“…and the first will bring the Light, and the second the Strength. Then Darkness will fall upon the crest of day and there will be a third and she will be the Foretold.” He spoke her name in whispers even inside his head, in the night which was her namesake. He heard it in the rolling waves of the sea beyond his window as if she murmured it to him across the water. I’m here. Don’t forget me. How could he? She came to him in dreams, in quiet moments. He felt her in the power which thrummed between his palms. They said it was she who held him back, who prevented him from realizing his full potential. His brother cursed her in these moments, blaming her for the impediment he knew they both felt. But no matter how their brother scorned her, Leon could not summon his twin’s ire. He scoffed at this word, his head falling back against the window casing where he sat as he did every night looking out at the lonely water. The Twins. The Kings. The Ones Who Were Chosen. There were dozens of names for them. He and his brother were celebrated across the land, toasted in taverns and prayed to in dark moments. As if he could somehow hear their silent words, as if the manner of his birth could save their dying child. Luca certainly seemed to think so. His brother, The Firstborn, The Bringer of Light, took to his role with the bravado of royalty, though his right had yet to be bestowed. Always stronger, always faster, always more cunning and ruthless. He had found his power ages before Leon, ignoring the gnawing ache that accompanied. Leon always wondered if he felt it as strongly, if his brother felt the repercussions of tapping into the source of their power. If he knew that she was the source of their power. For Leon had felt it, that first time, standing at the edge of the water, letting it bubble over his feet, his face screwed up in concentration, his body weary and spent from the hours of training he’d been put through that day. But even as the sun sank toward the horizon, his brother would not allow him to quit. “Try again.” “I can’t, we both know I can’t.” “You have to,” Luca snapped. “We are the only ones who can. How do you not understand that? How can you give up so easily? How can you let them starve, let them die, when you know that you could help them if you only tried?” “I am trying.” “Then try harder. Come now. Again.” Leon breathed deep of the salty brine, filled his lungs with it. He let the sound of the waves surround him, the cool breeze playing across his skin, raising his dark hair. He murmured the words given to him by The Ancients, the words which had been meant for him. On a whim, he thought of her. He thought of the music she sent him through the wind, of her laughter in the sway of the trees. He thought of the one word which was forbidden. The rush he’d felt was so strong he’d nearly toppled over. The air burst from his chest, an intense rushing sound filling his ears, his mouth, his pores. He saw the light which gathered between his palms, felt the heat, the power. Feel me, she said. I’m here. He laughed, reaching out, filled with the most euphoric sense of joy. The sounds of his brother’s elation faded beneath the voice of their sister, a voice which he had heard only in dreams. And then the exhilaration melted, twisting into pain, into fear, the anguish so intense his eyes filled, his heart constricting. Don’t forget me. Please. Save me. Leon fell back with a cry. He hadn’t even realized he’d hit the sand until his vision cleared and Luca was kneeling over him, grinning with pride. “Don’t worry, little brother,” Luca said, using the endearment though they were born within the same hour. “It won’t be so hard next time.” “Did you hear her?” Luca’s face darkened. “Hear whom?” Leon almost said her name, the syllables on his tongue, begging to burst forth. His brother rose. “Cast her away,” he warned. “She is a siren; she seeks to lure us into freeing her so she can steal our power. We must not be tempted, brother. We must stay strong for our people.” “She’s so alone,” Leon gasped, staring up into his brother’s darkening face. “And that she must stay. You know the prophecy as well as I. You needed the connection to tap into your power, but never use it near the water again lest she pulls you in. Cast her aside, brother, and keep your eyes on your purpose.” Leon could still hear her, feel her, and rubbed the ache at the base of his skull. “Did you hear her too?” Luca seemed to be debating whether or not to answer him. He rose and watched the sun sink below the ocean’s edge. Then spat in it. “I curse her existence every day.” “But without her we would not be.” Luca turned back towards their house, the grand mansion towering on the cliffs which had been bestowed upon them on the day of their birth. “The only reason I haven’t set fire to the sea.” . . . It was said that night fell the moment she was born, though it was high noon on the longest day of the year. Luca had been brought into the world at the break of dawn and Leon shortly after. Their mother had labored for hours with their sister, The Ancients descending upon the brothel where she struggled. They did not step foot inside; they did not intervene. The first triplets brought forth in centuries and yet they refused to lay a hand on the tiring woman. The townspeople gathered at the doors, filling the streets, praying to The Ancients. Women surrounded the nameless vagrant who screamed into the morning, urging her on. Men crippled their horses in their eagerness to share the news. And when she came, when that baby girl shouted her first cry into the world, the sky fell and all were bathed in darkness. The Ancients took the babe from her lifeless mother’s breast and brought the three of them to the very shore where Leon had found his power. There, they sealed the girl beneath the waves and marked the brothers as gods. The boys had grown together, learned together, carried their burden together. Leon could feel his brother in his bones, in his power. His brother never waned in their training, his hand always there to help Leon off the floor, his words always encouraging. “All will be well, brother,” he could hear Luca say in their difficult moments. “Trust in us. Trust in me.” When scores of desperate mothers and troubled farmers came to their step it was Luca who met them at the door, kneeling on the ground with them, his eyes closed as he placed a hand on their head, whispering words of healing. Then Luca would lift his eyes. “Help me, brother. I cannot do this without you.” And every time Leon would kneel. And every time he would speak the silent words. Help me, sister. I cannot do this without you. He never knew if their spells alleviated their burdens, if their prayers to The Ancients were ever answered, but the people who left looked lighter, their suffering eased if only for a moment, so he told himself that they helped. Now Leon wondered, in this darkest moment before the dawn, what those people would pray for when this terrible morning rose. He wondered what they would say as they bowed over their measly gruel, as they knelt before their paltry mattresses. Did they wish his sister dead, as his brother did? Did they wish to ban an innocent girl to eternal perdition to relieve their aching bellies? He scowled at the dark ocean, watching the waves crash against the shore. Of course they did. He wasn’t even sure if he could blame them. He’d never felt hunger, never felt true cold or fear, but he saw it in their eyes, in the eyes of his people. And only he could ease their suffering. For at the break of dawn on this day, the day of his twenty-fifth birthday, his coming of age, he would join his brother at their sister’s prison and together they would consume her power, banish her from this earth. With her exile the fields would become fertile once more, the wars between lands would cease, and peace would reign. Leon felt his brother approach. Luca didn’t need doors to enter a room. “You’re listening to her.” Leon said nothing. “You know she lies, little brother.” “I know.” “As do you.” Leon turned. His brother seemed older than he had yesterday, the lines of his face deeper somehow. Though seemingly identical, Leon could see small differences in the tilt of his dark eyes, in the small pinch at the corner of his brother’s mouth. A look of fettered disapproval. “I understand you’ve always struggled with our task,” he said softly, joining him at the window, looking out at the sea, at the waves which held their sister so tightly. “We’ve been burdened with the hardest choice a man can make. But we must. You know we must.” Leon sighed, looking down at his hardened hands, his fingers curling as if he could hold her there. “I know.” Luca’s hand came to his shoulder as always and he could feel the warmth his brother radiated for him, only for him. The strength he gave to his disappointing little brother. Luca’s fingers tightened. “You’ve never disappointed me,” he said softly, reading him as always. “I know you think I do not feel what you do…but it’s not true. I feel her. I know she’s the reason why I have these powers. But she’s also the reason why we must destroy her.” “Why?” Leon asked, saying out loud what he had always felt. “Why must she be the cost?” “Because she is that which holds back the Light,” Luca said, reciting the Foretold. “We are not the first to make this sacrifice. The Ancients willing, however, we will be the last.” Leon knew this. He knew the words. He knew the stories. The Archaic Triads. Two boys and a girl. The men giving their sisters, as was prophesied, to obtain the entirety of their powers. To ease their aching lands. The men’s powers would eventually wane over hundreds of years, their voices growing dim until they were no more. They would rise then to the peaks of Mount Vis where they would live out their days as The Ancients, watching over the earth until the next Triad appeared. “Why us?” Leon sighed. Luca’s hand tightened. “So that it does not have to be others.” Leon knew the weight Luca carried was even heavier as the Firstborn. Maybe he even heard her as intensely as Leon did, but he never let it show because this was his task, what he had been burdened with at his first breath. No matter how stern he’d had to be, Luca had always been at Leon’s side, had always eased his way, shouldering the responsibilities thrust upon them. He’d always been the strong one, even though it was supposed to be Leon’s duty. “I need you now, brother,” Luca breathed, meeting his eye. “I cannot do this without you.” Don’t forget me. I won’t. Save me. I can’t. . . . Leon watched from the cliffs as his people came, in carts, in wagons, in droves. They filled the beach, every inch of it. He could feel their eyes gazing up at him expectantly, pleadingly. Though thousands of bodies gathered not a single voice spoke, for it was known that words belonged only to The Twins that day. As the sky lightened his stomach twisted. He tried to focus on the screeching of the gulls, on the frothy waves as they fell upon each other, but his dread mounted. Luca’s hand came to his shoulder once more, pressing calm upon him. Breathe, brother. All will be well. The people parted, some with their heads bent, others with their hands clasped, as a dozen robed figures descended upon the sand. They wore red as a mark of their penance, the color he would bear from this day on. The Ancients, The Silent Ones, the ones who had given their kin for the sake of their people. Leon watched as they neared the water and knew he would do the same one day, leading the way for two young men to mark their atonement and embrace their prophecy. The Ancients lined up at the water, leaving a gap between them. Six on one side. Six on the other. Six Firstborns. Six Strength-Bringers. Twelve former men who had paid the highest price for their powers. Luca’s hand fell. The Silent Ones raised their eyes to where The Twins stood upon the cliffs. In the space of a breath they joined The Ancients at the waterline. As promised, Leon had not used his power near the ocean again and could feel the reason as the waves tugged at his core, pulling him in. He fought it, turning to his brother who looked similarly distraught. The Oldest One stood before Luca. Though a head shorter, power radiated off him. His hood concealed most of his face, but Leon could see that the skin was white as snow, pulled tight across his bones. His leathery hands rose to Luca’s shoulders and Leon felt a stab of trepidation that was not his own. The Strength-Bringer took the Firstborn’s hand. Then his brother’s voice rose upon the wind. “…and so it is known that the Light shall cast out the Dark, for the First will bring the Last and at last the End of the Night. So it is writ; so it shall be Foretold.” As dawn broke, Luca dropped his hand and stepped forth into the sea. He convulsed, the water swirling and rising, bubbling as the waves grew. Leon could hear the gasps of fear behind him, but he had eyes for naught but his brother. Luca fell to his knees and Leon could hear his sobs as the Bringer of Light brought his hands to the waves. The Oldest One stepped aside. Leon shuddered as The Strongest One stood before him, lifting his weathered hands to his shoulders. He felt a shock of power filling him, felt it thrumming in his blood, fierce, beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Beneath it, however, was something else, something simmering, cold and sharp. Regret. Leon met The Strongest One’s eyes. They were nearly white; everything he’d ever been, every hope and ambition and memory washed away through time. Not everything. Leon started, then cried out as the image of a girl with golden curls filled his mind. He felt an overwhelming sadness break over him. Fulfill your prophecy. The image was gone the moment The Strongest One stepped away, but the feeling remained. A sorrow which clung to his bones, weighing on his vocal cords. Luca was still on his knees in the water, his body quaking. “Please, brother,” he grated out, and Leon knew he suffered. Please, brother. Her voice shook Leon to his core. “…and so the Second would bring Strength to the First and to his Mother, for she could not bring the Dark without him. And he would bear the Dark upon him and together they will End the Night. So it is writ; so it shall be Foretold.” Leon looked down at his shaking hands, could feel the meager power within them, knew that if he could only have the strength to shoulder this burden he would have powers beyond his wildest imaginings. The people behind him would never again go without food, without shelter or medicine. “Brother,” Luca groaned, and Leon knew the Lightbringer could not do this without him. He had to bear the Dark so his brother could cast it out. He stepped into the sea. The water raged, filling him with the dominion of the earth and he could hear it breathe, hear every soul speak, every mountain sigh, every tree dance. He felt it all and beneath it, felt the Dark – cold, cruel, evil. He felt it rise and when he lifted his eyes she was there. His sister stood before Luca in the roiling sea, her black hair billowing in the wind, her eyes, so like theirs, full of anguish. He felt what The Strongest One had shown him. Leon stepped forward and his hands no longer shook. They were wrong, he told his siblings. They’ve been wrong this whole time. Leon please, Luca begged him, his face streaked with tears. Do not listen for she lies! She can’t lie, brother, for she has never spoken. They took that from her, from all of them. Their eyes met and understanding crashed over him. …and the third would bring the Dark and with the Dark, the Night. And the Dark would have a name and the name, once spoken, would be the Beginning of the End. So it is writ; so it shall be Foretold. They were wrong. She wasn’t the End. She was the Beginning. Leon placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Then held out the other. As her cool fingers slid into his, the Dark thundered to life and Night fell. “Layla.”


The mind, such a beautiful fragile thing. The key to slipping away from our painful, stressful realities. But also the secret weapon we harbor that can lead to our ultimate downfall. I always look at the world in a half-full glass, I whispered in a daydream once. Oh, how daydreaming was my eudaimonic pleasure, how it dulcified my anxiety like the lull of the luscious melodies of Jazz. My mind glowed with the glimmer of a million fireflies leaping across the luminescent sky. But that was before the storm clouds came rumbling in camouflaging my midnight. A year ago I would have never had to make the vow I now make on this December 31st, but your life can change in an instant. Happiness, you were everything to me, your radiating positivity, but where did you go? My life was once a fairytale, but it withered. It started one day in March. "Virus spreading rapidly in Europe'', the voice on the black box stated. I thought nothing of what was supposed to be a "humorous meme". But fear still settled in my mind. You see, we were actually headed on a school trip to Europe, one I had dreamed about since I was 3, yes at an age where I was just beginning to recollect dreams. But then I internalized the words my teacher stated about the trip, "they won't let you go if you have the faintest of a cough." I from then on had a mission. This mission coupled with my ambition to achieve perfect attendance took up most of my thought space so that no other thoughts could have the precious airtime. The battle was on and I suited up. I wore my shield of a face mask. Others mocked me saying the mask would do nothing to prevent getting the virus, but I didn’t care about just the virus. You see before my trusty shield came along, I was left defenseless against the siege being laid by the flu. “No cough” my thoughts reminded me, as persistently as an alarm clock. I got smart by wearing a mask, and my shield and I formed a bond as strong as that of a soldier and steed. Wearing my shield, I felt safe, an indescribable feeling of safety. But then my armor with age sought retirement. Except I could not provide that, for the quest to obtain a new shield proved impossible. So I instead bandaged the steed up with tape yet this proved an ineffective solution so more drastic modifications had to be made. That’s right, layers of paper towels. However, my armor then became heavier and the days felt longer. It’s as if safety couldn’t exist in my little corner of the world. The improvisations inflicted feelings of excessive warmth and sickness within me. Good thing we were given rest in spring break. But who I thought was the enemy in a battle I thought was over was not the real devious mastermind. The truth was, my battle was just beginning and turns out there was almost no one I could trust. The germs that danced once across my nightmarish visions ceased out of existence, blown away like dust. I found comfort in the cocoon of my solitude. I made friends with the silence as my contact with the real world had been severed. But very soon my own mind started to fight me as if it was discontent with my inner peace. “Pick up the litter or bad things will happen”, it screamed in my head on a loop. I obeyed and thought it was just the morality of my conscience. But this thought echoed in my inner being in parks or any time I was outside. I would stop everything I was doing just to pick up a cigar with my bare hands, and then I couldn’t stop. I was like Pac-man on a hunt. Picking up trash was like a never-ending addiction that I did not desire to have. I would scream out of frustration yet I could not stop until my arms itched. Could not stop until it was dusk by the time I came home where I would be met with a “Where have you been?” Oh, mother how I wish I knew. I was in emotional distress, longing for freedom. I was tired of this. But one day, it was as if relief came. My mind no longer chanted such banter in my ears. And yet I wasn’t free. “Step on the sidewalk crack and your mom will die”, became my next favorite tune. And once again I obeyed. But did obeying make me feel better? No! You’d think if you were in perfect submission to your captor, then they would be satisfied. But instead, he ramped up the punishment. Intensified it until I snapped. On that fine September day, I just a girl going about her day. But then he called out like a siren to a sailor and I was lured in by the far from melodious tune. Yet the tune had a hypnotizing effect. I reawakened my trash habits and I knew I had walked into a war. Soon enough I was sticking my arm elbow-deep in a trash can to re-throw away a water-logged phone three times. “Do this or your dog will be poisoned!”, “Oh we wouldn’t want your brother getting into a car accident now would we?” Well, he was right, so I obeyed. And by the end my shoes were muddy, my socks wet, leaves intertwined in my hair, itching sensations all over my body, and an emotional breakdown as the cherry on top. I then obeyed more trying to please him so he never put me through that again. But he never held up his end of the bargain. He kept it up, but what could I do? “Step on the sidewalk crack and your mother dies”, became my mantra. But the demands of being outside were too hard to keep up. So I just solved the problem by staying house-bound. Others never left the house in order to protect themselves from the virus, but my main reason for staying home was because being outside was too scary, time-consuming, and emotionally draining. So two weeks passed, and I was officially kind of like Rapunzel minus the shiny long blonde hair which some of us secretly wished we had. But then I was fine until I was not. Honestly, how could I fight a monster I could not see? Time progressed and I tried to get by as fear paralyzed my body at any given moment. With tears from fear arising occasionally. I stayed in his servitude and by doing so I almost lost myself completely. I slowly started to deteriorate. Joy could not be found so often, and my days were not enjoyable. And then I felt emotionally void, as he hid my feelings from me. But then it changed. My pain became visible and mom finally cracked the mystery. So me and my mom went to an ally for valuable intel. The therapist finally revealed my enemy to me. 3 letters, one syllable, OCD. I still lose myself in his mazes. He being my OCD voice Baxter. I am slowly finding myself. The truth is I almost had to lose myself completely to uncover my enemy. So this year as I reflect, while others make resolutions for diets or improved patience, I will make my resolution. A resolution to fall in love with myself again, and learn to forgive myself. Because we all deserve happiness and independence. But to do that we must learn to break free. And that can only be done with understanding and self-love.


Part 1 Princess Sissy was a little girl when she was sent away to a far away place to get married to a prince who was about the same age as hers. It was rather complicated since they were so little they started to think that they are sisters brothers. No one bothered to care about this. Brother, have you seen my books I dont remember where I have put them. Probably a servant re-arranged them somewhere. Oh oh oh look who is talking. You are a princess you should know how to stay clean and arranged. She bursts into tears making her brothers heart melt. Hey hey dont cry I was just joking, you know? Don't tease me like that please. They kept growing on each other more and more. Both the prince nor the princess knew what was going on. There were a lot of rumours saying that the king sold the country to save himself from his enemies. Even though they knew about this they didnt actually care because it was just a rumour. part 2 People was demanding the king to leave the throne. The more the prince know about this the more he was stressed. I must keep my sister safe no matter what. Where is she know he asked his servant who was near him. She is getting dressed for some occasion at the moment. What is it I dont know about a ceromany or an occasion. Every detail about it , I want it right now! The Prince was called in by the king. My son look how much you have grown. Father tell me what's going on and exactly what did you do. Is it true that you sold the country to save your self. Aren't you even ashamed of your self father. Aren't a king supposed to fight until the end for it's people. Why are you like this. Any way son tonight you will be married and you will be throned as the new king at the next sunrise. So go now and prepare for the wedding ceremony. What ? A wedding. With whome? Who said that I wanted to get married? And why in the world do I need to get married to accend the throne. Its politics son, you will learn about them later. I said I dont want to. Even if you dont want to you have to do this. So now go. Tell me, with whome am I going to get married? Its Princess Sissy. My sister. I will repeat again she is not your sister. She was your fiancee to begin with. Don't tell me that you dont have any feelings for her and dont tell me that you didnt know she was your biological sister. I knew that but how can I get married to her father why cant you understand that. I said leave this place. No more questions What's wrong with everyone here. I know if I am together with her I will not be able to control my self. I loved her this long but I couldn't confess because she was like a sister to me. Part 3 I was waiting for her to arrive. She was covered in white wail dressed like a swan. She was so beautiful in my view. She wasn't allowed to lift up her wail until she was at the room. We exchange rings and said our woes. It seemed like she didnt know who I was. I lift up her wail until her lips were revealed and kissed her. We were showed our way to where out room was. When I entered it was all in red. Even the candles. Sissy it's me lift your wail up. She was surprised. Brother ! Why are we getting married. We were engaged since we was little that's why we didnt knew that we were supposed to be lovers and I also want to say that I knew this. I love you lot even if you dont accept me. Dont worry brother I knew this too. I knew it was you from the moment you kissed me. I could feel it was you from your touch. So are we supposed to do that tonight. You don't want to I guess. I could see her face changing she was all red. I could see that she wanted it. I carried her to bed and took of her wail. I kissed her like crazy because I wanted to kiss her until we got our tongues entangled. It felt so good. I broke our kiss coming down from her neck upto her collarbone. I took off her dress leading my kiss downwards. We were like two crazy lovers who met after a long while. We were one in a minute. Next morning she was sleeping on my arms I kissed her fore head. I woke up from the knock on the door. I Withought waking her up I wore my pants and went to the door. Prince Ashi you are supposed to get ready for the coronation ceremony now. Sure please lead the way I said while closing the door without making a sound. Part 4 I was not not happy but I wanted this since a long time. The throne to wear the crown. Everything was ready for me. Even the towns men had gathered. Everyone was waiting for the sunrise. To make me even more happy the princess came in dressed in white. The moment she came in the sun started to rise making sunrays touch the peaks of the castle. The moment I sat on the throne with my wife I felt like I had everything. After meeting and talking to the high officials and some towns people. I left to go spend time with my wife. She was a total different person not my sister any more. We were talking in the room having breakfast there without having it with the family. We heard some one scream. I went outside to see what it was. The guards in the hallway had disappeared and it was empty I didnt care much until I felt a gun on my head. Get on your knees now! Who are you guys and why are you here ? Where is the queen? He asked me. You dont have to know that. He tied me up and took me to the hall where the throne was. Up on the throne there was a young man who was wearing the crown. Announce your dethronement now this moment before I kill your queen. Where is she ? I shouted let go of her please. You love her dont you if you dont want to get her killed announce your dethronement now. I took a pen and a paper and wrote in it that the country's new king will be him. She pulled the queen down the stairs. She was unconscious. I took her onto my arms. I will give you one day to flee this country. If I ever hear about you after that day you will be killed on spot. I took her and went out of the castle there were guards who I had never seen before I lead my self to the port with the queen still unconscious on my hands. Near the port there was a familiar face it was our nanny when were both small. She handed us over with a basket and told us to flee to Sri Lanka where we could stay safe for a while. She smiled at me it was a smile that I missed so much I didnt know what happened to my mom or my dad. I thought of going to my queens country but it would risk both of our lives. We flee to an island the people were nice to us. In that basket when I opened it there was enough money and clothing for both of us. After starting our life in Sri Lanka. I heard another great news it was that my queen was pregnant. People was so nice to us. So we could lead a quite life. I always wondered how I lost one of the most precious things to me in one night. If it hadn't been for my fathers deal with those people it wouldn't have happened. We were safe however. Love is the most important thing in the world THE END A story by Stephanie Rasanya


I will be back, I said. I know you will, she said back. I winced as she smiled her beautiful smile and I smiled back, but my smile was not beautiful like hers. After a hug and a playful push of the wheelchair, I left her; and I told myself that she would be fine. I dreamt up scenarios of her being fed, bathed, told stories and put to bed with care. I convinced myself that she would be loved and that she would know that I would never forget her. She would have a wonderful journey with others like her. With the same journey. And then I checked the address for my own wonderful journey. The image of a picture-perfect campus was etched in my mind and I held onto it like one would hold onto a rope whilst hanging off a cliff. After all, the things that I left for my other half was walls, a bed and people around to make sure that she was able to speak, breathe and not wet her own bed. She hated wetting her bed with a passion and I hoped that they would comfort her whenever she did - because it was unavoidable a lot of the time. After leaving her, the campus was all I had now. The only thing to hold onto, besides the fond memories of her. Even though I loved her, I had to acknowledge the fact that there was also nothing to keep me from succeeding. And if I failed, then I would have left her alone for nothing. And so failing was not an option. Because I had abandoned a prime hindrance. There was no more checking ventilators, or vitals or blood pressure. There was no more carrying her up and down the stairs, because I couldn't afford anything other than a small apartment. There wouldn't be any more need to digress through tantrums and rainy days. I wouldn't need to glare at people when they stared in the supermarket and then calm her down when she noticed. I didn't have to spend all of my days reading and scrolling through Tinder even though I never accepted requests when nice guys asked me on dates; I didn't have to constantly decline going out with my friends because everyone that we loved was dead and there was no chance of finding someone to care for her when I wasn't; I never had to bring an entire backpack everywhere we went so that I was prepared in case of an accident again. And it was freeing just as it was heart crushing. *** I felt horrible at first. I felt like I had lost something so essential in my life that I would never be able to live without it - without her - and still serve a legitimate purpose. I thought that I'd never find something so exhausting and yet so fulfilling to do ever again. I worried that the other people in my life would judge me for it, too, perhaps even shun me. God knows, it was what I deserved. And really, I wanted people to treat me that way; so that I would never have peace and be punished for what I had done. For leaving her and believing that she would be fine. However, I was not shunned by the other people whom I loved. Instead, they saw my pain and my reluctance. They told me that I was doing the right thing to take care of myself; and that I should not feel guilty. A friend from my days of volunteering even helped me fill in my application form and that small action eased my mind and convinced me that I was doing the right thing. My friend even went as far as telling me that the institution was a good thing and that my other half would be happy that I thought of myself after all the years of tending to her needs. And I believed her. Surely, it was my time to live, grow and become something other than an attachment. I had to get an opportunity to be fully happy and free. It was something that I really looked forward to. People wouldn't see me as the 'strong nanny' anymore. Perhaps then they'd see me as something else; something that didn't involve another person. And I got it. After a few years of studying engineering, I was finally becoming something more. I became a singular being who made her own choices and suffered her own consequences. I mustered the courage to find someone else that was really special to me, and his name was Eric. I made new friends who saw me as something more than what I had previously perceived myself to be. My image of the perfect life was just within my reach when Eric sought for marriage, and I believed that everything was going to be perfect, like I was hoping it would be. Everything that I had sacrificed for this life that made me happy was worth it. It was worth her. It had to be; and I never stopped trying to improve that life and myself to make sure that I didn’t abandon my other half for something that she would not be proud of. And I never forgot about her. I called every week with no exceptions, I made sure that she still got fed, bathed and told stories. I paid for everything that she would possibly need before I made any unnecessary splurges for myself and the institution updated me every few months and told me that she was okay. But, they lied. And I was naive to think that they were on the same self-improving journey as I was. Because she didn't want me to become my own person or live my own best life. After a few years, I was informed that when I had previously left her, she kicked and screamed. She did it everyday. When I asked why I wasn't informed, they didn't answer. And when I told them that I would be paying a visit, they told me not to bother. And after the natural question of why , I learned that she was now nothing more than a sack of bones drained of her blood. Because all of it coloured the warm bath water that she had killed herself in. And just like that, my own life and success meant nothing.


Sensitive Content Warning: eating disorders, underage drinking Oliver hoped that this Thanksgiving would be better than last year's. To be fair, he didn't think he was setting a very high bar. Family members that Oliver only saw once or twice a year made comments about how much more beautiful his sister was now that she was “all better,” Oliver sympathized with her but didn’t dare to comment on how horrendously inappropriate the comments were, especially coupled with the next set of comments being about how much Oliver had grown and how his appetite must be huge as a growing boy. This Thanksgiving would certainly not be better than last year’s.

“Actually, we don’t make comments about people’s bodies here. We all worry about ourselves and what’s on our own plate,” Adalyn said with a forced smile directed toward one of their clueless, old-fashioned aunts. Adalyn’s group therapy sessions included rehearsing these comeback comments for weeks leading up to Turkey Day. Turns out, it had been entirely necessary. Oliver looked to his sister as his aunt stuttered an apology in her general direction; Adalyn nodded as if she was listening but her eyes were fixed firmly on her plate, stabbing a few poor defenseless, saltless, butterless green beans with her fork. Adalyn shot Oliver a look, prompting Oliver to look back at his own plate, which had been overfilled with greed. Not to mention the soda he’d been drinking. He did need to worry about his own plate. - “You’re better than this…” Oliver said to his reflection in the steamy mirror. He wiped away the traces of vomit from his face with a piece of toilet paper and threw it in the bathroom trash. His family was downstairs, all chattering about, watching football, drunk off of cocktails, and heading towards a food coma territory from the abundant Thanksgiving spread.

Oliver was drunk off of power from having used the Thanksgiving dinner undo button he had discovered last year. While he could get at least most of the food up as if it had never happened, he couldn’t seem to fix what really led him here. Thanksgiving was once Oliver’s favorite holiday, but these days, thoughts of food and weight have made it the most dreaded holiday of all. This was a day that everyone was supposed to be thankful for what they have, so what do we do about it? Binge. If anyone knew what he was about to do when he left them all downstairs, they didn’t mention it. Fine by him. But if anyone had dared to ask him what he was up to or speak a single word of concern toward his behavior lately, he thought he might spill his guts to quite literally anyone who asked. Maybe it would have prevented the entire crime scene he had to clean up from the bathroom before anyone found out. There was no use trying to cover it up anyway; his ever-so-perfect sister had once been in his shoes and the hubbub over her was colossal. Their mom and dad had dropped everything for her; their mom had stayed home with her to make sure she was eating even long after the treatment center stint. After all, she’s a girl and everyone knew what to look for. A rite of passage in a way, falling into the same traps all of the girls in the family seemed to. Oliver’s struggles had gone unnoticed. You can’t be a boy with a girl problem and expect people to notice. When Adalyn had gotten sick, he’d been angry. He had to live in Adalyn’s movie and she was the main character. But now Oliver knew better, life is more like an ensemble piece. Just as Adalyn had her very special episode, now it was his turn. He cleaned up the mess he’d left, and almost as an afterthought, he got into the running shower to turn the lie he’d told into a half-truth. - After the adults had all sobered up enough to go their own ways until they would meet again on Christmas, and the parents were upstairs gossiping about the new family drama, the two teenagers were left alone. Adalyn appeared with a half-empty bottle of wine and two plastic cups in her hand. “I figured we could use a little treat after the horrors we have endured,” she said with a smile. Oliver’s eyes darted back and forth from the bottle of wine in Adalyn’s pink-nailed hand to her face. She rolled her eyes. “They won’t notice, there’s still plenty left.” She set the cups on the coffee table, pouring the remainder of the wine into them. When one had a little more than the other, she poured from the fuller cup until she was sure they were even, and handed one to Oliver. “How are you doing?” Oliver asked her, both hands cupped around the chilled cup of wine as if it was going to warm him up. Adalyn took a long sip before she answered. “I’m fine, really. I’m doing a lot better,” Adalyn said. “But how are you?” Oliver hesitated, and followed suit by swallowing a mouthful of sparkling wine, but found that he had nothing to say on the subject. “I mean… I’m fine.” Adalyn blinked at him a few times before turning her attention back to her drink, she stared into it as if it had answers that Oliver didn’t have for her. “I know what you’ve been doing,” Adalyn said, then took another sip without looking back up at her brother. “I’m not doing anything,” Oliver said, shaking his head. Whether he was trying to deny it or ignore it was anyone’s guess. “Then why did you leave in the middle of dinner?” Adalyn asked. “I was taking a shower,” Oliver said, holding up a few strands of his still-damp hair to prove his point. “In the middle of dinner?” “I felt gross,” Oliver said, shrugging. “I know,” Adalyn said pointedly. Oliver crumbled, he knew he’d been caught. As much as he thought he wanted someone to notice or care, he'd already seen the consequences of his sister being caught and he didn’t want them. He didn’t want the fanfare and he didn’t want to go away like Adalyn did, and most of all he did not feel ready to let go. “I know I’m better than this.” “No. You deserve better than this.”


Summer, 1961 My older sister moved back home after a month with a new accent and a listless gaze. She went away to forge new life for herself in Chicago when she was fifteen and returned without hope, her expression drawn and sad, her wallet full but her face empty. After she got back I’d wake up sometimes at night, from the heat, and her bed would be empty.

She and I didn’t go to school anymore, not for years. The superintendents didn’t think it was worth climbing the hill to check on us kids. It is hard to climb a thorny hill and convince a father that his daughters ought not to be working but learning; it is easy to pass by in a plush silver car. We used to go, when Mom was still alive and the bus still came way out here, but now we just helped Dad around the property, digging for water, stringing up barbed wire, driving skinny cow after skinny cow out of the wilted cabbage and tomato plants behind our house. Every day she grew thinner and her skin paler.

“I like it out here,” I told her, one golden afternoon only a few weeks after she came home. We were sitting together watching the sun fall over the craggy, scratchy boulders in the distance, out past the lonely highway. “Yeah?” she said, her voice hollow. Her expression was tight, like she was trying to remember something.

“It’s pretty.” I pulled my bare feet up into a pretzel and started plucking thorns out of the pads of my toes.

“Yeah?” Her eyes seemed to focus for a second. “Well, rich people live farther into the wilderness, where they can’t even see the highway—or people like us.” “Oh.” “They have nice, big houses. Leather furniture. Everyone has their own bedrooms. Big windows where you can watch the sunset. And sometimes they have dishwashers.” “How do you know?” “I saw it in Chicago,” she said, rubbing her face. Her eyes looked tired, her skin grey and damaged. “Everybody had one. Red Barn only hired me because their dishwasher machine would take an hour to run and they needed plates and things sooner.” “An hour?” I said slowly.

“You only have to scrape the food off,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then you put the plates into the machine and close it.” “Wow.” I returned to watching the cars come one at a time down the narrow strip of asphalt, just half a mile from our trailer home. “What’s today?” she asked me suddenly. She didn’t turn to ask; she kept staring after the moving cars as they disappeared, silhouetted against the setting sun. It looked like the light was blinding her, because tears formed on the rims of her eyelids, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Uh, today?” “The date.” I shrugged. We didn’t have church to mark Sundays for us, and since we didn’t go to school… “You don’t know?” “No.” “I—I just can’t remember.” “Why do you want to know?” Her mouth opened and nothing came out.

We sat in silence. The sun was half gone, illuminating the hillocks and reddish-brown arid pasture with a golden flame of color. “It is sort of pretty, isn’t it?” she said.

“No view like this in Chicago, huh?” She let a smile creep over her face. “Nah, but in Chicago, people… moved.” “Moved?” She paused, searching for words. “Around. Libraries. Theater, if you wanted. Restaurants, for ice cream. School. Out of your parents’ house. Moving around . Life.” I looked at her face, brushed pure gold by the sun and touched with silver by the chilly shadow of our lonely dust-colored trailer home in the distance. There was a tear track on her illuminated cheek. “I just…” she said, then shook her head.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked her.

“Mac n’ cheese,” she said, lifting her thigh to brush the gravel and dirt from her skin. It was patterned red with the pressure of the ground. She let out a sigh and slouched back over, fiddling with a long thorny blade of grass. “In Chicago I could walk downtown and go into a hall and listen to someone sing.” “Oh,” I said, thinking hard.

We shivered together, all of a sudden. The wind was chill in contrast to the warm earth and dying sun. “Let’s go in,” I said.

“No.” “Why not?” “I like the cold.” “Why?” She sighed, exasperated. “I think better when I’m cold.” I resisted saying “Why?” again, but only barely. Wind crested the hill on which we sat, our shoulders pressed together, bare skin warming bare skin, and the wind pulled and pushed at our hair. Tendrils mixed together and when the wind died to a breeze it was all tangled and her face looked wild and a little more fearless. I kept my eyes down untangling my hair and when I looked up again, when the breeze was dead, her face had returned to its familiar wan, pale expression.

“Sometimes,” she said, “I just wanna pull on a jacket and walk to wherever those cars are going.” “Fort Davis?” “Is that where?” “In third grade we went to Fort Davis for a field trip. We went to the McDonald Observatory.” It was getting dark now, and chilly. I leaned against her and after a second she wrapped her right arm around me. She was taller than I. She had always been, but it hadn’t been as noticeable lately. She seemed pushed down. “Oh?” she said, her voice a little softer, but preoccupied, like she was still thinking about the date. I tried to remember, too, for her, but couldn’t. It was sometime in May, I thought, since it wasn’t hot yet, just seventies and eighties without wind. May. And I always knew when my birthday was, because it was with the first frost. Late November or early December. It was spring when the heifers gave birth. And autumn when the grass and tomatoes died and the cars—summer traffic—thinned out on the highway. “It was great,” I said after a long pause.

She looked down at me for the first time. “I’ve never been there,” she said. “What’s it like?” The moon was rising along with the stars, laid out before us. Since we were far from any town or other trailer homes or even rich-people houses, they were vivid and bright, coating the vibrant darkness until there was barely any sky left. We could see the arm of the Milky Way, the patterns of the Bears and the Pleiades and Orion. There was even a small, brightly shining spot at the edge of the horizon that I thought was Venus, moving slowly through the lushly dark sky.

“It was like this,” I said, “but at the top of a mountain.” She leaned her head on the top of mine until Dad called us in to dinner, his whisky-thick voice scraping against the peaceful night time silence.

The highway whished by behind us. I caught my sister looking back at them as I went up our splintery, crooked front steps, up into the warmth.

At dinner she asked Dad: “Do you know the date?” and he only shrugged. “I don’t have a calendar anymore,” she said. “Do you know what’s today?” Her face looked hungry and haunted, like someone in search of an unattainable thing. And he and I only shrugged. We ate dinner quickly and I washed the dishes, rubbing each one with a limp rag before pushing them into overcrowded, damp cupboards as Dad smoked on the steps outside. My sister came out of the bathroom, her thin hair dripping on her back, hugging her bony arms, and watched until I finished with the dishes.

“Your turn,” she said when I put away the last plate and turned to her.

“I’m not gonna take one tonight,” I said.

She looked at me with emotionless eyes. “Okay.” She turned and went silently down the hall.

I called after her and she came back.

“Why… why’d you…” I wanted to ask why she’d come out just to tell me it was my turn. Why didn’t she just go into her bedroom per usual? But it was such a minute thing I was at a loss for words.

“What?” “I… nothing.” “Don’t call me back for nothing,” she said, her face contracting into anger. “And look, that rag is dripping all over the floor. You’re gonna have to get a dry one and clean it up. Go. Do it now.” “Sorry—” I said, but she had already turned away, no longer listening.

I went to our room, my head down, and dressed in pajamas while she sat on her bed with her back to me, staring at the paint-chipped wall. She had on a tank top, which exposed her narrow bones and the muscles in her arms. She didn’t move an inch while I stripped and dressed and brushed my hair. When I finally sat down on my bed, she turned her face to me.

Her eyes were full of quivering tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then said my name. “I’m sorry for lashing out. I’m… I’m sorry.” I looked at her, taken aback. “It’s okay,” I told her. I stood and went over to her bed. She buried her head in my arms and cried for the first time since I could remember.

It was past midnight when I awoke, sweating.

Her bed was empty again.

I crept down the creaky linoleum hallway, head bent as if it would help me stay in the shadows, and let the screen door swing out. She was there on the hot hard-packed ground, her skin pale in the moonlight, sitting on the prickly ridge as she did night after night, chin on her kneecaps. Watching the rushing highway as Dad, and the rest of the world, slept behind her.

Her eyes glimmered with starlit tears. I sat down next to her.

My sister said my name softly and asked if I knew the date. I told her it was a Monday. That seemed to give her peace.


Sarah which colour would you prefer pink, blue, orange, red or white? the painter asked me. I said blue is my chose. I could still smell the fresh blue paint as if it was just yesterday. I had inherited a old, wooden and two storey house from my deceased grandmother in a small and beautiful countryside town name Dublin. I was dressed in my white gown admiring the old but beautful house. I went in the backyard and my eyes caught attention to the discovery of a lovely and small garden planted with carrots on soil bed. The vegetables looked ripe, colourful and tasty. I thought to myself today was my lucky day a garden with my favourite vegetable carrots planted. I was excited and happy. I love and enjoy eating carrots since as child growing up playing with dolls; my mother would cook the carrots mixed in chicken soup with other ingredients for me. When I was 6 years old, first introduce to carrot I hated it like any young child hates vegetables. My father had to trick me and play tube tube train to make me eat Broccile but when my mother told me that if I didn't eat carrot I would get blind. I ate the carrots because of fear of getting blind and I fell in love with it. When I was sick there was no better old trick like good bowl of soup with carrots that made me feel better. Chicken soup is my favourite food whether I am healthy or ill. The Monday morning when I woke up I could smell the fresh air without the pollution of vehicles and factory gases. I love the countryside so peaceful, beautiful, safe and quiet. If there one place leave on earth mother nature surely knows she can find her beauty is in the countryside. I couldn't hear noisy people and screaming cars or babies nor I didnt have to fear criminals. I am in love with countryside I will be happy and grateful living here I thought to myself. After drinking my tea, I went to the garden and watered the plants while I sang for them a slow and soft melody. After watering the plants I remove the unwanted weeds and did a little gardening. The carrots I saw standed firm in the soil it sounded like they were calling me to take a bit, yummy! I had an imaginery taste of the them in my mouth. I gived the carrots a kiss on there stems. Tuesday morning I got dressed in my yellow dress. I was heading to the supermarket to buy some goceries for my house then I couldn't find my wallet and soon realised it was lost. My wallet inside containing my bank account card, identification card and some cash was gone. These are my important documents. I was confused , stress and anger. I search every inch of the house and couldnt find my wallet. I didn't had no money to buy anything but atleast I had my garden with vegetables to survive till I found a solution. Wednesday morning I woke up and went to the garden with my basket to pick the carrots. I planned to make chicken soup my favourite because I had a pack of chicken wings and eggs in my refrigerator when I first moved in, which I bought. When I went to the garden all my beatiful carrots had disappear like magic. I wiped my eyes to see if I was seeing clearly in disbelieve. I was disappointed I thought to myself some wild animal or person stole them from my backyard. How would I survive now with all my carrots gone. Thousand of thoughts run through my head. I had no ingridents to cook I would starve for the day. Thursday morning I couldnt sleep because I was hungry as my belly was grumbling and groaning. I had to catch the thief that cause me to starve. While I peeked through my window there was the criminal hopping on four feet with thick white fur. It was rabbit. How could I miss that? Obviously it had to be a rabbit because rabbits love carrots. When he came and saw nomore rabbits she hopped back through the forest. While I decided to slowly follow her to see if by chance there was any piece of carrot leave for me to cook. As I hid behind the tree in the forest, the rabbit hopped into a hole. Inside I saw the mother feeding rabbit feeding her babies. I was impressed and happy even an animal mother knew the value of providing for your children. When I looked carefully the slight white colour peeking under bitten pieces of carrots caught my attention. What was this pink colour thing? I thoughed then when I remove the chewed pieces of carrots it was my wallet. I soon realised the day I was gardening is when my wallet dropped from my back pants pocket in the farm and rabbit had moved it. I was happy I found my wallet and that the mother was only trying to feed her children, so I put away the hatred of being straved. I collect my wallet and went to town. At a supermarket name Zappy I bought some groceries along with carrots for me and the rabbits. After I came back from the supermarket I went back into the forst and I carried the rabbits out of the hole back to my home. I decided to adopt the rabbits for there protection and let them live with me inside my house because I am sure they must feel cold, get wet or some wild animal would harm them. The mother even thought I am not an animal expert was looking at me like she was saying thank you and I promised them to buy and bring carrots for them every week because I didnt want them to starve or ruin anyone else garden. The rabbits and I will be happy living together for years. I named the mother Ashley, the children Joy and Mary. They are now my pets and I will love, care and protect them always.


I race through the tumble down village in hope that I’ll be able to find some scrapes on the side of the road, or in the trash.

There’s not much hope in my errand; any scrapes are usually already gone by the time I get there.

Everyone’s living the same way.

I often like to dream of what the future will be like.

Most of the time, It’s hard to imagine anything but the here and now.

Mama is always disappointed when I come home empty handed, though she never says anything.

She knows it’s not my fault.

On my right is the town square, or the remains of it anyhow.

You can’t call it that anymore, it just reminds us of the hopelessness of our circumstances.

I see all the men, woman and children in our little dingy village gathered together, collecting scrapes.

There’ll be nothing left for me.

Off to my left veers a shady dank alleyway,

it’s shadowed in darkness, but I can tell nobody’s there.

I turn into the alleyway and feel around for any remains of food that may be hiding.

My hand comes across something stingy and slimy, I don’t hesitate to pick it up.

Any food is good food nowadays.

>>>> I race back through the dismantled village with a smile on my grubby face.

Mama will be happy again, I thought as I entered the tiny shanty I called home.

My seven younger siblings all raced to greet me at the entrance of the shanty.

We can’t call it a door, a door isn’t a filthy used-to-be-white sheet guarding the entrance.

When Mama came towards me, I showed her the unidentifiable food item I had found. Mama hadn’t laughed since the start of the Great Depression, as people called it.

I didn’t know what depression meant, but it couldn’t be good if it was used to describe our life.

I hadn’t know any other life, I came into a world of poverty, and I expected I was to leave it like this too.

When Mama laughed, it made all of us laugh to.

Her warm smile would break through her tired worn face and fill the room with happiness.

As I showed Mama the food I found, I watched her as her face again broke out into that happy smile, and her bubbly laughter seemed to turn the old shanty into a palace, just for that happy moment.

“Titus dear! you are a true hero!”

I always liked it when Mama called me a hero.

It made me feel all warm inside, a kind of fluttery feeling. I smiled back at Mama.

“Are you happy Mama?” I asked.

Mama took me in her arms and murmured softly in my ear.

“Yes Titus, I am.”

We celebrated together and feasted on my find.

That was the best night of my life, it was a shame that in the present world, happiness never lasts.

>>>> I woke up that night to Mama coughing.

She was propped up against the wall and was breathing heavily.

“Mama!” I cried, “Mama, are you okay?”

Mama sneezed and wiped her eyes.

“Yes Titus, I’m okay-”

Mama never did finish her sentence.

She started coughing hysterically.

I tried to help her, but she was shaking too much.

Her forehead was burning and she was dripping with sweat.

All of a sudden she went still, and I was able to grab hold of her.

“Mama!” I cried again.

No answer.

“Mama! Answer me!”

No answer.

“Mama! Please!”

Still no answer.

“Mama…”

I wept then.

For my Mama, for the Papa I barely knew.

For the cruelty and injustice of life.

>>>> The next day promised signs of a better day, and I almost believed it -But then I remembered.

I was a ten year old boy who was doomed to look after his seven younger siblings.

I had no Mama, no Papa, only the will to survive -though I wasn’t sure I even had that anymore.

I wasn’t sure of anything now.

Everyday was just like the next, and the next was just like the one before it.

I was somehow trapped in the middle of sadness and grief towards the past, and bitterness towards the future.

There was no way back, and the way forward didn’t seem as hopeful as I’d once believed. Where did my Mama go?

I wanted her, needed her loving embrace and words of wisdom.

But my Mama would never speak again.

Not to me, not to anyone.

My siblings, unlike me, hadn’t shed a tear for our beloved Mama.

They were too young to understand.

I sent them out, one by one, to collect food, all except the baby of course.

I didn’t know what to do with the baby.

All of my sisters came back empty handed, and my brothers with scraps and bruises.

We were all fighting to survive.

>>>> It soon came apparent that the baby wasn’t very well.

She began spluttering, sneezing and coughing like Mama had.

My sisters were always yelling at me to do something to make her better, but I knew I couldn’t.

I couldn’t make Mama better. “I don’t have no experience with babies!” I cried again and again. My sisters never stopped yelling and the baby never stopping coughing. Until she did. I woke again one morning, surprised but pleased that the baby had stopping crying.

It was all silent.

Too silent, I thought as I rushed towards the motionless lump in the corner.

I was too late. The baby was gone, and I knew it. My life was just a graveyard of buried hopes.

>>>> We were struggling more than we had when Mama was alive.

The shanty was crumbling away bit by bit, leaving wide gaps in the walls and ceiling.

There was no food.

Hadn’t been for weeks.

We’d last eaten three weeks ago, one of my brothers had caught a fox, but not without losing a finger.

The stump where his finger had been was getting infected, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long until he followed in Mama and the baby’s footsteps.

The next day, I again wake to silence.

My siblings were gathered around my brother shedding silent tears. So they’d finally learnt to cry, I thought as I too wept for my brother.

>>>> It had been about a few years now since Mama had died, everyday had been the same and nobody counted the days anymore, but we knew it had been a long time. By now only three of my siblings remained.

My life wasn’t by any means happier, but it was easier now with less people to care for.

It was selfish of me to think this way, but I couldn’t avoid the truth.

We got by, day by day, night by night, and we were all doing fine.

Our daily routine was our life, and our life was our daily routine.

Survive. It was a very hard task to achieve, but somehow the four of us managed. I walked into the old alleyway with my siblings to collect food, as we did everyday.

We were never alone anymore, though that hardly made a difference.

There wasn’t enough food there anyway. We returned home again, empty handed, to the old, dry land where the shanty had once stood.

It was all in ruins now, but we were content just living on the street. I knew I should get a job somewhere, but the grownups were finding it hard these days, nobody would employ a twelve year old boy now.

>>>> Sunlight shone from the sky and gently aroused us from our slumber. The fog had lifted and people were cheering. I followed the sound and ended up in the town square. There was a man addressing them, and I strained to hear what he was saying. I hadn’t really heard anyone speak in a while, or spoken myself. There was the occasional ‘found any food yet?,’ or if we were in a bad mood, ‘give me that, it’s mine!”

But other than that, we lived a rather silent life. “… I have everything ready, The Great Depression will breathe its last!”

I heard the man, President Roosevelt, as that’s what people were calling him, saying.

People cheered and threw their few belongings in the air. I raced back to the place the shanty had stood and my siblings queried about my joyful expression. “What’s happened?” They asked me. I smiled happily at them. “Our life is about to change for the better,” I said. They looked confused, “What makes you say that?” I looked up at the sky and laughed at the glorious sun. “Just a feeling,” I say.


The sound of the alarm on his phone made Paul wake up. He shut the alarm off and put his phone back down on the nightstand. He rolled over and looked at where his wife slept. Strangely she was already out of bed. He climbed out of bed and walked out to the kitchen. Sharon was standing at the fridge and was talking on the phone. She hadn’t noticed that Paul walked in.

“Yes. I understand. No, he doesn’t know yet.” Paul was confused from only hearing one side of the conversation. She closed the door and made eye contact with Paul. She smiled at him and waved. “Yes, it will be on Friday.” She was holding the half-empty gallon of milk and placed it on the kitchen table. “I will make sure it’s ready.” Paul walked over to the pantry grabbed a box of cereal and placed it on the table next to the milk. He then walked over to get two bowls and two coffee cups. Sharon hung up the phone and placed it on the counter. “Who was that at this early in the morning?” “Just my boss. He wants to make sure the test is ready on Friday for the big event.” “Sounds interesting. What is the big event?” “For legal reasons, I can’t tell you.” “Fair enough.” Paul poured the milk into his bowl and then poured the cereal into the bowl. He looked over at Sharon. She did the opposite. She poured the cereal and then the milk. “That was weird. Why did you do it that way?”

Sharon looked up at Paul with one eyebrow raised. She looked down at his hands. He was eating with his right hand. “Paul?” She asked as she cautiously put her spoon on the table and stood up. Paul stood up across the table from her.

A knock on the door caught both of their attention. Sharon started walking over. She could see outside the door window. Two men were standing on the other side. They were wearing suits, had dark black sunglasses, and both were clean-shaven. One of the men was bald and the other had a buzzcut. She opened the door and before she could greet the men, the bald man shoved her aside and walked toward Paul. Paul saw the man walking toward him and he ran toward the back door. He swung it open with such force that the knob left a hole in the wall. Paul ran out and climbed over the fence. Sharon watched Paul run outside then looked at the other man. “What is going on?” She asked with a demanding tone in her voice. The second man looked back at her and didn’t say anything. He walked past her and toward the back door. The first man was already outside with his gun drawn. He had it aimed at Paul as he dropped on the other side of the fence.

The second man walked back over to Sharon. “We have reason to believe that this man is an imposter. A few days ago a portal opened up to another dimension and copycats of many people came through. These copycats are taking over the lives of people and trying to replace everyone. As to why, we have no idea just yet. But we have found that these copycats do things that we do just the opposite. For example, my brother's copycat drank decaf coffee instead of regular. Logan's copycat was writing with his left hand instead of his right. My copycat was caught when he ordered vegan food.” “Copycat Paul was putting milk into his bowl then his cereal. Wow.”

“We do have your real husband in custody if you want to come get him.” Sharon nodded her head. “Alright follow me.” They drove to the police station and Sharon walked inside. She was guided to the interrogation room where Paul was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. She sat across from him and smiled. Paul took a sip of his coffee and was just about to speak. “What are you drinking?” “Regular coffee. Cream and sugar. Why?” “Just making sure.” She looked around the room and then leaned closer to Paul. “Did they tell you what is going on?” “Something about other dimensional beings here to take over our world. I didn’t believe a word they were saying.” He took another sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. He looked around the concrete room and then at the surprisingly clean mirror behind Sharon. As he was about to speak again, outside the door were three gunshots. Sharon stood up and opened the door. She looked both ways before running out. She went left then went around the corner. As she heard more gunshots she stopped. The last thing she expected to see was her husband Paul walking through the door holding a machine gun. The real Paul grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward the room. He led her to a closet and pushed her inside. He closed the door and ran back to the fight. A cop ran up behind him and handed him a pistol. He shot the copycat Paul. When he landed on the ground Paul walked over to him. “This is so bizarre.” He said to the cop.

Sharon walked around the corner and saw Paul looking at the body. She stopped before walking over to him. He put his hands up to stop her from walking over. He ran over and hugged her. The first thing she noticed was his right arm was on the top of her back. She made a sigh of relief as she realized this was the real Paul. One of the FBI agents that came to their house walked up to them. “Well, we have some good news. This copycat Paul was the last of the copycats. That we know of. But so far no other copycats have been sighted.” The agent gave them a ride home. As they pulled into the driveway, Paul got out and opened the door for Sharon to get out. Paul held out his right hand so that Sharon would hold it with her left. They walked to the front door together. Paul stopped just before they reached the steps. He started to move his fingers around as if he was trying to feel for something. “Honey. Where is your wedding ring?” She looked at him confused as she held up her right hand to show her wedding ring.


“Hey, Baby-Cakes!” Callie Baros cooed as she peeked into the bathroom of her student apartment that she shared with three other sophomores where Cake Flores was doing their hair. “Can you please not use so many electric appliances at once? Thank you~” “Hey, Callie~” Cake said in an imitation of Callie’s voice, “Can you not call me Baby-Cakes? It’s not my name, Cake is.” “Sure thing, BC. And remember to unplug.” She winked, then left. Cake rolled their eyes, then plugged in an extra hair dryer and turned it on just to spite Callie—bringing the total amount of running electrics to five in one outlet. The hair dryer wasn’t even theirs. It was Malvin’s. But they were just so sick of Callie trying to control everyone and everything in their apartment. They all paid rent in four equal ways, so they have equal say. Besides, what was the worst that could happen from a few appliances being used at the same time? Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Malvin Miles and Chen Jui-en weren’t having any luck getting along either. In one hand, Malvin held a blunt, in the other was a huge packed up tent. “Jui-en, don’t put your stuff in my room.” He shoved the camp gear at Jui-en. Jui-en pushed back. “I already told you, it’s not mine. It belonged to the previous tenants.” He coughed. “And stop smoking. That stuff irritates my lungs.” Malvin took a puff and blew it out. “You just need to get a taste for the finer things in life, Jui-en. Let me teach you.” “ Pass .” Malvin grunted. “Fine. Just take your stuff and stop making so much noise at night with your wood splicing things.” “I already work two jobs, the night is the only time I can make my wooden sculptures for class—” “Hey hey hey,” Callie cheered as she walked in upon hearing the sounds of conflict. “What’s going on here?” Her eyes gazed over the crusted dishes beside the sink. “Hey hey hey. Who didn’t put their dishes away?” Callie eyed Malvin. “What? It wasn’t me.” “Mal, you’re the only one in this apartment who puts chocolate sauce on pasta and eats it? When was the last time you had a vegetable?” He shrugged. With a sigh, Callie pulled out a notebook out of her bag and flipped to a color coded calendar. “Again, I offer a rotating cooking schedule that we contribute to with pre-agreed upon healthy meals to ensure—” “No,” Everyone in the apartment said in sync. Even Cake from the bathroom—who couldn’t hear her—felt it in their gut and called it out. Frowning, Callie pushed the notebook back into her bag. Her nose crinkled at an unfamiliar smell in the air. What was that? It

smelled like something was burning... “Baby-Cakes,” she exclaimed as she dashed towards the bathroom. Locked in eye contact with their reflection while applying a blend of yellow, white, purple, and black eyeshadow, Cake didn’t notice Callie or the smoking outlet. “Baby-Cakes, the outle—” Too late. Sparks flew as Callie tackled Cake to the ground to protect them. The apartment’s power blew out, but worse: Cake’s eyeshadow was smudged. “What the hell, Callie?” Cake demanded as they shoved Callie off them. “What happened to the lights?” In between short, rapid breathes, Callie tried to explain. “The appliances… the outlet… the lights… the fuses… the fuses…” With a calmer voice, Cake said, “Just take deep breaths.” “Everything… ruined….” The boys’ footsteps thudded up to the bathroom’s door. “What happened?” “I like I blew a fuse or something,” Cake said. Jui-en pulled out his phone and walked to a quieter space. “I’ll call the landlord. See how it’ll take to get fixed.” Malvin started puffing his shirt rapidly. “Does it feel hot in here? What’s going on with the AC? Does it feel hot in here?” Popping back in, Jui-en said, “The landlord said he’s calling a handyman now, but it’s gonna be a few hours. Might even take the whole night. The power’s out for the whole building. Local hotels are all booked too. Most kids are going to stay with their local family or their friends’ local family. Things are gonna get pretty hot tonight.” “Man, I don’t have anyone I can stay with near here,” Malvin whined, the weed amping up his usually calm nerves. “I’ve gonna get baked in this apartment like an oven.” “You’re already baked,” Cake said. “Oh, haha yeah.” They rolled their eyes. “What about all the camping gear the previous tenants left? It’ll be cooler outside. This building is designed to keep heat in .” “Camp gear…” Callie echoed. “Camp gear!” She snapped back to reality with a new fire in her eyes. “Yes yes yes, that’s a great idea, Ju-Ju.” “Don’t call me that.” Callie continued. “There’s a little forest behind the apartment complex. We can all go camping together like a family.” “...Ah… sure?” *** “Okay,” Callie wiped the sweat from her forehead and took a step back to admire her work—a half-standing four-person tent at the edge of the forest. “I think I did it. Thank the Youtube Gods.” Cake gave it a light poke and the entire thing came crashing down. “Nice work.” Her expression dropped into a frown. “Why would you do that?” “‘It was either going to collapse now or later with us inside. I choose now.” They checked their watch. As Callie struggled to untangle her mess of a tent, she asked, “Why do you keep checking your watch?” “I made some mocha-pecan ice cream bonbons and according to the internet, they’ll melt in a couple of hours. A fridge without power can only keep them cold for so long.” “Ooh ooh ooh! Sounds tasty. Who are they for?” Cake struggled. “Just myself I guess.” They shot Callie a glare. “But definitely not you and your stupid nicknames.” As they walked away, Malvin came running from the forest with a huge pile of sticks and a look on his face that sent a bad feeling directly to Callie’s stomach. “Ah, Mal? What are you doing?” “I’m gonna make a huge bonfire.” “Are—Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Callie’s knees wobbled under the weight of the tent. “I thought you were too hot earlier? Plus, we need a permit for a bonfire and I really don’t want to get kicked out of this ap—” He waved her off. “Psst. It’ll be fine.” Before Callie could counter, she buckled and the tent buried her alive. Callie’s blood boiled. The only question was: was it from being under a super hot tent or from the incredibly frustrating evening? One person took mercy on Ms. Control Queen and Jui-en pulled her out from under the tent after finding her flailing under it five minutes later. She gulped in the cooler-by-comparison-only air. “Thanks, Ju-Ju.” “You can thank me by not calling me that.” Instead of replying, Callie’s entire attention span was taken up by Malvin’s huge, on-the-verge of out of control bonfire. Her eye twitches and her gut worried for her security deposit. Before she marched over there, Callie took a few calming breaths and put on her happy smile. “Hey hey hey, guys,” she cheered as she walked over. “I don’t think we’re allowed to have this bonfire.” “It’s cool.” Malvin dipped a fresh blunt in the fire and lit it. “I gave the landlord a few ounces and he’s chill with it.” Her smile unnaturally stretched further across her cheeks like she was trying to sub out irritation for smiles. “Great. That’s just great .” Malvin patted the ground beside him. “Take a seat.” Reluctantly, Callie took a seat beside him. Cake was already sitting around the bonfire and Jui-en soon followed. Callie’s smile softened a little. “Hey hey hey, look at us. All here together like we’re at summer camp.” She clapped her hands. “We should play a game together.” “...ah…” Cake began, but Malvin cut her off.

“Truth or dare.” “Truth or dare it is,” Callie said. “Umm… Malvin, truth or dare?” “Dare.” “Oh oh oh, I dare you to talk in a British accent for the rest of the game.” “Alright, guv’nor,” he said in a British Accent. “Cake, truth or dare.” “Dare.” “Take a puff.” Malvin handed them his blunt. Callie piped up, “I’m not sure that’s a go—” Before she could finish, Cake gave the idea a careless shrug and took a puff. “Ugh, that tastes like a weird, smoky fruit.” “I know, right?” Cake rubbed their hands together. “Callie,” they said with a devious smirk, “Truth or dare.” “Dare,” Callie said eagerly. “I dare you to never any of those terrible nicknames ever again.” Her face fell. “...what?” “Oh yeah,” Jui-en jumped in, “They’re just awful. We tell you we hate them—” “I don’t mind,” Malvin added. “This isn’t about you, Malvin,” Jui-en said, “Cake and I don’t like ours. Why do you insist on calling us them?” Callie shifted uncomfortably. “Well… you see… the thing is…” “Just spit it out already,” Cake said. “I always say friends and family calling each other nicknames on TV and I thought if I called you guys nicknames we could like start our own family…” Her voice softened to an embarrassed whisper at the end. “I’ve just never really had a family,

okay? I’ve just been surfacing from foster family to foster family until they aged me out of the system. I thought this could be my chance… I’m sorry.” “I pick truth,” Cake said, taking the attention off Callie as her eyes became puffy. As much as they and Callie didn’t see eye to eye, Cake still didn’t like seeing the girl on the verge of tears anymore while everyone stared at her slack-jawed by her sudden burst of honesty. “No one asked you—” Malvin began, confused. Cake ignored him. “What’s the biggest lie I tell myself, you ask? That my parents kicked me out for being ace and nonbinary when in reality I came out as ace a long time before coming out as nonbinary, but they never excepted it as a ‘real thing’. Only after they found out I was nonbinary did they decide they hated me and kicked me to the curb.” They gestured their hands to the fire. “And now it’s all out there. Let the flames consume it and burn that stupid past to the ground. Honestly, I’m over not being over it.” “Truth,” Jui-en said. “My parents didn’t approve of me majoring in art so they cut me off. I work two jobs just to survive on top of my increasing college debt.” He threw a stick in the fire. “Let it burn.” After finally catching on to what the others were doing, Malvin joined in. “My parents were the strictest growing up and they always fought. I switched coasts just to get away from them and get a taste of freedom. I’m never going back.” Without thinking, he tossed the joint in. “Burn.” All four of them stared at the flames as it gently crackled, letting the weight of each others’ words set in. The reasons why they agreed to camp together even though they didn’t always get along. They didn’t have a choice. “So…” Callie said slowly as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “We’re all on our own, huh? Without a family?” “Pretty much.” “You could say that.” “Yup.” “And, we’ve been bad roommates to each other, too, even though we’ve been struggling with the same thing,” Callie said. “Pretty much.” “‘You could say that.” “Yup.” “You know what that means?” Cake asked. “No…?” They picked up a log and chucked it into the bonfire. “We get to fucking burn things out of suppressed teenage angst!” Malvin leapt up from his spot. “I’ll get beers!” And sprinted back into the apartment complex. *** The course of the next four hours looked a little something like this… “DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!” *** Slurs, “Do you think the fire will hurt if I touch it?” Five seconds past… “Ow. Haha, yeah it does!” *** Callie slowly caressed Cake’s face. “Your eyeshadow is just so pretty. Your parents are idiots.” “No, you’re pretty and your parents are idiots.” “They’re not idiots, they’re just dead.” “Ooh yeah.” They glanced over at Malvin stacking a pyramid of beer bottles. “Hey Malvin, you’re pretty too!” “Your eyelashes are so long and luscious!” “Thannnkkkkkkssssss…” *** “I got the mocha-pec… ahhh, what were they called again?” Cake asked. “Never mind. I got the ice cream balls.” “ICE CREAM BALLS!” The rest screamed. *** Jui-en stretched his arms over the other three. “I love you guys so much~” “We love you too!” *** “Hey hey hey.” Callie pointed at their lit-up apartment building. “The power’s back on. Should we go inside?” “Nah, my guy.” “Let’s drink ‘til dawn.” “YEAH!” *** The next morning, they woke up to the biggest hangover of their lives in their heads and the biggest smiles of their lives on their faces. “Oh, issa you…” Callie whispered as she smooshed Cake’s make-up smeared face with her hand. “And issa you.” Cake put their hand on Callie’s face and they both laughed. *** It took the entire day for their hangovers to recover enough for Jui-en to use his wood-carving machines without everyone protesting out of pain. When he did, he went right to work on carving a new place to put on the apartment’s door. Once it was done, the four roommates gathered outside the front door to hang it. The plaque read: The Baros-Flores-Miles-Chen Family’s Apartment . “So I can keep calling you the nicknames?” “No, Ju-Ju’s gotta go-go.” “The same with Baby-Cakes.” “Mal’s cool though.” “Alright.” *** They worked for that plaque as their new bonds grew. As they rented a new storage space for the camping gear. As Malvin finally did his dishes and smoked outside only. As Jui-en sound-proofed his room. As Cake learned to limit their running electric appliances. And as Callie finally learned to be less controlling. Before they knew it, they had earned that plaque on their front door. And without a doubt, that night, was the start of their found family.


 It is cold and there is no avoiding that. No longer a chance of denying it. I cover myself in layer upon layer of clothing, donning thick jackets and sweatshirts, pants with thermal lining and tight-fitting boxers with the same. Mom taught me to leave no room for wind or air or breathing or any stray snowflake to enter into my little mobile cocoon. I wouldn’t be out of place in one of those Arctic Research stations. Smiling to myself, I wondered if I looked like the Michelin Man or perhaps a resurrected mummy. I hoped that Brendan Fraser wouldn’t pop out of one of the snowbanks that flanked the driveways and sidewalks of the city, intent on uncovering my treasure and healing my curse.

Something rustled as the wind blew and I froze, almost literally, scanning the white-capped trash cans that the sound had come from. A cat skittered out, sliding across the icy road on his way home. I breathed a sigh of relief, pushing mist like a dragon through my scarf. As I watched, the cat clambered onto a porch and disappeared through a little door.

“Good. It’s too cold for you,” I said to myself, resuming my solemn march. My little toy watch read 8:31 PM. The weatherman had said it was 14 degrees with a wind chill of 7 degrees. Shuddering, I pulled my heavy coverings tightly around me, burying my gloved hands into big pockets.

It’d been a couple miles since I left my home.

I wasn’t going back either.

This Christmas had started off badly. Charlie Mercher, the horrid father that he is, had lost himself to a bottle of caramel whiskey in the early evening. The rest of the night, which was usually reserved for celebration, had been a violent flurry of harsh words and frightening promises. Mary Mercher, my sweet old lady, wouldn’t let me near him. I’m not sure what the fight was about this time, but I’m pretty sure that momma is my momma and that dad may not be my dad.

I didn’t know what to think of that.

I didn’t want to think about it either.

I share my momma’s nose, small and with a wide bridge. I’ve got her brown hair and her brown eyes. We’ve got the same sense of humor and the same freckles and the same favorite foods but . . . the only thing that I share with my dad is my last name. I preferred my first name anyways; Thomas sounds much better than Mercher. What did Mercher even mean anyways? Angry? Drunk?

Unfaithful? My younger brother Michael liked his last name.

But he couldn’t speak yet. He’d just throw his little chubby arms up gleefully when I’d say it.

He had dad’s eyes.

I didn’t.

My heart was cool with guilt, but what was I supposed to do? There’s no way little Michael would survive out in this cold. My only chance as a ten-year-old is to march forward.  I’ll send help when I find it.

And I will find it. Well, I hope I will.

Just me and my cold coats.

There was a fire department somewhere nearby. I knew it was childish, but they’d always been my heroes. They’d rush into frigid fires to save people from their untimely doom. Modern day knights in shining armor! I always thought that those flaming houses I’d see on the news looked like dragons. Their doors were mouths that breathed fire and consumed families. The kids in my class laughed at me when I told them that I wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up.

“That’s so childish!” “You’re too skinny!” And all the laughter a young man could endure.

I’d do it anyway.

 Heat flushed my face at the memory, thawing my icy cheeks for a moment before succumbing to the screaming cold.

It hurt and I couldn’t find the fire station.

I searched for some time, following the moon through a curtain of fluffy white. The houses on either side of the street were alive with light, the silhouettes of happy families and normal lives performed a play for me beyond sheltered, warm curtains. A young boy spotted me while he stood by a brightly decorated tree, his window curtains drawn to let in the night's winter beauty. I stopped and stared at him for a while, and he returned the favor. I waved. He waved. I opened my mouth to say something, but a woman appeared. She scolded the boy, ignoring his protests, and closed the curtains.

I wondered, had my parents been any different, if I’d be on the other side of that window too.

Shaking the thought, I marched on, a cool chill finally piercing my layers of protection.

After what seemed like a very long time, a town broke through the suburbs. Tall buildings rose on either side of me like giants decorated in bright lights. The spectacle seemed a stark contrast to the icicles that hung from their roofs. As I crossed the street, a man dressed in a black suit stopped me.

“Hey, kiddo! What’re you doing out in the cold so late?” He smiled warmly.

I shrunk away from him. “None of your business,” I grumbled, hiding my face behind my scarf.

His smile didn’t fade. “I didn’t mean to offend you, son.” He lifted his eyes, gazing behind me as if looking for someone. I followed his stare into the blizzard that followed me. “It’s getting pretty bad out here. Do you have somewhere warm to stay?” I shook my head.

“I see. Where are your parents?” I didn’t answer.

“Hmm. Do you need help?” I shook my head again.

“I got you. Well,” he gestured to a tall, brightly lit building behind him. The doors were open to the cold, the inside of which was lined in benches filled with well-dressed people. “If you need somewhere warm to shelter, you’re welcome here. We have hot cocoa!”  There was cheerful singing coming from the building. It sounded like a particular type of celebration. “Are you having a birthday party?” I asked.

He chuckled, following my eyes to the building. “Actually, yes! I suppose we are!” The man saw my expression. “Oh, don’t worry, they may not sing well, but you know what they say, joyful noise and all that!” He laughed heartily. I smiled along with him. The man appeared friendly enough and the building looked warm and inviting but . . . “No thank you,” I said. “I’m on a mission.” “Oh yeah? Can I ask you what your mission is?” I thought for a moment. Distrustfully, I responded, “I’m trying to save someone.” My little brother needs help . I wanted to say, but the knot in my throat nearly choked me. Between it and the cold, I struggled to move. My bones hurt. Hot cocoa sounded really good. I wouldn’t mind singing either. Part of me hoped that they had a birthday cake as well. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d celebrated a birthday, but my friends at school would tell me about theirs all the time.

“Save someone? Who?” I didn’t respond.

After a moment, he continued. “Well, you’re in luck, son! I just so happen to know a Man who’s in the business of saving people!” He grew excited.

I didn’t respond.

“I could introduce you, if you’d like. Maybe He could help save whoever you’re trying to help as well.” “Are they a firefighter?” I asked.

“Hah! A firefighter? I suppose so! But He fights the kind of fire that lasts an eternity. Actually, He’s already defeated it.” “He must be very brave then.” “Oh, He was .” “Was?” “Mhm,” the man smiled solemnly. “He died, nailed to that up there by the very same people that He fought the fire for.” He pointed to a giant cross on the pointy part of the building.

“How could they do that? Wait, He died up there?!” I exclaimed.

“Oh! No, not that exact one. That’s just a copy.” “Why is it on your building then--if it killed such a brave man?” My imagination swam with the idea of a yellow-clad firefighter hanging from those pieces of wood.

“That’s a good question, son. We put it there to remember Him and what He did. But do you want to know the best part?” He asked. I nodded, intrigued.

“He rose again three days after His death. He used His blood to put out the fire!” My eyes grew wide, welcoming the sting of the bitter wind. “He must’ve had a lot of blood . . .” The man chuckled. “Enough to cover everyone who was on fire and doesn’t want to burn anymore . . . including you and me.” We stood in silence for a moment, the howling wind tossed my scarf wildly.

I’m on fire? I wondered. “Would you like to come inside?” “He’s in there?!” “Mhm. Well, He’s everywhere, but we can talk about that later.” “I–” The biggest part of me wanted to go in with the man. To sing. To eat. To meet this mysterious firefighter who defeats eternal fire with His blood. I wanted to shake His hand. To tell Him about mom being mom and dad being maybe dad. I wanted Him to save my little brother, to take him with Him to whatever firehouse He served at.

But dad had warned me about buildings like this. He’d told me to watch out for the people under the cross. He told me they were judgmental and mean and that they’d always make promises that they didn’t intend to keep. Fear ran rampant in my heart.

I shook my head. “No, thank you.” And I ran, my feet crunching through the snow. The man called out after me, panic in his voice. I thought he’d come after me, so I picked up the pace.

Focus! Find the firehouse! Send help to little brother! It didn’t take much more wandering before I realized just how lost I was. Turning back, the man and building were nowhere to be seen. Did I take a left to get here? No, a right and then a left! No, no, that can’t be right. Continuing onward, I stumbled into a large field with a sign that read “ Calvary Park .” My legs were soaked through with slush, refreezing and melting with the cyclic heating and cooling of my movement. I could no longer feel my face. I tried to touch my nose, wondering if it was still there, but couldn’t tell. I sniffed a few times, filling my lungs with an aching coolness. I fought the panic that icicles might form inside me.

At least I have my nose.

A bench sat beneath a quaint street post, bathed in its soft light and covered in a layer of fluffy powder. My body ached and burned with a violent numbness. I yawned, finally slowing down enough to realize just how tired I really was. It wouldn’t hurt to sit down for a while, would it? I plopped down onto the bench, sending an avalanche off its sides. Leaning back, I stared into the silent sky. It was pitch black.

No, my eyes were just closed. I forced them back open. The darkened sky erupted with sparkling lights above me, only partially shrouded by the lazy drifting of snowflakes, all illuminated by the gentle moon. As I lay there, my strength abating, my breathing slowing, I listened to the intense nothingness.

How can a world be so active and yet so quiet? I wondered.

There was a sudden bout of panic as I fought the urge to sleep.

No. Don’t close your eyes!  But they’re so . . . heavy.

They almost closed. “ Help!” I called out to the darkening heavens. “Timothy!” “H-huh?” I groaned.

Someone was rushing toward me. They spoke my name with a voice that I recognized but had never heard before. They wrapped me in a thick blanket and scooped me up from the bench. I opened my eyes dreamily, fluttering as their heat seared my body.

“G-uh?” I grumbled.

“Shhh, son. I have you.”

He wore a yellow and tan coat. I brushed my hand against it. It was cold, like mine.

“C-old,” I struggled to speak.

He grabbed my fingers with a gloved hand. “Shhh, son. I know. I’ll get you somewhere warm.” He ran through the streets, carrying me like a little child. I wanted to protest. To remind him that I am ten and not a kid. To tell him to go rescue my younger brother, the one who really needs it. As my eyes slowly regained focus, my body warmed by the man, I realized something about Him . . . “Fire . . . fighter?” I whispered weakly.

The man smiled a glorious smile. One that instantly warmed my body and something much, much deeper. “Of sorts, yes. Be still, son. It’s my birthday today, did you know that?” His hair was fluffy, spilling out from under a fireman’s helmet. I touched it. It felt like sheep’s wool. I remembered the feeling from a field trip last year in Ms. Hooley’s class. We visited a farm. I liked petting the animals, even though I wasn’t supposed to, but there was one animal that was softer than all the others . . .

A lamb. “Birthday? I met a man earlier who was celebrating a birthday too . . .” “Is that so? Well, we should go,” He said, setting me down on some steps. “Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.

There was warmth in me now where there had been only ice before. “I-I am. Thank you.” I looked up into the man’s big, green eyes in bewilderment.

This man is a firefighter! A hero! My hero. I knew someone who needed a hero. “My-” “Your brother, right?” He interrupted.

I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t.

“Don’t worry, son, I’ve got him covered,” He winked, “I’ve got you too. It’s going to be all right, trust me.”

“Th-thank you.” Somehow and for some reason, those words felt more concrete to me than even the hardest stone. I believed that this firefighter could quench any fire. I thought back to the man from earlier and the weird conversation that we had shared. “Am I on fire?” I asked.

“Hah!” The man smiled brightly. “Not anymore, Thomas.” “You know my name?” He nodded. “And many others. Regardless, you’re not on fire outwardly, Thomas, and I do not fight outward fires. I leave that to men like you.” “I-I don’t understand,” I responded. “Most people don’t,” the stranger replied, “but I know someone who can teach you about it.” He stood from where He had laid me down and walked toward an open door, banging on its wood loudly. I realized that there had been singing before, behind the wonder and chilly fuzz in my ears, but it stopped at His beckoning.

“Oh my gosh!” “Is he okay?”

There were suddenly a lot of well-dressed people surrounding me. The man from earlier, the one who spoke in strange riddles of an everlasting firefighter, helped me to my feet and brought me inside.

“Are you okay?” They asked.

“Get him some hot cocoa and a change of clothes!” “Oh Lord, please don’t let him have hypothermia!” “Should we call 911, Pastor Michael?” “No,” the man, Pastor Michael, responded. “He’s not hypothermic, but he got pretty darn close. Son, what happened?” “I-I-” With so many faces around me, each twisted with worry, words became very hard to find. “I was so cold, but He–” I pointed to where the firefighter had been, but no one was there. “He saved me . . .” “Who saved you?” Pastor Michael followed my fingers, confused. “The firefighter. Didn’t you see him?” He looked at me now, his brow furrowed. “Firefighter?” “I didn't see anyone.” “Are you sure he's okay?” “Maybe he’s delirious?” The congregation chattered on and on, but the Pastor simply stared at me. We had a silent conversation, one that only he and I understood.

I had been put out.

I wasn’t on fire-even on the inside–anymore.

Not in the way that I had been.

That night was full of fear and worry but ended in warmth and good conversation. Pastor Michael listened to my story about dad and about mom, calling someone who could help. They took my little brother and I away, putting us in a new home with a couple from the congregation. They were friendly, protective, and never missed a church meeting. We celebrated every birthday, every holiday, and I had my fill of a blessed life–not to mention birthday cake.

And whenever someone would ask about my understanding of Jesus Christ, I’d tell them, quite plainly and quite simply, with the same bewilderment that I felt as a child, that Christ had saved me twice that night.

Once from the searing cold. And once when He put out the fire that consumed my soul.