Lindsay McBride murdered her husband. She stabbed him to death while he was trying to leave the house with their son in his arms. If Lindsay could do it all over again, she would still kill her husband. Sadly, Lindsay’s husband, Dennis, wasn’t her only victim. Lindsay also murdered her 5-year-old son, Amari.

The little boy didn’t suffer as badly as his father, but he still died. His father’s shielding arm took most of the stabbing blows. Amari died instantly when his mother stabbed him in the neck by accident. She was aiming for his father’s face, but she severed her child’s jugular vein. Lindsay murdered people before, but she promised herself to never kill a child. She loved her son more than anything, and she attacked her husband when he told her she would never see her son again. Lindsay went berserk on her husband after he caused her to stab her little boy by accident.

The mind of a serial killer can be irrational. Lindsay blamed her child’s death on her husband. He shouldn’t have been holding her child while she was stabbing him. It all started when Dennis found out that his wife was a serial killer. He tried to grab his son and make his escape from the house, but he was too late. He called the police, but his wife arrived at their home before the cops did. She came home from work early. Dennis didn’t expect his wife to be home so soon. He heard the news reports about the killer, and he didn’t know that the killer would be his wife.

Lindsay became enraged after she found out her husband removed her SD card from her phone while she was sleeping. He saw all her picture files and documents. He saw the photos of her victims on the SD card. Lindsay hated her husband for hacking into her phone’s external hard-drive and finding out her dark secrets. How could he be so suspicious? She couldn’t believe that he played detective after he found a smidgen of blood on her red floral dress. Lindsay despised her husband’s attention to detail. She tried so hard to be a good wife, and this is how he repaid her. This is what Lindsay was thinking as she was stabbing her husband to death. She didn’t want her husband to see the pictures on her phone. She didn’t want him to see the mutilated naked bodies and the blood. Lindsay wanted to maintain her image of the perfect, blonde, and beautiful trophy wife of a star NFL player and corporate businessman. Her husband’s bloodhound actions ruined everything for her. She couldn’t be the co-owner of her husband’s company. She couldn’t launch her new perfume called Glamour . No more expensive jewelry and designer dresses. No more living in a luxurious twenty bedroom home. She always knew that her husband suspected her of being a killer, but it didn’t stop him from having sex with her every other night.

Lindsay loved her husband, sort of. She loved his celebrity, which is the only reason she married him and had a baby with him. Having a baby with him would ensure her financial security if she divorced him. But after stabbing her husband with a kitchen knife, all of Lindsay’s financial security went up in flames.

Lindsay turned in her glamorous Versace dress for an orange prison jumpsuit. Handcuffs replaced her Gucci handbag. The life of a female prison inmate was not the life Lindsay dreamed of. She didn’t want to leave her Mediterranean style beach house to become a resident at the Miami-Dade County Women’s Detention Center. Dreams fall apart like a slice of ice cream cake sitting in the scorching summer sun. This is how Lindsay saw her dreams melting away. The only thing Lindsay felt bad about was stabbing her son by mistake. She kept seeing her son’s bright unadulterated smile and the tiny star-shaped birthmark on his chin. After she stabbed her child in the neck, she saw the light dying in his little eyes. Lindsay snatched her dead son out of her husband’s arms before running out of the house. She carried her child’s body to her car. Tears burned her eyes and she hovered over her little boy after laying his dead body across the back seat of her silver BMW. His body barely covered half of the back seat. Blood stained his miniature shorts and his green Power Rangers tank top. Lindsay had her child’s blood all over her hands and dress. She kissed her child’s stubby fingers while lingering over his face, with her shoulder-length hair touching his little forehead. Lindsay wanted to bring her child back to life. She kept touching the bloody wound on her child’s pint-sized neck. Every time she’d caress her baby’s face, she’d accidentally smear blood across his nose and lips and his trimmed, curly Afro. Lindsay crawled into her car’s back seat, and she held her son’s body against her chest for a few minutes. Since her home was near the beach, she could smell the saltwater in the ocean breeze. Her car’s rear door was still open, and the breeze washed over Lindsay’s face and her little boy’s face, which she held against her chin.

Lindsay could hear police sirens in the distance. She forgot that her husband called the police before she killed him. Lindsay’s husband thought his towering, muscular, 250-pound frame would save him from being killed by his wife. Unfortunately, his little fashion model wife proved that size was no match against the serrated steel blade of a kitchen knife. Did Lindsay feel guilty for murdering her husband? Not really. His pretty-boy looks and his perfect white smile would annoy her. She knew her husband was a playboy. That’s why she killed the three women her husband was having sex with. She tracked down all of his mistresses. Cheating on her with one woman was bad enough, but when she found out he was seeing two other women, she made him pay for his infidelity. She left blood on her dress so her husband could find it. She left her second phone at home, knowing that her husband would hack into her phone and see the pictures of three dead women. She wanted him to know. Lindsay enjoyed finding out where each woman lived. She enjoyed pretending to be a delivery woman and surprising the women at their doorstep at night. It helped that all three of the women were single. One woman was a lawyer, and Lindsay hated lawyers. She killed each woman the same way. They’d see her FedEx uniform and assume that she was a delivery woman who needed directions. Their helpfulness got them killed. Lindsay knew she’d have them in her trap when they would open the front door. First, she’d stab them in the throat so they wouldn’t scream. Then she’d stab their eyes out. Lindsay slaughtered two of the women in their living rooms. She had to chase the third woman around her house, which irritated her because she expected the woman to drop to her knees after stabbing her in the throat.

Killing her child was the only regret Lindsay had. The young woman never budged when she heard squad cars surrounding her BMW. She attacked one policeman when he reached into the back seat of her car, attempting to remove her dead child from her arms. Lindsay bit the police officer’s hand. She cussed at the officer after biting him and slapping him across his face. The policeman had his hands full and he had to use his taser gun on Lindsay. Two police officers had to drag Lindsay out of her car. They ripped her son out of her arms before throwing her on the hood of her car and slapping handcuffs on her wrists. Ironically, the hip hop classic, Fuk Da Police , was softly booming out of Lindsay’s BMW. When Lindsay heard Ice Cube’s iconic voice exiting out of her car, it made her more aggressive and ready to fight the policeman who was working his ass off trying to subdue her. Lindsay laid one last punch on the policeman. She nailed him in the stomach with her elbow. After she did that, she blacked out from a hard blow to the back of her head. The last thing she saw was a policewoman carrying her little boy’s body to an ambulance.

Worse situations confronted Lindsay once she was in prison. She got into a fight in the prison cafeteria.

“Ain’t you the bitch who killed her husband and her baby?” A fellow inmate spitted her words in Lindsay’s face. The inmate knocked Lindsay’s lunch tray out of her hand before shoving the woman to the floor, which was a huge mistake. Lindsay jumped up from the floor, tackling the woman. She drove her fist into the inmate’s throat, crushing her larynx. After Lindsay crushed the woman’s throat she hurled her to the floor. Another female inmate attacked Lindsay from behind, grabbing her hair and throwing her into a wall. Lindsay shook off the blow and she punched the inmate in the face, fracturing her nose. More women tried to gang up on Lindsay, but a prison guard broke up the brawl. The other women prisoners told the guards that Lindsay started the fight. She badly injured two inmates. One of them needed immediate surgery on her throat.

The prison guards threw Lindsay into solitary confinement based on the false accusations. Lindsay found herself in a dark isolation chamber, which was far worse than her prison cell. The young woman only had her thoughts to keep her company. Now and then she would break down in tears while sinking to the floor. The chamber had no window. It had no bed or a toilet. It was just a dark, small chamber with soundproof walls and a vault-like door made out of thick reinforced steel. Being alone in darkness drove Lindsay into a panic. She curled up on the floor, hugging her knees while sobbing. Lindsay kept thinking about her little boy. Mental images of his small dead body would flash in her mind. A torturous desire to hold her son in her arms would assault Lindsay. Lindsay was alone with her past sins, or so she thought.

Her gasping and sobbing became interrupted suddenly by a disembodied voice that echoed from across the room. It was a man’s voice, and it had a familiar, sultry baritone pitch. When Lindsay heard the whispering voice, she knew it was her husband. Lindsay jumped up with her back against the wall. Her eyes struggled to find the source of her husband’s voice. The panic set in when Lindsay thought about how she stabbed her husband to death. She couldn’t believe that she was hearing his voice.

“Dennis?” Lindsay spoke out to her husband cautiously, with her eyes searching through the darkness. Her mind told her that what spoke to her was not Dennis. There were two possibilities. Lindsay considered losing her mind as a possibility. The second possibility alerted Lindsay, telling her that the voice she heard could be the voice of a ghost. Lindsay didn’t believe in ghosts and the paranormal. She preferred to believe in the possibility that she may have lost her sanity. The disembodied voice said something else that uplifted every hair on the back of Lindsay’s neck. “Why did you stab me?” The disembodied voice sounded warm at first, but then it became cold and aloft. There was no love in the voice anymore. The inflections in the voice gave an inhuman intonation.

What scared Lindsay was how robotic the voice became within a matter of seconds. She could detect an underlying hostility in the voice.

“Why did you stab me?” The disembodied voice became gravelly and dark after it repeated the question.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Lindsay almost lost her voice. She noticed something tall standing in the room's corner. The darkness seemed to outline the apparition. It looked like a man, but Lindsay wasn’t sure. There was a sharp object in the apparition’s hand, and Lindsay knew it was a knife from the shape of the object. Lindsay recognized the distinct muscular definition of the figure. She watched as the apparition lurched forward while dragging his left foot.

“Why did you stab me?” The apparition’s voice sounded distorted. Lindsay finally got a good look at the monster that was dragging its feet toward her in the darkness. It was the ghost of her husband. Even though the apparition looked like her husband, something was disturbing about his facial features. Blood oozed from his eyes where his wife stabbed him. Lindsay stabbed her husband multiple times in his neck, almost decapitating him. This meant that the apparition had a contorted head that hung halfway off his neck. He had one ear missing. The ghost displayed all the stab wounds that his wife afflicted on him. Wrath resurrected Lindsay’s husband and he wanted revenge.

“I didn’t mean to kill you! I’m sorry, baby!” Lindsay screamed at the apparition. She let out a frantic cry while turning around and banging her fists on the isolation chamber’s door. Lindsay knew that no one was going to save her. No one could hear her screams through the thick steel door. She kept banging her fists on the door while listening as the apparition’s sliding footsteps grew closer. “Why did you stab me?” The ghost kept repeating himself. Each time he’d ask, his voice would sound more demonic.

Lindsay whirled around, throwing her back against the door. “You cheated on me, that’s why I stabbed you! I found out you were seeing three different women, so I killed you!” Lindsay lashed out at the ghost. She swallowed hard while looking up at her dead husband who was towering over her. “I killed you and those three stupid bitches you were having sex with! All of you deserved to die!” Lindsay’s defiance shadowed her fear for a moment. Her fear quickly returned when she saw three other figures emerge from the darkness behind her dead husband. It didn’t take Lindsay long to see that the three ghostly figures were women holding knives. What sent Lindsay over the edge was when she saw a little ghostly figure emerge from behind the three female apparitions. Lindsay saw her son’s blood-stained Power Rangers tank top. She saw his small feet dragging toward her. “WHY DID YOU STAB US!!” All the apparitions shouted at Lindsay in unison. Lindsay collapsed to the floor, sobbing like a madwoman. The apparitions kept shouting at Lindsay through their lifeless, demonic voices. Lindsay covered her face when her husband, the three women, and her little boy stood over her with sharp instruments in their hands. This is how Lindsay met her end. She braced herself for impact, but something happened. “Alright, cut!” A movie director shouted. The room’s lights came on to reveal a film crew and a movie set.

“Thank you!” Lindsay giggled when the camera crew applauded her performance. The apparitions who were actors helped Lindsay to her feet. Two of the actors were Lindsay’s husband and her son.

“You did good, Mommy!” Lindsay’s son, Amari, hopped into his mother’s arms, receiving a kiss from her. “Do I look scary?” Amari whispered to his mother, causing her to giggle. “No, you don’t look scary. You’ll never look scary to me,” Lindsay told her son before kissing the tip of his nose. Lindsay put her arm around her husband and she laughed at his look of agony, which showed behind the movie makeup and prosthetics on his face. “I can’t wait to get this crap off my face,” Dennis told his wife after kissing her on the lips. After he kissed his son on the forehead, he looked around at the film director and the camera crew who were still applauding and praising him and his wife’s performance. Dennis wanted to enjoy the moment, but something wouldn’t let him. At unexpected times, Dennis would see a ghost. His eyes locked on to a mysterious figure that was standing amongst the camera crew, watching him. The figure was a young woman and she was clapping along with the crew members. Dennis’s heart rate increased when he saw the bloody dent in the woman’s head and her mangled arm. The woman had an exotic beauty, but her black eyes and grotesque injuries contaminated her beautiful features. Dennis knew he was looking at the ghost of a pedestrian who he accidentally killed a few months ago. She would always haunt him no matter where he went. She’d watch him and haunt his dreams along with his reality. The apparition refused to let Dennis forget what he did. Dennis knew that his drunk driving would punish him. He got out of his car to help the woman, but he panicked after he saw what his car did to her body. Dennis left the woman on the road to die. “Babe, are you alright?” Lindsay asked when she saw her husband staring intensely at something she couldn’t see. She saw a look of horror on her husband’s face. “Dennis, what’s the matter?” Lindsay gently tugged on her husband’s arm. She gave him a confused smile when he broke out of his trance, turning to look at her. “I’m okay, I just got lost in thought.” Dennis tried to explain his odd behavior. “Baby, I’m fine!” A nervous laugh escaped Dennis when his wife gave him a concerned look with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. Dennis looked away from his wife for a second. He turned his eyes back on where the deformed woman stood, but she vanished.

Lindsay put her arm back around her husband’s waist. She giggled before whispering in his ear… “You had me nervous for a minute. There was a look of terror on that handsome face of yours. It was as if you were seeing an actual ghost.”


Ryan Perkins is a gentle, quiet thirty year old office worker who enjoys collecting antiques. He resides in New York City and is well-known among the antique dealers. However, while walking to the convenience store this afternoon, something down an alley caught his eye. He notices three gold balls hanging over a door.  Knitting his eyebrows together, he adjusts his hornrimmed glass. “ A pawnshop?”   He tentatively enters the alley for a look, for he hasn’t seen that advertisement in years.            The alley is a narrow, dirty dead-end.  Ryans’s approach startles a cat that yowls and dashes away.  Startled, he is aware that the hair on his neck is standing on end.  He steps carefully, avoiding the piles of trash on his path. He comes to a recessed door and stops. A dim light shines through the grime on the glass window. Still, he can read the lettering, “Pawn and Loans-proprietor G.Schmit.” Try as he might, Ryan can’t see clearly enough through the grime to tell what is inside the store. He looks back toward the entrance and considers leaving but turns the doorknob and pushes the door open instead.   A small bell announces his arrival.            Ryan steps inside and quickly observes that this pawnshop is very old indeed. Four old-fashioned lights hang down from the tin-embossed ceiling. The walls are painted a dark tan with rich, deep walnut wainscoting halfway up. He notices that all the display cabinets and counters are full of antiques, most extremely old and in excellent condition.  He looks around the shop slack-jawed, wishing he had enough money to buy the entire place when he hears a voice with a slight German accent call.            “May I help you?”             Ryan turns and sees someone standing inside the broker’s cage, whom he hadn’t noticed.  Approaching the counter, Ryan sees the broker is a small grey-haired man with a sizeable mustache drooping over his lower lip. He is wearing a green visor and arm garters and is smoking a vintage Hubertu pipe. The smoke from the pipe is very intoxicating.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t see you standing there.” The broke slowly blinks his sad Bassett hound eyes and smiles.            “I am so surprised to have discovered your shop!”  Ryan exclaims. “I thought I knew every antique store in the city. Have you been here long?”

           The little man takes a long pull on his pipe. It crackles loudly.  When  he exhales, he responds, “Since 1903.” Ryan now understands why the store has so many unique antique items.            “The alley out front used to be a throughway from Broadway to West 236 th street until the city built dat large post office over there, turning the street into the dead-end. Consequently, not many people know I’m here.” The pawnbroker returns his pipe to his mouth for another puff.            Ryan tells the pawnbroker that he is a collector and is quite impressed by the many exquisite items he sees.            “Ya,” he responds. We’ve been in business for a long time but do not trade in recent vintage items.  So please take your time and look around. Ask if you see anything you are interested in, and I’ll do mein best to tell you about it.”            Ryan thanks him and begins looking around at the treasure trove before him. He studies the jewelry, which has many items that look like they were made in the early nineteen hundreds.  There are rings and earrings with huge diamonds set in what has to be fourteen-karat gold. He browses among the steamer trunks, some with clothing still inside, and is amazed at the travel stickers because they look as though they were just placed there yesterday. Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees an old bellows-type camera on a shelf among some old pinholes. It reminds him of an eighteen ninety-six Marion and Company camera. When he lifts it from the counter, he is amazed to discover that a thick metal box has been attached. Turning it over, he can’t see the manufacturer’s name and turns to the old man for help.            “Mr. Schmit, pardon me, but what can you tell me about this camera?  Unfortunately, I don’t see a name or patent number.”            Schmit smiles from one corner of his mouth, his pipe hanging from the other.            “You have an excellent eye, mein friend, for dat is a very rare piece indeed. One of a kind, actually. He removes his pipe and uses it to point to the camera. “Hollenberg invented it in the late nineteenth century. The box on the bottom is supposed to develop the picture right on the spot. No need to take it to a photography studio.”            “You mean like a Polaroid?”            “Err, sure. And it worked, too. The problem was that no one believed him.  They all thought he was mad or dat the camera was some sort of trick camera like magicians use.  No one was interested in it.  He ended up destitute after spending his life savings building the camera, creating the right chemicals to develop the photo, and transferring it to the proper paper. He brought the camera to me, and I gave him one hundred dollars. It was the least I could do.”             Ryan lifts his eyebrows, “Did you say you gave him one hundred dollars?”            Flustered, Schmit stammers “W-W-What? Did I say dat?  Oh, nein, nein, nein! It was mein grandfather who did dat.  You’ll have to forgive me, you see.  I’ve been here all mein life and know all the stories about every item.  I sometimes feel as though I’m the one who made those transactions, you see?”            Ryan nods in acknowledgment. “How much do you want for it?”            The old broker puffs on his pipe a few times while considering a price and finally replies, “Seeing as it is a rare one-of-a-kind piece, I think twelve hundred dollars would be a fair price, ya?”

           Ryan turns the camera around and asks, “Do you have all the pieces that go with it, and does it still work?”            “Ya, ya it still works.”            “Then I’ll take it!” exclaims Ryan, removing a credit card from his wallet.  The piece of plastic confuses the broker.  Apologetically, he informs Ryan that he only takes cash or a check.    Ryan just so happens to have his checkbook and writes a check. Schmit disappears into the back room and soon returns with all the accessories for the camera in a box.            “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, er,”  Schmit stops to scan the check for Ryan’s name, “Mr. Perkins.”            “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Schmit, and I promise to be back soon to purchase more!”    As Ryan opens the door to leave, Schmit calls out to him. “I almost forgot to tell you that all sales are final. I hope you understand.” Ryan nods and leaves.

…            Schmit hears the bell above his door tinkle wildly as Perkins bursts in two days later. The old broker scowls while raising his hands.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Perkins, but I did say all sales are final, ya?”            “Yes, yes. But that’s not why I’m here! This camera, there’s something wrong with it.” Perkins pauses to catch his breath and puts the camera on the counter. “Mr. Schmit, every time I take a picture, the picture that develops is not the same one I’ve taken!  For example, I took a picture of the apartment building across from me, which was fine, but the picture I got back showed it on fire! It clearly was not, for I was looking right at it. I then went downstairs and shot a picture of the intersection at the corner. The traffic was flowing smoothly, but the resulting photo showed a five-car accident with one dead body lying in the street!”            Shaking his head, Schmit stops Perkins, “Dat was the problem Hollenberg was having trying to get buyers to believe him. He called it the camera of tomorrow because it only took pictures of things that will happen in the future.  So that’s why no one would believe him or thought he was trying to hoodwink them for a fast buck.” Perkins’s color pales as he reaches into his jacket pocket, removes a photo, and hands it to Schmit. His voice cracks, “Then, Mr. Schmit, can you kindly explain this?”            Schmit looks at the picture and squints, “Hmm.”  He walks to the front door and locks it.  Schmit goes behind the counter and removes a bent and creased photo, the same as Perkins but older. Both pictures show Ryan Perkins lying on the pawnshop floor in a pool of blood with a bullet hole in his forehead.            Grabbing his head, Perkins staggers back.  “I don’t understand! What does this mean?” he cries.            “I’ll tell you what it means.  1905, when I pawned the camera for Mr. Hollenberg, I took a picture of mein shop to see how it worked. What I got was this picture of you, Mr. Perkins. As I explained earlier, the picture’s rendering will always come true. The problem is you don’t know when. It could be in a couple of hours, days, or even years.” Schmit’s demeanor changes from calm to rage in a matter of seconds.

“DAT MEANS I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO WALK THROUGH DAT DOOR FOR A HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN YEARS!

Tears are streaming down Schmit’s face . “ I have been trapped in time by the camera until it could complete its forecasted future. You and I are going to end this hellish nightmare right now! Schmit reaches under the counter and produces a small gun.  He points it at Perkins.            Schmit explains that he has tried to take his own life in the past and failed. He then places the gun barrel to his temple and pulls the trigger three times, click, click, click.  He fires a single shot into the pawnshop ceiling with a loud bang.  As dust and dirt drift down, Schmit sobs, “See? I don’t want to, but I have no choice. I am so sorry.” Schmit pulls the trigger. Perkins falls, landing on the black and white checked floor as a pool of blood forms around his head. Schmit continues, “You see, Mr. Perkins, it can’t be changed once the photograph is developed. It WON’T be changed! The course is set and will not be completed until everything is as in the picture.”

           The whole pawnshop changes and crumbles, becoming the dilapidated building of the present age.            A few weeks later, the convenience store owner phones the police to complain about a terrible stench that seems to be coming from the alleyway.  They discover the remains of Ryan Perkins in an old run-down shop, seemingly the apparent victim of a robbery. One of the coroner’s assistants comments on how the old store looks as if it might have been a pawnshop once and picks up a curious-looking camera from the counter.            “Hey, Charlie, look at this. I collect old cameras, but I’ve never seen one like this. Do you think anyone would notice if I took it?            Charlie says, “Nay, but if it still works, could you take my picture?  I’d like to see how I would have looked in a tintype.” Both men laugh and place the camera on the stretcher.


When I was a little girl, my favorite story was Cinderella. My daddy used to tell it to me when I went to bed, always doing the voices of the wicked stepmother and ugly stepsisters. But my mother used to come in and turn out the light, yelling, “There is no such thing as ‘happily ever after’! And, certainly no Prince Charming!” Then would begin one of their many fights. And I would hide under my blanket, burying my face in my pillow, and promising myself that I would find Prince Charming. For me, there would be “happily ever after.” ***          Aila lay on her coral bed, in tears. Tears really didn’t give her the satisfaction that they did when she was on dry land. Here, at the bottom of the ocean, everything was wet. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t do it anymore. For the past six months, she had tried. And tried. And tried. Marrying a mermaid was the easiest decision she had ever made. He was handsome, polite, and funny. Aila was in love with him. She knew she was. She knew that he had tried to make her happy. She had tried to be so.          First, they had told her that electricity would not function in the water. She knew that, of course, but she hadn’t realized that she wouldn’t be able to call her friends and parents to keep in touch. It wasn’t only that. Fish and whales came trampling through the mermaid colony, destroying their homes. It was so dark under the water— Aila couldn’t see her husband at all. It was hard to move under the ocean the water was so tense. She had had to give up her job, her family, friends, and comfort to come live with her husband.          But the final straw had come this morning. The mercourt had passed a law, stating that any human who chose, willingly, to come and live among the merpeople would not be allowed to leave the colony. If they left, they could not return.          “He must realize that he’s got to leave with me!” She cried to herself. Oceanus, her husband would be allowed to visit the colony. But Aila knew that Oceanus wouldn’t leave. He was head of the mer-colony of Seastar. He had work that he needed to do, work that would fulfill him. At one point, it could have led to their happy marriage. But not now. She had hoped that they could take vacations, that she and Oceanus could take a few months on the surface, once in a while.          Well, that was that, Aila thought. She would have to leave him. She couldn’t stay stuck down here forever, she couldn’t! She wouldn’t!          She would tell him tonight. At the thought, Aila burst into tears again. She couldn’t leave him! But she couldn’t stay, either. Oh, why couldn’t she have fallen in love with a normal man like everyone else? Because you love him, a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her. Well, love can only take you so far, she rationed. Look at my parents.

A knock sounded at the door. Aila quickly wiped her face. “Come in, please.”          Dr. Posydon came into her bedroom. “Mrs. Marine, may I have a word?”          “Of course,” Aila turned to face him.          He came and sat down. “We have reviewed the results of your visit to the office yesterday, and I have some good news. You’re pregnant!”          Aila’s heart stopped. “Pregnant?” she whispered.          The doctor nodded. “Yes. Congratulations to you and your husband. You should come into the office tomorrow and we’ll check up on the baby, but I just wanted to give you this news myself.”          Aila quickly pulled herself together. “Thank you so much, Dr. Posydon. I’ll be there in the morning.”          He nodded and left.          Aila closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed. Pregnant! She was pregnant. She broke into a huge smile and began laughing giddily. She was a mother! Abruptly, she stopped. This changes everything. All of her plans to tell Oceanus of her unhappiness and to leave the colony as soon as she could were thrown into jeopardy.          Oceanus would want to help raise their child. But that meant that the child couldn’t leave. Aila was certainly not going to allow her child to be snatched from her forever. That left one option: hide her pregnancy from Oceanus until she was safely on dry land. She could do it.

What about the baby? The tiny voice whispered again. She remembered her parents’ divorce. It had torn her apart. She took out a photograph from her bedside. Her mother and her father, with her in their arms. The only picture she had of the three of them together. That was all she had wanted as a child. A family. A real family, with people who looked out for each other and helped and encouraged one another. The only family she had ever known was travelling between parents’ houses, hoping that they wouldn’t come out to the car and start fighting. Aila couldn’t force that on her child. She couldn’t do it to herself.

You have to choose “happily ever after”, the voice said. Aila thought of her wedding vow. For better, for worse… till death do us part. She had loved that part of the ceremony. How nice it would be to love someone, no matter what happened. To grow old with someone. That was all she wanted. So why are you choosing something else? The voice questioned again.          Aila made her decision. Maybe life wouldn’t be perfect, but she wouldn’t leave her husband. She had made a vow, and she intended to keep it. For my family, she thought. She liked the sound of those words. My family.          Another knock. “Come in.”          Oceanus entered. “Aila, honey, I’m so sorry, I tried, but they passed the law anyway.”          Aila turned. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll be okay.” She smiled. “I have some news.” ***          I never told Oceanus about that day in my room. He never asked. Oceanus is now Prime Minister of the Pacific Ocean. He is happy, and I’m happy because he’s happy. Our four children, Aquiiana, Neptune, Reef, and Coral, are thriving under the sea. It was “happily ever after” for me. I made it so. I hear his footsteps in the hallway. I turn around to greet him, smiling wide, my hands on my stomach. “I have some news.”


The stench of sweat filled my nostrils, harsh spikes of floral, and wood mixing in. Move one way and the harsh smell almost resembling nature would make you dizzy. Go the other and flowers hit you like a train, almost knocking you off your feet.

You could practically taste the loud smells if it had not been for the gun powder. The only smell you could taste was sweat, the saltiness constantly abused my tongue. It was hard to keep my mouth closed to stop it.

I was breathing to heavily. One gasp after another. No matter how many times I practiced, how many times I have raised my stamina, nothing could prepare me for this.

Not once in my life would I think I could hear so many bangs and booms. The hissing of sprinklers added fuel to the flames. With Hard loud thumps, that sounded strikingly similar to horses galloping mixing in, almost naturally. The deep vibrations of the overpowering brass was enough to make my ears ring. It made the children behind me screech and start crying. The hard lace brushing my inner thighs were most differently going to give me a rash. I could practically feel it forming now. The scratchy fabric around my bust did not do my arms any justice either. The corset was tight, restricting my moments, and causing my lower back to pull in pain. The shoes were not that amazing either, making my ankles hurt. Why they had the varsity cheerleaders in corsets and horrible clothing? The answer was simple. The so called leader of the jocks thought it would be a funny prank. Making all of the cheerleaders think we were supposed to wear this to the biggest game possible. We were barely cheering, mostly out of spite, partially because we couldn’t even do our cheer routine. We were all sour, not because we would get a ear full from out couch for not cheering. We were sour, because the couch would be chewing us out for what we were wearing. The crowd did not care too much about us, after all. Our job was done, right now we were waiting on our team. It was the final goal after all. I could hear one child behind me, begging their mother to turn on the lights in the sky. Then her almost getting drowned out by the banging next to me telling them, that they had to wait for the ball to go past one of the large mettle poles. I almost laughed, not even I knew what those things were called. Nearly a second after the childs begging, a loud alarm went off. Exclaiming the game was over. One side erupted, hooting and hollering. I had to cover my ears due to the increase in the already loud volume of it all. I jumped at a loud bang then crackle, then brushed against another hard clothed shoulder. As soon as it started our couch came over, yelled at us to take off the ridicules nonsense and do our end routine. Without skipping a beat, we all took off the straining corsets. A deep breath filled my lungs, soothing the fire that started to grow in them. When I was able to stick my hand down the bale shoe and fling it off, I groaned in relief as my feet touched the grass. We sprinted off to the middle of the field, aching feet relaxing at ever slap on the wet cool grass. I had to climb the other wet and sweaty bodys, my back popped as soon as I was air born. I shivered slightly when a bunch of tiny tickles, brushed on any exposed skin it could get to. After so many bangs in the sky, the taste and smell of metal was harder than ever.

When it was all said and done. We walked back to our lockers, constantly moving our shoulders hoping to relieve some of the pain in our backs. The once hot bumpy rocks now felt cool. The side walk was no better, soft and cold, but felt hard enough. I knew if I walked too long on this it would tare up my soul again, for now it’s cold grasp made me want to moan. My sore souls, screaming and throbbing in pain, once on fire, now were relaxing a crying to be fully straight. All of the doors in the locker room were squeaky. Each one screaming at who ever dared to open it. I simply drifted off to the showers. No longer being able to take my arms sticking to my stomach. As I stripped, the cold air curled around my shoulders, a shuttered breath shook out of my body. My hair did nothing to protect me. A squeak from the old shower and hot water rushed from above. I squeaked as I feel on my bottom. Gasping and whining at the coldness. The hot liquid drifted over my body in comforting crosses. Wiping away the cool touch, seemingly jealous like. Standing up, I moved more to the water. Felling the cool open holes on the drain. It did not occur to me how hot the water was until I coughed. The sudden loss of air made me regain a sense of where I was. Hard throaty coughs left my mouth, the air was too hot. The steam musked the air, creating a think fog to chock on. I had to poke my head out into the significantly colder hallway to gasp for air.

When I was done, I pulled my self from the shower cubby and into the almost empty locker area. One cold screaming metal slab later, and I am finally able to put on the one thing I have wanted to wear this whole day. Sliding through the fabric felt like a dream come true. It’s soft arms wrapping around and gently resting on top of my arms and legs made me decompress. Slouching in place, before sighing and slinging my heavy fully bag over the shoulder. Almost falling from the extra weight. My friend was waiting in her car, a neutral temperature blasting from the vents.


Jan 28 1986 Dear Diary, Mommy and Daddy gived me this diary for my birthday yesterday!

I am 7 now! I had my birthday party and everyone came but Sammy L.

Mommy said that he was sick but I don’t care because he called me the B word at gym class and that’s a bad word so I don’t like him anyway.

Dana gived me a Get In Shape Girl ribbon and a book just like hers. It’s my favorite present because I want to be a ballet dancer when I grow up. Today at school we watched TV!

I didn’t know they let us watch TV at school!  Mrs. Bello said it was a special day because a teacher was going up in space, but it wasn’t a teacher at our school or in our town.

Mrs. Bello teached us about space, but I don’t know how people get to go there. Mrs. Bello said that it was a good thing for the teachers to go into space so that’s why we get to watch TV.

Mrs. Bello said that she was happy.  On the TV show, we saw the space men and the teacher.  She looked like Mommy.  She was very pretty. Then they got into the space rocket. But then a bad thing happened.

There was lots of clouds and fire.  Then Mrs. Bello started to cry and we couldn’t watch TV anymore.  Some of the 6th graders were crying at recess and some of the teachers were crying too.  Brian F said that the space ship exploded and all the people died.

I wonder if the teacher died too?  Maybe her class will have to get a substitute teacher now.  I am sad for her class. Brian G said that he is going to be a space man when he grows up but I am not because it is scary and you can die.  I don’t want to think about space ever again. Love, X Nov 10 1989 Dear Diary, Last night I slept over at Dana’s house because we don’t have school today and her dad TOTALLY LET US WATCH MTV!! They didn’t have any videos on though.

Dana’s dad said that it was an important day because they were tearing down the Berlin Wall and all the VJs were there to see it. I don’t really understand what the Berlin Wall is. Dana’s grandma is from Germany and said that East Berlin was really strict and bad and everyone wanted to go to West Berlin but they couldn’t.

She said that her sister lived in East Berlin and she wasn’t allowed to visit her and that made her really sad.  Last year Mrs. Reese told us that President Reagan told the guy in charge of Germany to tear down the wall but then he didn’t so I guess now he did?  All the people on MTV looked so happy.  I saw a lot of teenagers dancing and waving flags and some of the VJs were crying.

It was totally cool and weird. One had a mohawk! I thought about what would happen if they put up a wall in our town and I couldn’t go visit Brad anymore and that made me happy.  I wish I had a sister instead.

Love, X Aug 27 1990 Dear Diary, Uncle TJ came over this weekend.

He might have to go to war.  President Bush went on the news and said he's calling up military reserves for a war in Kuwait. Uncle TJ is in the Army but he never went to war before.

Dad says that he will probably be okay because he fixes computers and isn't a fighter, but I am still very scared. We started school today.  I am in 6th grade.  I am in Mr. Davidson’s class. He is very nice.

I am excited because everybody says he likes to play pranks on his class at Halloween!  Dana has Mrs. Carter. She has Megan B. and Megan R and Tara in her class too. Today at the bus she said she wants to be best friends with them and not me.

I guess I hate her now. Amy and Missy played with me on the playground at recess.  Missy taught me how to flip on the monkey bars. Frankie got Reebok Pumps!  Nobody else has them!  Nicky D is in my class too.  I have a crush on him but I won’t tell anybody!

That would be sooooooo embarrassing!

Love, X Jul 6 1993 Dear Diary , Uncle TJ was here for our 4th of July picnic and brought us a computer that he built and guess what?! WE GOT THE WORLD WIDE WEB AT OUR HOUSE!

It is like the coolest!  There’s this thing called Prodigy that has these things called Bulletin Boards and you can talk to people across the country and there’s all sorts of fan clubs in there...don’t tell, but I talked to people in a Are You Afraid of the Dark board.

Mom says I’m not allowed to go on the bulletin boards because she doesn’t like the idea of a teenage girl talking to strangers, but CeCe has been my pen pal for 3 whole years and she was a stranger from across the country, so what’s the difference?  Sooooo lame.  Dad said that since I am going to start high school I can use Prodigy because it has an encyclopedia, too, and maybe I WON'T HAVE TO GO TO THE LIBRARY ALL THE TIME!

Oh! There’s also this thing called electronic mail where you can MAKE UP YOUR OWN NAME!! It’s soooooo cool. Uncle TJ said he’d show us how it works when he comes to visit for Christmas.  He said that no one really uses electronic mail so it isn't really a big deal. The best part is that Brad is not allowed to use the computer at all because he’s too young, so he HAS TO leave me alone when I’m using it.  Finally!

Some peace and quiet! Love, X Apr 5 1994 Dear Diary,

Kurt died.

They say he shot himself. I can’t stop crying. The world is so terrible and so cruel.

- X 1/1/2000 Dear Diary, Y2K was a goddamn jooooooooooke!! The world didn’t end.

The computers didn’t rise up and defeat us.  Y’know what happened?

I got druuuuuuuunk at Emily’s mom’s house and slept in the bathtub.  Stupid sheeple.

-Yours, X Sept 11 2001 Dear Diary, The world is chaos right now.

I’ve found a minute to take a break from it all and write down what has happened, because this feels like everything is on the brink of change. Someone evil purposely flew planes into the World Trade center and the Pentagon.

They are calling it an act of terrorism.  Our country is about to go to war. It started this morning.  Debra who cleans the Psychology building was outside when we got to class.  She was freaking out and sobbing and trying to call her daughter on her cell phone, but she said that all the lines were jammed.

She told us that someone flew a plane into one of the towers at the World Trade Center in the city, and her daughter works in the other tower. April and I went to class but Professor Jackson told us that he was cancelling last minute so that we could go home and turn on the news.  When we got back to the house, Eric had the news on.

As we walked in the door, we saw a second plane hit the other tower.  The rest of the day is just a blur, to be honest.  We’ve been watching the news all damn day.  April has been trying to call Vincent for the last 4 hours because he’s working in the city this week.  The lines are absolutely jammed.  God, I hope he's okay. I finally got through to Mom earlier.

She and Dad are fine.  They are waiting to hear if they will be evacuated because they live so close to the power plant.  Brad is fine, too.  The plane that went down outside of Pittsburgh was nowhere near his campus. I am on the back porch now. It is deathly quiet outside, almost as if someone has just hit the pause button on reality.  Eric finally turned the news off a little bit ago, because we just couldn’t take it anymore.

He’s playing Mario Kart instead.  Fifteen minutes ago James asked me to marry him.  He is convinced that he’s about to be targeted because of his political beliefs and wants us to flee to Canada.  I have no idea if he’s serious. It would be laughable if everything wasn’t already on the brink of insanity.  God, I hope we all get through this.  I pray and I cry for my country tonight, and I don't even believe in that stuff. With Love and Light, X Mar 24 2020 Dear Diary, I am officially unemployed just like about 80% of the neighborhood right now. This virus has spread very quickly, and we’re now taking precautions. I’ll be honest; I selfishly cried when I closed the shop door today. I'm so thankful that it’s just me; that I don’t have employees’ livelihoods to worry about, but what if the economy takes forever to recover, and I’m never able to open my doors again?

Will there ever again be a demand for obscure antiques?  Do I have a right to worry when the Abbott Family or the Browns or the Davises depend on every cent they make at their shops? It was a heavy decision, and I worry that we’ll eat through our savings faster than it takes them to lift the quarantine. I worry for Bill, who is forced to go to work every day because he’s “essential” at the hospital, but he keeps telling me that he’s taking every safety precaution. We have been advised not to leave the house unless it is absolutely necessary, which is frustrating when you have such an active child as Barbara.

She and I are slowly driving each other crazy, and every time she tells me that she prefers staying at Miss Lindy’s house rather than with me, I die a little. I want to leave the house!  I want to just go wander the mall or take Barbara to the playground. I’m anxious that Barbara’s dance recital will get cancelled, and I won’t get to do her hair and makeup. I’m upset that I can’t stop snacking because I’m bored when I really need to drop these last 20 lbs before our beach trip in July...and then I think of what a terrible person I must be to worry about such stupid, trivial nonsense things when there are so many other, bigger things to worry about. I hope this is over soon.

I miss normal.  I don’t know what normal is anymore, but I miss it. Love, X PS-

I’m sending Mae and the boys some money.

She is on the brink of losing the house and doesn’t want anyone to know.

I hope she doesn’t trace it back to me, though, because she’d be super embarrassed.


TW: eating disorders In 2057 in America, with the introduction of “Diet Rite,” obesity was proclaimed illegal for anyone over 18. Anyone deemed obese under current guidelines was arrested, convicted, and placed in jail until they were starved, force fed “Diet Rite,” or a version of the two.

Because obesity and the associated health care risks became a huge burden on the healthcare system, Congress voted to make obesity a crime. It wasn’t lost on the American people that many members of Congress held a stake in the Diet Rite stock company, but since 2040, Congress had been given more and more power so that many times the laws that passed reflected their own self interests.

Diet Rite was a pill that exceptionally boosted metabolism to turn you into a thinner version of yourself - even if you ate two to three times your daily calories. Each pill was guaranteed to burn an additional 500 calories, but you weren’t supposed to exceed 6 doses in one day due to possible liver problems. Although expensive, people made sure to stock up on the pills, oftentimes hoarding the “magic drug” to make sure they never ran out as they finally reached their goal weight - and could practically eat whatever they want.

Jails became even more overcrowded with poor people who could not afford the pills and could not always find time to exercise as they worked two or three jobs. Most often, they were arrested, sent to jail, and starved, then released back onto the streets, where they had to work multiple jobs again and survive on cheap fast food, only to end up right back in jail for obesity.

All parties entering the United States had to return immediately to their country if deemed obese or quarantine at the customs picked hotel with Diet Rite pills - on their expense of course- until the weight was lost.

Pregnant women were given a reprieve for as long as they were pregnant. Those who became obese while pregnant had two months to return to their pre-obese weight by any means necessary or they would be arrested, convicted, and taken to jail until they lost the weight.

The obese police, with a plethora of authority, knocked on doors with tips that an obese person might be hiding or bedridden inside or stopped people out on the streets, forcing them to step on one of their lightweight foldable scales they kept in backpacks so that they could weigh anyone up to 300 pounds. Anyone more than 300 pounds was automatically arrested and sent to jail. Anyone refusing to step on a scale at the request of the obese police was automatically arrested, convicted, and taken to jail.

“You’re under arrest! You weigh 200 pounds and you’re only 5’6!” They would yell to a mother in a crowd, pleading to say goodbye to her kids and that she could not afford the Diet Rite pills and that she was really was trying. There was even a special tip line that allowed people to anonymously call in their friends and neighbors and a small monetary award if that friend or neighbor was arrested, convicted, and sent to jail.

Fast food places and restaurants exploded when the pills went on the market. No longer having to actively watch their weights, restaurants were jammed pack with people ordering steaks, hamburgers, ice cream sundaes, rib eyes, french fries, and all the delicious fattening goodies they could get their mouths on in excessive quantities. Of course, if they really overdid it, there wasn’t any “harm” in popping another Diet Rite pill or exceeding the 6 limit amount per day on the bottle.

The only exception granted were athletes in sports including football, weight lifting, body building competitions, and more, of which a percentage met the obese category for their height, but were solidly built or had lots of muscle. These athletes had to pay a small fee in order to compete and as long as they completed under the Diet Rite company brand and maintained the Diet Rite moral standards, they could weigh whatever they wanted. However, if and when they were kicked out of sponsorship from the company, they were subjected to the same laws as everyone else, stripped of their Diet Rite athletic titles, arrested, convicted, and sent to jail.

Anti-Diet Rite protestors often led marches condemning the pills as unnatural and refusing to put the “fake snake pills” into their bodies. Oftentimes they were arrested for disruptive marches and for disturbing the peace, and neighbors and friends could report them for a small fee for any private, unlawful gatherings that could lead to another agitating march.

People with anorexia and other eating disorders often overdid it on the pills, not eating, overdoing exercise, and ended up in the hospital. Rumors started and confirmed that a young woman subsisted on nothing but apples and Diet Rite Pills for two months. At 5’8 and 19 years old, she went into kidney failure and died at 68 pounds.

By 2060, hospitals became overwhelmed under the number of sick people, directly or indirectly related to Diet Rite. Heart attacks and heart disease started occurring in people as young as 40 as they ate bacon, steaks, and hamburgers every day, disregarding the impact on their bodies as long as they were thin. If they survived, the doctors would urge them to maintain a low fat diet, to eat more leafy greens and fruits, to exercise for at least 30 minutes daily, but they stubbornly refused as Diet Rite pills was their way of life now and they weren’t going back. Diabetes started being diagnosed for those as young as 30 as they turned to sugar and fat for comfort and stopped exercising because as long as they had Diet Rite pills, why would they need to? And for those who were in their 20s, with the amount of Diet Rite pills they took and the amount of binge drinking they did, their livers started failing. An unprecedented number of those needing liver transplants were placed on the transplant list, but most died because there was not enough people willing to donate to meet demand. Besides, those people who took Diet Rite pills didn’t qualify because of their already enlarged, fatty livers.

Somehow, the health care crisis was even worse than before.

Remarkably, protests emerged in striking numbers all over the country until Congress ultimately felt pressure to reconvene and take another look at the law.

Finally, in 2061, the company Diet Rite was dissolved, all known pills destroyed, and obesity was no longer declared illegal. Anyone found consuming or selling any of the leftover pills from their personal stash was arrested, convicted, and sent to jail.


      I sit and I stare at the assignment. My English teacher thought it would be a great idea to make our winter break assignment all about new years resolutions. And I had tried to write it before Christmas. But that wasn’t a thing. It has to been a list of five things with explanations about why we want to accomplish each one.

         I was usually a by the book, stick to what you know and things you plan kind of person. I stayed to myself, stayed out of trouble, got good grades, I was never one to rock the boat. Looking back on my last year it was kind of a hot mess. And not in the cute or ironic way either. More like in the “everything I thought I knew is suddenly in question” way. I was stumped. What even did I want to do?

I didn’t get into the college program I wanted to go to. And I would have reapply to the same college if I wanted to try to go the first year as undecided and attempt to get into the program the next year. Even though I had the grades, I was lacking in extracurriculars and there were other applicants who were more qualified than me. I didn’t even know if that program was even something I wanted to do anymore. I wanted to do it because its what my dad had always encouraged me to do. He wanted me to go into a STEM field, he thought it meant I would get a good job and be set for life.

Me and my boyfriend had broken up. We had been together for over a year before we broke up. Tragically enough we had almost every single class together. And so we did the awkward avoiding each other even though we had been a public couple for most of our high school experience thing. So we each brought our “box of stuff” to homeroom and exchanged it. And of course the box didn’t fit in my locker, so I had to carry the box to every one of my classes that day, a public display of my shame.

My former best friend hated my guts, and her new best friend wanted to make my life a living hell. We used to spend literally every day together. She practically lived with me, she slept at her own house maybe one day a week. Her parents were strung out druggies who didn’t care what she did or where she was. Her and her friends were anti social stoners, so I guess you could say that I was too. I had to become one to fit in with the people I had made my life revolve around. I have no idea what to do with myself.

I feel like this is not how your senior year is suppose to go. We were suppose to all go to prom together. Get ready for graduation together. Celebrate all of the small moments and “lasts” of our senior year. Together. At the beginning of this year I thought I had everything figured out. I had a solid color coded five year plan. I am not even kidding about that. I had it in a binder with tabs and sheet protectors. Car, college, good job, wedding, home ownership, and kids. I created this path for myself. And I thought the people I had by my side at the beginning of this year would be the ones who would do it with me. But now I’m not even sure about who I am. And my five year plan is as good as fucked.

Making this stupid list has lead to some serious soul searching if I actually wanted it to mean something. I could google “new years resolutions” and just pick some that sound good. Or I could just scroll down my Facebook feed and copy someone who looks like they have a lot of fun. But that just feels like cheating. And its all fake anyway. I would rather be genuine or why bother doing it to begin with?          Resolution One: Figure out college. I have a scholarship. So as long as it’s a college in Indiana I wouldn’t have to pay for it. And my grades are decent. Just not good enough to get into the program I wanted. There isn’t a school in Indiana that teaches the major I would actually love to go for. Genetic zoology. Its states away. And if I live in a dorm that means living with some stranger who I might want to murder. I need to figure this out fast. Because I know if I take a gap year I will never go back. So resolution one, figure out what to do about college.

         Resolution Two: Meet new people. I had lost my boyfriend and my best friend in one fell swoop. And the saddest part of that is I don’t even really think I liked them, as people I mean. We didn’t like the same things or have any similar hobbies. Neither one of them could even come close to saying they “got” me. Half the time we didn’t even get along. We were only friends and only together because of location and circumstance. Because they approached me when I was lonely, at the time it was easier to hang out with them then to be alone with me. It was time for me to let that go, let them go, and get past it. So resolution two, meet new people. Who I like, and who like to do the some of the same things that I do.

         Resolution Three: Create more art. I love art. I love making art. I write, and I draw, and I do ceramics. But I never spend the time I would need to for it to actually improve. And its something I actually want to do. But no one else did. Everyone in my friend group was too busy getting high, and “relaxing” to do anything even close to being productive. That’s why I never took the time to. Because I needed to belong to them so badly that I wasn’t going to break rank for even a minute. So resolution three, create more art.          Resolution Four: Be real about my feelings from now on. I never addressed how I felt with people in the past. My friends, my boyfriend, even my family. I knew when things weren’t alright. I could feel all the changes and I tried to hide it from even myself. And I don’t want to do that anymore. I let my dad move out of state with his wife without telling him I so badly for him to stay. He didn’t even take the time to say goodbye in person. My mom and I have had a questionable at best relationship for my entire life, and neither one of us have addressed it even though I lived with her for almost two years. So resolution four, actually address my feelings.

         Resolution Five: Focus on me. I think that may be the point of this assignment after all. The reason behind why people write new years resolutions year after year. Because we get so wrapped up in everything and everyone else that we never really stop and look at our selves. We don’t ask ourselves what we actually want. So people set aside a special time of year when its okay to look at their selves for once. Most people focus on things like losing weight, or quitting smoking, or taking a cooking class, or going to the gym more often.  But I think its so much more than that. If you really want to be happy you cant just ask yourself these questions once a year. And if you aren’t happy and you want to be, you are going to have to make changes. And change isn’t always the most comfortable. But its what we have to do if we ever want life to look like we want it to. So resolution five, focus on me.

None of the things on this list are easy. But easy hasn’t ever really been my style. And for a long time I stopped caring about “my style” and I lost myself to what everyone wanted. And so, for the new year I want to find myself and be me. Because no one else is going to care about it if I don’t. So in writing my resolutions I ended up with a question, Who is me? Sometimes I think English teachers are secretly wise old wizards who know everything. So thank you wizard for the sage advice, I think I get it now.


“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat,” he mutters under his breath sarcastically.            Rolling her eyes, Matilda doesn’t bother lifting her head from the papers she is pursuing. “You need to quit watching soap operas, Theo. You’re getting too melodramatic for my tastes of late.” She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the tell-tale tightness in her neck indicative of an incoming migraine. She can’t tell if it’s Theo’s nagging, or the topic of conversation that is inviting the migraine. She suspects a healthy, equal dose of both.            “You’re only 26, Tills,” he reminds her, moving from the doorway of their bedroom to the large bed. He gracelessly slumps onto the bed on his back, resting his hands behind his head staring at the ceiling fan above. “You don’t know for certain that it could actually end badly. It’s almost like you aren’t even trying anymore.”            This makes Matilda clench her hands into tight fists, her fingernails biting into the skin of her palm painfully. She has to clench her teeth and eyes closed tighter to ward off the sudden urge to cry and scream. She tries to focus on her breathing; breathe in through her nose, count to three, breathe out through her mouth, and repeat.            The room is silent for the short moment that Matilda takes to gain control of her emotions. Theo can surely hear her controlled effort at maintaining her pattern of breathing, and the stiffness in her shoulders slowly moves with the concentrated effort of breathing.            Just breathe.            Slowly, she unclenches her hands, and turns her desk chair to face him. She wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans – palms now each covered in four crescent-shaped indents from her fingernails – and takes one final big breath in, counts to three, and lets it back out. She meets Theo’s eyes, and she can see that he is starting to feel regret over what he has said to her.            “I have tried, Theo. For nearly four years now. I’m exhausted.” She pauses and takes another deep breath in. Three seconds. Back out. “The doctors said last time that I was lucky to have survived. They said that lung transplants are one of the most difficult procedures to fully heal and recover from. They warned me that it may not work.”            Again, she pauses to concentrate on her breathing. She actually found these breathing exercises to combat panic and anxiety to work fairly well with her. She could never do them once she became sick. Her original lungs would probably have given out on her by now with how deeply she was forcing herself to breathe. It felt nice to be able to finally breathe after feeling as though she was drowning every time she took in a breath.            She was going to bask in the painless, mundane action for as long as they allowed her to.            “It isn’t defeat. I’m not fighting some war, I’m not a soldier,” regardless of her efforts, tears start forming in the corners of her eyes, ready to race each other down her cheeks to her chin, “I am a girl that got sick, got kind of better, got worse, got sort of better again, and is going to find out in less than 24 hours which way the pendulum will swing this time.” She turns back around to her desk, eyeing the paperwork that she had been looking over before being interrupted by Theo returning home from work.            A Will, and a summary she has written up of how she would like her funeral to be planned.            If there is one thing that cancer did not take from Matilda, it’s her neurotic need to plan.            Shuffling the papers into organised piles, she turns off the desk lamp and joins Theo on the bed, laying her head on his chest. Automatically, one of his hands moves to her waist to pull her closer, and the other moves to stroke her short-cropped hair.            “I know you’ve been sick again, but does that truly mean that you may not get better in a week’s time, or a month’s time? I mean, it’s only been five months since the surgery, Tilly. You’ve only been home for three weeks. Maybe it’ll take you longer than average to get used to the lungs.”            Theo’s optimism verges on suffocating at this point. Nonetheless, Matilda feels herself relaxing into his hands massaging her scalp and waist, his voice also relaxing her now that he isn’t being loud with anger. His voice has a tone of defeat. He knows what I will say.            “The scans tomorrow will confirm if the cancer cells decided to make base on these lungs, too. If they have, I don’t think I can go through anymore chemo, or anymore surgeries.” She turns her face into his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “I know you mean well, Theo. And I love you so damn much for caring and wanting me to get better, but I’ve known for a long time that I had a higher chance of never truly getting better.” Wiping her eyes and nose with her sleeve, Matilda raises her head to look at Theo. Placing her hand gently on his face, she wipes away his own tears that have started trailing down his cheeks. “Please don’t cry, Teddy.”            He sniffles pathetically and scrunches his eyes closed. He presses his mouth to her forehead and presses a hard kiss to the skin. “I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t understand why none of the treatment has worked. Why are you still sick? Why you?” His voice cracks on the last question.            Matilda sighs and moves to press soft kisses to his jawline. “I don’t know, Teddy. Plenty of good people get their lives cut unnecessarily short. It’s just life.” Gently kissing his lips, she gives him a small, sad smile. “If my life is getting cut short, I don’t want my final days, or months, or hopefully years, to be played out in hospital rooms strapped to machines. I don’t want to lose my hair again. I just want to live the allotted time I have left in peace.”            “But what if it worked this time? What if this time, the chemo works, or the surgeries work?” He pleads.            She threads her fingers through his soft blond hair, combing his fringe away from his eyes. “And what if they don’t?”            He stares silently, his eyes bouncing between hers, occasionally flitting down to her lips. Slowly, he brings her lips to his and kisses her softly, sucking on her bottom lip. Her insides turn to liquid and butterflies erupt in her stomach. God, she’s going to miss this.            She draws back from him, watching his face as he tries to piece together his next sentence.            “I’m sorry I’ve been so insistent on you going through treatment again,” he says, rubbing her back slowly, “it’s selfish of me to make you feel guilty for making a choice about your life.”            Shaking her head, she props her chin up on his chest and lets her eyes drift lazily over his face. “I don’t think you’re selfish. I would probably be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed. I just need you to understand my point of view. I don’t see this as defeat. I don’t see it as cancer winning. I’m not afraid of dying anymore.” Absentmindedly, her finger traces small shapes over his neck. She focuses on her finger, too nervous now to look him in the eyes. “I’m just trying to plan everything so that there’s not much room for error once I’m gone. I want this to be as painless and easy as possible.”            His chest rumbles as he chuckles into her hair. “You’re such a control freak that even your death is planned down to the last detail.”            She laughs along with him. This is what she wants. She wants this conversation to not be heartbreaking every time. Matilda wants Theo to come to terms with her dying.            “Regardless, Tills, I’m going to be optimistic. I’m going to use the infinite power of positive thinking to force your body to heal, even if it’s just enough for another decade with you,” he voices with conviction.            Grinning, Matilda lifts her head and kisses him sweetly. “I’m counting on it, Teddy.” She strokes his lips lovingly, feeling the butterflies returning in her stomach. “That’s why I love you so damn much, even if your optimism is sometimes nauseating.”            He lets out a hearty laugh and gently rolls them over until he is hovering above her, his weight supported on his forearms on either side of her head. “And your pessimistic disposition has always been what gets me hot and bothered,” he laughs, burying his face against her neck, planting sweet kisses along its length. She begins to giggle uncontrollably as his lips tickle her skin and her heart fills with giddy warmth and love.            God, she wants this forever.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Damien looked up to the sky, praying to the stars that this would prove to be the answer to all his problems. The stars blinked and glittered, refusing to give him any hints of what was coming. Taking a deep breath, Damien walked into the building. Paint flaked from the walls, and not a single chair in the waiting room looked safe to sit in. The front desk was solid wood, and behind the desk sat a very blonde, very bored-looking girl around Damien’s age chewing gum. “Welcome to North Star, where dreams come true.” the girl said with a monotone voice. She glanced up and down Damien. “Whaddya want? To be a hero? To be great?” “Yes,” he said nervously. “I’m not sure how. I heard this was one of the best places to go.” “You rethinking your decision?” the girl asked, popping her gum. Damien couldn’t help nodding. The girl rolled her eyes knowingly, saying, “Is it the furniture?” “Umm…” The girls snorted. “Figured. The Dream Maker is always trying to drive freeloaders away. So are you staying or leaving?” “I’ll stay.” “Fill this out.” The girl handed him a stack of paperwork. “It shouldn’t take you more than five minutes. Ish.” “Can I borrow a pen?” Damien asked. The girl smirked but didn’t say anything. She didn’t hand him a pen either. Damien sighed and looked down at the paper, mentally filling the blanks. Full Name: Damien Alandro

Birthplace:  St. Louis,

MO Birthdate:  April 24th,

1999 Deathdate:  Unknown. Dream: Just that my family is happy. Damien looked through all the paperwork, then asked if he could go home, fill it out, then come back. The girl smirked again, and told him to look one more time at the paperwork. Damien did, and to his surprise, all the blanks were filled in. He looked back up at the girl. “How- what the... Um, here you go, I guess.” The girl flipped through his work, and nodded in satisfaction. “You’re still missing something though.” “What?” Damien was surprised. He had just done a ton of paperwork. What more could there be? “The Dream Maker is ready whenever you’ve figured it out.” The girl stood up. “I’ll go let The Dream Maker know you’re almost ready.” The girl walked away from Damien, and began to open a rickety door he assumed led to the dream maker’s office.

“Wait!” Damien called, realizing something. “You never told me your name.” The girl turned and smiled at him. “You never asked.” “Will you tell me?”

“I will. My name’s Henrika.” “Henrika.” Damien repeated her name. “It’s gorgeous.” “Thank you. The Dream Maker will see you now.” Damien stood up. He wasn’t about to question beautiful Henrika, who the more he looked at the more he was enthralled by her. She clearly wasn’t new here. He wondered at her relationship to the dream maker. How did she know all he needed was to ask her name? Henrika held the door for him, before leading him down a well lit hall. They entered a silver doorway, where she left him in an empty domed room. She ordered him to stay there until she returned when the appointment was over. “Well,” Damien said to himself. “That was a warm welcome.” After about fifteen minutes of waiting, waiting, waiting, a hunched-over, wrinkled woman walked in. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and a thin silver veil covered her hair and face. “I am the dream maker.” the woman said, her voice soft and familiar. “What is your dream? What have you wanted all your life?” “I-” Damien paused. He knew what he wanted. He wanted his family to be happy. But, something seemed off. “Do I know you?” The woman looked away. “Of course not. I haven’t left this building for more than a hundred years. Now, back to business. What is your dream?” Damien looked closer at the woman. Something was still wrong. Was his only dream to make his family happy? Did they really deserve this? Damien’s thoughts flew to his family, scrutinizing them one by one. His mother, a former drunk in a painful cycle of sobriety. His father, who wished to wander but stayed still for the sake of his family. His older sister, now a mean, spiteful woman. His younger brother, still a high school dropout. Of course they deserved this. They did, they did, they did. Damien opened his mouth to tell the woman this, but instead, he found himself asking about the secretary, Henrika. “Where did you find her?” “You could say she found me. Your dream?” The woman was still turned away, but Damien was growing more and more certain that there was something she wasn’t saying. He took a step forward.

“I want my family to be happy. That is my dream.” Damien said. The woman nodded and turned to face him.

“Yes, yes.” she said, approvingly. “Unselfish. Tell me your family’s names, and soon you will see them smile. It might not be immediate, because I am not a miracle worker.” Damien nodded. The woman took another minute to look him over before turning to leave. “Soon… soon your dream will be made.” Damien started to follow her, but the woman held her hand up. “No. You stay here.” Damien sighed as he watched the dream maker leave. What a confusing woman. And what a confusing meeting. Something tickled the back of his brain as wrong. Something was off, but for the moment, he was just going to wait for Henrika to come back. Again, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, Henrika returned. “So, how was it?” “Good, but something seemed off.” “Off how?” Henrika leaned forward.

“I think I knew her, but she said she hadn’t left the building for a hundred years. That means she would've been born here, but she seemed…” Damien trailed off. Where was he going with this? “She seemed what?” Henrika asked softly and almost threateningly.

“I don’t know. Maybe like she was hiding something.”  Henrika’s look darkened. She slammed Damien against the wall, and her voice was sharp as a knife. “Can you keep a secret?” “Ye- yes.” Damien’s eyes were wide and his breath came faster, and the thought passed through his mind that maybe she was crazy. Henrika’s grip on him slackened. “I’m sorry, Damien. I just, I haven’t --ugh, why is this so hard?” “It’s okay. Just

tell me what’s going on. Please. I want to help.” “I know. Come with me.” Henrika grabbed Damien’s hand and dragged him down the hallway. They passed at least fifty doorways, all grand and impressive, and often embellished with gems or gold. Finally, they stopped in front of a small door that seemed out of place from the rest of the hall.

“Through here.” Henrika said, dropping down to her knees. “Follow me.” Damien followed her. The door led to an equally small

tunnel, which the two had to crawl through. When the ceiling was finally tall enough for them to stand, Damien asked, “Why did we have to crawl?” “Are you doubting me?” Henrika asked, shooting him a look. Damien shook his head. Of course he wasn’t, he was just curious. Henrika relaxed. “Okay, come on. This is where I work.” She motioned towards the wall, then stepped forward and pushed on the wall. It swung around, pushing them into a new room.

This room was broad with a low ceiling. It was a sort of organized chaos. Computers lined one wall, and racks of clothes, wigs, and makeup covered two others. The wall that hid the entrance was half-lined by tables, all of which were covered with papers, office supplies, and other junk. Against the other side was a small bed, bookshelf, and mini appliances. “Is this where you live?” Damien asked, looking around in awe. Did she really live in one room? He decided that the beautiful Henrika really was crazy. The realization only made him fall for her harder. “Yes.” she replied, turned to face him. “And you need to keep it a secret. No one else has seen through my disguises before.” “Disguises? Wait, were you--” “The Dream Maker. Yes, she was me and I was her.” Henrika interrupted him. When he asked her why, her response was simple. “You would trust an old lady’s word better than you would trust a little girl’s, right?” Damien stared at her. Henrika was growing stranger by the minute. Damien turned away from her, pretending to be interested in all her disguises. “So, how many disguises do you have?” “A lot. I haven’t not worn a disguise in years.” “Why all the disguises?” “Jeez, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Damien blushed. Henrika sat on her bed and offered him a seat. “I’m not who you think I am.” Damien looked away, embarrassed.

Henrika continued “I’m not exactly sure how old I am. Probably

close to your age. Only I’m haunted.” “Really?” Damien asked. He wasn’t sure which he was more curious about: the fact that she was his age, or that she was haunted. “Yeah. My family hasn’t left this building for centuries, and their souls rest in me. I may be young, but I know hundreds of years. When I was younger, when my mother still bore the weight of the curse, I tried to sneak out. The sun was blinding, and the people were terrifying. Someone saw me, and called the police. The wailing sirens scared me so badly, I ran back inside. The police had seen me though, and followed me. That’s when…” Henrika broke off. Damien offered a hug, and Henrika leaned into him. “That’s when… That’s when I lost my mother. So I took over the family business, making dreams come true. And I fell in love with it. I could’ve left, but I didn’t because I was scared. And now I’m glad I didn’t.”

Damien held Henrika in his arms. She shivered, and Damien shifted so he could pull the blanket over her. Henrika continued talking, but she wasn’t talking to Damien anymore. Her eyes were spaced out, and she was reliving a time long gone by. “The police didn’t hurt her. My mother. She ran, wouldn’t let them help. They couldn’t find me, but my mother was gone. I was too scared to move. About a year later, I felt heaviness. Soul-crushing heaviness. The heaviness of souls. I knew my mother had died.” Damien rubbed her back. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He repeated the words over and over. Henrika eventually fell asleep, and he laid her down on the bed. He laid down next to her, being careful not to wake her up. “I’m here for you.” he whispered, before falling asleep beside her. When Damien woke up, Henrika was leaning over him. “Damien?” “I’m awake! I’m awake! Is something wrong?” “No, I just haven’t seen anyone sleeping before. I forgot you were here.” Henrika said, pulling away from Damien. “Did I wake you up? Go back to sleep.” “No, no, it’s okay. I promise.” Damien stood up. “Okay, let’s get to work. How can I help?” “Um, I don’t know. Have you seen me out of disguise yet?” “Aren’t you out of disguise now?” Henrika shook her head. “No. In reality, my skin’s paler, my hair’s darker, and I have gray eyes, not green or brown— what color did I put in yesterday?” “Um, somewhere in between. I think they’re hazel. Could I see you with no costume?” Damien asked. Henrika bit her lip. She pushed her hair back, and fidgeted.

“I don’t know…” Henrika looked away. Damien frowned. He didn’t understand. Didn’t Henrika trust him? At least a little?

“Henrika?” “Sorry. I can’t do that.” Henrika said. She slipped off the bed and ran. Damien followed, concerned. Henrika crawled through the tunnel, and scampered up and down stairs after winding through halls, with Damien on her tail.

“Henrika! Wait!” Damien called after her. “You don't have to!” They ran for several minutes, eventually looping back to Henrika’s bedroom. “Are you… -- huff-- Are you okay?” Damien took a step forward. Henrika skittered along the edges of the room, but didn’t take off again. “Please,” Damien asked. “I want to help.” “You keep saying that.” Henrika said.

“Really, I do. Don’t uncostume if you’d rather not.” “But… why? Why did you ask?” “Because I think you’re pretty. And I want to see you the way you are.” “I’ve never had someone else to trust before. I’ve read about it in books though.” Henrika pointed to her bookshelf. “Can I?” “You can trust me.” Henrika nodded. “Come with me, I’ll have to bathe to get the color out. The bathroom’s over here.” Damien blushed. “I’ll stay here. I don’t need to watch you wash. Really.” “But you need cleaning too. There’s room for both of us.” “I don’t have clothes.” “I have some clothes that would fit you.” “But…” “No buts. Come on.” Reluctantly, Damien followed Henrika to the bathroom. It was quite large, with marble walls and floors. There were two different sizes of bathtubs, a shower, a swimming pool, and an armoire. Henrika dug through the drawers, looking for clothes that would fit Damien. Eventually she held out two outfits. One was casual, with jeans and a striped t-shirt, while the other was dressier. “Which one? I like casual, but a polo and tie is always classy.” “The casual one.” Damien replied. She did the same for her clothes, settling on a periwinkle tunic and leggings. Henrika walked over to the larger bathtub. She turned on the water and started to get undressed. Damien’s eyes widened as her clothes fell to the ground and she slipped into the steaming water.

Seeing Damien’s expression, Henrika asked what was wrong. “Are you good? You can join me, there’s plenty of room.” “Um, well, outside this building, people don’t,

I mean, I shouldn’t get naked by you.” “Why not?” “It’s, um, hard to explain.” Damien said. Why didn’t she know this stuff? Didn’t her mom explain it? Maybe she was still too young when her mother died…

“If you don’t want to share a bathtub, you can fill up the other one.”

Damien sighed in relief. He turned on the water, asking, “Who pays the water bill?” “Whoever owns the building.” “Which is?” “Mm, I'm pretty sure it’s my dad. He took off a while ago, but still tries to check on me. Sometimes he brings me a new book. Always asking about boys.” Damien nodded and undressed, trying to keep himself mostly covered, since Henrika was looking at him intently. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked. “I like to swim. I’m pretty sure I have a pair of swimming trunks somewhere, if you’d like to swim after we’re cleaned up.” “Um, I used to swim. I kinda fell out of practice after one of my bosses fired me.” Damien said, trying to distract himself. Henrika was standing up, washing with a sort of pink foam. As she washed, color drained from her skin and hair, leaving her with vampire-pale skin and silky brown hair. Henrika popped the hazel contacts out, leaving her with cool grey eyes. She poured water over herself, rinsing away the foam. Henrika stepped out of the bathtub, squeezed out her hair, and walked over to the armoire. She bent over, looking for swimming trunks for Damien. She groaned when she couldn’t find anything. “I’m sorry, Damien, I couldn’t find anything. I could make you pair.” “No, no, it’s okay. I have a better idea. To warm you up to going outside.” Damien said, taking the chance to wash up while Henrika was distracted. Henrika turned to face him. “What?”

“The stars.” he said. “Can you put on clothes?” “Oh. Yeah. I forgot you don’t like being naked.” Henrika said, passing him his clothes. She put on her clothes, then watched as Damien put on his. “Can we go see the stars now? I’ve never seen them.” “Really?” Damien asked.

“They’re absolutely beautiful, like a million tiny diamonds. Is there a way to get to the roof?” “Oh, sure.” Henrika grabbed his hand and dashed out of the bathroom and up stairs, dragging Damien behind her. As they reached the top of the stairs, Damien tripped and they fell

through the door to the roof in a heap. Damien’s face burned red. Why, oh why, did he have to fall on her? Henrika recovered first, stood up, and helped Damien up. “Thank you,” Damien said. He brushed himself off. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” When Henrika didn’t answer, Damien took a good, long look at her. She was staring straight up. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was stretched into a smile. Actually, Henrika was radiant, like she was absorbing the starlight. Her hand groped at the sky, trying to grab a star. “Do you like them?” Henrika sighed happily. “I never knew anything more beautiful.” She leaned over to give him a hug. “Thank you.” “It was nothing. The stars are always there.” “Always?” “Always.” “And you’ll be there for me?” “Always.” “And I’ll always be there for you.” “Always?” Damien asked. “Always,” Henrika replied, a different sort of smile spreading across her face. "Always."