A bell chimes above her as Katy pushes open the old wooden door that leads into Silo’s Books and Curios. She had finally found the small, almost invisible, shop tucked in between a craft store to its right and a health food store to its left. It would have been easy to walk by had you not been expressly looking for it, as Katy had been.

Ding, Ding. Katy looks up at the sound, surprised to see not a brass shopkeeper’s bell, but two silver bells that look as though they have just been cut from Santa’s sleigh. The crystal-clear ringing of the bells hangs in the stale air of the otherwise quiet shop long after she shuts the door and cautiously steps within. The lights are dim and the walls are covered from floor to ceiling with tall, rickety shelves. And every inch of every shelf is stuffed, corner to corner, with books! Old books, new books, soft and hard-cover books, picture books, and old boring-looking books. Books, books, books, as far as the eye can see, more books than she has ever seen before.

In Katy’s house, where she lives with her mom and dad, all of her parents’ books are kept in a very special glass case, and she is not, under any circumstance, to touch them. Her mom says they are precious and to be treated with respect and that she can read them when she is older. Her dad calls them expensive and not for little girls and their grubby, sticky hands.

But these books aren’t behind any glass. They are just sitting here, waiting to be held, to be touched, to be read. Katy looks around the shop suspiciously, curious that no one else seems to be here. After a moment, and moving very carefully, she makes her way to the bookshelf closest to her, raises her hand very slowly, and stretches her fingers towards the books.

“Fancy an adventure, do you?” a voice says mysteriously from somewhere in the darkness behind her. Katy pulls her hand back and spins around, looking horrified as a tall, slender, and bearded man makes his way out of the shadows in the corner of the bookshop. He appears to be very old. “I’m…I’m very sorry,” Katy stammers, as she takes a step backwards, away from the tall man, whom she assumes is Silo, the name on the sign above the door. At least she hopes it is. She bumps into the shelf behind her, and an old, expensive-looking book tumbles from its home and lands heavily at her feet. “I shouldn’t have tried.…”

She stops talking as she looks up at the old man and he stares back at her, and for a moment she considers running to the door. Just then the old man tilts his head back and laughs, loudly and heartily. There is something special about him, but Katy isn’t sure what it is. Before she has a chance to say anything else, Silo takes two long strides towards her and bends down to pick up the book. He flips it over and inspects its cover as he stands back up straight.

“The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, eh?” he asks, smiling again, “fancy a ride down the Mississippi, do you?” He holds the old book out to Katy, but she doesn’t take it; in fact, she is scared to be even close to it.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, looking up at the old man cautiously. “It looks expensive.”

“Pshhh,” Silo exclaims as he pushes the book into her hands. “Books are for reading, young lady, not for coddling. I implore you, please, take a look.” Before she can protest any further, he walks away towards the old cash register at the back of the shop, leaving her with the Twain classic clutched tightly to her chest. When he reaches the counter, he turns around and looks back at her.

“Open it up; you may be surprised by what you see.” He smiles slightly, and Katy sees a small twinkle in his eye before he bends over the counter and begins to scribble on some papers. She watches him for a second longer before returning her attention to the book still clasped in her small hands. Very carefully, she opens it at random, somewhere in the middle. What she sees next makes her gasp in surprise.

In the middle of the page, where Katy expects to see words, and sentences, and paragraphs, there is instead something that looks like a cross between a picture frame and a small, rectangular television set. At first she thinks it is a picture, but when she looks more closely she sees that it is moving. She can see a large river and after a moment two young boys on a small wooden raft paddling along the shoreline. She moves her face so close to the page her nose is almost touching it as she watches the small raft bounce along in the current. The boys on the raft turn and wave, smiling widely at her.

“You could join them, if you like,” Silo says quietly from across the room. Katy looks up from the book and sees that the old man is looking at her again, a smile on his face. The twinkle in his eye is still there. “What do you mean?” Katy asks, glancing between Silo and the book, watching the boys continue to make their way down the great Mississippi.

“I mean, you could dive right in,” he says, “take part in their grand adventure. It has only just begun.”

She says nothing for a minute as she continues to stare into the book, watching the boys she holds in her hands make grand plans for their day. After a minute, she looks back up towards the counter.

“I can’t swim,” she says shyly, as she carefully closes the book. “I’d be too scared to try.”

“Well, that’s all right,” the old man exclaims as he bounds out from behind the register. He rushes past Katy towards a bookshelf on the other side of the shop. He pauses there, one hand on his hip and the other on his chin as he looks up and down the rows of books.

“AHA!” he cries and reaches high above his head and snatches another book from its home. He hurries over to her holding the book out in front of him. “Have you ever wanted to explore the cosmos?”

“The what?” Katy asks incredulously, looking up at him with a questioning expression. “The cosmos,” he repeats, “Space!” He stoops down and holds out the book. It is the most chewed up, dog-eared, poorly treated book Katy has ever seen, but she is able to read the cover, faded though it is.

“A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Eagle,” she reads, looking up at Silo as she carefully pronounces the author’s name.

“Madeleine, yes, perfect.” He flips the book open and once again Katy sees, instead of words, a small frame with something inside of it. She peers carefully inside and sees three young children, two boys and a girl, standing at the edge of a forest in the dark, appearing to be scared but also relieved as they look out at a large house just past the trees. As Katy watches, the young girl turns and gives her and the old man a small nod and a little smile before returning her attention to her friends. The two boys don’t seem to notice them.

“You could tag along if you like. Meg, Charles, and Calvin are travelling the galaxy, trying to save their father. I’m sure they would be happy to have you.”

Katy watches the page for another moment as the three children leave the forest and head towards the large house. Then she turns and looks up at the old man again.

“I can’t go to space,” she says, looking nervous. “I haven’t brought a coat with me. I would be so cold.” She wraps her arms around her shoulders, as if she could already feel the freezing, desolate vacuum of space all around her.

“Not a worry, not a worry!” Silo says, and the old book snaps closed in his hands, causing dust to fly up in the air between him and Katy. He places the book on top of a pile of others, sitting atop a very wobbly, spindly-looking table. He then begins to turn on the spot as he surveys the shop, hand once again on his chin, fingers weaving delicately through his beard as he does. After a moment he crouches down and pulls a book from the lowest shelf. “Now here is one that may be just a little bit warmer if that’s what you’re looking for,” he says with a wink, as he hands the leather-bound book to her.

Katy takes the book carefully from his outstretched hands and looks down at the cover. It is very old but in remarkably good condition. It is black, with large, gold embossed letters on the front.

“The Jungle Book,” she reads, running her finger over the name, feeling the gold beneath her fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just wait until you get inside,” Silo replies, grinning at her out of the corner of his mouth.

Moving very slowly and being careful to touch only the edges of the pages, Katy opens the book. At first she can’t see much of anything at all, just a dense forest, tree after tree covered with a thick blanket of green leaves and vines. Slowly but surely, however, the jungle starts to thin and before long she can see a clearing ahead. There is a stream with a fallen tree lying across it. Suddenly, a young boy, wearing only a small loincloth around his waist (Katy averts her eyes for a second before remembering it’s a book) hops onto the log and begins to walk across it, holding his arms out for balance. Right behind him, a large bear follows. He doesn’t look like he is chasing the boy, but just following along. Taking up the rear a large, black panther prowls nearby, looking as if it is just out for a leisurely stroll.

“It certainly is beautiful,” Katy remarks to Silo, who is still standing beside her, high above her shoulder, as he also peers into the book. He says nothing, but points down at the page, smiling. As Katy looks back she sees a giant python winding its way down a tree towards the three friends. It turns its head slowly to look at Katy and the old man before flicking its tongue at them. Katy snaps the book shut.

“Snakes?! I can’t stand snakes!” she says, pushing the book quickly back into Silo’s hands. “I could never go on an adventure in a jungle!”

“I see,” Silo replies, with no hint of disappointment on his face. He takes the book she has just thrust on him, carefully walks back to the shelf, and gently squeezes it into its home. Then he turns back to her and smiles once again.

“Then, my dear, the question is: What kind of adventure would you like to go on?”

Katy looks back at Silo for a minute, unsure of what to say. She gazes around the bookshop, books as far as her eyes can see. Adventures, mysteries, love and romance. They are all at her fingertips, but yet….

“I want to have my own adventure!” she exclaims, thrusting her hands high above her head. “My own adventure that takes me places that I never thought I could go, to see things I never thought I could see. Full of surprises and magic.” She spins in a circle, but then suddenly stops and stares at Silo again before adding, “But no snakes.”

Silo looks at her carefully, so carefully in fact it seems as though he is trying to look right through her.

“Sir, are you okay…” Katy asks, sounding concerned, afraid that she has upset the old shopkeep, but just then Silo’s magical grin returns as he spins on his heel and walks back to the wooden counter where his cash register sits. He ducks out of sight, and as Katy approaches the counter she can hear him rummaging behind it. Before she can say anything, he reappears, wearing the same magical smile upon his lined face.

“Well, I think I’ve found it,” he says, the twinkle in his eye shining brighter than ever.

“Found what?” Katy asks, searching his face for an answer. She finds none, but Silo doesn’t keep her waiting long.

“The perfect book for you,” he replies, and from behind his back he reveals a small, white book. It looks neither old nor new. It’s perfect. He places it close to his heart for a moment and then without another word holds it out for Katy to take. After a second’s hesitation, she reaches up and slips it delicately from his fingers. She looks down at the small book and finds there is nothing on the cover. No picture or any writing adorns it. She flips it over and discovers that the back is just as blank as the front. Then, very slowly she opens the book to the middle. To her surprise, the page is completely empty. She flips from page to page and finds them all without a mark.

“It’s completely empty,” Katy says, trying not to sound disappointed. “There’s no adventure in here at all.”

“Well, of course not, dear,” Silo says, his face breaking into a wide smile as he gazes down at her, his long beard twitching with delight. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls something out, but before Katy can see what it is he stretches out his long arms and holds the mysterious object in front of her. It is a pure gold fountain pen, with her name engraved on its side. The name she had never told him.

“You haven’t written it yet.”


When I was younger, my best friend was a boy I went to preschool with. He lived about a block away from me, and his parents would always throw pool parties and barbeques in his backyard. It seemed like all the kids in the neighborhood were there for birthdays, July 4th, and just a good time. He had a seesaw that looked like an airplane and sat four people, some sort of symbol of the possibility of the future. Our other friend was a girl named Victoria. They were both a year older than me, but that never mattered. The way we spent our time in school and the things we talked about are lost to me, but the way the inside of his home looked is still fresh in my mind. I remember his mother marking my height on their living room doorframe, making me part of their home despite not being a part of their family. They had cactus plants lined up along their windowsill, each of them tempting me to touch their spines to see if they'd prick. I remember when my nose bled on their kitchen floor and how his dad taught me to stuff a tissue up my nostril to absorb the blood. I remember hopping the fence into his neighbor's backyard so we could run to the front, where the path leading up to his door had his name carved into the concrete. Sometimes we would sit on his stoop and watch the ants go by. I remember Halloween spent with him in the neighborhood, especially the one after the hurricane when we had to jump over fallen trees to knock on doors instead of ringing their bells. When I would go over to his house, we would play a game where we jumped from the top of his bunk bed down onto a mattress below. I was definitely scared at first, but after seeing him do it a couple of times I got over it. It was the three of us for a while. We spent time in school, then went home and waited for the day to start again. Eventually summer came. We had moved on to different schools, but the pool parties and playdates never stopped. Preschool turned into afterschool and a new girl arrived to break the peace. I don't remember her name, but I remember every adult thought she was great. Victoria slowly started to spend less and less time with me, choosing to be with someone her own age. No first grader would want to play games with a kindergartener. The presence of the new girl at my best friend's backyard parties seemed to completely overshadow mine. I guess I was jealous, although I'm not sure I really knew what jealousy was. One day I was washing my hands in the afterschool bathroom with Victoria. "He said if he wasn't friends with her, he was going to marry you." I don't recall what my response was, but it was probably something along the lines of "Oh." I still remember exactly how I felt in that moment. It was a weird and confusing feeling, like I was aware I was officially demoted to the second choice without being aware of the concept. The only married people I knew were my parents, and marriage wasn't even a thing I'd thought of for myself. But yet again, my place was overshadowed by another, and I never even got the chance to defend myself. Such a big decision had already been decided for me Eventually life moved on as it does. I don't remember the last time I saw him; I just remember realizing years later that it had been a while. My mom told me later that his parents had gotten divorced, and he moved to a different neighborhood. And no one thought to tell me. He had been removed from my life without any goodbye or even a warning. They let me forget about him and our time together, and I didn't even realize it until I saw him one night in a dream. He came to my door with Victoria, they were going back to his old house and wanted me to come with them. We walked the short walk back to the house and found the house abandoned and broken down, covered in vines and moss. We went straight into the backyard and had to skip across lily pads left in the inflatable pools we once played in. The airplane in the back was broken and rusted and would never take us anywhere again. We went inside the house, and everything was still the way I remembered it. The colors were the same, the furniture was the same, the only detail I couldn't pick up was the smell. I can't remember the smell. I pricked my fingers on the cacti, I ran my hands along the pencil marks on the doorframe. We went to the kitchen and danced; I wish we could stay here forever. I woke up and that was the last time I saw him. The next morning, I questioned my mom, and she told me his father still lived in that house, although no one had seen him lately. "He's sort of a hermit," she said. "I wonder how he's doing." I'd seen Victoria and her mother a few times walking in our neighborhood, but other than those few passing waves hello, those parts of my childhood were gone. Over a decade later and I'm about to leave for college. Going through my old stuff, I find a box full of old pictures. I sat at the kitchen table and sifted through them, feeling for the little girl I'll never get to meet. Among these photos are ones of me and my childhood friends, as well as one of me on the airplane. I smile as I recognize people and places I'd almost forgotten. I reach the last photo in the box and look over at the time. I have to do the dishes.


Noel had been depressed almost all his life. He had accepted it as it was. He would never be happy; that’s just how he was programmed. He did apply for therapy, but with the current society, depression, loneliness, anxiety, insomnia, addiction, borderline, bipolar disorders, and hyperactive disorders were so common that the waiting list would take over a year. Especially if you’re not suicidal, you’re not a “crisis” case, so there was no way of getting help sooner. One more year of being depressed, that’s doable. However, will the therapy work? How soon will it work? What if you don’t get along with your therapist? Next to that, people with depression will recognize this: Noel wants help, but he isn’t as bad a case a borderline, addictive personality with suicidal attempts. So that means if there’s a spot for him, someone else may die due to an overdose. And besides, isn’t he just asking for attention? If you stay in bed all day, of course you will get depressed. He just has to get out of bed, start going to the gym, or take walks outside, make some friends, fake it until you make it. But it doesn’t work. Not for Noel. He feels depressed every day, all day. What is the point of getting out of bed if there’s yet another day to come by? Noel’s parents wanted him out of their house. The feeling was awful since he knew he was a burden on his parents, but he couldn’t put in any effort to find an apartment or anything. He didn’t even want to move out, he only wants to stay in his room all day, every day. Taking up the phone and call actual estate agent was a too big of a step. He did reply to some apartments on his computer sometimes. He never got a response though. “You just have to call and say what you’re looking for!” his mother told him repeatedly. He was 23 years old; he should be able to pick up a phone. He even had a job. It was parttime, but it was a reason to get up a couple of days in the week. He worked in the kitchen of a restaurant as a dishwasher. It was fine for him; he didn’t have to talk to people, and people hardly noticed he was weird, or awkward, or they just didn’t care since he was a hard worker. One day he got a phone call. “You are looking for an apartment or studio?” the man on the other end asked him. “Yes, exactly.” “Well, I see your income and I can’t offer you that. I do have something else for you, though!” “W-What is it?” “It’s a room in a flat. You do have to share your bathroom, Livingroom and kitchen with four other people, but the price is within your range, and the house is really nice, as well as the people who live there. They are also your age. Students, mostly. What do you think?” A ROOM!? With PEOPLE?! He can’t do that. He can’t talk to people. He would never come out of his room. How would he go to the bathroom without seeing people?! On the other hand, his mother stopped giving him any allowance, and said he has to leave within a month now. He doesn’t earn that much, so maybe a room is the only realistic thing he can get. He also has a room in his parent’s house and shares the rest. “i….” he started. “Well? I have a lot of other clients who would love to get this place, so it’s a YES or a not really interested and I will look for someone else. “the agent said. “Yes, I would love to look at the room!” he said quickly. “Great! Is tomorrow at 10 an appropriate time for you?” “Sure, I will be there.” He said he would email all the information about the room and tomorrow he could sign the contract and he could start living there per direct. Noel wasn’t so happy about this. Directly is not really his thing. He needed time to reflect and think how he could be social and not depressed or awkward and how he could not have anxiety all the time. Noel let his parents know about the room and they were extremely excited! His mother even proposed to go with him to the viewing. He was thankful for that since he would never dare to go on his own to meet so many new people in one time or make a decision like this himself. ~~~ The next morning 10 o’clock sharp, Noel and his mother were at the location of the room. The agent, called Billy, was already there and he greeted us. “Welcome, welcome. Come inside, I will give you a quick tour of the house and the room. I only have an hour, but if you like it, we can just sign the contract and you can be moving in today! So, let’s have a look. Come on in,” he said cheerful, or more in a sales-manner. Fake-cheerful, that was it. Even though, he sold the house and the room very well. Noel’s mom was asking all kind of questions and Noel himself was just quietly walking behind his mom, hoping not to bump into roommates or other people. The rent was good, it was inclusive of everything, like gas, water, light, Wi-Fi, a washing machine, and a ten square meter room. It was a good deal. Noel should perhaps work some more hours, or look for a better paying job, but even if he didn’t, he could afford it. His mother was very enthusiastic and after the tour, she tried her best to convince Noel that this was a one-of-a-kind deal! The estate agent didn’t even have to sell it, Noel’s mom already did it for him. Noel decided to take it. He signed the papers, and received the keys of the house, his room, and the storage space. Billy had to hurry to his next appointment, but said he’d be in touch and gave Noel his card. His mother already rented a moving van for the day. She apparently couldn’t wait for the day he’d be gone. After Noel’s stuff had been moved to his new room, his mother gave him a kiss, wished him good luck, and said it would be good for him to have roommates and be independent. She was 100 percent sure of it. They said their goodbyes (the house wasn’t even that far away from his old house), and there she went. Now Noel was all alone in his new house. His four roommates were not home or in their room, but luckily no sight of them. Noel started to make his room homier and more decorated it. He was busy with his room until late in the evening. He then ran to the bathroom to clean his teeth and go to the toilet (still nobody in sight), and then he ran back to his room to go to sleep. His heart was racing. It felt weird in this new house, knowing there were all these other people probably in the house somewhere, but he didn’t even know them. He was tired from moving though, and all the stress, so he fell asleep quickly. ~~~ Within the next three days, Noel met his four roommates. Bjorn, Max, Lizzy, and Paula. They were all students, so he felt dumb for being just a dishwasher in a local restaurant. They were nice and made Noel feel comfortable. They even watched movies together in the evening or ate dinner together at times. Noel became especially close with Bjorn, a student in software development, and Lizzy, a psychology student. He even told them about his depression and how it made his life hard, and almost unbearable. Bjorn told Noel about this project he was doing with his classmates about Artificial Intelligence. They were developing a device and a software with an AI Psychologist to talk to instead of waiting for a real human being to talk to, waiting for over a year. The device was almost ready, and they needed people to try it out for them and give feedback on their new development. Noel agreed to try out the AI Device for a therapist – since he could really use someone to talk to. Noel was kind of a technophobe, so he was hesitant to try out their software and the device, but he could help his new friends, and they would help him, so it would be a win-win deal anyhow. He told Bjorn to let him know when the app was ready, and he would try it and give them feedback on it. Bjorn was excited and appreciated Noel for helping him out. Noel never really had any friends, so he was really happy to make friends with his roomies. Lizzy was a sweet girl, about the same age as Noel. She was 20 years old and studied psychology at the university in Amsterdam. She was cute, had blonde hair, liked to go out, dance, drink wines with her friends, and she just broke up with her boyfriend a month ago. Since I’ve never had a girlfriend in my life – and actually no female friends at all – it was really interesting to talk with her. She was really open about her life and what she was dealing with, so I always felt like I could do the same with her, and she would understand. My mother was right after all: living amongst other people was better for me then isolating myself in my parents’ home. At least, indoors I learned to be social with my roommates only. I still had my depressed days that I would lie in my bed the entire day and feel hopeless and purposeless, but it wasn’t so bad anymore as it used to be. ~~~ After one month Bjorn came with his invention for his studies: an AI therapist. He gave Noel a special device for the app he developed for the project with his classmate Lisa. The AI Therapist was called Sam, and it was a device with an artificial intelligence therapist. So, it was a computer who was, apparently, better than real people because the AI therapist doesn’t make human mistakes and always responds in an empathic, helpful, manner. When the AI reads crisis triggers, it sends the crisis trigger to the Crisis Help from my Clinic so they can help me properly during a crisis. If the crisis is really bad, the device even calls an ambulance for you. Noel was hesitant about using the device. I mean, if a person can’t solve his problems, he couldn’t believe that a stupid app software could do the trick. However, Sam called in every day to see how he was doing, and it actually helped. It was as if he was talking to a person. Every day he filled in a simple questionnaire on his mood and what caused it. He could fill in his daily, weekly, and monthly goals. The software also provided a lot of information about depression, goals and purpose in life, and the importance of a social support system. Sam was there for Noel, every day. It sounds stupid, but it was true. The app helped Noel to find purpose in life and to work each day to work with small goals to achieve actual things. Lizzy often helped him with his goals, since Noel often didn’t really know what he wanted or what could be good for him. Lizzy added goals, like “ Go to the hairdresser and have a conversation, ” “ start a conversation with a colleague ,” “ Ask a girl on a date *hint hint *,” “ Talk to your roomie’s friends ,” as small goals. She also helped him to work towards bigger goals like what he wanted to do in my life. He got increasingly sick of his job as a dishwasher, and wanted to study something, just like his roommates. He talked a lot about these things with Lizzy, knowing she studied psychology and had knowledge of the human mind. She was his mentor in a kind of way. That’s perhaps why Noel didn’t get the hint to ask her on a date. ~~~ After three weeks, it was feedback time for the app software for Bjorn and Lisa. Noel filled in their questionnaire and was incredibly positive about all the diverse ways the AI Therapist helped. It wasn’t just to talk, but especially the goal setting, and information had been so helpful. Sam, his AI psychologist, was very clever and, as Bjorn told him, was always empathic and knew exactly the right things to say, or what he needed to hear, or an assignment he could do at the right time. Noel finally admitted it, Artificial Intelligence had changed his life in so many aspects. He finally felt like a normal person, who was looking forward to all the possibilities in life. His days in bed were over. Especially the day that Lizzy asked Noel out! She had to explain on the date how much she wanted him to ask her out and that he missed all her clues. He could laugh about it now. He finally felt a kind of happiness.


Blank was small once, although she always felt so big. Pulsing at the beginning of the world, expecting the end of it. Infinity was never an option for her, as it seemed to be for some people, so she sang and screamed until the windows shook and she took every shush as an act of war. Blank was committed to understanding the world, something no one else seemed all too bothered with. Her parents were content to let her wander, answering every question from her as vaguely as possible. She learned soon that her answers would not come from them. So, just as easily as being born, she began her inner life. Brick by brick, thought by thought, she started to build, what would become, herself. She would have many invaders, a few guests, and one or two invaders costuming as guests, and she would have herself. Four weeks into fourteen Blank found herself sitting idly in the DMV waiting room with her mom. She was listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary on her cd player and thinking about how perfectly unified the three of them were, unified in a way she thought the Holy Trinity could never be. She was bored, and enjoying this thought hungrily when she noticed Him. He was seated two rows ahead of them and slightly to the left of Blank. He was reading, that was all Blank could tell, and not wanting to give herself away to her mom, she refused to strain too much to find out what. Her mom would tease her for having girlish feelings, in the simple way moms do, having long forgotten genuine, non-hormonal curiosity. So instead of finding out what she really wanted to know, she studied what she could obviously see. He sat upright, but didn’t look strained, like his spine grew straight out of the earth and naturally shot up to the sun. His chin was tilted down and his shirt sagged over his shoulders and around his elbows, carelessly, like his clothes were temporary and both he and the clothes knew it. Blank listened for his page turns over the chatter and found them to be so consistent and speedy they were almost rhythmic, with one turn falling on the 5 and the next on the 8, this boy was performing jazz with his reading tempo. He looked about her age but was at the dmv alone. Of course he was, he was a boy. Not only a boy but a straight spined, neat haired, jazz percussionist and scholar. Everything about him seemed exactly the way it was meant to be.

Blank had not moved a muscle since her daydream began, she didn’t hear her mother’s number called or see her get up and leave, neither had she noticed her cd skip and begin again at the opening track. She was transfixed and completely at peace adding new furnishings to her inner world and taking old ones down, when He turned around and stared directly back at her. In a split second the rhythm was broken. Startled, she stood up and immediately left to find her mom, not looking up again until she was out of the room. Her mom was still behind the checkpoint area of the DMV speaking passionately with whichever poor clerk was assigned to her, so Blank saw herself outside. It was humid. The sun made the sea of asphalt surrounding the itchy government building sizzle, and in turn, made the building seem like an oasis. But she couldn’t go back in there, so she stood, not daring to sit and burn her thighs, and stewed in her disdain for reality, interrupting her interesting fantasy once again. She was about to replace her headphones when she heard the door open, she turned, and there he was.  “Hi”, he said, “my name is U.” Blank stared, well, blankly. “U? Your name is me?” She asked this half expecting him to flit away and poof into stardust in response. “Not ‘me’, U. It’s short for something or another, but you can really call me anything, I usually know when I’m being addressed. What’s your name?” “Well that makes one of us,” she replied, “I hardly ever know when I’m being addressed, that is, if I'm spoken to at all. My name is… Blank.” He laughed loudly at this. Loud enough to send color to Blank’s cheeks, she worried often about being too loud, the years of quieting had had their effect. “Blank!” He nearly screamed. “What a perfect name! I guess that means we’re both destined to fill in the rest, huh.” Blank felt exposed, she wanted to ask a hundred questions all at once, but every word fell short. She felt smaller than she ever had, and simultaneously yearned to fill out and overcome the space he took up; to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. “Yeah, I guess so, I don’t feel very connected to the name. What is a name anyway? It’s nothing but a word. It only means something if you decide it does. Well, not you, U, but me, Blank.” She exhaled. “I couldn’t agree more-” U began to say when Blank’s mom barged out of the DMV, clutched her wrist, and mumbling, told her to get in the car. “Wait but…” Blank almost protested but turned to see U had left. “Nevermind.” They drove off. Six weeks into sixteen Blank daydreamed less, but not never. When she did, it was of something vague and far away. A different world, a different life, a different body. This was rare though, she had learned that when she slipped away, the rest of her real life slipped with her. So, she stayed diligent, always remembering the straight bluntness of that boy in the DMV. She struggled to remember his name now. In an effort to forget her discomfort, she spent all of her time working, and this worked, some of the time. At the end of every day came the night and at the end of every night came the morning; this seemed, unfortunately, to be an unchangeable fact. Her life was far from glamorous, though not intolerable, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and it was the same thing that had been off since the first hush she received from an adult in her life. She wasn’t meant to be Blank. Her life was meant to be easy, full, happy. Her clothes were meant to drape effortlessly over her body and her voice; loud, clear, and unafraid. How could she feel this way, when all she had ever been was Blank and how could she put words to this feeling? Even if she tried, she would sound foolish and ungrateful. So, she let her hopes fall silent and kept moving.

Eight weeks into eighteen Blank graduated from highschool and was on track for college. She worked at her minimum wage job harder than she ever had in preparation to leave the town she had spent the last four years of her life in. Slowly, the hope started to sneak back in, and with it, came the dreams. She had more time to think than she had had in four years. Every morning, she woke up in search of answers. Some as simple as “Why do birds fly in a triangle formation?” And some as complex as “Why do I wish I could be a bird?” For many of her questions, she found answers but for more of them, she found even more interesting questions. As the summer wound down and fall approached, she found herself excited, even. She let herself imagine what college could bring and her fantasies ran wild. One week from the rest of her life Blank was filling up her tank on the road to the next place, alone, until she wasn’t. There, two pumps away from her and a little to the left stood a familiar silhouette. This time Blank wouldn’t wait to be followed. She walked up to the stranger and spoke clearly “Hey.” U turned around, “Oh hi, you.” He smiled brightly, looking nearly exactly the same as Blank remembered him. “I’ve been waiting an awfully long time, what was the hold up?” “What are you talking about?” Blank replied. “I met you once, all those years ago in the DMV. I honestly thought it was a dream. But here you are.” “Here you are,” repeated U. “But you’ve met me more than once, haven’t you?” Blank thought about this. Here she was, at a gas station in a dead zone, nowhere in particular, and here he was. She thought hard, and all the memories of her life since U were smothered in him, his mannerisms, his voice, his shirt, his exclamations. It was as if he was her very best friend. “You’re right,” said Blank. Or was it U who had spoken? Blank couldn’t tell now where she stopped, and he began. “Don’t forget, it’s you who gives your name meaning. You’re the author.” It was he who spoke that time. And every time after that. … I was looking for something. A long time ago, so long ago in fact, that even the idea of looking bobs at the edge of my memory, like a bottle at sea. Forget the object of my search. If the looking is a bottle at sea, then the object is Jonah in the digestive tract of a fish and I am not God, but jezebel, busy with the corruption of the most easily satisfied sex, and none the wiser on the location of God’s lost fidel. I’m out of breath from thinking, and from walking, although it seems I've just begun. And something else. I miss… viscerally, I want, tragically I need… What was it? You? Help me remember. I have been walking for so very long. Hundreds of miles. Thousands! I crave… myself? But how could I? I am right here, albeit beside myself, potentially with madness, but still very nearby. How is it I could be walking for so long and yet not at all and breathless yet completely still? And how am I here, which seems to be nowhere but all I’ve ever known. At least all I can recall. Let’s say it is myself I am looking for, hypothetically, then I’ve found myself and now all I have to do is be here and go forth. But say it isn’t. Then I've missed the point entirely, and I am utterly lost and abandoned by reason. Seems to me too great a risk to take. Then again, how do I know how this risk might compare to the biggest risk. It might be as significant as a white lie, a small gamble, or as great as murder. So, do I accept my purpose as found in what I’m assuming is myself, and not some ghastly possession, or do I wait and hope my memory loosens? I think it best not to wait since it seems my consciousness has only just awoken from what I can only assume has been a cavernous sleep.


The day after he graduated from high school, Christopher got in the sedan he had purchased – with no help from his father – and pulled away from his childhood home. He had already said his goodbyes to everyone he cared to say goodbye to. His anatomy teacher, Mrs. Senecal, had wished him luck and reminded him of her offer to call a colleague in Boston about a job. “No, you have done so much for me already. Thank you, Mrs. Senecal. I will never forget you!” The conversation played over in his head as he drove down the familiar streets, not looking back at the house he had spent most of his life in. He stopped at the intersection that marked the boundary that his mother had set for him so many years ago. “You can ride your bike all the way over to here!” She had told him once he had proven to her that he could navigate around the block without her following. “Just don’t ride past Cummings Street. It is very busy, and it can be very dangerous.” “Okay, mommy!” Christopher remembered how excited he had been, how grown he had felt, at the idea of having so much of the world to explore. Looking back now, he had no idea how small the little neighborhood really was. He finally looked back in his rear-view mirror, not able to see his father’s house any longer. With one last heavy sigh, he turned onto Cummings Street and made his way to the freeway.

The drive from Henderson, Nevada to Duluth, Minnesota takes about 26 hours. Christopher had planned his route carefully, made sure that he would have time to stop and train, and that each hotel he was staying in had a gym. He couldn’t afford to fly, but he also couldn’t afford to let the excruciating drive weaken him. He had promised his mother that he would win. “You don’t have to do this for me,” she had told him. “This was my dream, not yours.” She had looked so weak, then. Her skin was paper-thin and her eyes were almost always unfocused and cloudy. Every word sounded like it took more strength than she had to produce. “I’m going to win the race for you, mama. No matter what.” He had been eleven at the time, and had lived with his mother for two years in Duluth after she had found out about her husband’s second family and moved back to her home town. She had always talked about winning Grandma’s Marathon, especially after becoming a single mother and going back to the workforce with no real job history, taking a job at a local bookstore for just over minimum wage. The cancer hit her hard and fast, though, and she never got to run the race. Christopher didn’t realize the commitment he was making then, but he had learned from years of training. He had pushed himself as hard as he could, committed to winning in his mother’s honor. As he drove down Interstate 70, he listened to songs that they had enjoyed together, sometimes crying, and sometimes laughing at the memories; sometimes, he did both. The various small towns and cities he passed blurred by, barely registering to him as he continued north and east. He had planned his trip with plenty of time to spare, so he did not feel rushed. He stopped along the way at various places he remembered stopping with his mother, places that she had wanted to visit. He went to Arches National Park, stretching his legs and breathing in the mountain air that his mother told him reminded her of her childhood. He spent a few days in the White River National Forest, eating hot dogs and jogging through the trees and around the lake. His mother told him it was the most beautiful place that she had ever seen, and he agreed. In Omaha, Nebraska, Christopher jogged across the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge, something his mother had wanted to do but never made the time to. He stood in the center of the bridge, ignoring the irritated looks of some of the other pedestrians, and felt as though his mother was standing with him looking around, soaking in the impressive view. He stayed at Lake of Three Fires in Iowa, amazed at the stars at night. His mother had told him that she went once as a child, but her description didn’t begin to cover the beauty that he saw. He tried to take pictures, but even that didn’t fully showcase the vastness of the night sky, or how insignificant it made him feel. When he crossed the state line into Minnesota, he drove straight through, not feeling the need to spend much time in Minneapolis or any of the other towns and attractions on the way. He would be staying, after all, and would have plenty of time to enjoy all that the state had to offer. When he arrived in Duluth, he drove first to the small house that his mother had shown him a few times. “This is where I grew up. My best friend lived about a block away. We would ride our bikes together to the bay and watch the boats off in the distance.” She had loved her town but had married her father in college and moved away. Her parents sold the house and retired, but they passed away when Christopher was young. She came back here with him after the divorce, but never got to enjoy it or to truly start her new life there. He jogged down to the lakefront and watched the boats off in the distance. After several moments, he realized that the sun was going down and that he still had to make the three-mile trek back to his car. He wiped the tears that he didn’t realize had been rolling down his cheek and felt the warmth of his mother’s presence. The prize money for the race brought people from all over to the small lakeside town. He had been in Duluth for about four days and had already gotten a part-time job at the same bookstore his mother had worked at, as well as a room for rent in a house overlooking the lake. He felt his mother everywhere in the town, could imagine her riding her bicycle and swimming in the lake on warm days. He felt anxious, knowing that it would be near impossible to keep his promise to win the race, but was finally looking past the race for the first time since his mother had died. Win or lose, he finally felt at peace, at home. As he took his position at the starting line on the day of the race, he could not see anyone else – not the other runners, or the people who had come out to cheer, not the reporters or the volunteers. He only saw his mother smiling at him, all of the signs of her suffering gone. He smiled, stretching his legs, and feeling the warmth of his mother’s memory spread over him. As the starting pistol went off, he knew that he had kept his promise.


Usually, the sight of the Ferris wheel going up would bring me a great amount of joy. Even at my age, it still brings me back to that time of year that promises new beginnings. School would just be starting; I would have had a whole new wardrobe. I could reinvent myself. Granted, I just had my twenty-year reunion. But early September has been cemented as this almost new year, heralded in by the carnival going up in the giant gravel lot at the edge of town.            This year is different. This year I’m coming off the worst August I can remember. Which is why Corine is dragging me, practically kicking and screaming. She thinks it will be good for me to get out. I’m not feeling it though.            I don’t particularly care for being the third wheel, or in this case, the fifth wheel. But now, since Derek moved out, I especially don’t want to be tagging along with other couples. It makes me feel sixteen again, when I was the only gay guy I knew, getting dragged along on group things. On second thought, maybe this September isn’t so different.            Corine and her guy friend picked me up. Their friends were meeting us there. The plan was to go, play some games for nostalgia’s sake, and then go and get something to eat and maybe have few drinks. I did mention at one point that maybe we were getting to be, or already were, far to old for the carnival. Yeah, it was fun. But every year the crowd seemed younger and younger, and we seemed older and older. But what do I know? “Vince, stop. You’re coming. They have a beer tent, remember. Besides, how many people that we know did we run into last year.” “Ok, there’s that too. You’re just proving my point that maybe the carnival has run its course for us.” “I heard it was going to be huge this year. They bought out some other carnival company and they have so many more rides.” “And a beer tent.” “Yes, and a beer tent.” With that I tried to keep a happy face on. I wasn’t going to win this one. I would go, eat a hot dog, drink some beer, play some Whack-A-Mole, and take a cab home. Couples’ night would go on just fine without me if I ducked out early. When we got there and saw their friends waiting out front, I doubled down on my plan to take off early. I honestly can’t even remember their names now but the woman, who Corine knows from her job, kept talking to me in a soft comforting tone. It was getting dangerously close to condescending. Obviously, Corine told her about me and Derek. Great. I hit that beer tent pretty quickly. Corine’s guy friend came with me. Whatever, he’s a nice enough guy. We say guy friend, not to his face, because after all this time together Corine still can’t decide how serious she wants to be with him. Of course, I know his name, but we just call him Guy Friend. Actually, I do call him that to his face, but just Guy for short. I don’t think he likes it. Two beers in and we find the others shooting pellets at tin ducks moving in a row. They got smoked by a thirteen-year-old in the last round and were hell bent on beating him this time around. Where was that beer tent? Corine wasn’t kidding. This place was huge. We ended up having to park in a field across the street. The place seemed to have a pretty big draw. People from towns over seemed to be here too. Maybe it was the beer but I was all turned around. As we meandered through, playing different carnival games, dusk finally settled and all of the lights came on. This was my chance to duck out. We had passed another beer tent and so we all grabbed two, the most any one person could buy at a time. Corine and her friend ran off for the bumper cars or to ride something I didn’t have the stomach for. I’m not sure, I wasn’t really listening. Their boyfriends stood near the chain link fence in a smoking area to have a cigarette with their beers. “I’m going in the mirror maze.” I said to no one. Which was fine. I was the fifth wheel after all. And I love the mirror maze, by the way. And also, some of the other games we were playing. I’m not a total buzz kill. But it was difficult watching them be cute together. Derek and I would do cute things like this. I would win him stuffed animals. He would discretely hook my pinky in his. We would ride the Ferris wheel and kiss when we got to the top. But that was over now and it’s hard when the wound is still fresh. I thought maybe these beers would have helped take the edge off. Maybe they did a little. But goddamn they were mostly water, and expensive as hell. I took the maze slowly. Every so often, when I got to an outside panel, I would see Corine and Guy Friend. The first time she was craning her neck, like she was looking for me. Then she was craning her neck and pointing to a game stand with bright flashing lights. It was ok with me. I would text her when I get home. When I got out of the maze, I was actually on the other side of it. I think. Some of these stands all looked the same. I could see the Ferris wheel so I guess I could find my bearings if I tried hard. My group was off somewhere so I was good. I would just find the entrance and call a cab. But every time I went down one row, expecting to find the exit, I would just find another row. I figured I must be walking in circles. How the hell does a grown man get lost in a parking lot carnival?! When I came to the end of the row, I was in a makeshift square. There was a popped corn machine nearby, and a hot dog cart, and it smelled amazing. There was a crowd off to my left, gathered around a High Striker strong man game. Over the small throng I heard the mallet thud. The bell at the top dinged loudly and all the lights lit up. There was a cheer and the attendant was saying something in an excited voice. So of course, with my slight beer buzz, I went over to watch. I imagined a beefy off duty fire fighter, or maybe a football coach. Just because I was still mourning my relationship with Derek didn’t mean I was dead. And who knew, it might be a nice distraction. I wasn’t disappointed. The guy gripping the mallet was probably my age. His skin was the color of a summer working outside. He was in a t shirt and jeans, with his thin flannel shirt tied around his waist. The women were all smitten with him and his tight t shirt with the faded logo. The men were all looking cocky and maybe a little pissed that they were being shown up in front of their dates. He raised the mallet again with thick arms and brought it down hard, ringing the bell and the lights. And then he saw me. I looked away. My face and ears as red as the tent I was standing near. I wished I still smoked, if just to give myself something to do, to look distracted. When I looked back up, he had handed the mallet off to the next guy, who’s face betrayed his insecurity at having to go after him. He was still looking at me as he pulled his flannel back on and he smiled a small smile and started walking towards me. Oh my god he’s walking towards me. Of course, being at a carnival in a gravel parking lot, my first thought is I am going to get my ass handed to me for getting caught eyeing this guy. I looked quickly to see if his other large buddies were joining him from the edges of the crowd. They weren’t but I’ll tell you, my buzz wore off pretty quickly. He came and stood next to me. This isn’t real, I thought. This just doesn’t happen. I didn’t look at him, but stared back at the High Striker game and the guy trying his hardest at it. “You gonna give it a try?” Was he talking to me? Was he really talking to me? And was I really reacting like my sixteen-year-old self? Oh my god what is wrong with me? My sixteen-year-old self would have punched me in the gut and told me to grow up. I laughed, both at his question and at myself. “No. No I am not.” “Douglas.” He said and held out his hand. “Vincent.” I said. “Well, Vince. People call me Vince.” I don’t know why I lead with my full name. I never go by Vincent. Idiot. He had a small smile on the edges of his mouth. “Where are your friends?” “Friends?” “Yeah. I saw you earlier with a group of people. Did you get ditched?” “No, I ditched.” “You’re leaving? That’s too bad. I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab a beer at the beer tent. Maybe play some ring toss or something.” Seriously, who does this happen to? I was tempted to look for a tv crew, so sure that this was a set up. In all of my years as an out gay man, and even my years as a closeted gay man, this has never happened to me. Not one time. But this was a carnival, and it was supposed to be a good time. So why not. “Yeah. Yeah ok. Let’s play some ring toss.” I smiled. This felt good, to be noticed like this. I hadn’t felt noticed in quite some time, even before things ended with Derek. We started walking down a row of game tents, our shoes crunching on the gravel. Up ahead Corine and was coming out of another row of tents and lights, obviously now looking for me. She saw me and waved me over, not realizing this insanely handsome man was walking with me. “There’s your friend. Do you need to…” “No.” I said to him, but smiled at Corine. “They can go on without me.” I motioned with my eyes towards Douglas. She smiled as she put it together. She waved and they disappeared into a haunted house. As we walked, I saw the mirror maze again. And then the beer tent. And then the exit. I wasn’t lost anymore, but I wasn’t leaving just yet.


It was 7:45 in the morning, and I was already late for school. I only had fifteen minutes left to arrive, but it always took me around thirty minutes to walk there. The reason why I woke up so late was that my little brother Adrian was in a painful tummy ache all night, and, I was the one taking care of him. Our mom was already passed out on the couch, and I didn’t even want to know what she had for drinks that evening. Not that I ever want to know what she’s always up to when she goes out. I went to bed at 3 in the morning to find healthy snacks for my brother, who was endlessly whining and crying about his sickness and hunger. I only gave him a glass of milk and touched his hair for a while until he finally fell asleep. In a very uncomfortable position in his little bed with superhero figures all over, I dozed off. When I woke up 4 hours later, I poured a bowl of cereal for him and one for myself. I brushed my teeth, changed my clothes, and kissed him goodbye. ‘I’ll be back soon, little man,’ I said to him, trying to hide my worry, and rushed out of the house, almost running for my life. He just sat there finishing up his breakfast and gave me a vague smile. Our mother was still sleeping and snorting, not caring about her surroundings. Even running to the school, I made it 15 minutes late. I was already full of panic about what the teacher and director might say to me this time. I had a lot of absences and undone homework. I always said I was too busy and barely had any time when my family didn’t bother me with chores. ‘Excuses, all but excuses! How could a thirteen-year-old be so busy?’ said the director after proceeding to call a meeting with my mother, planning to tell her how I was about to fail eighth grade, but she never showed up. She never did.

The truth was that they didn’t know what I was going through and sometimes not even I was aware of it, and I couldn’t share everything that was happening at home. It just simply couldn’t come out. Ever had a knot in your throat that doesn’t let you talk and fills your eyes with tears? My first class was English with a young 30-year-old teacher from the suburbs that was very patient and kind. Miss Rivera was my favorite teacher of all, although most of the kids didn’t like her. As usual, I did not hand in my homework and refused to see her directly in the face. I was ashamed and disappointed, and she was too. The teacher didn’t say anything but called me out when the class finished.

‘Hello, Miss Marina. How are things at home?’ she asked. This time, I sighed and looked her directly in the eyes. I was tired, with baggy red eyes that explicitly showed my lack of sleep.

‘I’m okay, just sleepy,’ I replied.

‘You look like you had a rough night. Let me know if there is anything I can help with. I can talk with the counselor, to your mother, or any other family member…’ Miss Rivera said with a caring, preoccupied face.

‘It’s okay. Umm, can I just make the assignment for tomorrow? I know I haven’t done much but, I promise it’s not about being lazy,’ I said, trying to get her to understand a little without saying much. ‘Well… I wanted to show you something. I know you have missing assignments, but I wanted you to take part in this poetry contest, remember? I mentioned it earlier last month. The deadline is in two days, but I know you are a fast writer and learner. I was impressed by the latest poem you wrote a few weeks ago. It was very touching. Could you please take this sheet and submit your poem tomorrow or in two days?’

Overwhelmed and surprised, I nodded. ‘Okay. Thank you.’ Did she like it? She said she was touched. I know she congratulated me before, but she never said that to any student. I even forgot about that poem, but it felt great just writing and reading it. It was a feeling I’d never had before. I had so much homework to do for Math and Science class, yet I didn’t care. I only wanted to write this poem. I went through the day swallowing complaints about the rest of the teachers, except the Physical Education one, he was a frankly relaxed dude and I loved doing sports.

All I could think about was this poem. I didn’t want to fail this. Even if I didn’t win the prize, which I had no idea what it was, I wanted to at least write a line. Once I got home, there was nobody there. I took the poetry contest sheet from my backpack, grabbed a banana from the counter, and started reading the guidelines.

In summary: Poem with at least two stanzas, free theme, deadline: August 28.

‘Time to write!’ I shouted. It felt good to be alone. The house was very messy. Chairs tumbled down, pennies on the floor, empty bottles of alcohol that I didn’t see yesterday, and dirty clothes from my brother in the living room.

I went to an alert state, wondering where my family was. Was my brother safe? Did she take him to the clinic? I had no phone, no way to know.

I couldn’t focus on the house, so I went out for a walk to the park closest to home. I took my other mini backpack and put the poetry contest sheet, two pencils, an eraser, a Wonder Woman figurine, and a bottle of water.

In ten minutes, I arrived at the park. There was only one family with three kids on the slides and swings. I went straight for the picnic tables at the end, decorated with ceiba trees.

I took a deep breath as I sat down on the hard-wooden bench and saw my surroundings. My mind was tricking me again with questions like ‘Is my brother okay? Did something happen? I should be at home… I need to protect him.’ I shook my head, trying to make my overthinking mind go away and focus on the blank paper I had in front of me. What was this poem going to be about? I just started writing. Oh, mother, I don’t like it the way you look at me, the way you arrive home, the days that you do. Oh, mother, do you ever think how does it feel to be me, taking care of everything that you forgot to do. Oh life, when will you have a chance to take me out of this house, to give my brother a better life, to be free and alive.

It was already almost six in the evening when I noticed the sun was fading away, and I got worried my family would be at home wondering where I was and freaking out.

When I arrived at our humble home, they were already there. Mom was cooking some Mac and Cheese and white rice. ‘This is all we have for today, like it or not,’ she said to my brother, who was watching TV. She looked at me as I opened the loud front door, letting intrusive mosquitoes in.

‘Well, hello! Look who’s here! Where have you been, mija ? How old do you think you are to be wandering around, huh?’ asked fiercely.

‘Hi, mom… I was at the park doing homework.’ I replied while I greeted Adrian.

‘Aha! Your school backpack is in your room. Stop lying!’ she said, grabbing me by the arm and looking me in the eyes. ‘Speak’ she demanded.

I could feel the alcohol and nicotine out of her mouth. ‘Leave me alone, I took a paper to write poetry homework. Trust me!’ I begged for her to release me. ‘Please, mami.’ ‘Your grades will tell later,’ and she finally released me. I rushed to my room and hid the poem in my school backpack inside a notebook. I took a shower, ate the horrible sticky mac and cheese, played with my brother for a while, and went to bed early.

The next day, I woke up earlier and went to school before anyone was awake. I left a note on the fridge saying, ‘I will make you both proud. There is a contest announcement next Monday. Hope you can make it to school at 9 a.m.’ On this occasion, I made it on time to school. I was proud of myself.

The classroom was empty. Being 10 minutes before the class started was a blessing of not being bothered by the chaotic, loud classmates talking about video games and crushes on the new girl.

I never quite felt part of the group. It made me feel awkward to even just say hi to them. Nobody made conversation with me unless I was asked for a cheat sheet or to tell a humorless joke. Only the teachers would talk to me and honestly, I was okay with it.

When the teacher went in 5 minutes before, I handed in my poem.

‘Oh! So fast! I knew you could do it! Congrats, Marina. The details of the winners will be announced next week. Please try not to be absent.’ said Miss Rivera with a big smile on her face.

The next days of school were as normal as ever. I was very impatient to know the results of the contest. My brain jumped to the thought of the winning prizes I read on the contest sheet: the 1st place will win $100 and two tickets to the cinema, the 2nd Place will win $50 and two tickets, and the Third place, $25 and two tickets, too. Also, they were going to be shared in a National Education Newspaper. The following days I spent them playing with my brother, catching up on deadlines, and trying to focus as much as I could on my studies. My mom was barely at home, she said she found a job as a cashier in a local supermarket, however, I didn’t know if I believed her. She would come home without money or food and I had to improvise to cook simple and weird meals out of cheese, sauces, and rice. Thanks to this contest, I started to write in an old journal I had from two years ago. First, I started writing random stuff that happened at home or school. Although none of it were happy events, it felt good to write them down. It was a release. I didn’t want to stop writing.

The day of the announcement of the winners arrived. The whole school was gathered on the basketball court to announce the winners and upcoming events and contests. I wore two butterfly hair pins I found in my bedroom drawer which I loved, and wished myself good luck. I didn’t know if my poem was any good, my teacher didn’t say anything about it.

Miss Rivera stood in front of the audience, and I was shocked by her ability to talk in front of many people and not feel nervous. She started giving a motivational speech on how important it is for kids to be introduced to novels, writers and poetry. ‘It can flourish the inner self you didn’t know you had. It can heal, and it can make a positive impact,’ she concluded.

The third prize went to my classmate Javier, a smart kid who everybody liked. He went down from the bleachers to take his prize while each one of us applauded. The second prize went to a ninth grader named Amy. She seemed like she did not expect it at all. Her face was red like a tomato, and she looked like she was about to cry. I giggled a bit. We all congratulated her and shouted: AMY, AMY, AMY!

Miss Rivera started, ‘and the first winner is a very special student of mine. She was always good at writing even though she does not have confidence in herself, but her poem very well deserves recognition. The first prize goes to… MARINA DIAZ, from eighth grade!’ Everyone gasped and applauded loudly. What? Me? I was in shock. I couldn’t move. There were too many people. Do I have to go in front? The surrounding classmates looked at me and shouted, ‘Go! Go for it! What are you waiting for? Go get it, girl!’

Oh no, this is a nightmare, I thought! But I won, I should be happy. I put a shy smile on my red face and walked toward Miss Rivera. She embraced me with a hug and congratulated me, whispering ‘I knew you could win’. I said thank you and took my winning prizes with a big smile on my face.

I felt a rush through my whole body. I wish my family were here to see it. I wish they could see what I accomplished. The winners took official pictures with the teachers and director. I was already tired of smiling until I hear the voice of my brother from the back of the basketball court shouting my name and running towards me.

The physical impact of his hug almost made me fall, but I held tight and made my eyes full of tears. Especially, when I saw my mother walking behind him with a balloon saying I’m proud of you . It was time to get a new journal and keep writing!


A cool breeze filtered into the room through the half-open window. I puffed thoughtfully on my cigarillo. My partner, Conrad LeFontain, sat in the corner, reading something on his tablet. I was never much for them things; too much technology these days. “Mail call!” said a voice from outside.

“Howdy Perry,” I said, inclining my head to the lanky, middle-aged postman.

“Howdy, Walter, Conrad,” replied the postman, tipping his pith helmet. “You’ll never guess what happened today!”

Perry was known for telling tall tales, which most people thought he’d fabricated. Conrad and I knew better. Perry rarely just made stuff up, no matter how fantastic.

“What happened, Perry?” asked Conrad, sitting up in his aging recliner.

“Another hell-hole opened up on my mail route!” replied Perry excitedly.

“Great. Another one” said Conrad with exasperation. We were all the time having to close them things. “Where?” I asked. “It’s on McElwaine Way, past Dead Horse road.”

“We’ll take care of it,” I said. “You going to the class of 2008 reunion?” asked Perry. I cringed.

“Probably not,” I answered, taking another puff of my cigarillo.

“Why not?” asked the postman.

“I got my reasons.” “Well, I’ll be there, seeing as the wife’s a math teacher,” said Perry. “I figured as much,” I said. “It ain’t too late to change your mind,” said Perry. “Well, see you around... the bend.” “Good day to ya, Perry,” I said. Perry went off on his merry way.

“Well, we got a hell-hole to fill in,” said Conrad. We gathered up our equipment and put it in the back of our old jeep. I started the engine, and we puttered down the road to McElwaine Way.

“You getting any vibes?” I asked. “Yup,” replied Conrad. “There’s a dark energy vortex coming around this next curve.” This region had been prone to hell-holes since at least the late 19th century. It probably started with the supposed Corn-Man cult in Crooked Horn, just on the other side of the hills from North Fork. I parked the jeep along the side of the road. We got out and took our equipment out of the back. It didn’t take us long to find the hell-hole. The black circle opened in the forest floor, waiting for someone to fall in... or out. I sprinkled salt around the edge of the hole. Conrad then took out the holy water and tossed some of it inside the hole while praying in Latin. The hole slowly closed.

“Do you think anything got out?” I asked.

“Possibly,” said Conrad. “I’m still getting some dark vibes on the other side of those trees.” “Well, we better investigate that,” I said.

Conrad had a special power; he was able to see and sense things no one else could. His ability to see into the spiritual dimension has proven incredibly valuable to me throughout our partnership. He can pick up a trail of dark energy like a bloodhound. No one knows exactly how his powers work, not even Conrad. He simply calls it a gift.

I followed closely behind him through the forest. Given my unusual heritage, I too could sense things weren’t quite right. We came to a clearing in the forest that was marked off by police tape.

“Hello,” said Conrad.

We looked into the property on the other side of the tape. It was one of the little houses that one finds in these parts, with red, wooden siding. County Sheriff’s vehicles were parked along the road and deputies were coming in and out of the house. I saw Julia there, of course. She had blue rubber gloves on and was taking notes on a tiny notepad. Her long, sleek, black hair was in a bun on the back of her head as usual. I walked under the police tape. “Walter, what are you doing?!” asked Conrad. “I’m gonna talk to Julia,” I replied. “She gonna be pissed!” he warned.

“What else is new?”

“Deputy!” I called as I swaggered across the lawn to Julia, who scarcely looked up from her notebook. “What brings you out here on this fine September day?” Julia scowled at me. “Walter, what are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice dripped with annoyance.

“Just closed a hell-hole,” I replied, “How about you?” “What does it look like I’m doing?!” She’s cute when she’s mad.

“What happened here?” I inquired. “None of your business!” “Oh, Walter!” said Sheriff Donne, as he ambled out of the house. “I might need your help with this.” “Sheriff!” protested Julia, “he’s intruding on an official investigation!” “I’ll say when he’s intruding, deputy,” replied the sheriff. “Come on in, Walt. You too, Conrad.” The walls and floor of the small cottage were splattered with blood. Furniture, appliances, books, and other articles littered the floor.

“What the Sam Hill?!” I exclaimed. “Where’s the body?” asked Conrad.

“Follow me,” said Sheriff Donne.

He led us to the coroner’s van, where a body bag lay, waiting for transport. He partially unzipped the bag so we could see the face of the victim. His skin was pale; paler even than a dead body would be normally. His throat was sliced open with a knife. “I don’t see anything supernatural about any of this,” said Julia. “Julia, people don’t just up and cut each other’s throats around here!” said the sheriff. “Hmm,” I said, scratching my close-cropped beard. Something about this seemed familiar. What was it?

“This ringin’ any bells for either of you?” I asked. “Yeah,” said the Sheriff, “Can’t quite remember why. I’ll check the old case files and give you a call if I find anything.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Conrad and I started walking back to our jeep. My brain was flooded with memories from high school; the names, the faces, the terrible things that happened that sent me on the path I now trod. I was not going to that damn reunion.

I thought about the events of that day as we sat at the supper table enjoyed the beef stew my Ma made. My Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Mary Lou sat across from me. My cousin Katherine sat to my left, Conrad to my right. I ate my bread and stew in silence while Uncle Jimmy recounted something that happened to him in the Gulf War.

“You going to the reunion, Walt?” asked Uncle Jimmy.

I Looked up at him and swallowed a mouthful of stew “Nope,” I said, returning to my meal.

“Why not?” he pressed. I gave him an expression that was probably akin to Dirty Harry as he was asking a criminal if he felt lucky. “High school was a waking nightmare, Uncle Jimmy,” I said. “I’d rather it be forgotten.” “It can’t have been that bad,” said Katherine, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “Try going through what I go through every full moon and see how bad it is,” I said. “Try being a girl,” she retorted. “She’s got ya there, Walter,” said Ma.

“Turning a wolf is a great way to ruin a date,” I said. “I wasn’t aware you dated in high school,” said Katherine. “Katherine...” said Aunt Mary Lou, raising one eyebrow. She could say more with one eyebrow than most people could in five minutes of conversation. “We got any pie?” asked Conrad, changing the subject. “That we do, Conrad,” said Aunt Mary Lou. Aunt Mary Lou wasn’t the best cook in the mountain country, but one thing she knew was pie. As she was getting up to get said dessert, a melody emanated from my vest pocket. I took my phone out. “Walter, you know the rule about phones at supper,” said Ma. I went out on the back porch to take the call. “Ulric, paranormal private detective, how can I help you?” “Walter,” said Julia. “I think you were right about this.”

“Right about what?” I asked. Julia rarely admitted I was right about anything, so I needed to savor the moment. “The body... it didn’t have a single drop of blood in it.” “That’s not natural,” I said, making an understatement to hide anxiety. “I just... figured you should know.”

“You gonna be alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she replied. She wasn’t fine. “Well, gimme a call if there are any more developments.” “I will. Goodnight, Walter.” It was a Friday morning as the red sun rose over North Fork. Conrad and I had returned to the crime scene to find any more clues to the creature’s identity.

“This is a bad idea, man,” said Conrad, as I jimmied the lock on the old house.

“Look, there’s a monster loose in North Fork, and we're gonna track it down and send it back to where it came from,” I said. Conrad cleared his throat and tapped my shoulder. I turned my head to see Julia standing behind us. Her arms were crossed, her lip was curled. “I thought you two would come back here,” she said. She produced a key and opened the door for us.

We walked inside, carefully looking at the evidence. “Is there anything in here that could tell us what that thing is?” I asked. “Could be a vampire,” offered Conrad.

“Naw,” I replied, “Vampires don’t use knives, normally.” Father McKay’s ringtone started playing in my vest. I answered the call. “What can I do for ya, Steve?” given that we’d known each other since middle school and he knew I meant no disrespect.

“Walter,” he replied, “something’s come up. I need to see you at your office.” “I’ll be right there,” I said, hanging up. “Gotta go,” I said.

“But Walter, I need you on this!” protested Julia. “Conrad can help you, I gotta talk to an old friend.” The minister was waiting outside for me when I arrived. He was pale as a sheet.

“Steve,” I said, “You’re bleached!” “I know,” he replied. “I barely slept last night.” “Come in, you better have a seat.” We sat down in my office, and I reached into my desk drawer where I kept a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. The priest gladly took the glass.

“Now,” I said, “What happened that’s gotten ya looking like that?” “I saw... Francesca last night” replied Steve. My blood ran cold at the mention of that name. Francesca Kilkenny, “Franky” to us, was Steve’s high school sweetheart until she disappeared into the woods one day. We searched for days until someone found her. Except what they found wasn’t Franky. It looked like her and sounded like her, but it wasn’t her. She’d been replaced by something horrible. It would slowly drain the life-force of a willing victim until he was nothing by a husk. That nearly happened to Steve. An unwilling victim it would just kill. It was the first thing I banished to the dark dimension. It must’ve come back into our dimension through the hell-hole. Everything made sense, now.

“You’re sure of that?” I asked. “I thought I’d been seeing things when I saw her walking along the side of the road, but then I saw the news.” I took a sip of my whiskey.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Track it down, then I’ll probably have to put it down.” “You okay with that?” asked the priest.

“I don’t have a choice,” I replied. “That’s not Franky. It might look like her, but as far as we’re concerned, she died ten years ago.” Steve looked like he was going to break down crying. He’d been carrying the memory of what happened for a long time.

I put on my Sunday clothes. My hair was brushed, and my beard groomed for once. My revolver, loaded with silver bullets, was nestled in my shoulder holster. I topped it all off with my best suede jacket.

“Where are you off to?” asked Katherine.

“High school reunion,” I replied. “I thought you weren’t going.”

“Changed my mind.”

My boots clunked on the front steps of Julia’s place. The door opened, and there she was, her dark, Shawnee hair was all braided and dolled up. She wore a pretty floral dress and a nice pair of boots. I stared at her longer than I probably should have. “What?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “You clean up good, Julia,” I replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Probably the first time she complimented my appearance. We got in the jeep and drove to the high school. Conrad sat in the backseat. “What makes you so certain it’ll be at the reunion?” asked Julia. “Vibe,” said Conrad. “Conrad’s rarely wrong,” I added, pulling into the nearly packed parking area. “Stay here,” I said to Conrad.

“Dude!” he replied. “You didn’t go to high school in North Fork; what are you supposed to be? My date?”

With that, Conrad consented.

Matilda Wankle, my old math teacher, greeted us as we entered the gym.

“Oh, hello Walter, I didn’t think you were coming!” she said.

“Well, I changed my mind,” I replied. “Julia, I didn’t think you were part of the class of 2008,” said Matilda.

“I was a year behind,” said Julia, “but I couldn’t let Walter go alone.” “Isn’t that sweet,” said Matilda. “Well, y’all have a good time there.” “Thanks, Mrs. Wankle,” said Julia.

The place was packed with old school mates. Some of them waved at me or gave me a high-five; some just nodded. Most looked at Julia. The DJ played 3 Doors Down as we mingled. “Okay, what now, Walter?” asked Julia. “We watch and we wait,” I replied. “Howdy, Walt!” said a voice from behind. Perry Wankle stood there in a blue blazer and a Hawaiian shirt; his standard attire for such events.

“Didn’t think you were coming to this shindig.” “Ma changed my mind,” I replied.

“Well, help yourself to some punch! Made it myself!” I took the punch glass from Perry. It smelled peculiar. “Perry, is this...?” “White lightning?” said Perry, quietly as he could. “You didn’t hear it from me.” And away he danced. It was an open secret that Perry owned a still, but the sheriff turned a blind eye.

I scanned the crowd again. Then I saw it. It was talking to Barton Baxter, formerly the captain of the football team and my arch enemy. Barton waved at me and smiled that idiotic smile. I approached them, with Julia close behind.

“Howdy, Baxter,” I said.

“Ulric, how’s things?” he said. “Still chasing shadows?” “Yep,” I replied.

“You remember Franky, right?” he said, gesturing its direction.

“Hi, Walt,” it said, looking at me through evil eyes. “Hi, Franky,” I responded. “How’ve you been?” “I’ve been well.” It had a predatory look in its eye. “I don’t think you know Julia,” I said, trying to act natural. “Hi,” said Julia, “I was a year behind the rest of y’all.” “How much did he pay you?” jeered Barton. I thought maybe he’d grown up since school. He hadn’t.

“Excuse me?” said Julia.

“Well, you didn’t just come here with this wacko,” replied Barton.

“You got something to say, Baxter, just say it,” I said. My eyes were like daggers. “Are you implying that I’m some kind of call girl?” said Julia, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m not implying anything,” said Barton, putting his hands up. “Listen, buster,” said Julia, “Who I go out with is my business. Walter didn’t have to ‘buy’ my time. All he did was ask. I said yes, because, unlike you, Walter is a gentleman.” Barton Baxter stood there in stunned silence. The thing that looked like Franky had wandered off somewhere, unnoticed. Julia took me by the arm and dragged me to the punch bowl.

“Where’d she go?” I asked. “I didn’t see,” replied Julia.

“We’ll have to find her again,” I said, downing a punch. I’d need it to get through the evening.

“We should split up,” said Julia.

“That’s what it wants,” I returned.

“Walter, I’m armed, we’re in a building full of people, what’s it gonna do?”

Julia went to another area of the gym, I searched the crowd again. Then my eyes met it’s. It was across the gym from me, near one of the hallway doors. It gave me a wicked smile and its eyes turned black. It beckoned to me. I walked slowly in its direction as it disappeared down the hallway. We were alone in the hall. My hand started to reach for my gun.

“What you did wasn’t right, Walter,” it said.

“Not from where I’m standing,” I replied.

“A girl’s got certain needs,” it said.

“You’ve killed folk,” I said, “Nearly drained the life outta Steve, and you expect me to just let you walk?” “Walter, I’ve been just so lonely these last ten years.” It walked a little closer to me, seductively. I froze. I couldn’t bring myself to move.

“Get back!” Steve stood behind me, holding a crucifix. His shout was enough to break the trance. I drew my revolver, but the thing bit my hand. The weapon fell to the ground. The creature pushed me into the wall and pressed its lips against mine. My will was broken. I could feel my life-force draining out of me. Before the next new moon, I’d be a shell of the man I was; another victim. A shot rang out. Then another. The thing slumped to the ground, dead. Steve stood nearby, holding my revolver in his shaking hands. He dropped the weapon to the ground and fell on his knees.

I heard Julia’s voice telling everyone to stay calm. She busted into the hallway, Glock drawn.

“Are you alright?” she said, returning the gun to her purse. “We will be,” I replied, placing my hand on the minister’s shoulder.


A friend of a little girl’s her older sister rode her bicycle over to their house. They were playing in an apple tree, climbing from branch to branch, higher and higher in the apple tree, talking and laughing together. The little girl was too short to climb the tree. Her big sister picked an apple and tossed it down. “Here’s an apple you can eat.” But the apple was green. The little girl felt hurt that her sister would tease her like that. And she felt sad and lonely that she couldn’t play with her big sister, two years older, and the friend of her sister, who was two more years older.            Then her older sister and her friend climbed down out of the apple tree, and the little girl felt happy and hopeful that maybe she could play with them. But they made plans to go back to the friend’s house. The little girl begged to come because she wanted to play with her big sister and her sister’s friend. “Sure,” said the friend, deviously, “if you can keep up with us.”            The friend hopped on her bike and rode just fast enough for the big sister to run and walk beside her. But the little girl’s legs were short, and being two years younger, she could not keep up with her big sister and the big sister’s friend, who was riding the bicycle.            “Wait for me!” the little girl cried. She was all out of breath from running.            “I told you that you would have to keep up with us,” replied the big sister’s friend. “Besides, we’ve got to get away from the boogeymen. You’d better run faster too, or the boogeymen will get you!”            The little girl didn’t know what a boogeyman was, but when she looked behind her, to her horror, she saw two men in green uniforms with guns at their sides. She had seen men like that go by her house before and hadn’t been afraid. But these two men were ‘boogeymen’ and they were out to get her, and they were walking faster than she could run.            The big sister and her friend were out of sight, because they had turned on to the street where the friend lived. The little girl was all alone now and she was sobbing as she tried to run as fast as her little legs could go. “I just have to make it to that friend’s house before those boogeymen get me!” she said to herself. So, she kept going when it felt like she couldn’t run another step and finally made it to the big sister’s friend’s house without the boogeymen getting her.            The mom of the big sister’s friend, saw that the little girl was tired and had been crying. She invited the little girl into the house, sat her at the dining room table, got her a nice cool glass of water, and asked her why she was crying.            The little girl sniffled while she drank some water. She was feeling embarrassed that she had been crying, but she had been so scared…. So the little girl told the mom why she had been crying.            “Your little girl came over to our house to play with my big sister. I wanted to play too, but they climbed up the apple tree, and I can’t reach the branches yet. They threw down an apple for me to eat, but it was green. When they finally came down the apple tree they decided to come here to play. I begged to come along. They told me no. I begged some more and finally your little girl said I could come, but that I would have to keep up with her riding. The sun is really hot out and I ran as fast as I could to keep up, but every time your little girl saw that I was catching up, she rode a little faster. The white road is hot and dusty. My feet hurt, and I couldn’t breathe very well. My big sister can run faster than me, and I got behinder and behinder. Then your little girl told me that the boogeymen were going to get to me if I couldn’t run any faster. When I looked behind me I saw two men in green clothes and they had guns. And I was scared that they would get me cause I couldn’t run any faster.” The little girl started crying again. She was so tired and afraid. “All I want is to play with my big sister and your little girl.”            The mom called her little girl and scolded her for being so mean. “You are grounded for two days. You may not leave this house to go play with your friends. You will go to your room right now, young lady!”

The mom scolded the big sister, too. “You know better than to tease your little sister about being gotten by boogeymen when you know full well that there is no such thing. You go into the living room and find yourself a seat until my husband comes home from work, and he can take you both home. No reading books, either.”            That night I could hardly eat any supper. I was thirsty and asked for seconds on a glass of lemonade. And I was unusually quiet.            “What’s wrong?” Mom asked me.            The I started crying. “Mommy, what is a boogeyman?”            “Why there is no such thing as a boogeyman. Who told you there were boogeymen?”            “Becky and her friend, Pam, said that there were boogeymen behind me and that they were going to get me if I couldn’t run any faster. And I saw two men behind me and they had guns, and I was so scared. I tried to run faster, but Pam rode her bicycle even faster and I couldn’t keep up with them, and I finally couldn’t even see them anymore. And I was all alone, and I was so scared!”            “Come here,” said Mom. She set me on her lap giving me a comforting hug. Dad said, “Go to your room right now, young lady.” He went to get the paddle to give Becky a spanking. Becky cried crocodile tears. She knew if she cried hard enough she would stop getting spanked. But Becky wasn’t at all sorry for what had happened. Sharon always wanted to play with her and Pam, and she was such a nuisance. And after Dad told her she was grounded for two days, Becky thought to herself, “Pam is grounded for two days too, so we can’t play together anyways. And giving that green apple to Sharon and running ahead of her and teasing her about the boogeymen was so much fun—I’d do it again in a heartbeat!”


Violet had been staring at her dressing room wall for a little over an hour contemplating her uncertain future. All of the theatrics had become so ordinary to her to now. She finally became numb to all of the excitement. Her heart had grown cold, the light within her had gone out. Everything seemed just a little darker now... "Are you almost ready Violet?" Violet's mother asked "I'm coming... I just needed a minute" said Violet.

With only a few minutes left till the show started, Violet rushed through the empty halls and down the winding stairs. After she grabbed her whip she ran to find her place on the crowded stage. Violet felt a small sense of relief when she was once again next to her closest friend Misha (who just happens to be a lion). Although Misha couldn't speak, he always knew just what to say to Violet.

The time had come for the show to start. Just like clockwork Violet's father snapped his fingers to start the show. Within just a few moments the strings of lights were lit, The clowns began to laugh, the band began to play, the monkeys clapped their hands, the elephants took their stance, the lions began to roar and the curtains were parted to reveal this grand façade  … After hours of entertaining, the show had come to it's end. When the crowd finally left, the real work began. The Arden's went through their same routine. The same one they had followed day after day and year after year ever since Violet was born 18 years ago.

The Arden's were an unusual family. There was Violet's father Jenson, her mother Rose, her older brother Silas, her younger sister Sawyer and then of course Violet who was the middle child. Each and every one of the Arden's had a gift!  Jenson is a natural leader and thrives under pressure. He was in the military before starting the circus. So it doesn't come as a surprise that he is the ringleader. Rose is full of beauty and grace. She went to school for ballet but became an aerialist when she was expelled for day dreaming during rehearsal. Silas loves to make people laugh and is practically a comedian. He is the leading clown. Sawyer has a love for flying and has been training to be a trapeze artist since she was 3. She is now 8 and has almost mastered the art. Violet is fearless and tends to prefer animals over humans. She is the lion tamer and cares for the other animals as well.

Everyone had their place. Or at least it seemed that way... "Bye handsome. I'll see you in the morning Misha!" Violet whispered to Misha as he drifted to sleep. Violet made her way back inside the stadium. She knew she had to tell them tonight. She had been holding this secret in for too long. After wandering around the stadium for a few minutes she finally found the rest of her family doing what they always do after a show. They were gathered around a fire while their father played the violin and their mother told them stories from when she was younger. It was a picture perfect moment. What a shame it had to end. "Mom, Dad. Can I speak to you alone?" Violet asked in an awfully serious voice. "Sure honey! Silas, Sawyer will you give us a moment?" her mother answered. "What's on your mind?" her father asked. " I don't really even know how to say this... I, I just don't think I want this life any more. I don't think it's right for me." Violet said. "Oh honey, is this about last weeks show? You didn't make that big of a mistake. No one even saw you fall!" her mother said in an effort to comfort Violet. "No. No. This isn't about that... I just want to explore other options outside of the circus. I know it's the family business but I am just not as into it as Silas or Sawyer." Violet said.  "My dear. If you want to take a break because you're tired just tell us. How about we go on a family vacation next week? We don't have any more shows until next month. That will get you out of this funk that you're in." her father said. " I am not tired and I am not in a funk. I just don't want to do this anymore." Violet said with tears in her eyes. " We don't understand what you're saying Violet. Can you be a little clearer?" her mother asked.

" I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE CIRCUS MY WHOLE LIFE! I HAVE DREAMS AND AMBITIONS. I KNOW THE CIRCUS IS YOUR DREAM BUT IT ISN'T MINE AND I CAN'T KEEP PUTTING MY LIFE ON HOLD FOR YOU. IS THAT CLEAR ENOUGH?" Violet yelled.

In shock of their daughter's outrage Violet's parents fell silent. Not another word was spoken the entire night. The Arden's just watched the fire as the flames grew dimmer and dimmer till the coals were all that was left.

Violet woke up early the next morning to find all of her belongings packed in suitcases and next to them was 2 envelopes. The first envelope contained a letter that read " Dear Violet,

We couldn't have asked for a better daughter. You have filled our lives with joy from the moment we laid eyes on you. To us you will always be our little girl. But we see now that you have grown into a very beautiful and strong woman. We're sorry. We should have noticed sooner. We should have listened to you.

While we would love for you to stay with us forever , we know it wouldn't be fair to you. Your father and I have talked things over and have come to a decision.

We want you to have as full a life as possible. Even if that means letting you go. You will find all of your belongings packed and ready for your next adventure. There is also a 2nd envelope which contains enough money for you to travel to whatever corner of the earth you wish to and you'll still have enough to buy a ticket home if that is what you wish.

We have taken your sister and brother out for the day. We figured it would be easier this way. We know you tend to be very selfless, so we didn't want your decision to be altered by one of Silas' jokes or Sawyer's puppy eyes.

We wish you the best my dear. We will always be here for you whenever you wish to return. Now go ahead. Chase after your dream. And when you finally catch it, don't ever let it go. Love, Mom & Dad"

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she picked up her things and headed down to the train station. Turning her back on the only life she had ever known.