that.” Janice said scrambling off to check who called. “Yes?” Janice asked picking up the phone. “Is Miss Brown there?” came an unknown voice. “Clarice? The call’s for you! I’m going in for my bath, alright?” Janice called out. “Is this Clarice Brown? Right, there’s a package for you, should I leave it here, or I should I bring it upstairs?” “A package? It would be very kind if you brought it up” It had been about twenty minutes when Janice came out from her bath, softly whistling a tune to herself. Her expression changed rapidly and the colour drained out from her face almost immediately. She stood petrified for a minute and then she rushed towards the dead body of Clarice Brown. Her hands shaking, she picked up her phone and dialled a number, “Miss Evans? It has happened.” “Janice? What’s happened?” Lillian Evans asked as she put on her coat. “Clarice. She’s…she’s been… killed.” Janice said in almost a whisper. “Hang on, I’ll be there.” She replied beckoning to Inspector Jones that they had to leave right away. “What has happened now?” Inspector Jones asked flinging the door open. “They’ve got Clarice.” Lillian Evans replied as she watched Inspector Jones’ eyes round up. By the time they reached, Melanie, Bexley and Celine had already reached the flat. They stood nearby and Janice sat beside the lifeless body. The inspector and Miss Evans bent down to examine the body. A knife had been stabbed into Lillian’s chest and blood was spurting out. “I think we ought to leave this to the doctor and have a talk inside” Lilian Evans said placing her hand on Janice’s arm. “By what I just saw, I concluded that Clarice Brown had been stabbed right in the middle of her chest. Her eyes seemed petrified, it’s obvious that she saw the murderer but he didn’t have the time to shout for help. Well, now you all must let me interview you individually. But before that, where were all of you, did you see the murderer?” “I had gone for my bath, right before that, Clarice had received a phone call. It was about a parcel. And when I came out…” Janice’s voice trailed off. “You mean you heard the voice? Was it a female or male? “Male. But I think I’ve heard the voice before…” Janice mumbled as all eyes turned towards her. “Since it was a male’s voice, why would you want to interview us? And why would we want to murder Clarice?” Bexley asked. “Just because I interview someone, doesn’t mean I suspect that person, it’s the details, the little things which might fit in and give away the game.” Miss Evans said pronouncing a strained smile. “Janice, this is your room isn’t it? Will the other three of you please step out for a few minutes?” “Now, Janice, I want you to tell me your impression of Clarice.” Miss Evans said. “Well, it was last autumn when Clarice shifted to Stoneybrook. She was studying Journalism, along with Melanie. Bexley is in the arts department, while Celine and I are studying medicine.” “Go ahead, what else is there that we should know?” Miss Evans asked further. “I don’t think there’s anything else, Miss Evans.” Janice said firmly sitting up. “What about the fact that Celine’s boyfriend ditched her, when Clarice joined the Institution?” Miss Evans said narrowing her eyes. Janice sat rooted to her spot, struggling to find words. “I assumed this from the way you acted. You seemed to be shielding her, for some reason. You suspected her of committing the crime. The first day I met you, you seemed to watch Celine in a nervous manner. Celine, on the other hand seemed not bothered by the fact that Clarice could have been killed. I saw the picture of Jacob on Clarice’s phone screen. I saw a picture of Celine with the same man in the living room.” “But it can’t possibly be her, it was a male’s voice over the telephone after all.” Janice exclaimed, her voice rising. “We’ll see, we’ll see, now do step out of your room just for a few minutes. You share this room with Celine, don’t you? Melanie shared hers with Clarice while Bexley has a room of her own?” “That’s correct.” “Now, what do we have here?” Lillian Evans asked walking around the room once Janice had left. “Not a thing that seems suspicious?” Inspector Jones asked. “Here’s something rather interesting.” Miss Evans said handing the inspector a picture of a 9 year old Celine with a toy gun aiming at water balloons. “Oh, how I loved playing this as a child. But how difficult it was to shoot the yellow balloon placed at the centre!” Inspector Jones groaned. “But look, the balloon in the centre is burst.” “Heavens, she has a fancy for guns then, that girl. Could she be…!“ “Well, it all adds up, but we might be on the wrong track. The girls said that Celine was right beside Claire when the first attempt occurred. “I say, what’s that?” the inspector exclaimed taking out a packet of white powder. “We’ll have to send this to the police laboratory immediately” Miss Evans commented. “Celine, come on in, now!” Miss Evans called out as the girl entered in. “Tell me about yourself.” “There isn’t much to tell anyway.” Celine replied grimly. “And what about your history with Clarice’s boyfriend?” “If you know everything, why do you ask?” “Doesn’t it bother you that I’ve found out?” “No, why should it? I’ve heard of you, Miss Evans, you’ve solved the most astonishing crimes. You of all people should know that it wasn’t me.” Celine left, sounding distraught.  At that very moment Bexley came in. “Please tell us about your family,’’ said Miss Evans. “My parents passed away when I was a child. I just had a sister.” “I see. How well did you know Clarice?” “Hardly.” “Melanie’s turn now!” Miss Evans continued. “But before that, we’ll check your room once.” “Naturally, Miss Evans.” “Inspector Jones, did you manage to find anything striking?” “Nothing at all, Mademoiselle. What about you?” “These shelves just have notebooks, a whole bunch of puppets and some letters addressed to B.B, must be Bexley’s.” “Let’s move on to Melanie now, shall we?” “Melanie, your room, how do you sleep here, it’s messier than a cobweb! Books scattered everywhere!” “I’m sorry, Miss Evans! I told you about how books attracted me, didn’t I? The bookstore was what attracted me that day, I ought to have helped Bexley instead...“ “Melanie, you seem to read a lot of detective stories.” Miss Evans interrupted Melanie’s musings. “Why, yes, they are my absolute favourite.” “Then, you must know all the perfect ways to get away with crimes.” “Miss Evans, you can’t possibly suggest that I murdered Clarice! What would I gain from that?” Melanie exclaimed. “I’m not suggesting anything. Inspector Jones, we’re done for the day. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” …………….. “Miss Evans? Miss Evans, could you please come to ‘Monchester University’, right away? Please come to the Journalism Department, Block 2, room 7.” Celine exclaimed from the other end of the phone. “Celine? Whatever happened now?” Lillian Evans asked in a perplexed voice. “The second murder.” ……………….. “Move aside all of you”— Lillian Evans and Inspector Jones said trying to get into the crowded classroom. “Heavens, what on earth is this?” Inspector Jones asked looking at the body of a 28 year old man who was lying on the ground. “That’s Jacob, the one who had ditched me to become Clarice’s.” Celine said her voice shaking a little. “Doctor, what’s all this? And everyone other than Melanie, Bexley, Celine and Janice are requested to not gather around. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any show going on in here” Lillian Evans asked. “I just arrived here. It’s evident that he has been poisoned.” The doctor sighed “Well, we were working on our assignment, Jacob had poured some water in his glass, but before he could drink it, our teacher, Miss Dorothy had called us, right after we came back, he drank the water and immediately fell dead on the floor,” said a boy who was standing nearby. “Ammonium dichromate” the doctor informed putting a finger in the glass bringing out minute white powder. “The same chemical that we found in that packet Celine’s room,” sighed Miss Evans. “I beg your pardon?” Celine asked giving a perplexed stare at Miss Evans. “When we were searching your room, I found this” Miss Evans stated coldly bringing out a packet of white powdery substance. “That’s absurd! I’m being set up, I tell you!” Celine exclaimed. “We’ll know soon enough.” “Miss Evans, I think there’s something I should tell you. There’s something I remembered,” Bexley said in a hushed tone. “Is that so? Please go ahead.” Miss Lillian Evans said turning around. “Well, the night before the attempt to murder occurred, when Melanie, Janice and Celine were in the University, Clarice was showing me her assignment. And, well…” “And?” “Well, they had to write a detective story, but what’s odd is that the girl in her story dies exactly the way she did.” “Bexley, does it have anyone’s name?” “No, surprisingly the characters are only numbered. It says that character 5 had killed her.” “How will that be of any help then?” Janice asked. “Connections and instances” Miss Evans smiled “Well, if this really is a clue left by Clarice then we need to find how the characters are related to each other. For example, in her essay, it’s written that character 5, wasn’t on friendly terms with Clarice. So we need to see who all did not like Clarice. Celine was one, of course. On the second page, she has written that character 5 had got into an argument with Clarice about Jacob a few days before the murder.” “That happened on the 19th November. Clarice and Celine had got into quite a terrible argument over Jacob,” Bexley said softly. “It keeps coming back to Celine, doesn’t it?” the inspector asked softly. “Miss Evans, you of all people should know it wasn’t me!” Celine exclaimed. ………………. “Lillian, you know, I do feel bad for Celine if she is being set up.” Inspector Jones said after leaving the crime scene. “What if Celine is making it seem like she’s being set up by others?” Miss Evans replied with a smile. …………. The next day, everyone gathered in Miss Evan’s drawing room. Inspector Jones was also there. “Let’s begin now, shall we? At first I suspected Melanie since she said that she was going to help Bexley get ice-cream but went somewhere else. But then my suspicion moved on to Celine. The clue which had been left behind by Clarice, their history, the poison, everything pointed to her.” “And then?” Janice couldn’t control her curiosity. “And then something struck me. What if I was being led on the wrong path? What if the essay wasn’t written by Clarice but by someone else to put the blame on Celine? What if the poison was implanted in Celine’s room? Maybe Jacob’s death was also for the same reason, no one would gain from it, just that the suspicion would shift to Celine.” “But, if it wasn’t Clarice, then who wrote it?” Bexley asked. “Someone who would gain financially from Clarice Brown’s death. None other than Miss Bexley Brown.” Miss Evans replied. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Evans? I’m Bexley Allen, not Bexley Brown!” “Bexley, you mentioned that you had a sister. Clarice was your sister. You gave it away by saying you HAD a sister, instead of saying you HAVE a sister. You killed Jacob to make it seem like Celine was to blame. For the same reason, you wrote that essay and planted the poison is Celine’s room. When I was inspecting your room, I noticed quite a few puppets on your shelves. Your hobby is ventriloquism, isn’t it? You used a male’s voice when you pretended to be a parcel delivery guy to murder Clarice. Janice said she had heard the voice before. That was probably because you were joking around one day switching voices and you gave away this one. On the first day when you had attempted the murder, you first tried to shoot but missed and then went to get the ice-cream and pretended that you didn’t know anything about it. Now let’s move on to the motive, shall we? I figured out Clarice and Bexley were sisters, Bexley being 4 years older. Their mother had accidentally got pregnant with Bexley before her marriage and she gave her away for adoption. Later, she met Bexley but didn’t introduce Clarice to her sister. After Clarice’s parents died in an accident, Clarice inherited their fortune. Clarice didn’t know Bexley, but Bexley knew who Clarice was; so she came here to kill Clarice and get back the property which she felt should have been hers in the first place. I found in your room some letters written by Mrs Brown, Clarice’s mother, addressed to B.B. This of course made me realize who you really were.” “You don’t have any proof.” “What about the traces of your fingerprints had been found on the knife?” “That’s impossible, I wore gloves!” “I’ll take that as a confession.’’ Miss Lillian Evans smiled to herself wondering how many criminals one passed on the streets without even realizing.


It was funny how one could spent more time planning for a prank, at least, not preparing for an entire year. It all started with a fraudulent plan, a prank idea which is not likely to raise a criminal offence, once committed while impersonating another without consent which is obtained, neither from the actual person nor any authority. The prank consisted of impersonating a famous celebrity by not only dressing exactly like them, but also copying or replicating anything close to their original celebrity lifestyle. The objective of the prank was to take the crowd by surprise. Thereby, the prank was a sole idea from Jack who was influenced by his similarities in personalities with a musical celebrity. Jack had almost the same tone in voice with a naïve attitude emanating from this celebrity. The idea came as a result of his personal love and support for this celebrity. Jack grew up liking the celebrity. He was nearly a number one, yet he felt so far from his dream. The dream of living like his musical celebrity. Life in reality was not as it ought to have been in Jack’s dream.

Jack at school was not famous. Neither was he loved to his satisfaction nor hated to his regret. He compared his life to a celebrity and also to most of his school mates. On the other hand, Jack’s life was not completely with joy, he felt, he had lacked talent to show forth himself to the world. Nothing matters; but jack’s plan to succeed with the biggest prank ever done. Jack was so determined until he was ready to execute the prank. Jack made appointments, procured what was required. Jack on that day dialed and called private assistance, experts and reality show teams. They all came incognito. Each team was surprised to see how Jack had organized his prank. This was so serious, that everyone who came through ended volunteering without pay to conduct a charity show business. This was business without any charges. This was not a trend when it comes to doing business. Finally the prank was set up. Jack was completely imitating his favorite celebrity. He now looked like him in appearance. Later that day, the expert made him as replica of the celebrity. On other hand, Jack went to the extent of hiring an expensive super car, a McLaren P1. The experts added another imitator to be together with Jack, a well known personal staff to the original celebrity. Perfect, it was match. This even made it more difficult for people to tell a difference.

Since it was 1st of April, everybody was presumed to be expecting some typical prank. More people in jack’s school were careful, meanwhile other people were not lucky because they had already been pranked. In spite of the many pranks, all prank were very minor and private that no big news came from them. They were usually done to a few within the university. Before Jack could reach his university, he decided that he will also hire a quick stage in order to create more impression. No sooner did Jack come out from the McLaren P1, than some typical spotlight was given by unknown body guards with black suites. The arrival was captivating. Whereas the fashion style was perfect according the celebrity he was imitating. The music was immediately turned on. The more people who saw him, the more they screamed so loud with excitement that many thought jack was in fact the actual musical celebrity. Thereafter, he made a remake with an exact attitude which confirmed even more about who he was. Thereby the awaiting announcement was released through the respect university publicity room. This lead to student getting more wide and overwhelmed with fun at its infant stage. More crowds showed up in huge numbers, that it was nearly impossible to stop them from coming. The social media was flagged with this event update post. Social media videos became so wild and viral. Everything about the event was promoted and hyped up with no doubts. Huge crowds coming from all sides, men and women, ladies of class and young men with enthusiasm enjoying the unexpected show. On the other hand, the media influencing more views. Therefore, Jack expectation was more than met, He did not foresee that he will be on live feeds, cams and other worldwide broadcasts were nearly entire world was watching. In addition, he did not take that such big crowds from everywhere will be in the audience. No one had anything against this shortcoming event. Nothing made it possible for the people to suspect a prank, and end up halting the fun. Therefore, the was only new updates of who did attend the event, what did they do and how many did attend? The fun was in fact more real and authentic, because more crowds gathered than the normal celebrity historic performances ever did. Many people ended up to be influential by showing up. This included the other celebrities and also well known fans, branded in various outfits. There were also big and well known celebrity sponsors. This was a massive event that took off without proper venue planning, yet things were going as planned. Order was systematically restructuring itself. Even though there was hash traffic, more cars.  In addition, the people were watching from top of their cars. Their spectator as an audience brought in another influential forces that united everybody in attendance. As fun and excitement grew bigger, it became uncontrollable to convince the audience that the event was indeed a prank. There was division in the audience. Some people thought that the celebrity was joking, while others thought that he was trying to prank them. It was not until Jack revealed his true self did many understand his point.  The crowds Snapped out of their minds. Ignorance and arrogance left them. More laughter and shock came from the background. Even worse, the media latest headlines was written all over news channels “Con Celebrity Prank Ever.” Some of the people in the audience, just did want to stop having Just on time, the actual celebrity appeared. He came from the front row and said, this “Thanks Con, I will take it from here, ladies and gentlemen.” He shake hands with Jack as a sign of appreciation through gesture. The celebrity asked, “What You name?” Jack replied, “Am Jack.” The celebrity led everyone to clap; and there was massive applause. Then the music started. The fun was taken to next level. The following day Jack became so famous, he was recognized for his best prank.


Couples’ Therapy I am considered to be the greatest marriage counselor on the planet; I haven’t met a couple that I wasn’t able to make peace with, especially with each other. That isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy a challenge; I can’t get too good at my trade or else I’ll get bored. But when my assistant calls my office, telling me that Zeus and Hera have made an appointment, I can’t deny the apprehension growing in my gut. I can’t help but hope that this is a joke, albeit one made in bad taste. “I booked an appointment for them just after lunch. I wouldn’t advise seeing those two on an empty stomach. I mean, Zeus and Hera, what a nightmare…” I can almost see Sadie shuddering in sympathy. “Please tell me you’re not referring to the Greek deities. As in, The King and Queen of the gods. Was it a prank call? Are they… code names?” I’m all too aware that I’m not using my therapy voice, that I’m pitchy and desperate and sweat is gathering on my brow, the back of my neck, the small of my back. Even I can’t do the impossible. Asking those two to make up was akin to asking the universe for a miracle. An entire mythology has been conceived on their tempestuous relationship. For the first time, I’m just not sure if I can manage this. As lost as I am in my own thoughts, I can barely register that Sadie is still speaking. “No joke, I’m afraid, Rita,” She says grimly. “I asked again. It’s really them.” I never imagined that it would come to this; years of hard work and schooling, all to see the most dysfunctional couple this side of Western civilization. “Good luck, you’ll need it.” \*\* After a hurried lunch down the street from the office, eaten so quickly I barely tasted it, I walk into the office and sit down at my desk, smoothing my hair back into its bun at the nape of my neck. Nerves like I haven’t felt since my first appointments were making my stomach dance; I mentally shake myself. *Get it together, Deidre. If anyone can fix those two, it’s you. You’re more famous than Dr. Phil and Oprah put together! What’s the worst that can happen?* One o’clock comes and goes, and by quarter past, there is a series of sharp knocks on the door. “Come in, please!” I call, sitting up straight. I get up and walk to the mini fridge next to the window, getting out two frosty bottles of water. I put the candy dish that sits on my desk on the small table that sat in between two chairs; I’ve found, in my line of work, that people tend to open up more when they were comfortable. Zeus and Hera make an imposing couple, powerful on any plane, whether it be Mount Olympus or my tiny office; even though this is my own domain, I am intimidated, though I would never admit it. Zeus enters the room first, in a sharply cut black and gray pinstriped suit, hand outstretched, his face jovial and friendly. But his eyes, a dark brown that they were almost black, are cold, dark tunnels; if I’d been in any situation but a professional setting, I would be running away. He is tall and muscular, with olive skin, dark curls, and the beginnings of a goatee, hiding a strong chin. He is appealing, if only from an aesthetic standpoint. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Evander,” He rumbles, and before I can shake his hand, as I intended, he kisses the top of my hand, smiling. “I’ve heard so many good things about you, I just knew that if anyone could help us with our… issues, it would be you.” Everyone knows that Zeus could put on a good front, surely no one more than his own wife. His mouth is spread in a wide, relaxed smile, as if he does this sort of thing all the time. I can’t deny that it set me on edge; there was a cold undertone to him that I immediately do not trust. Hera is sitting down already, twisting the top off of her water bottle and taking a quick swig. In her other hand, she takes a piece of candy and rolls it between her fingers. She is dressed beautifully, in a sapphire-blue dress that emphasized her ample figure, and she wears a necklace that matched her eyes, amethysts. With her long, lush red locks pulled up in a chignon, fair skin with the faintest sprinkling of freckles on her forehead and nose, her mouth painted a pale, demure pink, she and her husband cut a devastating contrast. I’ve read the myths, and I’ve always thought of Hera as an evil, wicked harpy who took out her husband’s infidelities on everyone else but him. But seeing her now, in front of my own eyes, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her position could not have been an enviable one. Zeus had been one of the Western world’s first scoundrels, in every sense of the word. “Thank you for fitting us in on such short notice, I apologize,” The goddess murmurs quietly, a comely flush flooding her pale cheeks. “Honestly… I just wasn’t sure what to do. Things have been going so wrong between us, for years now. And if you’re the best, surely you could help us.” She is smiling at me, but her eyes cut to her husband, and soon her lips thin in a defiant line; I can see immediately why they were on the wrong page. “I’m happy to help,” I say, smiling at them both. “It is my job, after all. Now, we’re going to begin with an honest dialogue. The rule is we don’t speak until the other person is done talking. Thus, each of you will have time to air your grievances and speak about your problems, and then we can set about beginning to fix them. Who would like to go first?” Hera looks up. “I’d like to go first, please, Doctor. If… my lord husband will permit me.” She frowns at her husband, who smirks, shrugging, as if to say, *By all means, lady wife.* “Go ahead.” I say, putting a box of tissues on the table next to her, should she need it. “I also want to note that I will not be passing judgement on either of you. That isn’t what you’re paying me for, so please feel free to express what’s really on your mind. Nothing either of you say will leave this room.” Hera, it seems, doesn’t need any more encouragement than that, because she begins to speak, her voice trembling and her eyes full of unshed tears. “My husband and I,” She begins, and I note how she doesn’t seem to have any sort of identity outside of her spouse or marriage, a red flag right off the bat, “We are the King and Queen of the Greek gods, and as I’m sure you know, I am the goddess of marriage. Of childbirth. So, you must understand how embarrassing it is for me, that my own husband often frequents the beds of mortals, goddesses, and whoever he shows attraction to. It’s not fair, not to me, our children, our whole family!” I nod quietly, not wanting to say anything else unless she’s not finished. Hera reaches for the tissue box, delicately plucking one and holding it to her streaming eyes. “I… I’m sorry.” She murmurs, eyes cast downward, tissue clenched in her fist. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.” I notice how, after this outburst, Zeus has turned away from his wife, legs crossed, hands clenched into fists in his lap, neck flushing red, with anger or embarrassment, I cannot tell. I’m good at reading people, but Zeus is clearly well-versed in hiding his emotions; I can’t get a read off of him, even while his wife pours her heart out on the floor beside him. “Is that all you wanted to say, Hera?” I ask, turning my gaze back to her, and she nods, though she is glaring at her husband with narrowed eyes. If looks could kill… “Yes, Dr. Evander. Thank you for listening,” She whispers, and I smile at her, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “Of course. All right, now it’s Zeus’s turn. Do you have anything to say to your wife?” I ask, dreading the answer. The answering silence is thick with things unsaid, the tension climbing until even I begin to squirm. He nods, running a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath, and looks at Hera. “You know, I wouldn’t have to go to other women if you were more attentive to me and my needs. Ever since that whole ugly incident with Hephaestus, you’ve been acting insufferable.” Hera blinks, more stunned than if he had slapped her. *“That incident with Hephaestus? You threw our son off of a cliff!”* Her voice climbs to a shrill, hysterical shriek, and I wince, quickly standing up and putting myself between them. “Now, let’s just calm down. I’m officially taking you two on as my clients, because unfortunately, time is up.


He had five bullet wounds in total: two in his torso, one in his right shoulder, lower abdomen and a scrape on the inner side of his right calf. That wasn’t what occupied Dale’s mind at the time though. He was more wounded by his gang's readiness to gun him down. The men he considered his brothers no more than three days ago were now trying to take him out of the sky as he fled his past life. The distinct sound of their Buzzer jets told him it was Bill and Bach close behind him. He never liked the two. They were never up to any good, no one was, but the two had a special way of going about it. Dale quickly cleared his mind, the longer he thought of all those men the more this whole situation weighed on him. He locked his jump drive on SPEN-64201, the planet he had planned a homestead with his fiancé, Diane. His dream was doomed, however. He was dying and Diane- Diane was already dead. As his engines spun up and prepared for the jump Bill and Bach chewed away bits of his ship. He lost them with ease though, once the jump was initiated. The only people who knew about his plan, D, Mark and him were either dead or dying so he didn’t worry about being followed. He skipped through the universe like a rock on the water. On the other side of the divide, he was met with a planet so bright he was almost blinded by it. In his hurry, he forgot to darken his windows. Once his vision adjusted, and sight of the beautiful planet established, a tear worked its confused way through the beads of sweat and joined the blood in his lap. He entered the atmosphere with haste, but enough patience to keep his swinger from catching fire. He flew past the northern hemisphere looking for a place to stop, a place to rest his spirit. He was getting too low to the ground now. Gravity had more control over the ship than he did. It guided the worn ship into a hill above a clearing which was home to a wandering river. The landing wasn't gentle. The force from the collision acquainted his nose with the dashboard of the ship. Blood now reached from his nose down to his shirt, already dark red with the blood of his previous wounds. Still jumping with adrenaline, he cracked the door to his ship open and fell out. Over the span of a minute Dale slowly dragged his corpse toward a big tree, must have been hundreds of years old, he thought. There was almost no strength left in his body, just enough to maintain a grasp on conscience, no matter how weak. At this point it was more his spirit pulling him along than his two remaining, functioning limbs. After what felt like an eternity, he slumped what remained of his body against the tree and looked out at the horizon. An evening breeze this far south would have regularly chilled a man to the bone, but it felt pleasant upon his wet skin in his dying moments. The weight of his guns didn’t affect his body at all, but he had to get them away from him. With his good hand he removed one, set it on his lap. Then removed the other and proceeded to throw them, one at a time as far as he could. They didn’t make it very far, maybe a yard or two at most. He removed his bandolier then and tossed it aside. He could feel the blood leaving his body and taking his life with it into the ground. He dug into his left pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, it was bent, he paid it no mind and set it in his mouth. His hand went back into his pocket and pulled his harmonica out. Not what he had in mind, he looked at the harmonica for a minute though, looking back on all the times he played it while sitting around a fire with D. He set it at his side and reached back into his pocket and this time brought out a lighter which lit his cigarette. Lastly, he reached up slowly with his left hand, removed his hat and set it atop his harmonica, close at his side. His head finally rested against the tree. He took a short drag of his cigarette and took in what a sunset he was before. The clouds along the horizon; all different shades of yellow, orange and pink, the sky directly above, a pale shade of blue and the clearing and surrounding trees, blessed with an amazing orange light. The river reflected the dazzling colors. Dale took the cigarette out of his mouth and pinched it out with his bare hand, he felt nothing now, it was all fading away. He enjoyed his last few breaths of the fresh air. Despite all that he's been through in the past few days, hell, the past few years it was all coming to an end. Here and now as he closed his eyes for the last time, all the pain left his body. The brilliant light of the sunset turned from orange to white. He couldn't open his eyes. He stayed there a moment, rubbed his eyes and realized they were already open, the light in front of him wasn’t a sunset anymore. *It was heaven*.


Hi, sorry if this is in the wrong place, but I really need some help. I am a Drama teacher and I want my students to engage more with stories, books, plays, scripts etc… I like using very short stories for them to create from. By very short stories I’m talking at the most 4/5 paragraphs. Something that isn’t going to take them too long to read. I am looking for anything that isn’t too childish really. I’m looking for anything from drama, horror, suspense, thriller, anything that will allow them to engage their creative brains into thinking about storytelling. Would anyone be able to recommend a book, site, some part of this sub or even their own work for me to use with my students? Any help would be greatly appreciated.


"Are you coming tonight?" Texts Melissa. "Coming where?" I replied. "For planning the camping trip!..hmm, did you forget?" "Ohh, I'll have to check with my mother about that," I stated. Well, you see, it's not my mother. She already said I could go, but I'm just a little hesitant. What if I don't fit in with the cool kids? What if I get lost?! Melissa, Annie, and her brother Andrew invited a couple of other classmates and me to this mountain camping trip, but I'm not sure if I want to go. Don't get me wrong; I'm excited about the opportunity but just a bit nervous. There's going to be so many people there. What if I mess up? I'm going to be a laughing stock! It's Friday today, and also my last day to decide. Therefore, I have to be quick so that I can inform the group in advance. During breakfast, my dad asked me, "Hey, so about that camping trip, are you going?" "Uhmm, should I?" I responded. "Of course you should! I would If I were you" "All the mountain scents and fluffy marshmallows, Oh and the super scary stories!" He describes passionately. That sounds very...interactive..I thought to myself. After a bit of contemplating, I decided to give it a go. What's the worst that could happen, right? The following day, we all met at the bus stop and began the long journey. "Just three hours, seven minutes, and ten seconds away, guys!" remarks Andrew. "ugh..could you not, Andrew?" murmured Annie. We were an hour in, and some people had already started exchanging snacks. And oh boy, was it getting loud. Melissa and I are besties, but since she was asleep, I was a bit bored. The best way I can describe it is like an old sack of potatoes. No literally.

I decided to go to the last seat and take a nap.

I woke up a little before we arrived at our destination and decided to read a book. As I turned to the next page, everyone started screaming, "Truth or dare!" "Truth OR dArE!!" God, what a fun game for an introvert like me. But luckily, we were almost there in five minutes, so no eternal torture has occurred yet. As we got out of the bus, tall, icy mountains and green gold grass stare directly at our faces. Dad was right; it does smell so..refreshing! The stunning mountain scents took away our lost souls for a moment and returned them with a light breeze. Just like that, we were here.

"Whos hungry?" Asked Melissa. It was a long hike up to the mountain top, so we figured we'd have lunch first. So we settled in this vintage-ish-looking restaurant that surprisingly only sold noodles and green tea. But I love noodles, so yay! We waited for our food to come. Meanwhile, I glanced at the painting hung on the wall. It looked old..too old, in fact. Parts of the paint chipping off, falling to the wooden floor. "Food is here!" said the waitress joyfully.

After having lunch, I took a last peek at the restaurant and left with my friends. It was about three P.M., and we started walking uphill. Apparently, it would take an hour to get there. *One hour later* "Ohh, we are finally here!" says Melissa trying to catch a breath. "Ahh, spider!!" I yelled and tripped to the rocky ground. "Hahaha," Andrew laughed hysterically. "Not funny!" I cried. "Tha..t..that..was a fake spidey, y'know?" He continues to laugh at my stupidity. "Geez.." goes Melissa.

We started setting up our blue and orange tents. I had a bit of trouble doing that at first.."A little." "Ahh, oop. "Oh, crap, I can't even set up a tent..." I said while trying not to look like a fool. Luckily, Annie and Melissa had my back on that. After we finished putting the tents together, Andrew and I went for a short walk. "So, how does it feel like to finally socialize, huh?" Asked Andrew. "Well... it's good, I guess. I'm just not used to being with so many people at once." We walked across the bridge, and the view was immaculate. Nothing but beauty surrounds us. "You know, I've heard that there used to be a city here years and years ago," stated Andrew. "A city? Really..when?" "I don't know, but quite long ago..I heard of it in the news...archeologists are still on the hunt for more info." He replied. It was getting a bit dark out, so we decided to head back. Melissa, I, and a couple of other members made some chicken skewers for dinner. And after having dinner, I read a book and went to sleep. *Phone alarm goes off* "Geez...tell your phone to shut up, Annie!" "Okay, you don't have to shout..." she replied quietly. We got up and quickly prepped some sausage breakfast sandwiches. "So, who wants to go explore the place?" Asked Melissa. I then realized that practically everyone but me raised their hand, so I did, too. "Great! we will leave after breakfast!" She tells enthusiastically.

We all met at the campfire and decided to split into groups for safety's sake. Me, Andrew, Melissa, and Grace were together in a group. We started walking, and ten minutes in, we saw the same lady from the restaurant. "Hey, so ya'll going for a walk?" "hmm, Yes, sort of," I replied. "Have fun, but don't cross the bridge," she said hesitantly. "Why, what's with the bridge?" Asked Grace. "Just. Don't. Cross. The. Bridge....you won't like it." She said in a suspicious tone.

The minute she left, Andrew made the most intelligent decision EVER. "We are crossing that bridge! I don't care, we are!" We continued walking for twenty minutes more, till we reached the bridge. "Hey, look, it's not worth our time; let's just go the other direction, k?" So says Melissa, trying to convince Andrew. "Why are you such a coward? It's just a bridge, seriously!" answers Andrew. "Ugh, fineee..." mumbles Melissa. We stepped on the wooden bridge, one by one, trying not to lose balance. The strings which kept it in place were shaking more than ever. "Oh. My. God! what if it fa.." "Ah, how positive you are, Grace!" Yells Melissa. As we almost made it to the other side, the bridge fragmented into thousands of tiny bits, moving our souls restless. At that moment, I saw nothing but black. I woke up in a cave, with everyone...but Andrew. I tried waking up Melissa and Grace. "wheres Andrew?!" Asked Melissa. "Well...you se.." "I knew it! It's all his fault!" cried Melissa. "What will we do now?" Asked Grace. "Try to find him..that foolish.." "Stop arguing, guys!" The cave was enormous; the more we kept going inside, the bigger it seemed to get. It was a neverending maze. I tried calling for help, but the signals were too weak. So we continued walking till we saw some form of light. Some form of hope -- is what we thought.

And the end of what seemed like the most extensive cave ever was a door. I turned the handle; "it's open.." I whispered. This wood seemed familiar, but I couldn't recall where I saw it. I opened the door, and it was a...a city! A legitimate town, inside a cave! Inside there was a staircase with thousands of houses. We walked up the stairs, trying to make no noise whatsoever: tiptoe and tiptoe. At the top of the staircase was another door, this time smaller.

I opened the door, and lo and behold, it was the same restaurant we had lunch in, and that "painting" was a secret door.

"So, you disobeyed me, huh?" We suddenly heard a voice from behind us. It was her. "I told you not to come, didn't I?" She says while looking at her razor-sharp nails. "What do you want?!" Shouted Grace. "Easy, easy. I'm sure you don't like to see your friend getting hurt, do ya?" "Frien...Andrew! He's here!" I said, both happy and scared. "Hmm, listen, why don't you chipmunks pack your bags and permanently leave? I don't want ANYONE finding out about this city..Understood!" She screamed straight to our faces. We agreed - we had no other option. "Also, if you tell anyone about this, I will know. Mark my words. Now LEAVE!"

She released Andrew from her "so-called" restaurant, and we sprinted uphill. The incident left us shivering, staring at the full moon while having a bonfire. Trying to ignore what even happened.

The next afternoon, we packed our bags and were ready to head home. After arriving at home, my dad asked me, "So, how was the trip?" "Umm, it was pretty good...definitely didn't find a city or something.." I replied. "Haha, you kids be daydreaming, there's no such thing as a hidden city, REMEMBER. " I heard her voice in each letter of that word.


Old Recipes

She crushed her pills into her water and swallowed a swig before raising a dry hand to her moist lips. Her eyes darted to her daughter, standing tall on a bar stool stirring something in a bowl. Katey loved to cook and bake, a passion she seemed to just inhabit out of nowhere. Fingers dawdled over the shelf that held the cook books from generations ago, concealing recipes of many family favorites.

Today she’d be cooking something simpler, something she’d love eating, but not so much for her mother, as nutrition was getting steadily more important in her coming years. She’d be making chocolate chip cookies, and she had to have a certain recipe to feel as if she was satisfied. Things like that had to be specific, crucial to her cooking manner.

Katey sat down on the bar stool, her legs swaying just over the ground, hovering in a timeless air. She was pondering what recipe to use, as if her brain had memorized all the cookies she had ever eaten and already knew their recipes.

She looked up from her magazine as she heard her daughter call out to her from the kitchen.

“Where’s grandma’s recipe book?” She asked. Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she began to look around for an excuse. She didn’t even know where she put the damn thing; she buried it somewhere, just like she did with everything her mother had touched after she passed. For the first time in a while, she felt as though remnants of her were beginning to sprout.

Trying to find it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and opening something that still had grandma attached to it would open up something her mother did not want to invite in.

“I don’t know, Katey. Try the top shelf.” It was where most of the cookbooks were anyways. “I already did.” She responded, as she began to hear the cabinets close- like the doors slowly closing in on her. She felt she would never be able to escape her mother’s wrath, her grasp from beyond the grave, something coming to take her life back. “Is there another recipe you like?” She asked, looking for an answer that would be a way out.

“No, not really. Grandma always made the best cookies when we visited and had the best recipes. She gave them all to you, so I don’t know where you put them.”

Whether it was just an old excuse or genuine memory loss, she really didn’t know. She just wished it would store itself away instead of dumping it onto her shoulders, like everything her mother had given her had done.

There was no legacy for her kin, no memories lively enough to look back to, no inheritance besides the mental illnesses she received from her mother. She didn’t want to even think about trying to find the book, but it felt as if Katey needed to have it in her hands in order to make these cookies.

There was silence in the house as Katey began to continue gathering her supplies and scour for new recipes. She felt guilty about not being able to provide for her daughter’s needs- even the small things like this, making it feel as if she was stranded, so she pushed herself up and made way to the closet in the hallway. Legs that knew the hurt and truth behind the thin door of the closet wanted to turn around and escape it, hoping that her daughter would find a new recipe and go on with her routine, but she willed herself on for her daughter. It was the grave of her mother, and going near it felt ominous. It felt as though she lingered near, wanting to protect the things she left behind.

She swung the door open, a mountain of memories like an avalanche, came crumbling down. Smells of worn out years, black and white candids, bags of jewelry that would never be worn. Frames like white bones, earrings like teeth from a carcass.

This really is that bad. I didn’t think she was this much of a collector, consolidating her whole life into all these belongings. It’ll take years to go through all of this.

A roach appeared from a small corner where there were scattered belongings and it scurried behind some bags of items that were never discovered, at least to her knowledge.

Great. It felt like she was at a cemetery, watching maggots feast on her mother’s body.

She began to peel back one of the trash bags, by some luck containing books that used to be strewn all across her mother’s house. Only true fortune would bring her to find the book as quickly as possible so she could please her daughter.

She opened a leather-bound book, revealing yellow pages of scrawled handwriting. If this was the book, there was no way Katey would be able to read the scribbles. She tossed it back into the bag and sighed heavily.

She tried to think of the last time her mother had done something for her daughter, and almost laughed as the thought seemed improbable. It was almost like a joke. The only thing her mother had given her were years of trauma and depression. Katey’s grandmother was no joyous angel as was often described. She was an avid alcoholic, smashing bottles against walls and things in the house that were closest to her. Very short-tempered and bipolar, often crashing without her daily medicine prescribed over-the-counter. The whole town knew her name, knew her legacy- mainly from the hospital visits.

It had become her job to call the cops when she passed out on the couch or was raging wildly. She shuddered at the thought of leaving that behind for her daughter, for her to cope with that legacy always at the back of her mind. For her to continue on life when she was gone and still feel that presence of her terrifying mother was unbearable.

That’s why she moved when she became pregnant with Katey. Staying posed the risk of an highly unwanted miscarriage, and leaving meant new life, new opportunities for the both of them. It was a clear decision to make, but not exactly proving easy.

It had always made her sad when Katey began to ask questions about her relatives, where they were and why they never visited. It was the same ordeal with all of them, scrambling as soon as they could, not keeping in contact for fear their mother would come after them and plague their new lives with her distress and wild temper.

She searched deeper into the bag, arms being impaled by the edges and spines of weary books. Randomly, she pulled another book out, and flipped to an open page. The writing was cleaner, more organized, obviously implying its older age.

There was a diary heading.

November 18, 1978 Elli has her third grade fall pictures soon, and Charles and I have scraped together just enough money for us to have three pictures. One for us, some for her- if she wants them. She comes home from school, goes into her room, and waits for dinner, expecting it to be made. I worry about her sanity and expectations of other people. I hope she has friends at school. Then, she would have something I didn’t. She got a lot from me - my hair, my eyes, my nose. It seems as though my whole identity has been robbed of me.

I want the pictures now. I’ll see myself in them. I can make her just like me, something of my own. Maybe I can envision the life I never had.

She rubbed her finger over the worn out and dried ink, like raisins sucked of their very being. She held her breath in her throat, not wanting to let it go because she felt it would disappear into the hands of her mother.

She flipped through the pages, trying to look for the date after she had left with Katey. She knew that would be an interesting entry.

March 17, 1992 Elli has left me. Charles has left me, for a while now. I knew Elli was pregnant, and I will find that child. I will find her. They are the closest things to me because Elli has a life destined just like mine. I want to be there to see it crumble. I want to raise another child like my own- and start over. Elli doesn’t deserve that child. No. No. No. I do.

Some day I might miss them. She threw the book away in another trash bin, one that was going to the landfill for sure. She wouldn’t read any more entries, not that she wanted to anyways.

She continued to file through books, albums of pictures of her younger self that were kept clean in her mother’s presence, but had now grown layers of dust around the covers. It felt strange to look back at that, and being able to pinpoint the exact moment in time it happened because she had the traumatic memories so dramatically engrained in her head.  Looking at her younger self, felt like she was looking at another person, only a small thread connecting the two. It felt like two strangers, bound together by two seats right next to each other in the city tram, left to sit in each other’s wake of silence and intensity as they said nothing until their next stop.

She could hear Katey whisking up some things in the kitchen, occasionally hearing the pitter-patter of her feet as she walked to and from the pantry gathering supplies and rounding the countertops to check in the bottom drawers for larger bowls.

She was a very disorganized baker, very frenzied, but it made her delicacies all the better. After hours of searching through the legacies of a broken mother, there were three books left in the bag. There was a red cover on one that seemed appealing enough to pick, so aching arms and fingers flipped open to a random page, landing on a cream pie recipe. Her mother had made this once for a bake sale at school, but had caused a scene the day Elli was supposed to help run the sale. It felt like a wave of relief washed over her, no one would remember that except her, and that embarrassment was all taken away with her mother.

Her shoulders sagged, relaxing, as if to say, ‘ at last’.

She continued to flip through the pages until she found chocolate chip cookies, and dog-eared it. She blew the dust off the cover, and tucked it endearingly under her arm as she strolled into the kitchen with a pleased smile.

Her mother left her a legacy she would use to her advantage, she was no longer controlled by her, no strings attached to her. It felt like all the feelings, all the cherished and not cherished memories, all the collected items were being uprooted for good, and some were being buried. Her mother would be buried with them, taking them wherever she went now, a load onto her shoulders.

She shut the door behind her, like closing the lid to the casket, and took a deep breath. This was her legacy now. One for her daughter, and continuing on. She would see the joyous spark in Katey's eyes and that would be enough to fix all the hurt, all the glass shattering of bottles and all-too-easily-broken hearts.

It would be enough to fix the shaken nights, the nights in hospitals and the evenings after school, everything that led to the crushing tentatively of pills plopped into water. And it started with this, a new life, a new legacy for herself.

She found Katey stooped over in the kitchen, displeased, going through recipes that weren’t ‘just right’. With a smile, she exclaimed brightly,

“Katey, I found an old recipe book. Want to make some cookies with me?”

Katey’s head turned sideways and looked at her with an expression of joy and excitement.

“You found it!”

Katey ran to her and crashed into her mother’s legs, now weakened from being bent while going through the closet. She nuzzled her head against Elli’s thighs before running back to her position at the bar stool.

She opened the dog-eared page and began calling out to her mother for certain ingredients. Her mother internally laughed as she followed them like orders, collecting the needed supplies from the fridge. Katey mixed and mixed in the larger bowl she had retrieved, and with the work of the duo, were able to get the cookies in the oven in no time.

Despite her promise, Elli had a few bites of the soft cookie, teeth sinking deeply into the cookie and embellishing her mouth with the chocolate gooey-ness. It felt amazing to be making new memories with her daughter, ones that her daughter would carry on forever.

With big eyes that seemed to hold every emotion Elli had ever experienced, Katey looked up to her mother with a warm smile. She was relieved to pass something down to her daughter that wasn’t unpleasant or something of a burden.

It felt like she was truly a mother despite spending countless nights awake by her bedside, changing diapers that threatened to extinguish her sense of smell. She felt like she was truly leaving a legacy for her daughter, like footprints in sand.

And Elli knew that one day her daughter would be stepping in those footprints, following the path her mother set out for her.

She looked down at her daughter, the red-cover book of recipes embalmed in sweaty hands. She pushed it into her daughter’s still-growing palms and bent down to whisper in her ear,

“This is my legacy to you. Take good care of it for me.”