I watched the downpour pound away at the old gas pumps through the window. They were already rusted from however many years they’ve stood there, barely covered by the awning hanging overhead. Must have been about seventy years by now. My chin resting on my palm, I sighed into the silence of Little Casanova Town Diner, just outside the town. “Nice weather out there,” called a voice a few rotating stools away. I turned around to look at the young man with pretty, silver hair and a kind smile. A dark silver, almost like he was going gray despite looking twenty-four or five at most. “I guess,” I said quietly. He raised a silver eyebrow at me like he was confused. “I was being sarcastic,” he said. “Oh.” I nodded quietly. I turned back to my little mug of tea that had gotten cold by then. How long had I been looking out the window for that to happen? “I’m Nathan. What’s your name?” “Heejin,” I responded. “Heejin? That’s a weird name. Does it mean something?” I looked over at him again and noticed he had golden eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just a name. It’s Korean.” “Oh, I see.” He turned his gaze to the swinging door that led to the kitchen in the back of the diner as the only server and cook for that night came out with a light blue plate. He walked toward me gently set the plate down in front of me. “Here’s your usual, Heejin.” “Thank you, Jay.” He picked up my mug of cold tea as he asked in his Louisianan accent, “want me to get you a fresh cup, darlin’?” I nodded. Jay turned and walked the few steps to swing door and passed through it. I noticed Nathan watching the exchange with curiosity. “You know him?” I nodded in response to his question. “So are you like a regular here?” “I come here every night after work.” “Ah, I see,” Nathan said with a smile. Jay came back with a different mug with steam rolling into the air above it. “Her you are,” He said jovially as he set the drink down in front of me. “Anythin’ else you need before I go back to slackin’ off,” he joked. “Nope.” He returned to the kitchen with his friendly smile. I looked down at my grilled cheese sandwich and little bowl of tomato soup sitting on the plate. My stomach growled a little, barely audible over the rain. “‘Feed me, Heejin,’” Nathan said in a high-pitched voice. I glanced his way. “Your stomach is yelling at you. You should probably listen to it.” He turned back to his own plate of half-eaten food and cup of some type of pop. I picked up the first triangle of my sandwich and dipped it carefully into the red-filled bowl. My usual order always comforted me. After having come here night after night for a few months, Jay picked up on the routine I had and had gotten to know me a little in the few years that followed. We had very different backgrounds. He came from Louisiana up to this little midwestern Wisconsin town with his dad when he was young after his mom was killed in a hate crime. I was born in Korea and brought to the United States to this little midwestern Wisconsin town before I turned three. He grew up going to prestigious private schools that you have to take tests to get into. I went to run-down public schools. Now he works part-time in the Little Casanova Town's Diner just outside Casanova, Wisconsin to pay his online college tuitions that his dad agreed to help pay for half of, and I come in to see him every night after my shift at the factory, ordering the same thing and meeting different people that come in from time to time. I polished off my sandwich and began to eat (drink?) the rest of my soup, adding the occasional bland saltine cracker to spice it up. I remembered the pretty man with the silver hair and turned my head to find those golden eyes again. Nathan had moved to the seat next to me in the time I was focused on eating my meal. He didn’t look at me when I turned, just casually kept eating his burger. Having no conversation to bring up, I went back to quietly finishing my soup and tea. Nathan had a strangely comforting presence, so I didn’t mind the sudden closeness. And I liked the silence. People always have this annoying need to fill quiet moments with conversation like they’re anxious from them. Sitting with someone in silence is an underappreciated experience. After another ten minutes passed, the silence was broken. “You enjoy the quiet too?” We turned to look at each other, almost in unison. “Yeah, I do,” Nathan responded. “I like it when it’s quiet. Especially on days like this when you can hear every drop of rain.” He pointed at the window I was focused on earlier. “It’s nice, you know?” I nodded. “Underappreciated,” I said. “Exactly! Nobody recognizes the value of a good silence these days.” “You say that like you’re a cranky old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn every day.” Nathan hunched his back made an angry face. “Well, these damn hooligans these days, always being all loud,” he said in a mock-elderly voice, “no appreciation for the days when we sat around playing with sticks in the yard.” We laughed at his old-timer jokes for a little while. Eventually, he returned to his normal voice and raised his hand toward my head. He gently patted the top of my head. “What’s that for?” “You just seemed like you needed a good pat on the head.” I blinked at him for a moment. “You’re odd, Nathan.” He nodded at me with a big grin. “Life’s no fun when you aren’t.” Suddenly, the swing door opened, and Jay walked out, heading towards me. He reached out and took my empty plate and mug. He turned around to set them on the back counter and opened a glass cloche on a cake stand. He placed a slice of Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie on a small black plate and passed it to me along with a small metal fork. He placed his hands on the counter and looked at me with his usual kind smile. “Finishin’ touch of the night,” he said. I picked up the fork and sliced into the tip of the pie. “Is he real, Jay?” Jay looked down the counter through the small, empty diner before turning back to me. “Not this one, Heejin.” I nodded sadly and took a small bite. “What was this one’s name?” “Nathan,” I said. “An’ only one this time?” “Yeah. No other voices, either. Just him.” “Was he a nice one, at least?” I nodded and continued to chip away at my little slice. Jay patted my head gently like he always did by this time. “They’ll stop soon, darlin’. Them voices gotta go away sometime.” We smiled at the optimistic statement, and I spent the rest of my night like I always did: sitting in the old gas station-turned Little Casanova Town Diner just outside of a little midwestern town in Wisconsin, talking to my best friend who always gave me comfort when my schizophrenia was at its worst.


Based on previous experience, much deliberation and a confidence that is unshakable, James enters the casino knowing that the $300 in his pocket will grow exponentially by the time he leaves there. Scanning around, he waits until his inner self senses one of the machines calling to him, summoning his extrasensory power to determine where his success can be found. He convinces himself this time he will not get carried away and act foolishly with his money. He cannot afford to do this. A deep breath and he moves toward the middle one in a row of seven poker slots. Sitting down and getting comfortable, he opens his wallet and pinches a $20 bill between his right forefinger and thumb then pulls it out carefully, making sure there are not two of them stuck together. He peers at the screen as if he is looking someone in the eye. This is showdown time. He means business, James is here to win money. In slips the 20, prompting the sound of money being added to the machine, a bump thump of sorts, telling him the 20 was accepted. The choice is before him for which type of video poker to choose. Without deliberation, he points his finger at the “Deuces Wild” icon and presses it carefully. This is the poker game that is the easiest to win. The likelihood of a huge jackpot is not as strong as with other card games but James has been through this before and he knows the odds are more against him with those. Totally focused on the task at hand, he takes another deep breath and presses the “Max Bet” button with firm confidence and an expressionless face. This means he will be wagering the full $2 allowed on at least the hands he will be playing even though he could change his mind at any point. Forget betting any less because the payoffs are proportionally that much lower and not worth the effort for a player of James’ caliber. Next in the process is the actual act of playing the game now that these preliminary routine decisions have passed. A quick tap on the “Deal” button precedes each of the five backs of playing cards on the screen being converted to their front sides. James watches calmly as the cards materialize before his eyes, including two kings, so he, without hesitation, presses a finger on them to “hold” them and wait for the other three cards to be redealt. Another king comes up, giving him three of a kind and $2 on his bet, break even, better than losing. Next hand, a tap on the deal button, then a mix mosh of unconnected cards, one of them an ace. Re-deal, James decides, so another tap on the same button and similar results, two dollars gone. Just getting started, warming up the machine, nothing to be concerned about for sure. James moves ahead for another deal of five cards, this time a “wild” deuce, the two of clubs, appears first then no cards of the remaining four that can lead to any obvious win. So as strategy would suggest, hold the deuce and deal again. From those four new cards, another deuce, a four, queen and eight, meaning three of a kind again because the two deuces are wild and can be used as a match with any other. Okay, this is how the game is supposed to be played and meant to proceed, James tells himself, a positive outcome, giving him two dollars, as three of kind pays “even money,” the same amount as what he bet on that hand. Never expect any immediate windfalls, any sudden huge payoffs so early in the session, James assures himself, having learned this from previous experience. Pressing on, another $2 wager and the dealing of the five cards. Definitely not a challenging hand to consider now, two 10s and two 7s, because two pairs also pays even money but if he holds all four, there is a chance he could draw another 10 or 7 or even a wild two and have a full house. He does so and has to be happy with his two pair. Time to move ahead. Three losing hands follow, leaving James in a hole but not a deep one. No changes in his approach, here comes a deuce, two threes and an ace and a queen. Already set at three of a kind, he holds the cards that comprise that win and discards the others. Another deuce comes up! Four of a kind, now the brief negative spiral is reversed. The nice payoff not only wipes out the deficit but gives James a surplus over his original investment. He’s playing with the “house’s money” now! James methodically continues to bet the max of $2 and gets a straight, another even money payoff, better than losing. Followed by a couple losing hands then a three of a kind again, the machine’s bells ringing for an even money payoff, only not as loudly or as long as when he hit four of a kind or better. A video gaming roller coaster ride follows, win, lose, win, lose, two wins followed by two losses, all of these victories for minimal amounts. A flush, all cards of the same suit, is dealt to James without any decision to be made on his part, keeping all five of those cards makes for a nice but not major payoff yet it puts him ahead a few bucks at this point. Then three deuces appear on the next hand with an ace and a four. A fourth deuce would mean a $500 win! James quickly holds the wild cards and fixes his eyes on where the other two were: the results are a king and a five. No $500 but four of a kind again and he goes more ahead for the round. As expected, a loss follows. Then another three of a kind even money hand. Next a wild deuce comes up but there is nothing to match with it. A string of four bad hands successively comes next, the meter showing his cash balance sinking back down below his original investment. A reprieve materializes: two pairs so he holds all four and gets that full house he was looking for earlier. Now things are on the right track again. Let’s go, he hits the deal button hard and fast but three more hands of losers come up. The roller coaster ride goes on for another half hour before a bad stretch follows and leaves James with only $6. After two even money wins, he has three bad hands and is out of money from his original stake. An exciting series of hands, some close calls, some great moments and some bad moments. It was not a total wipe out so James pulls out another 20 and presses on. More of the same. Up and down, win and lose, some nicer hands that pay well without cause for celebration and some more losers. At one point, he is ahead by slightly over $20 on the second round but sees it depleted with a series of seesaw hands and a succession of losers. A third then a fourth bill with Andrew Jackson’s picture on it leaves James’ wallet and finds it way into the machine. If only those four deuces would come up, it would be $500! A couple of times, a pair of twos show but nothing more, meaning three of a kind and he gets his $2 back. A cleavage abundant casino cocktail server spiked heels her way to him to see if he wants a free drink but he says no without even a glance at her because it would break his concentration. Of all the slot machines in this glittery place, those where James chooses to play poker give him some control because he has to decide which cards to hold and which ones to discard. The other types of slots work on their own, you put your money in, spin the reels and wait for the results.

This type of machine, where he has some say over the outcome of each game, is more to his liking. James is there for two more hours when he looks into his wallet and realizes the $300 he brought here with him has been reduced by way more than half. But after so many countless plays, this machine is not only due, it is overdue for a major payout! The bright lights and colorful borders around the machine screen are barely noticed by James, the sounds accompanying his winning hands all but inaudible to him as his senses are fixed only on the cards in the poker hands before him. Occasionally, there will be music, calliope sounds, buzzing, bells, whistles, soft explosions and various noises emanating from other machines in the casino but while they reach James’ ears, they do not register in his mind. He is on a mission to win big money playing video poker. A slight aching in his video poker right hand trigger finger is noticeable but not to the point of rendering it too painful to advance toward the big jackpot. More rollercoaster rides, more money lost, four hours now gone. Down to the final $20 bill but it ends up disappearing completely inside the machine with the credit indicator on the screen showing zero all too soon and nothing else to retrieve from his wallet. How did this happen again? James has been down this road many times before. He is a master at video poker and this should not have occurred. It was the wrong night, the wrong machine, James now realizes this. Just wait until next time.


Going to be the First The Situation I have long wanted to be the first one to do something memorable. And now I am just about to do what no one on my planet has ever done before. But I’m not so sure that this is something that I want to do, certainly not alone as I am now. I had known about the exciting possibility of this great event and worked towards its likelihood for years, from boy to man, from school to experience. But now I do not feel completely comfortable or ready for it, especially in the present circumstances. I have to make a decision soon. Do I go for it, or do I return back to where I came from? The First Strike            There were three of us at the beginning of this space adventure. We laughed over how we were going to race to see who was going to make the first big step onto ground untrodden by our people before. But the first major obstacle we encountered eliminated one of us from ‘the touching the ground race’ as we had been calling it. The obstacle was a round flying object that came for certain from our eventual destination and quickly closed in on our spaceship before we had time to put up our defences. The object exuded such an incredibly strong attractive force that it slammed one of our number against the nearest wall of our space craft, crushing his breath and his heart beat right out of his body. There was nothing the two of us could do to rescue him from his fate. Fortunately, we had been strapped into our seats, while he had been walking, so we could not be moved like he had been. Granted, breathing was quite difficult for the two of us for a few seconds, but still possible. Our heartbeats sped up, but not to a rate that would force our hearts to burst, as happened to our flight mate and good friend. The Second Strike            As we got closer to our destination, we faced another threat. A rocket circled our space ship. It shot a ray that, without breaking the outside surface of our ship, literally set my one remaining flight partner on fire. He glowed for a second or two and then went up in flames. I am now alone. I am lucky to have been sitting down in the inner office, not near the surface of the ship like my friend and colleague had been. The First Decision            I have to make a decision now. Should I land on the planet and complete the mission, or head back to my home planet? After some thought, I decided that I should complete our mission. I owed it to my two colleagues. I owed it to the boy I was that yearned to have this chance. In addition, there was important work here that I needed to do for our people to have a safer future. I turned on the undetectablizer. As soon as it began functioning, I was protected from having my craft and I seen, heard or the source of a rebounding ray. Soon afterwards I saw several space vehicles apparently sent out to seek me out. One of them nearly collided with me quite accidently. I’m knew that the pilot could not detect the presence of my vessel. The undetectablizer had worked its magic.            I approached and then passed close to their moon, and, much to my surprise, I found it to be completely empty of life. I would have thought that they would have occupied it by now. They had first landed on it a longt time ago, according to our space history books, and made a big deal out of it at the time.            It did not take me long after that to land on the planet in a field filled with plant life. I believe that the local name for the plant was corn. The task that we had been set was to take a sample of a particularly successful plant, to see whether there was some genetic element in the planet that made the people that lived here so incredibly aggressive towards people from other planets. I was shocked to hear what they had done to the people on Mars.. The plants were easy to sample, not having strong defences against what I was doing. It would be interesting to see what our scientists would find out about life on this planet based on this sample. I had a bit of a hard time resisting eating the corn, as I had read somewhere that the people who lived on this planet thought it to be quite tasty. The Second Decision            Just as I returned to my space ship I picked up a signal that was being broadcast around the planet. Apparently the message it sent was that the planet was being attacked by ‘dangerous aliens’. I wanted to reply to the message saying that there was only one alien currently on their planet, and he was about to leave, having done no damage to the people of the planet, although he had stolen some corn.            I felt now that it could be possible that I would not only be the first of our people to land on this planet, but could very well be the last to set foot here. These were not an easy people to deal with in any mutually beneficial way. We might never again take the chance to return to Abbadabba ‘land of the unknown’, as we call it. I discovered when I was listening to the signal that their name for their planet was ‘earth’. Right at this moment I think that a better name for it in this one of many languages on the planet might be ‘stone’. It certainly seems to me to be a hard place.  I am glad that I live on Neptune, and that the denizens of this planet do not yet know that we exist. Still, I want to return here and work towards establishing a friendly connection with this planet. I will have lots of time on my flight back to think of how that might come to be. Right now I think that I will try to override the signal transmitting the ‘dangerous aliens’ message with the simple but truthful words, “We come in peace.”            And that was to be the first step.


Until a moment ago, Robyn thought he might not come. A thousand things to do in only a few short hours before the sun rises, and she wouldn't have blamed him if her little meeting spot hadn't been high on the list of priorities. A man must make use of the time he has, her father used to bellow from the high chair in his hall. And what a terrible waste of time for Painter to leave his troops, venture up into the dark hills for an exchange of measly little words, knowing that when the dawn came, his death would not be far behind. Still, she was glad he'd come. There, rustling through the brush and emerging from the shadows was Painter, expression as grim as the broken battlefield down in the valley. Where arrowheads stuck from the soft dirt and men took corpse after corpse back to one side or the other. She wanted to tell herself it was the way of men, war. That she held not the weight of responsibility that came with the blood of eager fools rushing off to their deaths. It’s not about what you tell yourself, but how much you believe it. Another bit of her father’s wisdom, and it did little to calm the beating in her heart or wash the dark guilt out of it. She’d made her choice, and there was no retreating from it.

Stepping onto even ground, Painter kept his distance like she was rotted with the plague, eyes glossy in the gaze of the moon, dark hair rustled by the summer breeze. Made him look more a child than a man about to fight in the Deciding. He clung to the grip of the sword on his hip, fixed her with that vacant gaze he had when they first met, and only then did it stir up any emotion in her. Brought on all sorts of memories of looks he’d never again give her. Look of patience when teaching her the bow. Look of love when she shared his bed. And look of agony in those deep dark eyes when he knew she’d betrayed them. When the truth of who she was and who she served and who she was the daughter of came to light. That was the look that weighed the most on her heart. It was the one she was seeing reflected in Painter’s eyes now. “We buried ‘em today,” he croaked, a lone finger scratching at the scar running down his cheek. “Samson, Franco, Harper,” he paused, “ Finn. ” She missed a breath at that last name, remembered those big eyes of Finn’s and all his dreams and hopes now snuffed out like a fire that had only just been lit.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing she was capable of saying. Any moment she waited for some sort of anger to come clawing its way out of him, like fire from behind the sharp teeth of a dragon. None came. Just the silence in the field. The moon and stars and the great unknowable divine as their audience.

“I’m sorry too. Weren’t just my friends laid to rest.” His eyes, sharp as two spears searching for her heart, fell upon her. “They were yours as much as they were mine.” The words were ragged as a thornbush around her heart, swelling like a bruise, aching like one too. Beating so hard against her ribs Robyn could feel it in her skull, in her teeth. “Was my fault, wasn’t it?” He didn’t answer. Maybe he couldn’t. Silence crept from him, mouth twitching like he had a thousand words to say but couldn’t find the right order to put ‘em in. That was when Robyn really felt the distance between ‘em, far greater than she dared to admit, stretching out the lengths of a battlefield.

Funny that this was exactly what she expected. But expecting and feeling, as her tyrannical father would say, were two different worlds, like water and oil. Though she knew both well enough, not a thing in the world could make ‘em mix.

“The Deciding is at dawn,” she said, voice cracking and showing just that bit of fear growing within her. Painter nodded, eyes towards the ominous moon. “We both know you’ll lose.” More silence. “My father has warriors from all across the Kingdom of Doreen, each one more eager than the last.” Eager as wolves stalking just beyond the light of a lantern. “It’ll be decided then, that your rebellion is no more, and you’ll be dead.” She had to wipe the wet from her eyes with the back of her forearm, holding tight to composure like it were a horse about to throw her. “You can’t win, Painter,” and she was screaming the words. “You’re going to die!” Met with his silence, Robyn wondered if his words might be too good for her, wishing for something more regardless. Wished Painter was filled with words like Finn with hopes and dreams for a better, more equal kingdom. Filled with words like Robyn was filled with fear. Yet he clung to that stoic silence the way the cold does a blanket, none too keen on feeling winter’s embrace. But the storm was coming and he wouldn’t stay warm forever.

The tears, welling up in her eyes since she gave her father the rebel’s location, came flooding out now. Her knees wobbled and so very badly did she feel like crumbling. She’d strived for too long in the false attempt to appear strong in the face of challenges. Like an oak in a storm, her father would say. Though the King of Doreen was almost always referencing himself, that is. Maybe that explained his easy hatred towards Painter. Twice as young and twice as likely to choose silence over boastfulness. She’d heard it said that a man only hates silence when he is at odds with himself. When he cannot be still in the company of his own mind, sneering at anybody who could. That was her father. And tomorrow, his hatred would kill the only man she’d ever loved.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, vision blurred through the tears, heart racing like a steed in an open field. “I’m so sorry, Painter. I’m-” He was there, holding her tight, all the words he couldn’t say fading away at the touch of his embrace. She felt his hand in her hair, soothing her, voice as soft as a mother’s lullaby.

“Hush now,” he whispered. “You can’t forgive me so easily,” she wailed, voice muffled, buried in his chest, heart beating about as fast as hers. “I shouldn’t be forgiven.” His hands gently took hold of her shoulders, brought her an arms distance away, moonlight dancing in the dark puddle of his eyes. There he looked strong and wise, all the things her father was not. A thumb wiped away the tears on her cheek, and she nestled into his palm. “Forgiveness ain’t a thing earned,” he said. “It’s about as free as the night sky, I reckon.” “My father is going to kill you.” “I know.” “I want to go back.” She was against his chest again. Holding him so tight, knowing he’d be lost to her regardless. “I want to go back.” “Time marches one way.” They stayed on that hill until the sun painted the sky a pink and orange canvas. Until the birds sang and the muster horn echoed through the valley. Until he was finally forced to leave her, hand on the hilt of his sword, walking into death as confident as a lion into a den of hyenas.


THIS STORY CONTAINS CHILD-SEXUAL ABUSE SENSITIVE TOPIC Chicago, summer of '73: Lorna McKenzie got home late from work that day, a dark cold sky threatened snow, it was late February 2024. She pulled off her heavy coat, hung it up on her coat rack by the doorway and kicked off her boots - her feet were cold, toes numb from walking home ten blocks. As soon as she got into the kitchen she pulled out a pre-made dinner and popped it in the microwave. She pulled out a diet soda, ice and a glass, and sat down at her designer table next to the kitchen. It was Friday night, Valentine's Day. Alone, hungry, and just wanting to crawl into her comfy bed with her I-pad was where she wanted to be. Her designer apartment was freshly renovated. Nice view, laminated floors, state of the art bathroom fully loaded with soft lighting and heat fans made it feel like a sauna. A big deep tub equipped with shower spray was added, her absolute favorite item and she loved it all here. A 24/hour security guard was always available in the lobby. She enjoyed the safety and particularly the comfort of her suite here. She worked hard to have the lifestyle. No one would ever make her feel violated or uncomfortable ever again. No family photos sat around either. She kept her room tidy and neat. That's just how it was for Lorna. A suite that was more of a hotel than a home. Modern. "Hi ma, no I am at home tonight. No, not going out with anyone special. Okay, that's great, did you get your heart monitor set up? How's the new nurse what's her name? Rachael? That's nice glad you like her. blah blah blah." She then dialled Kathy's number. Not on her top ten for friendship besties but Kathy was fun to chat with occasionally. Kathy was a blond bomber when they were in HS, married a trophy husband and enjoyed her matieralistic world. Lorna found her tiring usually - not her go to cheering up kind of friend exactly. "Brad and I are going out for steak at Harford's later. Yummy, getting ready. Naw, just jeans tonight, its' too cold to dress fancy. What're you doing?" She asked Lorna, whom she thought was often moody. She figured her friend was lonely, but she didnt want to say anything to hurt her feelings. After 37 years of marriage she had no clue what dating would be like today, and, probably not safe with all the scammers and creepers out there. Lorna was a long legged looker. Those big blue doe eyes that sometimes revealed sadness. Kath had a good idea of what happened to her. Lorna confided once in awhile but wouldn't go into detail. She didnt have to. "Enjoy your linguine and Netflix night, go grab yourself a glass of wine don't forget." Kathy drawled yawning. She did that a lot, always seeming sleepy. Kath stayed up late playing software games, Lorna knew that. Her upbeat tone cheered Lorna up this time. She smiled as she picked at her acrylic nail. "I still think you could do with some fun. A date night kind of fun. You hardly ever go out you know." Kathy's worried voice lowered on speaker phone. "OMG, yea - I do have that vintage Pinot noit from last Christmas still. Maybe a good night to crack that open." She was already up and getting out her glass and the bottle. After finishing a stressful few months wrapping up a project for a firm doing their tech setups and IT work she felt gratified and felt like celebrating her efforts leading the team to do a great job. **** It was 1978 end of a hot Chicago sultry summer that year, kids had been out swimming, or playing basketball or just hanging around bored talking about starting the new school year in their hippie style clothes and the boys with their long hair and pimpled greasy faces. Lorna wasn't much into dating even back then she studied hard and graduated with A's. Her parents were nonchalant about her achievemtns leaving her feeling disappointed but WhateveRR. She wanted a career, and not babies, or a husband to cater to. She had dreams to move away as soon as she got herself a job that could afford to pay rent. L.A. was full of things and expressive was a way of describing her first few months there. It was hot, sunny, busy everywhere and colorful. 'I am not here to express my creative style or artistic anything.' She often had to remind herself as she worked and did her degree. She had a full schedule, with no time for socializing or going out to parties. "Work, study, eat, sleep, repeat" She'd written on a poster in her dorm room. Even her family had no clue of her address. She sent them emails and called but that was all. And the first year the darkness came. Panic attacks - dreams - night sweats. " Yes, sure I can recommend a good counsellor for you. It's included in your program if your stressed and need someone to talk to." Her lab prof Derek gave her the connection, and she began to take advantage of the one hour weekly sessions with Dr. Norma Bell. "Thanks. Oh, here's the last run of algorithms, took me a week to work them. Glad this semester is done, but I will miss your expertise." She added as she gave him the file. "Lorna, your a bright, quiet and artistic student. I wish you all the best." He smiled at her fondly. She left the lab to make the phone call cluthing the card in her hand. "You have PTSD, that's trauma caused by what your father did. We won't talk about it not being your fault. What we want is for you to feel whole, free and able to cope." She got told, as they sat in the doctor's office on the campus.  A nicely cozy decor with soft tranquil music and small candles lit to make her feel relaxed, it was a nice room.  "I felt numb for years.  I wouldnt allow myself to feel anything."  Lorna spoke low-voiced.  The doctor knew well enough what Lorna and most of her other patients were going through. She closed her eyes, as if she were taking a nap. She was remembering her own past. Only with her neighbour's son, a left-alone teen with nothing to do when school was out for the summer. "And how is that possible when I have to live with the memories, every second of my life?" Lorna cried often. Dr. Bell helped her more than she imagined it would. Releasing all those fears and the stress inside of her was relieving and comforting. "You are not alone, Many children and women have been through what you had to endure. It's more common than you think. You are all survivors. We have group therapy as well if your interested." Her doctor wanted to help her. Lorna was special, talented and had a future ahead of her. She didnt turn to drugs or other things women did that went through the horrific ordeal of those awful things. Lorna was lucky to get out at a young age too, she had courage and strength. If only Lorna could believe in herself spiritually, emotionally Dr. Bell pondered wishfully . *** Prince Charming and carriages were not part of the plan for her. Lorna knew that and self-talked herself as a survival technique to get out. 'I know I did something bad, he hates me.' She'd cried herself to sleep so many nights she had to hide her tear-stained pillowcases under the bottom of the dirty laundry pile so noone would find them. 'I will get out of here. Hell won't last forever?? I am going as far away from this town as possible and him.' She would continue to remind herself of that promise. Note to self. *** Her parents home back then was filled with the usual stuff most people had, a red wall phone that you actually had to dial with your fingers. A floor model RCA tv set that one had to get off the sofa to change the chanels or volume. She had a small record player in her room and collected single's. Loretta Lynn, David Cassidy, a few Beatle's and others that were popular back then. She loved to read teen novels, and listen to her records. Her goldfish bowl sat on her dresser, which by now would be an antique. She kept a little box in the last drawer with a key on it. Inside some cash and her diary. Every day she wrote about her day, and her dreams. Her family and her few friends. She wrote about daddy too, but it wasn't kind and often scratched out words. Internal fear. Cash was collected by doing odd jobs, babysitting, dog walking, or sweeping leaves for Mrs. Cabash two houses down North 21st street, and paper routes. She had saved enough to leave and then some. Her brothers often teased her about the way she began to dress, calling her a prude or prissy missy. She made sure to carefully, no, cautiously select her clothing. Nothing showed, and short shorts that were so popular then were not part of her attire at all. "What's up missy prissy, kind of hot to wear jeans today and long sleeves." Her brothers would taunt her as they left the house in mid-July when temps soared. "Leave your sister alone and be home by dark. We're having a bbq tonight." Her mother would scold them. And turn her back the other way after that. Lorna only had herself to defend. She never did want anything from that house. Lorna finally did leave after she got accepted into Berkley to do her Computer Science degree and then her first job at a fairly reputable software company. The work was challenging, fun, her colleagues decent and her boss lady ruled the empire of high tech. Lorna had gotten herself a fantastic apartment with a view in L.A., and she loved her life just the way it was. "Thanks Sid, just me and my Netflix tonight, just had dinner sorry." She spoke to one of her neighbours. Sid always liked her but knew she was aloof and not interested in guys. Such a pretty gal too, he thought admiring her long legs in the summer when she wore her shorts. "Can't blame a guy for trying. You should go out more often, it would do you good." He set the pace for friendship more than a hit on. No point in pressuring the lady. "Sure, I will keep that in mind. Thanks Sid, see ya." And she lay back into her soft bed as the wind outside picked up and she searched for something. Anything but romance films. *** Lorna hid under her covers after he left her room late that night, sneaking around and watching her always she felt back then. His eyes bore down on her tiny body making her feel uneasy and scared. Even when she was littler and had to have her baths she would never want him there, only her mom. "No, mummy, he has to leave." She would not even look at him then as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom while the tub was running and bubbles were foaming. Her mother played dumb-ass, or she didnt care. Lorna wanted her to know how scared she was of him but could never tell her. She'd hoped her signals and fear of being alone with him was enough but Mryta never said a word then. Willy, Sam and Paul, her brothers just did their own thing and were clue less. She was the baby after all. Her mom acted like nothing was ever wrong with their perfect American middle-class working family. Morning would arrive and life would carry on as usual. Lorna kept her secrets and fears to herself and tried to stay away from him as much as possible, and she learned how to hide. Closets became her refuge - going outside as much as possible was escape from hell. Self-concsience was a way of life her body became her enemy, and she was only 10. She knew more than should have then and now. But she got smarter than him. Eventually. Her dark demons were always nearby - she learned to put them aside. *** The boys had built a treehouse out of some old planks. It was shabby, but solid up in the maple on the side of the yard. She often would climb up there when they were not home and sit quietly, and felt safe there. The birds would chirp around the top of that tree and the wind would rustle the leaves in the fall. She brought up an old blanket to wrap herself in when it got colder. It was her haven then - that treehouse was one of the only memories she loved growing up. Lorna left home after graduation and happy to do so. Myrta cried her eyes out, her brothers wished her the best and saw her off at the bus station with her one suitcase. He hung back from them, shuffling his feet in the dust not even waving goodbye. "I hope you rot someday in hell." She'd thought to herself, then hating herself for even thinking those thoughts. Always the same old argument with her soul, she tried to bury them deep down, and keep them there. She eventually got to hate that house. She hated the lifestyle there back then now. So, after carving herself a whole new life in this modern world of technology and, doing very well for herself with designer clothes, a kick-ass designer apartment and a nicely paced lifestyle she was free. *** He came into her room late in the night sometimes. She had begun to grow into puberty now, taller and slim. Lorna was quiet most of the time, and he knew she never mentioned what he wanted. He crept up to her bed and sat down halfway from where her lay away from him, facing the other wall. She felt sick to her stomach, the probing would begin. Light, feather touches at first. Then more aggressive rubbing on her legs and back. She stopped breathing while he carried on.....and after he left she would throw up in her small beach bucket she hid under her bed. You know, the ones kids brought to make sandcastles with that were all those pretty pastel colors. Her giant stuffed green bunny that he'd given her when she was three sat on her pillows. She threw it face down and hit the bed with it over and over again and cried herself to sleep. She was 8 then. He died four years ago from cancer. Lorna flew back to Chicago to go to the funeral and left not long after, two days. People came and went bringing food, and offering condolences. Willy pulled her over the next morning to talk to her. "Sis, what happened with you and daddy?" He came right out. He could hear things going on back then and he didnt like it. Not one bit. He swore he would kill him if he touched his sister again. But he never said a word. He knew Lorna was leaving anyway. "Nothing. Just leave it alone." She turned away to look for something else to do. This was not a conversation she wanted ot have. Her own world was safe. Her "now" world was good. She didnt want to go back to 1979. Ever. "Fine, but I know something went down. I hated him after you left and I will always hate him." Willie lowered his voice as he spoke - with so much compassion Lorna felt sad leaving. He was her favorite breau. He would always have her back, then and now. "I am leaving in the morning, love you tons." She hugged him long and hard. She couldn't look at the tears that slipped down his cheeks....... *** Myrta passed away from heart failure the year after she moved to L.A. Her mother's heart finally gave in, and she no longer had the strength. She died peacefully in her home. Lorna went back to help her brothers pack things up, and put the house up for sale. She had lived so long now burying her past deep inside of her. Even going back now was not as hard as she thought it would be. All the furniture was the same, except a new phone, and a new TV set. Air conditioning had been put in later as well. New carpets. But basically everything stayed the same. Her room had been re done too but same bed, same dresser. Same curtains hung with the frilly tops and square hemmed edged bottoms in pink and white cotton flowers. She used to love how the sunshine seeped in during summer, and the familiar sounds of traffic outside, and dogs barking in the distance. Those years of past memories didnt last long however, and when she endured him sneaking around into her room that oversaw any nostalgia. Lorna only lived to forget him and that house. Lorna had gone through her mom's photo albums, hardly even knowing who her relatives were from their side. They rarely came to visit or called. She wondered why all of a sudden why her mom never spoke of them. Her grandfather stood taller than the family did, he had dark creepy eyes that seemed to stare back at her. Lorna shivered as she closed the photo album. If nobody wanted it she would toss it. **** EPILOGUE **** She planned on taking a road trip to Mexico for a month after the house was sold. She bought a camper and invited Sid to go with her for companionship. "Well, I guess I could go, why not. Never been myself, just too busy working and doing whatever." And so, plans were made. Lorna was grateful for his kindness. Her little diary was full of course, but she still kept it locked in the safe that once held her running away money. But she no longer wrote that way now. She no longer felt the need. The house was sold within months after the sign was out front. It was a cozy home in a quiet suburb area. It still held the charm of the 50s, with some of the fences still in tact and well kept lawns. Lorna never went back there. She forgave her family for their ignorance, her mother for her lack of protecting her when she should have. Her brothers for being themselves, and lastly, without further adieu - her daddy. Who hurt her, made her feel unsafe, dirty and violated. The anger she consumed encrusted inside her like a filthy shroud, and it was time she had learned to let it go. She began to pack as her I-phone playlist pulled up the blues music with her built in blue-tooth speaker system making it sound like a theatre. She danced around getting her passport out and her personal items. "Mexico, here I come", She happily told her empty suite. THE END


Anne leaned on the counter as Chuck struggled to pick a kind of drink. Her mood grew darker as the line started building up. Finally when the line started getting impatient, Chuck had picked the hot cocoa with peppermint. After hours work of serving angry people with the need for coffee. For her break all she wanted to do was hang out with the best person...Aphrodite. She whipped out her phone remembering to get the corner of her phone fixed. MathPsycho: U want 2 come over? FandomRebel: sure where? MathPsycho: new job FandomRebel: k Anne put her phone back into her purse and walked outside and sat on the bench. Anne watched for Aphrodite's motorcycle, she took it everywhere. When she finally arrived, she took out her money and walked inside, holding her hand up in "don't talk" position. She soon came back out holding a caramel mocha. They talked for a while about school, Home Ec the next day after school, and everyone in their group, they mostly talked about the new summer drinks the café will be serving. Anne got up and went to go back to the counter. Aphrodite, being Aphrodite, followed her and slipped on an apron. Anne was about to ask her what she was doing, when she gave her the "Don't try to stop me" look. After the first few customers she started getting bored and sat on the counter, while Anne served. 'Dite was in the middle of a perfect hand stand when the bell rang and The Griever Gang walked in. They strolled to the counter and leaned in. "I'd like a single girl, to be my girlfriend and to take a ride in my car." Aphrodite, who always had her back, stepped in. "Sorry they're all unavailable." The leader kept his snake-like tone, but it was obvious he was annoyed. "Really 'cause I'm looking at a tall glass of water." Aphrodite turned around and grabbed a glass and plopped it onto the counter. "Fountain is over there, help yourself." Aphrodite slipped her phone out of her pocket and slyly passed it to Anne. Anne grabbed it and turned it on. The page was on messages. She scrolled for Minho and Newt. In a few minutes Minho busted through the doors like he owned the place. He was followed Newt and Gally. Gally walked to the back of the line and slid out his phone and soon Anne heard a bing on her own. #1Builder: Don't hit me Anne looked up and the boys were walking towards them. Minho jumped the counter and looked at The Grievers straight in the eye. The other two boys just walked around the counter and beside the girls. Gally put his arm around her shoulder and she stared daggers at him. Newt stood next to 'Dite and held her hand. The leader look defeated backed away watching Minho. "You better watch your back Greenie" Minho shrugged and was high fived by Aphrodite. ##################################### The rain pattered on the windows as Anne stood on the edge of her drive-way. She was supposed to be picked up by the rest of the Gladers, but they were side tracked. "Bing!" Anne looked down on her phone. FandomRebellion: U excited 4 Home-Ec.?! MathPsycho: Ya I guess FandomRebellion: Ya I guess? oh come on! Home-Ec. is amazing! MathPsycho: okay... Down the road Minho's flashy red car sped down the street and came to an abrupt stop mid-prosses of splashing Anne. Anne had shielded her phone but not her new shirt. The door opened and Aphrodite came out with phone in hand. "Anne! My buddy, my best friend..." She was cut off by Teresa clearing her throat. "What does that make me?" Aphrodite just kept talking. After a few fist bumps and slaps upside the head to Minho, they were on their way. Just as Minho pulled into the parking lot the Griever Gang starting to walk to them. Aphrodite frowned and started to get out but Anne pulled her down and shook her head. Teresa ducked her head as they walked to the window and rapped. Minho got out of the car in his 'Try to be cool' way. He started to talk to them and soon a punch was thrown. Minho wiped under his nose to find a trickle of blood. By this time Aphrodite was already out and yelling at them. Anne opened the door and instructed Minho to hold up his nose. The Griever Gang started to laugh. "Who's this now, don't matter I like the feisty." The leader grabbed Aphrodite's wrist and Newt was out like a shot. The leader laid on the ash fault with his hand pressed against his eye. The principal was walking toward them glaring down at Newt like he was infected with worms. Newt didn't care though he just stood there with his hands in a fist tight lipped. Just as he was pulled away into Aphrodite's hug, Anne heard him say "It was worth it." ##################################### At lunch nobody saw Newt but it was soon found out that he was in detention. Aphrodite acted like nothing ever happened, but she couldn't hide from Anne. She knew that she would always look over her shoulder, and that she always be ready to fight them. Minho tried to ignore the smirks coming from the Griever table, he barely succeeded. Aphrodite continued to crack her knuckles and glare at the same time, freaking out the tables in a one by one radius. Anne kept trying to get conversation going, from the weather to mystery meat nobody was eating. It all failed. The only thing that responded was the bell. As Anne, Teresa, and Aphrodite walked (thank goodness Aphrodite was watching!) the Griever Gang trailed behind them. Aphrodite grabbed the girls arms and took a sharp turn into the girls change room. On the field the girls took position in the game of volleyball. after a few games the girls grabbed their water bottles and sat on the bench. After gabbing a bit about strategy, the Gang walked over and sat down RIGHT beside Aphrodite and Anne. Anne searched the bench for escape and all she found was get up and go play anther game. ##################################### At home Anne laid on her bed scrolling though her messages. Her finger hovered over Gally's previous message. Her mind went back to the coffee shop day. Why did he do that? He didn't have to. No matter what she thought of, she was glad he did. (I take no credit except Anne Darwin and my sister owns Aphrodite.)


“You must know that you carry the keys to this forest. The key is a human being not yet born, not yet conceived,” the old woman seated on a stool says after noisily blowing the thin tea she has been offered. She is holding a mug with her bony fingers, elbows resting on her thighs. The man and his wife watch her in disbelief. Perplexed, they had welcomed this alien creature earlier when she knocked at their door, walking in the rain when the red sun was setting as it formed a rainbow which ran across the sky touching two horizons like a bow. Never has such a strange natural phenomenon occurred in the Bustani forest. She gives a small shy smile revealing a perfect set of pearl teeth. “Woman, you have the key in your loins. You are so pure and fresh from living and working in Bustani forest; a forest of a thousand rainbows at sunset, nights of fresh moonlight, and darkness one can touch. You breathe plenty of oxygen than all humans. Your mind is uncorrupted and freed from weird thoughts of survival. You wake up every morning with a mission to till the earth for food as you plant more trees where loggers have left their fingerprints. You are the chosen one”, she says turning to the man who is mystified by these tidings wishing that such praises were his. “You have the seed to the key. You are the father of the guard who will make sure that this forest is untouched; that its virgin land is not cultivated and impoverished, or buildings planted by man for his own financial gains. This land is the living thing that breaths life in this country. Streams flow from her ice-capped mountain replenishing the earth, quenching the vegetation and humans’ throats and their animals and sadly, their industrial activities. Finally, these same streams form rivers, and these rivers meander forming deltas where human grow their food before they flow into the sea to manufacture more oxygen”, she sighs as if in pain and swallows her tea hard. They even hear it go down her throat which is tucked inside a hard-pressed wrinkled neck. She continues but this time with more gestures.

“The rain my son…. the rain is made here…..here in this forest. We have to redeem her from the corrupt generations that are coming. I foresee a time when the world will not care. I see big concrete pipes where people live recklessly without caring about the earth that feeds them. No garden! No parks to rejuvenate their minds for greed will have pushed them to their limit. Pure ignorance will see them cut boughs while sitting on them …. if you know what I mean”, says she, looking at the man who is becoming unsettled by her prophecy. She gives the man and wife time to ask her questions but they are so shaken and terrified but she understands. They are looking at her back and forth, at each other wondering where she came from. She is a skeleton resembling an old fig tree they have a few yards from their cottage. Her threadbare floral dress has seen many decades while its patterns disappear behind a layer of thick ochre.

“What will the key do?” asks the woman realizing that she has a tale to tell in case this soothsayer is talking sense. “She will be the ambassador of nature, a human rights activist and women advocate. She will stand against mighty kings and queens, wrestling with them in the forest, receiving significant injuries but she must not be bowed down. In courts, she will appear with facts and maps of the world clearly showing this green heritage zone but the prejudiced judges will dismiss her cases with costs to please their king. Nevertheless, she should not worry because she is the chosen key that will lock out these narcissists out.” “She?!” asks the man disappointed by the gender of the key. The old woman chuckles loudly, irritating the man who puts his cup of tea down in protest.

“Yes son! You heard me right. The key will be a woman and she will be more powerful than a thousand men put together. She will scream out loudest and her cries will be heard overseas. Which man can shout like her?” the old woman laughs again as if to mock him and moves her cold buttress-looking feet caked with brown ochre near the fire. The fire immediately turns them into gold upon which strong luminous flames are reflected. The golden feet fan the fire and flames dance wildly producing sparks that rest on both the man and his wife before bouncing back and disappearing into the hearth. They look at each other bewildered by this magic spell. She clears her throat and continues. “She will be crowned like a princess and a guard of honor will be passed out in different corners of the world during her visits, meeting powerful men and women. Statues will be put up all over the world in her recognition but sadly, none will stand here until her ashes are sprinkled by the Bathi waterfalls.” “What shall I call her?” asks the woman who has finally recovered from shock as if the sparks have taken her plight away. “Call her anything my daughter. Name her according to our customs. Her names will have nothing to do with her role for she is the chosen key. She will eventually decide what names suit her in the international circles. And when she chooses it, no one will take it away from her because that will be her brand, her trademark ingrained in golden letters in this forest. She will be as hard as steel. Her eyes will sparkle like two diamonds resting perfectly on her ebony high cheekbones. She will radiate different smiles; of agony, of power, of humility, of joy, of happiness, of peace, and of love. She will wear green from head to toe and her garments will be made from cotton for she will shun any artificially made substance that spoils the environment”, says the old woman as she stops and sips more tea noisily.

“When will she begin her work?” asks the wife in a broken voice.

“I cannot tell you everything but all I know is that she will grow just like any other girl; fetching water and firewood, going to school until a time when she will be taken by the international world. She will never be your daughter again for the world will be hers. She will also fight for humanity and equal rights for women. She will at one time enter the ruling chambers of this country but women….women whom she will have fought so hard to uplift, will let her down by not recognizing that she is their chosen liberating vessel from oppressive cultures”, she chuckles once more and continues. “They were right when they said a prophet is never accepted in his own town, didn’t they? However, she will be destined for bigger tasks than a ruler of her country”, the woman says before a fit of endless cough engulfs her. When she regains her calmness, the man asks. “Will there be no men?” her musical laughter provokes the man again forcing him to stand but some mysterious powers have paralyzed his legs.

“Son, listen to the voice in your heart. Had you been by the burning bush listening to a thunderclap, you wouldn’t lift your hefty body. Instead, with awe and fear, you would supplicate. But because a filthy-looking old woman is talking to you, you protest and want to leave. Don’t you remember how fast you reacted when I said the key will be a woman? I must warn you because I am not of this world. I am a higher deity to be belittled like that”, she reprimands. In an instance her pupils turn into two live coals from which blue flames dance, forming two balls striking the man’s face catching him unaware terrifying him enough to scream as they disappear into his sockets. “I am sorry mama…so sorry”, says the man, looking confused his hair turning into spikes, standing erect. “The key will also be reminded of her place so many times during her struggles. Women then will be more than men for most men will have perished in the war during her youth”, she stops and takes another sip giving the man another opportunity.

“War!” asks the man trembling.

“Yes son. War will come and you must fight for this noble cause. You might not see all the stages of the key”, she says, taking another cup of tea that she has requested with gestures.

“Freedom must be acquired first to free us from these oppressive rulers. Don’t they bother you when they demand your city entry permit? The city situated in your country whereby, by birthright, you should roam freely! Don’t you?” “It does for sure. It so much does”, answers the man feeling more energetic. He sees injustice he never saw before; Segregation, oppression, slavery, injustice, and cruelty. He remembers how he was shoved by a guard a week before for not producing his permit on time. Furry overcomes him. The woman, contented by the awareness she has created in him continues. “I have equipped and prepared you with bravely enough to become a centurion. You might not be there to witness many things but you will have accomplished your mission. I have to go”, she says and as she closes her eyes, cracks form around her as the hearth closes in, swallowing her leaving no trace of a fault line. “Let’s go to sleep Asante. I don’t know whether what we have witnessed is true but if it is, it is time to make the prophecy come true”, says the man to his wife who is still awe-stricken and afraid to move from her three-legged stool.

                                                       ******* “I have always told you about the old woman your late father and I saw but every time, you say that we saw nothing; that it was a psychological problem that might have emanated from isolation. She prophesied on the night you were conceived”, says Asante to her daughter Zahara when she pays her a hospital visit. Beside her are her two shaken grandchildren in their youth worried to see their mother bandaged face concealing her left eye and a sling that keeps her broken arm in place.

“Mother”, she smiles. How can you tell when conception is taking place unless you are an embryos scientist? You took me to school and I became a scientist. I believe in facts. Apparitions and superstitions are not my things. I am so sorry mother for I always hurt your feelings whenever you bring out this topic”, says she. Before her mother answers, she gives her a hug, worried that her disturbed state of mind over her torture is repeatedly rewinding images in her brain. Over her shoulders, she whispers to her but loud enough to be heard by her children who are keenly listening to the prophecy being revealed to them for the first time.

“It is true my child. I am not out of my mind. You will overcome this because foreign powers will be behind you soon. There will be demonstrations everywhere demanding your release. You shall be set free and you will continue with your Kijani Movement. You will be a great woman because you have the key that locks the gates of Bustani forest. You are scaring the leaders right now and even after you win these battles, they will not recognize you but you shouldn’t worry because you are a child of the world. Your statues will mushroom everywhere in every garden of every state that you shall pay a visit after your detractors are defeated. Think my daughter. Think. Think, and ask yourself why as a woman you won a scholarship to study in a world never travelled by any woman of your time. Customs overlooked the woman’s place. Why?” says Zahara’s mother while still stuck in her embrace. “Time’s up!” shouts the military hospital matron who is stalking the family to eavesdrop but very frustrated not to have heard a word. Hell-bent to deny them more time, she separates their union. And as soon as they realize this, they all quickly embrace in a group, crying. Soon, they are escorted out of Gerezani hospital gate with high walls trimmed with laser wires. “What you said was strange. Did you see anything like that grandma? Was it an apparition? Walk us through this please”, the eldest grandchild asks once they are out of sight. “It is true my child. Before your mother was born, this happened and I was skeptical until she started her Kijani movement of planting trees and creating awareness of environmental degradation and human rights. When she was almost beaten to death last month, I knew that I had a duty to encourage her that she is going through a phase in her journey to victory and enthronement. She will be a great woman when she comes out of this muddled situation. Like furnace fire that purifies gold, she will capture the world and leave indelible marks. States all over the world will curve her statues during her lifetime and thereafter, but it will not be until she is gone that they will curve one on the garden that she is being tortured for. She is the chosen one, carrying the key to the environment protection of this paradise.” They finally get to her grandson’s car where she narrates all the happenings of the prophecy night from the beautiful sunset to the disappearance of the old woman. They take her to their home for an overnight stay but the following morning she blatantly reminds them matter-of-factly.

“I cannot stand this chaotic well lit noisy city for another night where pollution from industries and cars and corruption and humans and injustice dominates the air. I must go where nightingale sings as the moonlight shines her light to light the night. I have to go where the ground is as soft as wool, where the naked feet walk the walk; where stillness attracts apparitions foretelling stories happening now, where Bathi waterfalls form a thousand rainbows when the red sun sets behind Mount Motomoto across the Bustani forest, sending animals out for hunting.”

“Let me take you to bed grandma where you can rest before your journey this afternoon”, says the younger grandchild who leads her to a bedroom overlooking a park where urban birds are chirping. She peers out of the window and is fascinated by the vastness of the Jiji park her daughter is fighting to save. She cannot even see its horizon. Mesmerized by what she sees, her heart melts and a radiant smile like Zahara’s brightens her face. Facing her grandchild, she sheds tears of joy.

“So this is what your mama is fighting for? The prophecy is being fulfilled before my own eyes. I wish your grandpa lived to see all this but they killed him during the liberation struggles which set us free from the bondage of colonialism. He was a warrior who fought for the common good, just like your mother is doing now. Take me home now my son. It’s time to go.”

                                            ********** “Mama, do you remember that day in the hospital when grandma said that you would become a queen? I wish she was here to see all this. Look mama how the world has made you a victor after overcoming trials and tribulations. Look, mama. Look. Just like grandma said, the world has already crowned you with her highest medal that no woman has ever held in this continent, the Nobel Peace Prize. Look mama the authority you are about to receive now…….”.

“Shh! son, science is based on facts. Science liberates you from ignorance. Let's listen to what The Secretary General of the United Nation has to say.”  “Professor Zahara Baraka, I declare you the ‘Umoja wa Mataifa’ ambassador of peace with a specific focus on environmental and climate change”, declares Peter Rocks. The two children embrace their mother before she steps out to receive and sign the declaration. In this sweet embrace with the audience cheering in high spirits, the daughter looks at the mother in the eye, tearing and says, “Mama, statues will follow you wherever you go. I believe in the prophecy now!” “This cannot be scientifically proved, my daughter. Nothing like that happened. I did it. I worked so hard for it. How I wish I could have had more time with the two of you my children when you were growing up!” “Don’t worry mama. You were meant for the world. Leaders like you are shared, mama. Go mama go. Go get your crown”, says her daughter followed by thunderclaps from the audience and a standing ovation as she walks down the aisle, her eyes sparkling on her ebony face. Her rosebud lips form different smiles as they get captured by cameras clicking like powerful machine guns held by photojournalists drawn from all over the world.


I straighten the pastel pink skirt and blazer with shaking hands. Pacing from one end to the other, I mutter words underneath my breath, each try different from the other. The cards in my hand don’t help, as they just have a few words on them. I need to show the world that I’m different. I must not be another person who can read. I need to be someone who has a stage presence, whose every word is echoing in the audience’s ears long after the speech is done. I need to leave my mark. I wish I were trained for this kind of thing, the kind of thing everyone but me is good at. Public speaking. Looking over a podium and seeing thousands of people’s eyes waiting for me to say the wrong thing, a few million’s eyes trained on me through the television screen in the comfort of their homes. If Melinda had been here, she would have handled it perfectly, her every word ringing strong and clear, her every smile genuine and carefully sprinkled throughout her speech, her sly jokes inciting light giggles and deep chuckles from the audience. I can’t even talk to my own mother without looking at my feet. I can’t even raise my voice at my own son. I can’t even stop my husband’s taunts from raining down on me. I don’t know what to do. My pacing is making Randall nervous, as he shakes his leg up and down, the chair creaking in rhythm. Taran will be in the audience with Mother, watching me like everyone else, cheering at my every word even though he may not understand all of it. He had been close to Father. Close enough to have believed us when we told him that he was just sleeping in the coffin, taking some rest and giving company to Aunt Melinda. He noticed everything, his black eyes taking in the tears and the condolences all around him. How much he understood was the question. I couldn’t expect him to understand it either, since death was the most abstract concept that even supposedly experienced adults couldn’t completely grasp. An ache spreads in my chest as I think of Father, his pockets always filled with little lemon candies and feathers which appeared everyday almost like magic. I saw all of it happen through my young eyes, my grandfather giving up the throne for the sake of a strange-sounding man, and my father wearing the crown, studded with rubies and emeralds, my sister becoming heir apparent and being a natural at it. I remember having to massage Father’s shoulders for almost months on end after he became king, as he complained about the heaviness of the crown. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t only referring to the physical aspect of it until I wore it myself. Today is the day. In a few minutes, I had to get on stage to a thousand blinking phones, cameras and reporters, and double that number of eyes, all looking at me, waiting for me to change the world or screw it up completely. Frank enters backstage and nods at me. I’m suddenly overtaken by an urge to faint on the spot. But I walk towards the curtain that is the final obstacle between me and the rest of the world. I need to do this for Father’s sake. He always loved me for me, and never forced me to be someone else. He never cared that I didn’t talk too much, but he always said that I could do it if I had to. This time, I have to. I don’t have a choice on the matter. I push the curtain to the right and walk on stage, the cheers vibrating through every bone in my body. I wave, and the crowd goes wild. I really hope that the sound of the audience will block out most of my words and the people can leave with the knowledge that I said something profound without hearing my words at all. But all my plans are ruined when I reach the podium. As if by some common signal of their own, the people shush each other. The only sound in the whole arena is me setting down my cards. I adjust the microphone only to be greeted by screeching feedback as the audience plugs their fingers into their ears with a strained look on their faces. I imagine the people at home are doing the same. What a great start to my reign as queen. I smile at them apologetically, and a hush descends in an instant. I spot Taran and Mother in the audience and see Randall edging his way towards them. I pick up my first card with my sweaty hands, careful not to drop it. Introduction. Thank you for kind wishes. Clearing my throat, I push out two words. “Hello, world.” The cheering and applause don’t stop for a good three minutes. I know because I constantly look at my watch with a polite smile on my face. As they slowly get the hint, the cheering quietens and the applause fades. I haven’t even gotten through my first card yet. “My name is Rebecca. Though for the entirety of my life, I have been called Princess Regina, but my real name is Rebecca.” My throat closes up at this point, and the people somehow understand. They cheer ‘Long live Rebecca’ until I manage to compose myself. “Now I understand that my father King Francis was loved and adored by you all. I realize that as much as I and the rest of my family are mourning, all of you are mourning too. For considering my family as yours and for taking that burden of grief upon yourselves, I thank you all.” My throat is dry. I should have brought some water along with me. I pick up my next card. Melinda. Queen. “I realize that many of you are puzzled at the fact that the younger princess is giving this speech. Many of you may be wondering why Princess Mel – I mean Princess Victoria is not the one standing here today.” The audience members consult with each other while the reporters push their microphones closer to the stage, sensing something big coming. I take in a deep breath and let it out, not knowing whether I would ever get the strength to say it. “Princess Victoria had a name too, Melinda. Her real name was Melinda. She was just like you and me. But she was different.” Everyone’s breath hitches a bit at hearing me refer to her in the past tense. “She was human, like the rest of us. She was grieving. But she was also heir apparent. She was also entrusted with the responsibility of becoming the first Queen the kingdom of Cotoria has ever had.” This was it, I had to say it. “Melinda was found dead in her chambers a day after my father’s passing. She had swallowed pills.” Pindrop silence. Then the discussion starts, the people talking over each other, some crying, others confused. I wait for the abusing, the curses and the accusations. I wait for someone to realize that I’m not meant to be here, that I’m just a cheap replacement for Melinda. Tears fall from my eyes, running down my face and washing away the makeup that my assistants had painstakingly applied. I silently apologize to Father and Melinda for not being able to live up to them. Suddenly I hear a voice. Albeit a faint one, but it is recognizable. Taran stands up on his seat, Mother trying to push him back down and failing miserably, Randall covering his face and trying not to draw attention. But I heard him. Others around him pick up what he was saying, and soon the chant begins. It swells and flows all around me, going through to my heart and dispelling all my fears. My knees are still weak, my head is still spinning, my tears are still falling. But I smile at their words, the words meant for me. Long live the Queen.


The warm breeze of early fall rustled through the amber-colored leaves urging them into flight for the very first time. The flight was more like a graceful descent, landing momentarily on the tops of children's heads only to be brushed off to continue their peaceful fall to the ground. They crunched and crackled underfoot as people wandered through the various tents and canopies, looking for some little piece of nostalgic antiquity. A portly fellow with thick round glasses was rummaging through different small chests and boxes on his table under a worn and frayed canopy that protected him from the leaves raining down. He almost knocked over a well-aged and olive-colored bronze statue of some Greek philosopher as he searched the last box in desperation. He stood up very straight and slowly looked around with suspicion lurking in his eyes. The leaves crunched rapidly as he moved through the crowd to the microphone that was set up close to the parking lot. “Ahh, excuse me,” he cleared his throat and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the mic. “I have discovered,” he continued as people turned to look at him and his round face began to turn red. “That I am missing a very old and valuable ring !” The crowd gasped but I did not. “So what are you saying, John?!?” A man shouted out as others nodded in agreement. John’s face was very flush now and moisture glistened on his forehead as he ran a hand through his hair. “I-I…” John started again. “I guess what I’m saying is that someone stole my ring!” There were more gasps from the crowd and I studied each face as they whispered to each other. “Are you making accusations?!?” The same man, wearing a brown tweed suit, shouted out and I noticed his face was getting quite red. “Gentlemen!” I said very loudly as I stepped up to John. “I think it’s a little premature to start making accusations.” I looked at John and he cocked his head as he peered back. “And who are you?” John asked in a strained voice as he pointed at me and all heads turned to emphasize the inquiry. “Yeah!” Blurted the man wearing the tweed suit. “Who are you, mister? We’ve never seen you before!” The glaring eyes of the crowd cast a judgemental stare, and I felt like I was sinking into the ground as blood rushed up my neck. “Listen,” I said as I raised my hands, palms towards the crowd as if the physical gesture could ward off the oncoming onslaught of suspicion. “My name is Rodger Finnvick. I’m a retired police detective. And yes,” I shrugged my shoulders as my hands came down and forced a smile. “This is my first time at an antique roadshow. I’m looking for something special for my mother.” Some of the people in the crowd nodded and their stares subsided, but my explanation only fueled the shouting man's furious disposition. “Ha!” He replied. “I’ll bet you did find something special! Show us your pockets!” The majority of the crowd was not supportive of his accusations this time, and a young woman wearing very clean white gloves had eased her way forward. “Oh, Mark!” She looked at the man. “It seems pretty obvious that Detective Finnvick is simply trying to assist in locating the missing ring. And you,” she pointed a slender finger at Mark, “are trying to start a lynching mob! This is not the old west and the Detective is certainly not a horse thief! Can’t you detect that?!?” She forced a smile and wrinkles formed around her scrunched nose. “Would you care to show us your pockets?!?” He scowled at her as he slumped his shoulders and kicked leaves up while walking back to his tent filled with porcelain busts. She turned towards me and seemed to smile with her eyes as a spark of intensity flashed through them. “Detective,” she continued as her green eyes wandered over me, “you seem to be quite the gentleman.” She reached into her purse for a hand fan and pointed it toward Mark. “I’m very sorry about him , he can be a bit of a hothead.” Mark swatted his hand in the air and turned his back to the crowd with a grunt. “How,” she gazed up at me through thick lashes as she fanned herself, “do you suggest we find the missing ring?” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Ma’am,” I nodded at the young woman and turned to John. “Tell us what the ring looks like. It’s quite possible that the ring is not stolen and simply got knocked onto the ground and is somewhere,” I gestured at the thick carpet of autumn leaves, ”under that.” John’s face was not so flush now and the crowd nodded in agreement as their eyes swept over the leaves. “Yes, yes of course,” stated John. “Thank you Detective for being so level-headed.” He shrugged as he continued. “The ring is very special to me. It’s made of 24-karat gold and has the Latin words ‘Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam’ engraved on the band. It was custom-made for a knight of the Templar and has been passed down for

generations.” He paused to wipe his brow. “I am not a direct descendant but it was given to my father by someone who was, during the war,” he paused again to push his glasses up. “But that's another story.”

I nodded and asked, “What does the Latin inscription mean?” “Right,” he replied. “It’s the mantra of the knights and means ‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to thy name give the glory’.” He paused to scratch his chin. “It also has a cross on the top and there is a red ruby fixed in the center. The ruby is very well cut for the time, and certainly by a master craftsman.” “No doubt John,” I said as I walked towards his table. “It sounds like a very special piece indeed.” I squatted down to search through the leaves. “Did you show the ring to anyone? And if so, where were you standing at the time?” I looked up at him. He scratched his head. “Um, yes! Yes, I did.” He put the mic down and came over to me. “I was right here by my table with the ring in my hand.” He cupped his chubby chin with his pointer and thumb. “Hmm. I walked over here,” he walked to the table in the tent next to his own. “And I showed the ring to Martha.” He turned to look at an older and very proper woman as she stepped up to us. There was a little dark-haired boy trailing closely behind her. “Yes,” she said. “I was standing right here admiring the craftsmanship of the ring.” She touched John's shoulder. “And it truly is a fantastic piece, John.” He smiled wide revealing his crooked teeth. “Then,” she turned around. “I set the ring down on his table because he was talking with Mark and I thought they had seen me do it.” She looked at John and he nodded. “Yes I did see you out of the corner of my eye, but then,” he looked around and his eyes stopped on the little dark-haired boy behind Martha. “I was distracted by your grandson. He was running behind me.” John squatted down as low as he could and the fabric of his pants stretched almost to the breaking point. “Come here, boy.” He waved his hand at the boy. “Come talk to me.” The boy slid out from behind Martha’s skirt with his hands deep in his pockets and head hanging. “Ralphy,” Martha said. “Were you running around in here?” Ralphy nodded his head. “Didn’t I tell you ‘no running’?” The crowd moved a little closer as he looked up at her with glassy eyes. “Yeah.” His little voice was almost a whisper. John looked at Martha then back at Ralphy. “Ralphy,” John said. “Did you see my ring?” Some of the crowd squatted down to watch him and the other children moved closer to their parents. Ralphy hung his head lower. “Yeah,” he squeaked out. “Was it here on the table?” John patted the edge of the table. Ralphy shook his head no. “Where did you see it?” Ralphy shuffled over to John and pointed to a spot on the ground. “Here?” John asked as he grazed his hand over the ground where Ralphy was pointing. Ralphy shook his head yes. “Did you pick it up?” Ralphy nodded his head again very slowly. “And where is it now?” Ralphy took a step closer to Martha and turned his back to John as he buried his face in his grandmother's skirt. “Where is it Ralphy?” Martha asked. He slid his hand into his pocket and slowly pulled it back out to reveal the missing ring. I heard many gasps as Martha took a very quick breath in and John reached over to pluck the ring out of Ralphy’s hand. “Ralphy!” Her voice was sharp. “Why would you steal the ring?”

I cleared my throat. “Hold on now,” I said. “There’s no need for harshness.” I patted Ralphy on the head and squatted down in front of him. “Why did you take the ring, Ralphy?” He turned to look at me with puffy red eyes. “I didn’t mean to steal nothin', I found it on the ground!” He choked out. “And the rule at school is, finder’s keepers!”


I am… was a simple farmer. I lived in a small house with my wife Helpis Afra, our daughter Pomaria and me, Lucius. My wife and I have lived here for all our life, and we never saw this coming. It was still morning when the great mountain first rumbled. Its voice could be heard echoing from far far away. The Great Mountains anger could be seen, as its anger fumed up into the realm of gods. We awoke to our little Pomaria crying, as the God of the mountains grumble had scared her. “Shhh… don’t worry sweetie, everything will be alright”. My wife tried to calm her as I went out to see what was happening. I saw Nymphius run past me. “What’s going on? Had the mountain God been angered?” “I don’t know what is going on, but it does not look good. The Priests are preaching everyone to stay home as this is a test from the gods and they will protect all who believe, but I can’t Lucius, I just can’t” he said as he bolted way stumbling over rocks. People were running every which way. Some ran to the Temples to plead to the gods for their lives and their families. Others would run straight out of the city and towards one of its neighbouring cities with as much valuables as they could carry. Those who took advantage of the chaos ransacked houses one after another, looting, pillaging and robbing people who leave the city. As I was about to turn back home, that’s when I heard it, the loud bang that came from the mountain. It drew in the attention of everyone, be they praying, fleeing or looting, the sound seemed to freeze everyone in place as they glanced at the Mountain that had begun to spew out fire that rained down. It took a few seconds for people to snap back to reality and continue their chaotic movements in this crisis. I rushed home, if Helpis had calmed down our daughter, then the new boom seems to have re-shaken her as she had broken down into another tantrum. “We have to go, the God of the mountain is mad, and his wrath is raining down.” We left Pomaria to her tantrum, as we ran around gathering any valuables we could find, which were not many. I opened the front door. As is attempted to step outside, a great ball of fire landed in front of me. The power from the crash, pushed me back and I fell on my ass. “This is a warning. The God is warning us to stay and wait. We are to await his judgement, for if we leave, he shall burn our souls, so we’d never reach the fields of Elysium.” Helpis took Pomaria in her hands and cradled her, as the Mountains rage kept going on. Blasts echoed, followed by screams of people all around. Lucious looked though his window as his friend, neighbours were scattering around, running and screaming in fear of the rain of fire. The streets had started to fill up with rivers of fire, it swallowed everything it touched. In just a couple of hours, the whole town was filled with the Mountains wrath. Every house was covered in dust and what remained from the Mountains anger. I could not see anything outside of my house no more. The walls still gave off the heat of the mountain. “My sweet Helpis and Pomaria, the god has saved our lives, we have gained his blessing.” I said as I fell to the knees. We were safe in our house, even though, we had no wait of getting out, we were safe and alive. It's been almost a week since our house was buried. We had eaten all of our food we had still left over after last winter. I’ve dug a hole through the hard remains of the Gods judgement. I haven’t been able to get above ground, but I’ve reached our neighbours house, which had some food, but nothing else for use. Luckily the water well was close to us and still intact. After another week had passed, I had checked out multiple houses. There was no more food to be found, and the last time we had a meal, was 3 days ago. As our food had gone out and Pomaria was complaining about the lack of food, I would leave for a few hours and bring back some meat for them. As days went on, and I brought more food, to escape questions from my wife, I started to go and get the food during the night. My name is Pomaria. My daddy has always been there for me and my mommy. We have been in our home for a long time. Daddy used to go out and look for a way out, but now he only sits at the table under the blanket. He would bring us food during the night, so me and mommy have something to eat, but he just sits there, telling us he is not hungry. It’s been 3 days since daddy left. I hope he finds his way back. Mommy goes to get some food now; she says that daddy prepares it for her. I hope daddy comes back soon. We had been in this hellhole for over two weeks. Two days ago, my husband left during the night and didn’t come back in the morning. I went looking for him and saw something gruesome… My husband had cut out parts of his body to feed us. “Lucius… why?” he looked up. “I had to, I had to provide for my family.” His voice was weak and lifeless. “Please, I can’t do it on my own anymore. Please, you have to do this, for Pomaria.” He said, as he pushed forward the dish with another slice of his body. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but our daughter needs to eat, she needs to get out. So please God, send someone over to help… Someone… please… save us.


Me - AHHHHHHH......... Jia(my stepsister) - you deserve this,. hahahaha Jess(my stepmother) - Now Jia can be my husband's only daughter (creepy laugh). Me - why..?, just why...?, I only wanted to live a life. I just wanted to live (with teary eyes) Flash of memories:---- 15 years back Me(6year old) - mom, will dad like this drawing made by me (a paper with me, mom and dad pencil drawing) Mom - yes, my dear princess. He will. For sure!!(kissed on cheek) Me - mom, why do you always keep blue roses around here. Mom - because, i love blue roses, my Princess. Me - why??!! Mom. (With questioning eyes) Mom - my precious little princess!! (Hugging tightly) These blue roses are symbol of trying to attain something or someone that is impossible for us to have. Even though one person knows that it is impossible and they need to stop but that one person will never stop trying. So these blue roses mean to never stop trying to achieve an impossible means. My 💕 love. Me - wow mom. I too now like these roses. I also will try my best to gain father's love for you, mom!!( With somewhat teary eyes) Same day in the evening___ Me- hii dad. See my drawing here. I made a drawing of you, mother and me(smiling hearfully). Dad - Leah! Go to your room. Dad is tired and needs to rest. Don't disturb daddy. Me - but daddy..... Mom - Leah ushshhh... Go, go to your room. Dad will see the drawing tomorrow. Dad is tired now. ___ 13years back A car crash incident, with Siren and ambulance and whole mess scene Me(8year old) - mom, I beg you to wake up, please...!!!(teary eyes, crying) please!!wake up (rubbing off the blood flowing from her injured arm) -my mom died that day...... Five days after my mom's death:-- Dad - Leah! Come here.. meet your new mother Jess. And this is Jia your sister. Me - (walking away without any words) nod my head. (Tears flowing out of my eyes while I turned my back towards my father) -it only been five days father!!- - mom is not around anymore- -you haven't even asked me if I have eaten anything- - do you not care about me at all- ___ 5years back Me - yayyyy I finally achieved what I dreamd of. -on so happy- - of only mom was here, she would be proud of me.- Jane - yayyyy!!!!! Leah I'm so happy for you. 90% percent scholarship Best University in A city Waahhhh you are so talented my girl. You wanted to get into this university, right?!!! You worked hard for two years straight This calls for a celebrations baby Lets go to a our usual KTV Come on Me - Jane let's do that tomorrow. I wanna go home and show the results to father. I hope he appreciates me. What do you say. Jane - Leah!! I don't think he will appreciate anything about you. It's been several days. He doesn't even call you about how you doing. You know that Jia will also be getting her results today. May be, you shouldn't go. You go to your father later. Me - may be he will see me jane. I hope he sees me or appreciates me. Just a few words I need that's all. May be he will ask for my results after knowing Jia's results. What do you say!¡!? Jane - well !! I know I can't stop you. Leah, if he doesn't see you or anything happens. I'm here and it's a promise we going celebrations tomorrow at KTV. do not forget huhhh!!! I will be waiting ( hugs and releases) Me thinking may be father will talk to me today,... May be he will appreciate,.. after all it's so hard to get a scholarship admission into that top University. At HOME Me - dad!!! Well today I got my results. Dad - Leah , don't you know you need to call home often and tell about your being out there. Your mom said you never called and whenever she took the initiative you wouldn't pick up the call. What is this reckless behaviour of yours Me - dad, I.... Dad - well it's okay, I don't want to know anything. Today your sister's results came out. She got selected to a third tier University in A city with 70% scholarship. You need to congratulate her. We planned to go out for dinner. Me - dad, my results... Jia - dad, shall we go now. Sister Leah will you come with us. Me - my results.... Jess - Leah you might have been tired by your journey here. Rest well. We will be back soon. Honey!! let's leave. Dad - yeah come on. Me - ....... - I thought father would at least ask about my results- - may be I shouldn't have come here- ___ 3years back (My 18th birthday) Jane(my bestfriend) - Leah!!! Why your father doesn't celebrate your 18th birthday but he celebrates your fake stepsister's birthday, she's a very big pretentious bag of shamelessness. (Shouting while drinking a bottle of 🍺 beer) (well she's already drank 4 bottles) Me(18year old) - I'm okay being like this Jane. I don't want father to be kept in a position. It's okay.(thinking in mind while drinking beer- but it hurts alot)(sobbing a little) Jane - don't worry Leah! My girl, you have me. You will always have me. (With love in eyes, though they were half closed because of alcohol) Me - Thank you Jane! ____ 30 mins ago from present -on a building terrace- Jess - Leah! Jia is still a child. You need to be forgiving towards her. Me - but ma'am, I didn't complain about her doing or anything to father at all yet. Jess - I know. But what if you will. I can't keep a ticking timebomb around me and put my Jia's future in danger. Me - but she really did wrong in killing that girl by pushing her into the pond. Jia - what the heck!!!! She fell down on her own, I was just arguing with her. She was in wrong to meddle in my affairs. Me - but I clearly saw you pushing her. Jess - shut up Leah !!! Jia told you, it was just an accident. You should support your sister. Me - ma'am, but she did wrong, and I have yet to give complain... She needs to be taught about what is right and what is wrong. Jess - I will teach her well. You don't need to worry about her things from now on and you won't even get a chance to do so in future(with a creepy smile) -chills run down my spine by seeing her creepy smile- -I don't want to be here anymore- Me - ma'am I need to leave now, I have an appointment later. Jia - no Leah , you are not leaving here alive. (Hard push towards the terrace edge) - I..... lost my balance 😢 .....- Jess - Jia you need be a little more patient. my baby..!! Jia - sorry mom. I couldn't hold back my anger. Jess - let's leave this place quick...!! ____ At present while falling down from that building because of that push - I just wanted to live - -WHY-?? -WHY-?? -from the childhood I couldn't have what I loved and what I yearned for- -i couldn't have father's love and I lost my mother- -i just wanted to live a good life, is it a crime wanting to live....(with tears flowing out of her eyes)......- BAAAMMMMMM......... - A HARD FALL ON A CAR- - BLOOD OOZING OUT OF HER BODY- - losing consciousness (blurry eyes)- - I DIED........_____-