A Turn of the Tide Tiberius Jackson Caution: This story contains graphic content and discusses a sensitive social issue. While this story involves two minority groups, I assure you that has been written with the upmost respect towards both parties, and serves as a lesson, not for the parties involved, but hopefully, for all mankind. For the first time in nearly six years, after having beaten the white man at his own political game – through death, uprisings, complex legislature, and historical pillaging, it seems that only now, in these moments, we must question whether or not we truly deserve this hard-won freedom. I used to believe, with every fiber of my being, that we did, that our cause mattered, and that we were better. So how, after everything I’d promised our people, could we have ended up here, with yet another man standing before a crazed mob, a noose around his neck, seconds away from coming full circle with those greedy masters who once slipped the ropes around our own lives? Have we already lost? Is this really it? A stream of sweat pours from the stiffening fingers behind my back. A throbbing in my chest betrays me, impressing the frantic outline of my heart into the stitches of my suit. My wife stands to my right, coveted by her famously recognizable green dress that elegantly flows past her toes. Her eyes seem barely protected by the same fragility as mine, wondering when the crowd will shatter these masks to reveal the doubts which so clearly hide underneath. How have they not found me out? How has my betrayal not been noticed? Why do I not speak? I cannot speak. I must remain still, conveying this false confidence which allows me to retain my image of authority. Though, for being an authority, how did this decision ever come to pass? Whose decision was this, if not mine? The crowds? Are we truly offering up this man’s life on social consensus? It wasn’t so long ago when the lives of our own grandparents were unfairly cut short in the same way. Hounds, I would say, like hyenas, a hunger for the prey before them, their teeth practically gnawing on the bones of this living corpse. An endless smattering of faces cocked upwards to view the spectacle they so deeply desired a few hours ago. A stage, quickly constructed from splintered cedar and rusted nails now becomes a prop in one of the first pages of our history book, a history which only began a few short months ago. There was no grass, or sidewalks, or streets, only the determined faces of a mob seeking their idea of justice – I hardly recognize any of them now. My people, where have they gone? I need to believe it prudent, in these slipping seconds, to reconsider what we’re doing. Though, how can I possibly entertain such thoughts now? How can I admit, after being entrusted with the freedom of my brothers and sisters, and this new country, forever stained by centuries of blood and plight, that we may have been wrong? That here, in the spiraling chaos, we’re proving every accusation against us true, and there appears only one path towards salvation, but it burns away into ash with every stomp of the ground, raising of a fist, and call for death. Chaos pierces my ears, the chorus of a mad conductor, hysterically blaring his horn to an out-of-control train. The noise overshadows the once feint cries of a family – a tribe – who desperately seek to end this unexpected turn of events. A father, their chief, only fighting for what he believed originally theirs. It all started out so civil, with us, our race, finally having the power to grant such a request. But how, how did it end up like this? Why can’t our people empathize with the situation? It was only a desire for fertile land, an admittance that a wrongdoing was done by the same hand which wronged us. A dream, for the same freedom we now relish in, which both luck and cultural circumstances finally granted our collective – benefits of which they have never known, banished to the undesirable corners of a country to become the fading remnants of a forgotten past. Surely, surely, we can empathize! I watch, helpless, as a wife suffocates on her own tears, scraping and flailing to break through the impenetrable barricade before her, a voice which I can only glimpse through the distance but cannot make out. She is about to join the ranks of those wives and mothers who were subject to a similar branding, the devouring of a warmth and love which will never be felt again. I witness an exhaustless desperation in her face, and in those beside her. A dozen, maybe a hundred, I cannot tell, as a thousand others obscure my vision. I can practically see the steam rising from my hands as the sun burns away both color and culture on this cloudless day – though, I’d prefer the clouds now. The Georgia Oaks in attendance, sporadically towering over the various spectators dawn every leaf of their bloom, dancing to the song of this performance. The breeze is but a hesitant breath, at least to me, barely piercing the numbness of the moment. This is wrong . We are better than this! We fought too hard and suffered too long to allow such a gift to become the poison which murders our dream. But how? How do I prevent this senseless act without drawing the noose around my own neck? Should I do so for the sake of morality? Save this man’s life because it is right, especially when his intentions were peaceful and justified? Or do I focus on what my people need? We’ve just won a war of five-hundred years, earning a sovereignty that won’t easily be granted twice. If we do this proper and prove that a seemingly undeservant nation of color can perform this miracle, then we can pave the way for others to do the same. So then, is this really a death? Is this man’s life worth betraying our cause? Or can he serve as a martyr, killed for a goal which seems eternally out of reach for his people, and yet, one which we may be able to make reality should we succeed? This cannot happen if we fail, if our efforts prove fruitless, further proving to the old-world that we were only ever a shallow, outspoken voice, and that they were right about us all along. Yes… We cannot afford to call the ships back, or radio the planes to return, admitting to their prestigious passengers that we’d made a terrible mistake. If one man must die for the sake of a million, then he must die. Right? No. What am I saying? The way must matter. How we reach the promised land must be just as important as the arrival itself. If we suddenly believe that innocent lives can be sacrificed, without care of color or race, so that our future is ensured, then we become no better than the pale-faced tyrants who stole us from our homelands and enslaved us under their whips. We must care about how we reach the end, because if we prove ourselves no better than our predecessors, then we never really won the war in the first place, and this so-called experiment will only produce the same inevitable future for another race of men, though this time, a darker face becoming the mask of the tyrants. But how do I make them see the truth? If I stand up now, I may very well find myself on the same three-legged stool where the chief now stands, sharing the endless volleys of ignorance and hate. What if I am the only one in this country who realizes this? What if I am the only one who can bring this to fruition for our people? Should this be the case, then silence is my duty. I must stay my hand, and my heart, in order to give myself a platform to make this future possible. I cannot interfere, because if I am to join the sacrificed, then whoever takes my place may lead us further into damnation, a familiar origin which bound our feet and forced our hands in the first place. A ringmaster appears on stage, her feet playfully sliding towards the chief. I’m stuck within my own thoughts, without care to know her face, or give her another moments attention. Though, fueled by the cries of the crowd, a sadistic excitement overcomes her, infusing the heart with a molested sense of fame, and creating a desire for more. The crowd, in turn, becomes fed by this puppeteer’s teaseful acts. She gently kicks the corners of the stool, inviting the victim atop to stumble for balance. The volume of cheers and angst increases, just as the screams inside my own head grow ever clearer. My vision tunnels, blurring the outside scene through the focus on only one set of eyes. The chief’s chin rests on his shoulder, a ravine of twisted trails carved into his neck. No fire spits on me through eyes so bleak, yet their softness dresses me in an essence of fatherly disappointment. Suddenly, I am made the true victim of this death. His courage and conviction cut through the noise like ripples overcoming stormy waters. He, not me, was the wiser, as his decision to die for the future of his people proved me a coward, unable to stand up for a simple injustice which was unfolding all too quickly. An injustice, which, would not set us apart from our treacherous forebearers, but openly welcome their spirit back into our lives, forsaking the bonds of our history with outstretched arms as if warmfully greeting old friends. Though the rope began to paint his neck with the shade of inevitability, an unexpected opposition began to resist the coming moment – the spirit of a true leader emerging – fearless, prepared. He knows, he must, what he’s dying for, and it comforts him. A tribe, who’d been under the yoke of the same institution which our own in chains. We should be brothers – he and I – and yet, a simple request for land, of which their ancestors had cultivated and revered long before our arrival, suddenly turned him into the enemy in the eyes of the masses. If we are to save ourselves, we must be different, and whether that is realized now, or a hundred years from this day, it doesn’t just rest on my shoulders to make it true. I cannot be willing to sacrifice my own principles out of fear that my people will parish, and I must begin to set the example for which they elected me to do. I was entrusted; therefore, they must learn to trust. If we’re to thrive in our new society, we must first survive the aftermath of our history. Just as childhood trauma expresses itself unconsciously in adulthood, so too, will the scars of our past express themselves throughout our own journey of development. This cannot be understated and should serve as the very platform by which we create our new culture.  It’s so clear to me now, and I know what I must do. I must stop this ungodly act! No more, will a soul be persecuted impulsively, and through such barbaric means. Our kind will no longer be fed by pitied hands, or seen as the rats who overcrowd the sewers of society. Instead, we shall be remembered as those who built one of the greatest empires in human history. We will change, and we have the power to do so, we just lack the drive to evolve into our greatest selves. My hands release to raise the overdue point, a line of sweat coloring the splinters below. I tear the seams from my lips which kept me silent these last hours, uttering the first of my words, but as I begin to speak, the stool… The crack of the stool renders me mute, for it wasn’t the only crack which overwhelmed my senses. Screams and cheers entertain themselves through interspersed smiles and hugs. The hangman raises her arms in victory. A wife, paralyzed, disappears behind the celebration. I, the man who allowed this to happen, waited too long, and now it’s too late. An innocent soul flees into the infinite blue backwater above, while my quivering lip begins to contemplate the question which seems only apparent to my tearful wife and I – tears which now paint a different picture of what our future is likely to become. My God, is the end?


Space Adventure To Paradise (And Back) What, where am I? My head feels so strange, like a clamp is pressing in on either side of my face. So this must be space.. Tim’s eyes darted around through his helmet to the great blackness beyond. After a minute, he could see little dots of light, but they seemed very far away. He felt compressed in his space suit, and wriggled in it as best as he could, seeking a sense of freedom, but the part encasing his feet was so heavy. Of course, to combat weightlessness.           Suddenly, Tim felt a heightening of reality accompanied by fear. Would he be out here until his death? How could he get back into the rocket where he had been before, no one was there to pull him back into the cabin.

         He thought back, how unexpected and sad to have Bill die. Bill had a painful accident too, impaled by some sharp equipment. They had set up a sharp stake to hold important papers down, but no one thought of the potential hazard for the weightless astronauts bouncing around the cabin. Tim took pictures, even through his shock, to establish it was an accident, and not something more sinister. Then somehow his effort to check the rocket was able to go forward went really wrong. He was locked outside. Tim must have blacked out for a moment and become disoriented.

Action. I need to busy myself with a plan. Tim moved gently towards the cabin holding the rope that was attached to him, the rope that was pressed into the locked door of the cabin. He was like a balloon on the end of a string, so it wasn’t easy to move in towards the cabin door. At last he reached it. He tried to pull the door open, but as he did, the rope tore. He began to float slightly away from the spaceship into the darkness beyond. He moved slower in space than he ever thought he would.

I feel utterly alone. I’m going to die here alone. Just as Tim was thinking this, a golden flame began to bolt quickly towards him from a distance. He saw as it approached closer, that it was

 a wondrously strong-looking angel! This angel also resembled the medieval Italian artists’ depiction of angels except its hair was living and moving all the time, as if made of warm fireplace flames. The angel stood before him, fiery hair dancing, golden robes rippling, and gestured to Tim to remove his helmet. At first Tim’s eyes were incredulous, then stern, as he refused. The angel just looked at him, nodding patiently. Then he thought about his options. I’m bound to die soon. I might as well have company, and follow this apparition.               Tim removed his helmet. He knew he should feel like he was being drowned, or being smothered, but he did not! He felt freedom and peace. He also felt like he was looking down on himself from somewhere higher. The angel put one golden hand on his arm, and they both flew up and away from his helmetless body and the spaceship. The angel reassured him that all who he had left behind would be just fine.             Tim noticed his senses were so enhanced. He really felt like he was living for the first time, and the life he thought he had before was some form of pale, suffocated phony existence. He could see 360 degrees around him. If this was death, why had he ever been afraid? He could breathe, he saw colors he never knew existed. Reds deeper than scarlet, wilder than magenta, yellows brighter than can be described, greens that topped the most beautiful aurora borealis photographs. Tim had knowledge of all around him. He also had knowledge of his past life, and those he had known. It was like a woven tapestry in his mind of how his actions had affected others for good and for bad, all the connections to other people. He felt so very alive. He was ready for wherever the angel was leading him.

             They arrived at a beautiful place, all roses and lush gardens, and there in the middle of a distant garden stood a magnificently beautiful woman surrounded by many children. She shone like an angel, and yet, she seemed human. He wanted to meet her, but the angel led him away. There were waterfalls and many flower gardens, angelic creatures and happy people enjoying the perfect weather. Everything smelled better, looked brighter, felt more real than ever before. Tim spotted Bill, who waved to him joyfully as he joined some people who looked like they could be Bill’s relatives. Tim followed the angel, marveling at everything, and how his legs didn’t feel tired at all, though they had walked a long way, and leaving the suit was usually exhausting. Tim felt like he could walk forever if need be. The angel seemed to be enjoying guiding Tim around.

      Then Tim met with someone greater, someone he knew was The One. The One saw right through him, and told him he was going back, because his mission was incomplete. The One said, “We brought you here, so you would know you are never utterly alone. I’m always holding you. You have to know how your life affects others too. You have just a little more time to make it right.”             Then The One showed him many things, like why there were mosquitoes plaguing humans, why the dinosaurs died out and when, why the human mind can help heal the body, and so many things He could read in Tim's mind the desire to know.              Tim listened, then wept a cleansing kind of weeping, overwhelmed with the knowledge, and the beauty, and the mercy of it all. He would never doubt again. He then began to weep sadly, because he did not want to return to complete his mission on earth. He knew those who loved him would be just fine without him. The angel had told him so. So why couldn’t he stay? He tried to ask to stay, but the words wouldn’t come out. He knew it was no use. It was as if The One answered his request in Tim's head.            As the angel led him back from Paradise the long distance to the rocket lingering in space below, Tim asked it how he could return to earth. The angel said, “You should know by now if The One sends you back, you will safely return.” Tim accepted what was happening, and watched the streaking comets and the meteor showers with a heightened sense of awareness and appreciation.          As they approached his body, Tim suddenly felt a bit deflated. He was going back to the world, that was a miserable pale shadow of the one he had just left. He reentered his body, but learned it was different to unite soul and body now. As he buckled the floating helmet onto his head, he realized there was a warm, pleasant burning inside of him, a new peace. He still retained the vivid memory of where he had been, and all that had been said to him. He would never be the same, and if others on earth didn’t understand, that was okay. He knew. He knew what his mission was, and how to live each moment of his life. Above all, he knew he needed to return to The One to stay. The angel led him to the entrance, and opened the rocket door for Tim. Tim calmly entered, knowing his return to earth would be viewed as a miracle, then probably quickly forgotten by most. But he would never forget.


Albany, New York. 2018

“Now you’re sure you want to give up the house, Mr. Butler?” The older man smiled at the question and nodded. “None of my siblings are around anymore and the kids don’t want it. I can’t take care of it anymore, I know mom and dad would want it to go to a nice couple like you. Especially with your baby on the way.” I smiled as I shook his hand and he handed me the keys to the house. The farmhouse was a gorgeous yellow color with grey accents. The house was surrounded by beautiful trees, though one stood out to me. “That tree looks younger than the others,” Noah commented. My husband was an expert on all things nature, especially trees. “There’s something else about it. I just don’t know yet.” He shrugged as he carried our things into the house. The inside had been recently redone to look more modern, but Mr. Butler left some older paintings on the wall.

“Isn’t it crazy, Evie? The man said that four generations of his family have grown up here,” My husband asked me. I nodded, thinking of all the stories that must’ve happened here.

Noah started to put things up inside, while I looked around outside. I looked up at the tree I had noticed before and it felt like it was calling to me. I examined it carefully when I spotted a sliver of gold inside a crevice high in the tree. Determined, I started to scale it, reaching for whatever was there. I grabbed a hold of it and pulled it out to discover a very weathered book. I opened it up to discover the name Alice Rioux written within, the Rioux was crossed out and Butler was underneath. I smiled to myself, realising it must belong to Mr. Butler’s mother. I turned the page to see a journal entry with the date, ‘April 5th, 1939.’ I sat there, reading through the pages until my husband called for me then returned it to its resting place. “You won’t believe what I found, Noah. He smirked, “What?” I told him about the journal I had found. “I guess that tree was special.” After we had unpacked everything and had takeout, I returned to the tree and continued reading. “You shouldn’t climb like that when pregnant,” Noah called out from the kitchen window. I just shook my head and kept reading. I had already read halfway through the journal from sitting there for only half an hour. I had learned that she lived her entire life in France, before moving to America when she was 21 and marrying her husband. She had a sister who lived in America as well, though she didn’t seem too fond of her.

I also found out that the tree I sat in was the tree they planted together, and I couldn’t help but feel connected to her.

As I continued to read, I found out that she got pregnant at twenty-two, the same age as me, and had a daughter, Violet. She had a total of four children, Mr. Butler was the youngest of them. Everything about her intrigued me, and she just felt so special to me. I was interrupted from my thoughts by my husband shouting my name. This time I brought the journal with me so I wouldn’t have to climb. “You enjoy your day of reading,” He chuckled as he kissed me on the cheek. I nodded and handed him the journal. “I’ve been thinking about names,” I stated confidently. “And what are you thinking, love?” “I want to name her Alice, Noah.” He smiled and nodded, “I like that name. Alice.” Albany, New York. 1939 “Not what you expected, Ms. Alice,” A local farm boy chuckled behind me. I sighed. The breeze hit my face harshly as I walked up to the falling apart farmhouse. “Edith called it a fixer upper but I would be better just tearing it down and building it up again,” I muttered. A good portion of the roof had caved in and the porch looked like it was rotting.

I looked back at the boy, smiling like a fool, before I finally decided to enter the house. The inside was just as bad. Mold and rot were everywhere. There was a couch, which I guessed was older than me, falling through the floor.

“So where are you staying till this place is fixed?” I took a deep breath, since Edith didn’t mention the state of the house I had planned on moving in immediately. “I have no idea,” I told him. I was starting to tear up, realizing how lost I was. Edith would never let me stay with her. She probably planned this out as a way to make me go back to France and leave her alone. “Hey, don’t cry, you can stay with me on my farm,” The boy piped up. I looked at him in confusion, this kid looked sixteen, he must’ve meant his family’s farm. Noticing my confusion he spoke up,” I’m not that young. I’m eighteen and I inherited it when my parents died.” I thought about it before realizing how insane it was. This boy was a stranger, and I hate the outdoors so why would I want to live on a farm. However, I didn’t have many other options. “What’s your name?” He smiled at me, “My name is Mickey. Mickey Butler.” “Well, Mickey, we should head home, “ I grinned at him and opened the door of my car for him. He seemed starstruck for a second after entering the car. “This is pretty fancy, Ms. Alice.” I chuckled. “Thank you and please just call me Alice.” He gave directions to his farm, which was only a mile away from the house.

His house stood on a top of a hill, surrounded by trees with fields below it. It was painted a faint yellow with white accents and was in much better condition than the home I just left. As the two of us left the car, I could hear barking as three dogs ambushed us. “You three quit it, we got guests,” Mick scolded them. He ushered me towards the door, shooing the dogs away. The house was decorated beautifully, with rose colored walls and paintings I would expect to find on display in France. All the furniture had intricate carvings, and everything was cleaned perfectly. “Everything here is beautiful,” I exclaimed. I could see Mickey getting red from the compliment. “My mama brought everything with her when she moved here from France.” I smiled, “Your mother was French.” He nodded as he took my bags upstairs. I followed him to a small room with a twin sized bed and couch. It was simple but I couldn’t complain since he offered me his home for no few.

I got all my things settled into my new room, and once I was happy with my new setup, I headed downstairs. “Hey, I’m making dinner. Are scrambled eggs alright with you?” I nodded before taking a seat at the table. “Oh, over on the counter there’s a seed for you.” I stood up, thinking I misheard him, and walked over to discover there in fact was a seed. “Why is there a seed for me,” I puzzled. He served dinner and replied, “Papa said you should plant a seed when you have new beginnings. Thought you could plant it on your new land.” I thanked him before eating my dinner. After we ate dinner, I went straight to bed since I had a long day ahead of me.

I woke up with the sun and packed my day bag. I went downstairs to find Mickey already awake. “Good morning,” he greeted me as he headed out to the fields. I followed him, letting him know I would be gone for the day before driving off to where my sister lived. She shared a small apartment intown with an older man, who she said was never home. She seemed almost a little shocked when she opened the door and I was there. “I thought you got on the first boat back to France, Ali.” I smirked, “After discovering the ‘perfect’ house in ruins, a local boy agreed to let me stay with him till I have things together.” She rolled her eyes and groaned, “It’ll take months to fix up that place. You’re better off in France.” “Well, I’ll hire people to take care of it and I’ll get a job to help pay for it and pay Mickey back for letting me stay with him.” She laughed, “No job you get is going to pay for all that and you told mom and dad you didn’t need your money.” I could feel myself getting angry and decided to leave. I got even angrier when I realized that she was right. I decided to return defeated to Mickey’s farm.

He waved from the fields as I drove up, and it made me feel a small bit better. I would miss him when I went back to France. Edith was right, I couldn’t live here, I had no idea how she managed to live here without our parent’s help. “Is everything okay, Alice?” I hadn’t even noticed him come up to me. “I’m afraid not. I can’t afford to get the house repaired or live anywhere else so I’m going to sell it and go back home. He looked shocked. “Absolutely not. You could’ve just asked, I’ll help you fix up the house.” I shook my head, “You’ve done too much already without me paying you.” He thought for a second, “ You can help around the farm. That’ll be your payment to me.” I knew he wasn’t going to let it go so I agreed.

So this is how Mickey and I worked for the next six months. I would tend to the farm while he worked on the house. He made me dinner every night when he got back, and we repeated this everyday except for Sundays, when he wouldn’t let either of us work. He started taking me to farmers markets to sell produce and we would go out to eat using some of our earnings afterwards. We got very close over this time, so close that he proposed to me. I said yes and we got married soon after. We sold the old farmhouse, and used the money to renovate the house.

I found the seed in one of my bags one time and remembered what Mick had said. I feel like the seed really did represent new beginnings, and I thanked it for the fortunate turn of events. Mickey and I planted it together next to the house, in the midst of the other trees. “It's a dogwood tree,” he told me as he planted it, “They’re beautiful in the spring.” He rubbed a bit of dirt on my face as I swatted away his muddy hands. “I love you, Mick.” “Love you too, Alice.”


Ones I had posted a photo on Instagram and after 2 hours I got the message from unknown person which is in my followers list and also facebook friend but I never know about him. The one message from that person who is unknown for me,changed my life fully. He is my junior in college time. We are from same department and in college we came across with each other but never talked. Coincidentally we are from same hometown. So when I post that photo I mentioned the location so he had came across that and send message to me. The message was very simple that hii you are from that hometown?and I replied yes how you know that hometown? ...and the chatting was continued till last night.After that we were talking on Instagram daily. It's just upto hi hello what are you doing like this, later on this continued and we became the good friends. The bond which made in us is very good. Later on we exchange our contact number with each other and start chatting on whatsapp. We regularly share our pics,thoughts and ideas with each other. In that period we knew each other very well and the trust were bulid in us. Slowly we are in the relationship which is more than the friendship. We like each other and most of the time our thoughts are similar. The feeling is awesome and it devoted towards the love. Because I felt that this is the person I am looking for. Many times he came to hometown for his work but we didn't meet. Because we had that much rules and regulations in our home. So we decided to meet other place which was far away from our hometown. In that period we felt that how was our relationship going on. Basically the other couples had meet there partner daily or weekly,enjoy the moments with their partners, taking selfies with each other share on social media. We were far away from that. After one year we had decided to go for the date. But in that one year period we only talk on whatsapp and calls. So that was very awkward moment for us and we had the small amount of fear in our mind. How we meet with each other we had that habit of talking on mobile only. How we face that moment is the main problem of us. And finally that day was came when we meet. That was the Sunday when we were going to meet with each other, finally see and feels the feelings. He send me the address where we had to go, and finally I go. We meet at the coffee shop where he was waiting for me. Just seeing me he smiled and said please seat. That was the first day when we are infront of each other. His smile and eyes shows that he was very happy. The same feelings I had also. First time we were together ❤. The moment was very happy and shying also. Around us many people were there. The waiters came and asked for an order. He ordered two coffees because coffee is our favorite drink. After some time when we finished our coffee he proposed me Infront of all on his knee and gifted me the watch. I really shocked at that moment because I never thought that he proposed me like that way and I cried at that moment and said yes to him. I really liked that moment which was memorable for me. He also cried because we are in the relationship from last one year and that was the first date. He hug me and kissed my forehead. That was the moment which is lovable for me. I felt like I got the all which I want in my life. He gives me the watch and my favorite chocolate which I like most. The people around us were clapping and said congratulations to us. After that we go to the theater for movie. He booked the tickets 2 days before, and he decided to feel me special through this date. The movie was started we were together and hi hold my hand,kissed and said that I love you from my bottom of heart I will never break this bond. Later on we kissed each other and that was the feeling I liked most. After that we goes to mall and he gifted me the dress which was pretty. We talked around 2 -3 hours continus. And finally the time had came when we had to go. He hold my hand and said next time I arrange good things which you love the most, and my answer was like I don't want precious things or gifts, I want you only🥰. That time he hug me and said goodbye by tc to me. Our love is different from others. Other couples are in relationship but they have a small amount of trust on each other. That was the thing which is not good and many times broke the relationship. Many relationships are based on love,sex and other factors. But the most important is soul,love and the trust. Soul is the important parameter of our relationship. Trust is the main things in relationships, without trust relationship can't be true. The true life partner is who? The person who is always support you in any situation. Always with you in your difficult times. Love your soul from bottom of heart,never let you go. I am very happy and feel proud because the partner which is in my life is a good person and love my soul. I am luckiest person in world because of my partner.  We both have trust on each other and that trust is unconditional, and we never break that trust. We can't make the misunderstandings in us. Because we are that much mature and having the trust on each other. This is my story of first date with my partner.


"Hon', did you hear that?" Elaine asked, her voice filled with concern. "Yeah, something about a disabled train ahead of us," replied Ian, with a tone reflecting his frustration. I found myself in the company of the McAllisters, a situation that usually meant Elaine's incessant chatter and Ian's desire for peace and quiet to read his newspaper. "Just when you need to get there early. How about you call the office?" "I hate this," he muttered. As I observed his grumpy demeanor, I couldn't help but sympathize. Being late was not part of the plan, and I had hoped to catch up on my messages before arriving at the office. Finally, the train started moving again, and as we pulled into the next station, I saw a crowd of at least a hundred people waiting on the platform. Their expressions were an open book: annoyance, relief, and anxiety all mixed together as they eagerly awaited the arrival of the train, hoping to secure a seat. Among them, a Lenny Kravitz lookalike: dreadlocks, leather jacket, jeans, dark glasses, carrying a messenger bag. He was even playing one of his songs, " Fly Away ." And when I say playing, I mean it was blasting from two small speakers hanging by his side pockets. “To anywhere I please, oh I want to get away I want to fly away Yeah, yeah, yeah” As he got in, a passenger who was visibly upset about what was happening took off, pushing him on his way out. He didn’t seem to care. He looked too cool and collected for that. Yet, there was something about him that was unmistakably different: fried eggs. That odor had a way of making me feel nauseous and lightheaded, like a dizzy spell induced by breakfast. I had to cover my nose. “Is he mad?” said Ian. Since more people were entering the train, he put a hand-wipe between his hand and the pole the three of us were holding. “Nah, I think he is just looking for some attention,” I said to both smiling.

“C’mon, really?” said Elaine. “These days, people do whatever they want on the subway” I added, looking at her. The music was indeed maddening for sure, but I thought a bit of humor would alleviate everyone’s exasperation. It was just a little after 7:30 a.m. on a brisk autumnal day when all we wanted was to get to our destination. Our car looked full –at least from where I stood—but more passengers kept boarding, hoping we could squeeze further to make room for them. As I looked at the people surrounding me, I couldn’t help analyzing the cast of characters that had formed around me. There was “the germaphobe” or the "Ian McAllister of the day" who needed a napkin to protect himself; “the multitasker,” or the woman with red lipstick and long eye lashes who was somehow managing to hold her coffee, her tote bag and the pole, all in one hand; “the pincher" or the man in green who only touched the center pole but with only with two fingers—I was convinced he also traveled with Purell in his pocket— and; last but not least, my favorite one because he made everyone uncomfortable, “the no-hands" who thought he was so string that he didn't need to hold the pole, but stayed close enough to us un case he crashed into a stranger. I lacked air. Large backpacks were certainly not welcome and being able to read or watch something from a mobile phone was a monumental attempt for anyone who tried to do so.

As more people started voicing their frustration about the delays, another announcement came in. “Your attention passengers. This train will remain on the platform for the next five minutes. We will then begin single tracking,” said the train operator.

“F__!” said the multitasker.

“What about your 10 o’clock, hon’? You’ve been preparing for--” asked Elaine.

“Elaine…I’ll reschedule.” Ian McAllister was quick-tempered. His wife, on the other hand, was a chatter box and “a drama queen”. She knew however when not to cause a scene by irritating him, so she did not utter a word for the next few minutes—which was funny to watch. Shortly after the announcement, we were moving once again, until we heard, “The next stop—” “Please don’t say we are stopping again !” said the person backing me. In fact, just as we thought we were making some progress, the train suddenly came to a halt, causing a chain reaction that made “Ms. Multitasker” spill her coffee on my hand and “Mr. Pincher” to flinch. "Shit!" She exclaimed, followed by, "I'm so sorry about that. Are you okay?" "I'll be fine," I replied, brushing it off. We were packed in like sardines and breathed on each other.  All of this, combined with the loud music surrounding us was deafening. That said, things couldn’t have been any better for our “local rockstar.”  All along, he kept talking to someone while his music was playing. He was the only one having a good time, unperturbed by the train delay. From his looks, I could tell he relished this moment of disrupting our mundane ride to work. For this, he turned the volume further up. Now we had: "I got to get away (get away, get away) Girl, I got to get away (get away, get away) Oh, oh, oh yeah" “Pfff…. how inappropriate!” I thought to myself. As we rode to the next station, he took more space near us. “How could –” started Elaine who immediately got the stare from her husband. I wanted to laugh at this outburst, but I couldn’t. There was no room to hide emotions, so I hid my giggled by holding my hand in front my mouth. What amused me most was Elaine’s squeaky voice and colorful outfits. While her husband was visibly annoyed with all this, other passengers around us took notice and were laughing. “Woohoo! You the man!” said someone from far back at the rockstar. After occupying a much-needed space, he was now pulling a notebook from his messenger bag. I don’t know what he was thinking but he began typing until he was forced to stop to listen to the train operator announcing our arrival at the next station. He then methodically proceeded with the next surprise from his bag: an Egg Mcmuffin for breakfast. Since we had nowhere else to go, his movement and music became our source of entertainment for the morning. We all wanted “to get away, oh yeah.” Those could see, watched the show. He chewed loudly in front of us although food was forbidden on the train. The McAllister used this excuse to leave. “Good luck,” they said, looking at me and at our rockstar.

“Enjoy!” said a passenger who stumbled over him while leaving the train. “Move,” said another one boarding the train. Our rockstar was clearly unperturbed by people’s movement in and out of the car. I was, on the other hand. The smell of his food made me feel so nauseated that I thought I would faint. But I had nowhere to escape. To my rescue was the crisp air we could feel coming in. Since this station was not underground, I could get some much fresh air come in through the opened doors.

This is also when I noticed that someone had been watching. It was a passenger I had not noticed before on the train. With his towering height of six feet, he had an intense look that felt unsettling, as if he could see through me, or all of us. I tried to ignore him and look away. But something told me that if I looked in his direction, he would still be there, staring. Sure enough, he was still staring and didn’t not blink. So, I looked down. After a few seconds, I decided to take another look, this time with a more assertive gaze. And that’s when it happened, something unexpected. "Ma'am, would you like to take this seat?" I blushed, feeling both surprised and grateful, as I made my way towards him, accepting the generous offer. "Oh my gosh, that's so kind of you! Thank you, sir," I replied with genuine appreciation. "It's my pleasure," he responded with a warm smile. My feet were tired and swollen from standing during the long commute. It seemed that this stranger had noticed my discomfort—I was five months along—and thought his gesture was the right thing to do. I was stunned by his kindness and truly grateful for it. From that point on, I lost track of how many more stops remained. All I knew was that by the time I reached my destination, I had inadvertently memorized the song playing on the train. “I want to get away I want to fly away Yeah, yeah, yeah”


Once, there was a young girl named Sue who could run in an unusual way. Sue would fall asleep, and once asleep, she would find herself in a peculiar world run by sinister creatures. These creatures had long, dark tentacles that they would use to ensnare their victims. Sue was never worried because she knew she had the power to control everything in her dream world. That changed one night when Sue fell asleep on a car ride with her parents to the beach. As Sue drifted off to her slumbering world of mystery and horror, she noticed something was off this time. Usually, she felt she could wake up at any moment if she thought things were too scary. This time, however, something clouded her ability to sense the "real world" from the ties of this darker shadow world. While this made her feel different, she was still not too worried as she knew this was her dream world and was in control. She would always just run from anything and never be caught; after all, she had never encountered anything she could not outrun. As Sue ran through the twisted landscape of her dream world, she realized she was being pursued by a creature, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Unlike the "normal" dark and twisted creatures with long tentacles that were slow and almost zombie-like in movement, this new creature had a glow that almost erased the darkness of her dreamscape and illuminated the twisted features of its grotesque form. This creature possessed a speed and agility that surpassed anything Sue had ever encountered in her dream world. The new creature could also speak. However, it was hard to determine what it was saying at the distance she kept from it.

"Y...ca....run...fo..ever..."

What was it saying, Sue wondered, and why was this creature so fixated on her? While the other darker creatures would run for her, they would typically lose interest in unobtainable prey and head for other slower victims. But this creature, with its radiant and enigmatic presence, seemed to be different. As Sue continued to explore the dreamscape, she noticed it was becoming harder and harder to see the once-vast landscape. Sue, finally out of the range of this new and terrifying creature, decided to see if she could think about why this trip seemed different than before. She tried to fit all the pieces together as she sat under a sizeable, decaying tree. Sue pondered over the strange circumstances of her dream and the relentless pursuit by the unearthly creature.

Why is this time different from the last, and why can I not wake up? She  asked herself. Sue remembered waking up this morning knowing she would be headed to the beach with her parents. She was so excited as this was her first summer vacation trip. Sue recalled quickly rushing to the car, packing bags, and grabbing all the extra beach toys needed. As Sue sat and reminisced on this morning's events, she wished she could go back and never fall asleep on the car ride. She thought,

What if I never wake up and miss my whole trip? What if...  Sue quickly realized that she had sat for too long and that things around her were getting brighter, a sign that this new creature was getting closer and it was time to run again. Sue had let the creature get close enough this time to hear the screeching words coming from its mouth. It was more like nails on a chalkboard turned into a horrifying melody.

"You can't run forever."

Sue wondered what this thing was and why it wanted her so badly. With no time to think, she looked toward the creature and saw that her dreamscape was not only being consumed by the light but that what was left after it passed was nothing. No land, no sky, no grotesque monsters with tentacles ready to capture its prey, simply nothing. What could this mean, and why was she being pursued by a creature that seemed to defy the rules of the dreamscape? As Sue continued running, she noticed she felt slower and tired. For the first time ever, Sue felt tired from running in her dream. This was very alarming as Sue just figured "real world" effects on her body would not affect her mental body. As Sue ran, her legs grew heavier and weaker with each step. It was as if her energy was being drained away by some unseen force. Sue started to think again.

We loaded the car, started down the road, and then everything went dark. Wait a minute,  Sue realized;

I felt like I was falling, but why?  Why did Sue feel this way? Sue had hardly any time to think about this as she heard a new voice, different from the creature chasing her, saying, "Don't go into the light."

Sue thought to herself,

no kidding, Sherlock.  But she did not know why or what to do other than to let her last bit of energy out and fall victim to the pursuing creature. Sue fell to the ground, finally out of energy. She stood and turned to face the creature and accept her fate. As the creature moved closer, she noticed the almost human look of its figure, like a beautiful lady with a long dress on and a sweet, inviting smile that comforted her.

"Sue, Sue, You can't run forever."

As Sue reached out to the creature, the creature began to change form into something more otherworldly. The skin of light began to almost run off the lady's face to reveal a skull with sunken eyes and sharp teeth. The creature's once inviting smile turned into pure terror, and her once welcoming embrace turned into a cold and empty void of hollow desolation. Sue's heart raced as she acknowledged the true horror she was facing. With a surge of adrenaline, Sue's mind snapped back to reality, filled with the chilling realization that she couldn't escape this nightmare. She was trapped, caught between the realms of dreams and reality, unable to outrun the horrifying creature that haunted her every step. The creature inched closer, its bony fingers reaching for Sue's trembling form. As Sue stared into the creature's hollow eyes, she knew her fate was sealed.

Just then, a jolt of energy vibrated through Sue's body, and she found herself with the power to run just a little farther. She began to run to the voice that she heard earlier, "Don't go into the light." As soon as Sue began to run towards the voice, a blinding light engulfed her surroundings. She heard the creature scream as if it was a murder of crows, "YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER."

The light consumed Sue, and she found herself standing in an unfamiliar place. She looked around, disoriented and afraid. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint whispering of distant echoes, "Don't go into the light...."

Sue's heart sank as she realized that there was no escape, no refuge from the horrors that pursued her. As she stood in the light, she saw it as if it was a movie at the start of this morning. She saw herself get into the car and her mother and father laughing and talking about how much fun they would have. She saw the moment she fell asleep but continued to watch herself asleep in the car instead of going to the dreamscape. She saw the 18-wheeler cross the line, and her vehicle crashed and fell off the bridge they were on; Sue thought that the falling feeling must have been when the car went off the bridge. The creature stood at the doorway pointing at Sue; behind it was a dark room, so dark not even the light from the creature could light it. Sue asked the creature who it was. With the same horrifying melody, it sang out, "I am the one many fear and few embrace willingly. The cold you feel when drifting to sleep, the nightmare that haunts your deepest fears. I am called by many names, but you may call me Death."

Just then, a hand emerged behind Sue and grabbed her, pulling her away from Death quicker than she had ever moved in the dreamscape. Death's face grew angry, and shouted, "No, she is mine; she can not run forever!" Beep....beep....beep.  Sue woke to the sound of footsteps and the blinding glare of fluorescent lights. As her sight returned, she saw a man wearing a doctor's coat, saying, "It's good to see you awake. We thought we lost you there for a little."

Sue's heart raced as she realized that the horrors she experienced were not just a dream but a glimpse into a terrifying reality. As the doctor explained her condition and the extent of her injuries, Sue couldn't shake off the lingering feeling that Death was still lurking just beyond her reach, waiting patiently. The doctor told Sue that she needed to rest, and as he walked out the door, he turned around and said,

"Now, don't go running off again, Sue."


It was a beautiful fall day. Summer had ended. Another day, another dollar. I am on my way to work. As I am walking on the busy streets of Manhattan, I see a hobo. Right there, standing in front of the entrance of the Subway. He was skinny, dirty, stinky, clothes torned, with one shoe missing. It was the first time I was seeing him at this corner. Perhaps, I did saw him before. How am I supposed to remember? They all look the same to me. I was about to step down to enter the subway, the hobo calmly asks me if I can spare some change or food. ‘’Son, do you have some spare change, food?’’ ‘’No, sorry.’’ ‘’Please…even a nickel would help…’’ ‘’Look, I don’t have time for this…’’ ‘’I am just trying to survive. Change, money, food…’’ ‘’Why don’t go look for a job like everyone else?’’ ‘’Sonny, it is not that obvious as you think.’’ ‘’Anyhow, I don’t have time to talk to you and I am in hurry now for work. Otherwise, I will end up like you.’’ The homeless was about to utter another word but I just ran down the stairs of the subway station. As I crossed the counter to swipe my pass, sprinted to the train where the doors were closing. Wow! Just got in on time. If I had missed this train, I was going to be late for work. I work in the computer business. Sales and after sales support. That means, technical support after we sell our products and service. A job that would keep me busy all day to be honest. I was happy with my boss, colleagues, and our clients were great to us. Thanks to them, I have a job and a paycheck. Another working day completed. All went well. Time to go home. I took my normal route. Back in the subway. Out of the train, climbing the stairs of my subway station to get home. I see again the bum again.

 ‘’Hello Sir! I believe it is pay day today. It is Thursday. Can you spare a few dollars or get me a pizza slice with a Coke?’’ ‘’Look, I don’t have time for this nonsense. I need to go home, and work on a school project.’’ ‘’Why are you lying to me?’’ ‘’I am telling you the truth.’’ ‘’You are a horrible citizen…you know that.’’ ‘’I work and earn a living. What do you do?’’ As he was about to open his mouth, I ran away. Yes, that was impolite but I am young, I work, and I got other things to do in life. Yes, I don’t attend any type of academic institution. I just wanted an excuse to leave him and his pointless conversation. Finally, reached my apartment building. Before I take the elevator to my place, I always check my mailbox. Again, nothing special. Just bills, flyers, credit card pre-approvals letters, etc. Oh! What is this? A dark yellow envelope 8.5 inches by 11.5 inches format. I open the envelope. A will? A heritance? It seems that I have an uncle from my dad’s side. Uncle Harry? My dad never mentioned to me that he had a brother. I am a little confused. The letter mentions that I inherited three million dollars and that, after paying taxes. Damn! Three million dollars tax-free??? If I am careful, I can live up to maybe a hundred twenty! No financial worries and that will help me spend more time to focus on my health. I am only thirty years old. Reading the full document till the end, and I see a special condition posted in dark bold letters. It mentions that I will need to spend a full night in a mansion, upstate, near Lake George, alone, from 7 PM to 7 AM, in a total lockdown. Is there a catch? This seems too good to be true. Also, I this seems like a horror movie and I get scared easily by them. I guess when you have seen The Exorcist in secret, alone at home, at the age of five, you are traumatized for life! I am doing this only for the cash, and not for any thrill. This is for tonight! I just got here by Uber. It cost me a fortune to get here but for three million dollars…. why not? I see the will executor waiting for me in front of the main entrance. He explains to me the conditions to be eligible for the sum mentioned in the will. In details and verbally. I enter the mansion. Right on the dot, 7:00 PM, I am inside, and a security process actions the premises to a full lockdown. I got twelve hours to go. This place has three levels. A basement, the main floor, and a second floor. About twelve bedrooms, two bathrooms, a recreation room and vast living room on the ground level. Almost like a castle. I see a painting on the wall. Above the fireplace. I walk closer to the portrait and I see the name at the bottom. Harry Miles. You know what? Let me call my dad now. No cell service! I guess that was in the fine prints of the will. Let me see if there is something in the kitchen. I am hungry. A quite large kitchen with all the facilities to cook for an army. Let me check the fridge. Empty!!! No way??? I don’t believe I saw that in the clause. Let me just take a good hot shower. That will unstress me. Switching on the faucet in the shower, and no water! No hot water, no cold water. I can’t brush my teeth also. So now, I will need to go to bed, with no food, no shower, no brushing… Let me look for a bedroom that is convenient for me. Where I can fall asleep. When I entered the premises, I saw most of the bedrooms were quite empty. I will have to look around where I will spend the night. After checking all the rooms, there are no beds!!! This can’t be! I feel like a beggar in my own home. The night is young and I have several hours to kill. I am hearing abnormal echoes, sounds, and footsteps. Am I alone here? Honestly, I should have read in details the fine print of that document. I am regretting my decision. What a man can do for money? And look where I am now. I am going to have to sleep on the floor, empty stomach, with no blankets, with a dirty body and a dirty mouth. Why me? Not sure I will be able to fall asleep. I am just going to look for cozy corner and try to get some rest. Maybe just put my head on the kitchen table while sitting on the chair. Sleep like I used to sleep in my college days in the library to get a power nap. I see the sunrise. What is a stressful night! I barely got rest. The main entrance door opens up. I see a man standing at the gate. Approaching towards me. In a fine suite, shoes, tie, hair extremely well combed. The face seems familiar. ‘’Remember me sonny.’’ ‘’I…recognize your voice…you are the…homeless from the…subway station…’’ ‘’Yes. And no one in your family knows me. Including your dad. I am the half-brother of your dad. Your grandfather had an affair. And here I am.’’ ‘’Why all these?’’ ‘’I have no kids. I wanted to leave some good chunk of my fortune to a potential good person that I had a blood relation with. Someone within the family. I got the prove of what kind of person you are. I am no hobo. I own a great amount of real estate. The real test was when you did not help me for who I was. And this challenge you went through, was to make you realize your error.’’ ‘’Ah…Uncle Harry….’’ ‘’Too late sonny. You are not getting anything. If I live a long life, and we are both still around, maybe with time, I might change my mind.’’ He just walked away and drove away in his Porches 911. While I was having huge regrets of my actions. Lesson learned and it was a costly one…


"Jesus Christ, are you blind?! Can’t you see there are people around? Besides, why would you need a trolley just for…" "Claire?" "Lynda? Lynda, is that you? Oh my God, I haven’t recognized you with this… this new haircut." "Thanks. Do you like it? I’m sorry, m``am... I’m sorry I bumped into you, Claire. I’ve always been absent-minded. You know that." "I sure do. So how’s life? How’s everything?"

"Oh yeah, I’m grand, all is grand. Jack and I – do you remember my Jack?" "Yeah, I think so. Was it that chap that you were dating in college?" "No, of course not. Don’t be silly. I met Jack in the university. He studied interior design. Oh, stupid me! Would you like some coffee? I don’t mean I mind chatting in the shop but I have so much to tell you about Jack. My Jack." "That would be really nice, Lynda, but I’m somewhat pressured for time really." "Come on, we haven’t seen each other for ages. I would have invited you to our place, but Jack hates surprises. He’s very organized, you see. Everything has to be planned." "He sounds like a bore, to be hon…" "Oh no, don’t say that! He’s a wonderful person, Jack. In fact, he’s the best person I’ve ever known. Can you say that about your own husband, Claire Monaghan?" "I’m not married, Lynda. Look, I’m really happy that you’re happy, but I need to go. It was nice to see you." "That’s why you’re single. You’re skeptical and cold. Always have been." "I beg your pardon? I’m not single. And I`m not cold." "But you’re not married. Do you know what this so called partnership is? Prostitution!" "That’s it, I’m leaving, Lynda. It’s ridiculous." "Do you know that Jack proposed to me three months after we met in the university library? He knew he met the one and he made a decision like a real man, not these fake ones in skinny jeans. See? See how classy my ring is? Don’t pretend you don’t dream of meeting a real man like my Jack." "Lynda, for God`s sake! Not everybody sees the world the same way you do. Why do you think that I have to have the same perfect picture as you? Can you believe that people are different?" "So you’re a feminist, aren`t you?" "You’re saying it like it`s something bad. Why this face?" "I pity you. Yet another victim of their propaganda. You’ve been brainwashed." "No, I have not! I’m not brainwashed! Jesus. Why am I even talking to you?" "Because deep down you know that I’m right, Claire. You know that no matter how often they tell you that you are an independent, strong, career-driven woman despising the truly fulfilling women’s duties you still long for them secretly." "This is absurd. Lynda, it’s you who sounds brainwashed. Are you a zombie? What world do you live in? I haven’t seen you for fifteen years and now you’re lecturing me as if I asked you for it." "Friends should help each other." "We are not friends! Never have been!" "You’re scared, it’s a normal reaction."

"Right, I didn’t want to say this because it’s none of your business, but actually, Lynda, I’m a lesbian and I have a partner. We have a family and I’m absolutely happy. I don’t want to meet a man like your Jack. I have a life. My own life." "Oh Claire, you`re so silly. You just think you’re happy, but it’s an illusion. A woman cannot be happy without a man. When we got married, Jack told me he wanted me to be at home. He didn’t want me to be buried underneath the burden of a career. So I listened and I did as he said. Jack was working and building his career, I was his loving wife. He is an overachiever. He’s very ambitious. Always wants to climb the ladder. Be the big boss. He’s so clever, Jack. I wouldn’t be able to do things that he does everyday. But he’s a man. It comes naturally to him. And I’m just at home. And I’m happy. I love it. I love every second of it. We may even have a baby." "Why did he tell you what to do? Why did you give up on your dreams? Wouldn’t you want to have your own career? Your own projects? Wouldn’t you want to have your success celebrated? Why did you give up on yourself?" "I didn’t. I never gave up on myself, I am myself. I’m my best true self. Jack showed me who I could be, who I should be. And here I am - a happy woman married to a perfect man."

"Don’t you miss making your own decisions? Having a choice?"

"Oh, don’t worry. I make decisions every day." "But aren`t you jealous?" "I know I’m not. What would I do without him? I would be totally lost." "You were one of the brightest students, Lynda. You don`t need anyone to guide you." "Well, actually I`ve spent forty minutes trying to choose new curtains for our sitting room but I can`t decide. Jack knows all the latest trends." "Then why isn`t he here?" "Oh, he is busy! He has a meeting or something. Besides, I wanted to make a surprise." "You said he hates surprises." "I bet once in a while can spice a marriage up a bit. I think he will love these ones – these geometrical figures look so funny. I will call this triangle Jack and this circle Lynda. It`s so cute, isn`t it?" "I don`t know. It`s up to you. I don`t know Jack." "Oh, he`s wonderful… Always has been one step ahead of me." "What do you mean?" "You know he could never just decide. He had to do his extensive research. Browse the Internet, read fashion magazines, check out the trends. An overachiever, always has to be the first." "Why did you marry such a bore? Has he changed since you got married?" "I told you, he`s not a bore! He is much quieter now after all these years. You see, Claire, Jack died two years ago. Dumped me like a broken toy. Left me to choose these stupid curtains all by myself!" "Oh my God, Lynda, I`m so sorry, I had no idea… You kept talking of him as if he was alive. Why didn`t you tell me?" "Because I am incomplete without him! A part of me is missing and they say that people live as long as they are remembered. I will not let him go. He`s mine. He`s all I have and I will keep him for myself forever. Jack is mine!.. Sometimes he smells a bit but I use furniture polish and a bit of air freshener. Summer breeze. I am not letting him leave me again." "Lynda…" "I`m so sorry, dear. I upset you. I`m sorry. I must go now. Jack should be back soon. Dinner must be ready. It was lovely to chat to you, please drop by any time, just call us in advance. Jack and I will be waiting for you, Claire. Always."


He was a brilliant child. So intelligent: on a level of Einstein. He understood space and time, but he knew electronics. He was too smart for school, and by the time he reached high school, partying was much more important than being bored with the repetition of the mundane education that he didn’t need. The one thing that Craig loved the most was airplanes. He read every book. He learned everything he could about them, not only flight itself, but what the engines and weapons systems were comprised of. How they worked and what was unique to each one. In Minnesota, where he grew up, when he had graduated and worked three or four meaningless jobs, like delivering and setting up waterbeds, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He wanted to be a United States Marine, and he wanted to work on airplanes. He set his mind to accomplishing that one goal. To say he was obsessed, was not even close to the love he felt for military aircraft, the weapons they carried, and the military personnel that operated them. The day Craig went into the Marine Corps recruiters’ station, he was tall, and lean, and extremely handsome. He had wide shoulders and he had charisma, the kind that comes from confidence. There is nothing that makes a person, male or female, more attractive than intelligence upheld by conviction. Craig had all of this and the Marine Corps recruiter recognized a future Marine was standing in front of him. Many young men had walked into Gunnery Sergeant Joseph’s office. He was a stereotypical Gunnery Sergeant and he did not take his position lightly. He wanted initial contact with anyone who dared to walk into his office, to present to them the exact feeling of what they should expect. Not just any person can be a Marine. In 1981, the commercials on television said, “The few. The Proud. The Marines.” Craig took this personally, and he knew he WAS one of the few, one of the proud, and he wanted to be a United States Marine. Gunny started on Craig the same as he always did by asking one question, first. “Young man, why are you here and what exactly about you, makes me want to believe that you are worthy of becoming a United States Marine Corps applicant?” The words were sharp and sliced the air like a machete through underbrush with absolutely no sugar coating applied. Gunny wasn’t yelling, but he wasn’t whispering either. Craig knew the answer immediately. He stood taller than he had when he came in and he said, “Sergeant, I want to work on airplanes!” Well, Gunny, just snickered at Craig. “Hah, SO DO A LOT OF MEN!” Craig did not even flinch. He did not look away and he was not discouraged. In fact, he was ready for the recruiter’s reaction. It was the same reaction that every single person, his father, his brothers, his friends. Every single one of them laughed at him the same way. But Craig was a quiet man. He only spoke when it was necessary. He always had a look that made people ask him, “What are you so mad about?” He would get so angry when they said this to him. He wasn’t mad to start with, he just didn’t talk unless he had something to say. Mostly, this was because he was listening to people talk about things without knowing anything about what they were saying and he was so much more intelligent than anybody else. Craig looked at the Sergeant and said, “I know airplanes, but I want to know what Marine’s know about everything to do with warbirds.” Gunny stepped back. He eyeballed Craig from head to toe. This was the only person that had ever walked into his office and given this answer and Gunny liked it, and he let his bowed-up appearance relax. He said, “You know, Marine, I send ninety percent of the young NOBODY’S that walk in here, right back out the door and two doors down. DO YOU KNOW what is two doors down from here, MARINE? DO YOU KNOW WHERE I SEND THEM?” Craig said, “YES, SIR!” Gunny said, “WELL?” Craig snickered and said, “THE ARMY, SIR!” They both laughed. That day, Craig was recruited to become a USMC candidate. He had to take the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test. He scored so high that when the results were given to the Gunny, he told Craig he could take any position he wanted, but he had something specific in mind for Craig. He told Craig, the United States Marine Corps wanted to send him to a secret two-year electronics school, in Memphis, Tennessee. Gunny said, “I have never had the opportunity to send one of my recruits there. It is so thorough and so in depth that the students are secluded and separated from their entire lives, and most Marines, know nothing of this school. The majority of those that attend don’t make it. It’s underground, in a bunker, and if you pass this school, you will be one of the top one percent of people on this planet that know this much about airplane electronics.” Craig did not know about this school, and he was ecstatic to take the assignment. Within a few weeks, he went to basic training at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, in San Diego, California. When he completed basic, he was sent to Memphis and spent the next two years in school. Craig was one the very top students and there were only a handful that were taken there. More than half were kicked out of the program. Round after round of young men, who thought they were good enough, soon found out they were not. Not Craig, however. He thrived and was in his element. After finishing school, he was sent to Hawaii, and he was assigned to radar systems on F-4 Phantoms. VMFA-235 was his unit. He loved working in the Quonset hut on the flightline at The Marine Corps Air Station at Kaneohe Bay. He was a fine Marine, and he excelled in his work. He was later stationed in Japan and the Philippines, as well. When his four-year enlistment was up, they offered him a huge amount of money to reenlist, but Craig had other ideas. Craig got a job working for the largest military contractor, that, in 1985, was doing the testing phases for the Apache Helicopter. Specifically, they built the night vision and guidance systems section of the helicopter. They and the other companies involved were attempting to sell this amazing aircraft to the US Government. He took the job, in Arizona, for $8.50 per hour. He was a temporary and a grunt and had to prove he was worth being hired, and ninety days later, that is exactly what happened. In 1987, he married and he and is wife had two beautiful children, later, while he continued his work, with extreme pride, and his family adored his commitment to the United States, the Marines, and to them. He built a lot of model airplanes, and he taught the entire family everything he could about planes. Craig excelled at his work and he became instrumental, when the helicopter was purchased by the US Army, and it became the world’s most powerful and most used weapon of war. Craig worked on the flightlines, all around the world, through his career, and later became a logistical and technical representative writing the manuals, which instructed young army men and women, how to keep the systems maintained. This is what he had done on the flight lines, as well. After September 11, 2001, when the desert wars began, he was sent to Kuwait for one year. He maintained the Apache for the men who flew them into battle. In 1996, he took his family to the middle east and lived in Abu Dhabi, with them, while he worked on a foreign military sale contract. When he returned, the family made a trip to Washington, DC. They visited the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Smithsonian Center. He proudly told his wife and daughter about every airplane that was displayed there. It was like walking with a tour guide. He knew more than the guides themselves. As the family went around and traversed to another aisle, Craig stopped. Stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at one of the airplanes. There in front of him, was his plane. It was one of the F4s he had worked on, in Hawaii, in that Quonset hut. It was VMFA-235 and he told them, “This is my airplane”. Years later, when the war was now in Afghanistan, he was moved to another program, where the same night vision and guidance was placed on another larger aircraft and he was chosen by the Pentagon and his company, to live with the Marines, at Skunk Works, in California, while the program was established and later he was asked to go to Afghanistan, with them. It was a tremendous honor to Craig, and to his wife and children, for him to be asked. He purchased a new pair of work boots when he went to Skunk Works for the assignment. When the three years of testing and readiness was completed, he traveled with the Marine Corps unit, as a civilian, and lived and worked three tours, three years, in Afghanistan with the same men. He wore those boots, every day. The term, “boots on the ground” meant more to him than just boots on the ground, and men fighting, it meant he was where he belonged. He kept his fellow Marines, who admired his expert knowledge, on a 100% mission readiness rate. He was awarded hundreds of patches and coins and when he returned home, his wife purchased a Marine Corps K-Bar knife engraved with his name and it was mounted on a display for all those coins, to be shown honorably. There Craig was, in his element and had accomplished his goal, one thousand times over. He ran with the Marines, in the 9/11 Heros Run, alongside the young Marines, when he was in his fifties. He adored those boots, and sand that had accumulated on them, was never allowed to be brushed away. Craig brought those boots home, and they were never worn again, but they sat beside his desk, until the day he died. After his death, his wife took most of his model airplanes he had built, his military clothing, and photographs, and books and gave most everything to the two children, but not those boots. They sit, in a place of honor, in memory and respect for the man that served thirty-seven years plus four years as a Marine, supporting the United States of America. He was an honorable man, an outstanding Marine, and he loved the military, but as much as he loved all that, and loved his family, he loved airplanes, and you could ask him any question, about any plane, from the past to the current, and he always knew the answer. That Gunnery Sergeant made the best decision that was possible, for Craig, because no man on earth has ever loved his work more than Craig did. The Sergeant never knew, but Craig always remembered the man, who believed in him, and gave him the opportunity to do and be one of the few, the proud, the Marines, and he never took that lightly.


"What's your favourite colour, Amelia?" "Pink!" "Your favourite fruit?" "Strawberry!" "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "A scientist!" They asked the same boring questions, and Amelia would answer them with the same prepared answers along with her naive enthusiasm. The girls would fight her over liking pink more. Her servants would bring her baskets of strawberries, and the grown-ups always praised her for choosing to be a scientist in their abundant gatherings. "What is a scientist?" that was what nobody asked her, a good thing though because if they did this would be her answer. The scientist is that wizard wearing a long, purple robe inside a villa adorned with posters that makes one dizzy. They have the freedom to spend days teleporting to space, jumping from planet to planet, one star to the other and greeting the aliens. In longing to be there again, the scientist spends their evenings watching the aliens through their long enchanted invention as their foreign friends wave at them. “Why strawberry?” was another question, Amelia wasn’t inquired. The answer would be because they look pretty, the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She dreamt of a world in which people lived under the sky with strawberries floating above them... The little Amelia had asked her father, the King to foist people to eat nothing but strawberries for one day. Certainly, they wouldn't like the idea, but what choice did the people of Tribida have except to "enjoy" having nothing but strawberries on the first day of spring. After eighteen years this had evolved into a crucial tradition and the other ritual the people of this town had was that once the child of the King, on the line for the throne attained the age of eighteen, they shall be taken to a separate mansion for one month. Letting go of Amelia, the only child of the King was his nightmare, but rules were rules and the fanatic King would rather lose his head than his word. He kissed her farewell. She left clenching her deceased mother's bracelet onto the carriage with the white horses that led her to the pink castle, cast away. After their long conveyance, the young knight sitting behind the horsemen stepped down and opened the door for the Princess and the two maids. Amelia picked a pink rose from the flower bed on their way to the castle. She was led upstairs to the tower that was her rosy room with a view so beautiful, Amelia couldn't wait for the night to fall so she could begin stargazing. There was no need to keep the candles burning since the stars were gleaming and the moonlight fell on the wooden floor. She stood across the window, and now it gleamed her freckled face. Amelia closed her eyes, inhaled the flower she had picked and twirled it between her fingers. The rose fell from the window, exactly across the knight's feet. Amelia gasped. She looked down and yelled. "Sir! Umm... Mr knight!" He didn't move a muscle. "I'm talking to you!" the birds who were in sound sleep flew away from the rooftops. Amelia grabbed her robe and stomped to the knight. She took the rose from the ground. A few of its petals torn apart and fell in subtle motion. "Can't you hear me?" she raised her voice. His head was pointed right over her head, but was he even looking at her? "I'm going to tell my father about this reckless behaviour of yours." "I'm a knight. Princess, I'm on duty." at last, the statue spoke, softly. "I was asking you to bring me my flower." "I can't, I shouldn't even be talking to you. Please go." "Why?" "Have you ever talked to a knight before?" "No, I—" "See, it's the order of the King. We aren't supposed to talk with the princess, or with anyone at all." "But why? Don't you have thoughts? Don't you have words?" There was a pause then he said, "No one wants to hear a knight’s thoughts or a knight’s words." "I want to." "Please, leave." he lowered his voice, looking at the entrance of the castle. Amelia couldn't sleep that night. She imagined being a knight...to have thoughts but, no freedom to share, to have a tongue, but no voice to speak, to have a heart, no right to feel... "Are you alright, dear?" Asked the woman pouring Amelia simmering, green tea. "Yes, yes." Amelia twitched and averted her gaze from the window. "Martha?" "Yes?" "Why aren't knights supposed to talk to us?" "Well, they serve for the King, and it's best to keep their priority to serve." she raised her chin. "You serve for the king too, he doesn't have problems with you talking?" "No, I'm a woman. And I'm only allowed to talk to you." "Aren't men supposed to have things to say? Or feel?" "Oh, Amelia, what has got into you today? Anyway, I and Linda are taking off to the town. Is there anything you need?" "No," she muttered. The night fell, and the eccentric Amelia had an idea. "Oh, silly me, I keep losing grasp of my flowers." Amelia picked the fallen flower across the knight's feet. She sighed after looking at him standing motionless. "Aren't you going to utter anything? I'm doing you a favour. Don't you feel like talking?" Seemed like she was looking at a knight’s armour, with no soul inside it. It was difficult to see his face. He was nothing but a silhouette. Hopelessly, she went back. A single flower kept being plucked from the garden each day. This continued for ten days until he lost it. "What do you want?" "Aha, I knew you weren't dead in there!" "Princess Amelia, this is not right." "Oh, so you know my name too? Impressive..." "They will kill me!" "Who? My father? Please, he's the kindest King Tribida has ever had." "You don't know anything, do you?" he mumbled. "What was that?" "Nothing." "No, no I heard it. What do I not know?" "That I have nothing to say, I lied. I have no thoughts, nothing, really, now please, leave." "Your head armour trembles more when you fib, like now. I will leave, but only if you answer my question. One question." "Alright, go on." "What's it like to be you?" "I...it's I—" "Good, think about it. We'll continue tomorrow. Good ni... Oh," she smacked on her forehead. "Knights don't sleep too?" she fell asleep with the thought. The next morning Amelia left for the woods, without informing Martha or Linda. While singing a lullaby with her high-pitched voice, she pushed aside the bushes that came along and looked at the sky to see the crowns of the towering trees. “Just a few more minutes...” she kept ambling and lost the track of time. A strange whimper ceased her walking. The bushes beside her twitched and heavy footsteps were following her from behind. Amelia screamed after a hyena leapt from behind the bushes. She fell on her back and hopelessly crawled herself backwards. Her palms scratched with the damp rubble merged with thorns. She shielded herself with her seeping hands. The sound of its whiffs was getting closer. Amelia closed her eyes and opened them promptly after the rough thump. “Princess!” the knight put back his seeping sword. “Mr knight!” He helped the Princess to stand on her feet. “Thank you,” Amelia said, teary-eyed. “It was my duty, Princess.” On their way back to the castle, Amelia succeeded in compelling the guarded knight not only to tell about his life story, of how he was an orphan who spent his childhood napping on the streets and labouring in a bakery but she also left him chuckling more than the young knight wanted to admit. The red rose fell across his feet. After a minute, she was there, unhurriedly picking it. Amelia stood for a while. “You don’t want to answer?” his silence gave her the response. She turned around. "It's like nothing but limitations. Watching the world in four lines only, wishing for its spaces to become wider one day. It's the thirsty watching the river across him drying, it's the lover yearning and dying. Serving for the one unaware of my existence, but if I break a rule, he will order my death by calling my name he just learned. It's gleaming under the moonlight, but I'm called a knight, I'm dark and faceless. Gawking at the abyss. Still in here, dancing in my little world. It's admiring all the beautiful things, in pieces. Speaking to a weary mind, even then in hesitation, I'm nothing but limitations." Amelia wiped her tears away. "Hey, tomorrow, it's your turn. You have to answer me. What’s it like to be you?" Amelia could hear his smile through his softening voice. She nodded and ran to her tower, then cried herself to sleep. Her pillow clasped her falling tears. "Martha, we need to go to the castle today. I need to see my father." "But we can't Amelia. It's not been a month yet." "I don't care!" The basket of bread fell from Martha's hands. "Is it because of that knight?" "What?" "Too late." Amelia ran outside. He wasn't there. "What did you do to him?" She wailed. "The horseman saw him talking to you. The rest is history." "No! Where is he?" "By now, dead. We have received orders to keep you safe. The gate will be locked for the remaining days." Her teardrops splashed as they fell on the table. The girl who thought she’d found her soulmate, had found another lesson. For the next ten days, Amelia lied bedridden in her room. The moon was in hiding, so were the stars for the misty nights. Stimulated by darkness, yet she couldn't get enough of it. After ten days of silence, she whispered to his ghost, answering his question. "Dear knight, I'm anything but free, I'm a wingless bird in a roofless cage, and I'm stitching my wings just to have them torn again. My naivety has brought me to this day. I didn't even know my own father, I'm a murderer's daughter. I'm a Princess, a curse on its own. They've branded my fate, and I can't change it. Not by hopes, nor by prays. Dear knight, I'm sorry I brought you to this day. But now I see you living in your free, little world. In our ephemeral, wish I could know your name. I'm sane for my hallucinations, I'm nothing but limitations..." She spent days gardening and singing to pretty flowers, and her nights reading about stars as she embraced the gloom, clothed in a black robe. She was the goth living in a pink castle. Her favourite tale was the Chinese celebrated story regarding two stars, Vega and Altair. Vega was a weaver who made pretty clothes using the milky way. As every day passed by, a fear expanded in her fragile heart, lest she will spend her life lonely. One day, she met Altair, a farmer across the milky way and they fell in love which made Vega's father furious since both neglected their obligations. But to not break Vega's heart, her father made a decision. They were allowed to meet only once a year, which falls on the seventh day of the seventh month. When the awaited day arrived, they fathomed they couldn't cross the milky way to finally reunite. Seeing the sadness in Vega's eyes a flock of magpies build a bridge between the separated. And when it rains on that day, it is believed to be Vega's tears, since, for some reason, they have to wait for another year... Amelia's father’s great companion inquired her like he would in the past. “What’s your favourite colour?” “When tragedy strikes you, it hides you.” “Your favourite fruit?” “The acceptance reaped after sowing patients.” “What do you want to be when you grow older?” “A child.” After the demise of the King. Amelia the Queen was now responsible for her people. In her first days of taking the throne, she rewrote the entire decrees. No more sending off the about to be emperors far away. No more seizing a lofty amount of taxes from the farmers. The knights and servers were allowed to communicate as much as they liked. They would be replaced with the second shift workers during nights. Amelia was known for her uprising ruling. Her name prevailed as the most loving Queen Tribida had ever had.


I turned on the tv one morning, hoping to see something good on TV. As soon as I changed the channel, I saw my classmate Sabrina making an announcement.

“Good morning, people of L.A!!!! I am inviting you all from my school to join me at my house for a party! I know it has been a tough year for all of us, and now is your time to sit back and relax! Join me at eight, and text me to tell me you will be there! If I don’t hear from you, I will text you! I want you ALL to come. Nobody is allowed to miss it!” “Excuse me, weirdo, I am trying to report the news. Can I have that back?” “In a second, David. As I was saying, be there! I love you L.A!!!” “For those of you going to the party, no red cups, or drugs,” David said.

“This is the weirdest news channel ever.” My mom said.

I nodded my head in agreement.

“Are you going?” Mom asked.

“No, I will probably just study for finals.” “Honey, I think you should go. Maybe you can make some new friends.” “I’m not much of a party person, mom.” “When I was your age, I would go to all the parties. That’s where I met your father, we are high school sweethearts.” “I know, you told me a million times.” “I won’t make you go, but it would make me happy if you did.” I looked at my mom, who looked hopeful that I agreed to go. “Wouldn’t you rather have me study?” “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wanted you to study.” “Fine Mom, I will go. But if I feel uncomfortable I am leaving.” “Deal.” Mom said.

I pulled out my phone and texted Sabrina to tell her that I was going, but only for a little while because I hate parties. She laughed and told me that I would be there longer.

I parked my car on the street and saw a mansion appear before my eyes. The house was beautiful. The house consisted mostly of glass, and all the walls were white. It was so bright that you can see someone's face very clearly. I began to feel insecure, but I kept an open mind.

“Rose, you’re here! I thought you would be studying or something.” “I was planning to,” I admitted.

“Trust me, you will have a good time.” I looked around awkwardly and looked down at the floor. “Oh honey, don’t be nervous. Go dance to the music!” I knew that I was a good dancer, I danced my whole life. I didn’t want to be cocky though, I wanted to stay as far away from the spotlight as possible. I was only here to make my mom happy. I saw the people dancing and it made me cringe. They were stiff as hell, and I knew I could do better.

Suddenly, the song

Save the Last Dance For Me  came on by Michel Buble, and I couldn’t help myself from dancing.

I danced freely with all the dance moves I learned from my experience in dance class, that I didn’t realize everyone was cheering me on. They all clapped and I kept going. I didn’t want to stop dancing, as I was becoming popular from something I was good at. People began talking to each other saying things like, “I didn’t know she can dance!” Or “Wow, she is amazing!”

I began to do some twirls, and then the moonwalk. People took out their phones to record, and I felt like I was famous. I saw Sabrina smiling on the side of the room, and nodded her head in the reassurance that she wanted me to keep exciting the crowd. I started singing along with the song, and someone turned the music off so they would be able to hear my voice solo. It turns out they loved it, I guess singing in the shower paid off. When I finished, they begged me to keep going, but the energy I had left my body and I was out of breath. I told them I needed a break and promised them I wouldn't go anywhere. People scrambled to get me a drink, others offered to give me a massage. It felt good to be cared about, and I convinced myself that parties weren’t as bad as I thought they were.

“What song can I put on for you, Rose.” The DJ said.

I thought for a minute, and then I turned to the people.

“What song do you want me to dance to!” I yelled.

They all screamed the song,

I can’t remember to forget you,  By Shakira. That was one of my favorite songs! I got on stage and mimicked the way Shakira dances and they loved it. Some even tried to follow what I was doing, and I was having the best time of my life. Many of them stuck their bellies out as I did a belly dance, and it was funny to see them try and attempt it. They pleaded for me to sing, and told me my voice was beautiful. I sang along with the song and danced the night away. At the end of the night, many of them begged to exchange phone numbers with me, I gave my contact to anyone that wanted it.

I went up to Sabrina who was in the kitchen all by herself.

“Thank you, Sabrina. I had a really fun night, and it wouldn’t be possible without you.” Sabrina nodded her head and wiped her tired eyes. She rested her head in her hand as she looked at the mess the people made. I looked at the mess, and back at her. It felt wrong to leave her like that.

“Hey Sabrina, I can help you clean this.” “Don’t worry, I will take care of it. You did enough for one night, go rest.” “I don’t usually like being the center of attention, I apologize for stealing the show.” “Don’t apologize. The only reason I bothered inviting everyone is that nobody wanted to go to my house before. They think I am a loser. You made them want to come here, thank you for that.” “I feel bad leaving you like this, so I don’t care if you never invite me again. I am helping you clean.” I walked over to the cans and began to pick them up one by one. I looked over at Sabrina who passed out on the kitchen counter and figured she would feel relieved if she woke up and everything was clean. When I was done cleaning, I left my number on the counter and went home. Sometimes doing things that are out of your comfort zone can have a big impact on your life, and this was certainly the best day of my life.