“Today’s the day I change.” I sipped coffee and clinked the cup to the saucer. “Uh-huh.” Michael’s eyes never left the page of his financial magazine. The glint of light from his gold wedding band danced as he turned the page. I bit my lip, rubbing the blue cloth napkin between my fingers. I needed to tell him; tell him it was time. Tilting my head, I studied his features, his long aristocratic nose from his great grandmother, his full lips I longed to kiss one last time, and his slender fingers. Oh, those fingers knew their way around every crevice of my body. I shivered and throbbed as I remembered his touch from just the night before. He let his hair grow out over the last few months, styling it upward from his crown in kinky, curly twirls, just the way it was when I first met him four years ago. I longed to go back in time, to experience his eagerness to see me when he came to the door. That first kiss, the breathless desire that percolated between us.

Twisting my mouth sideways, I tapped my fingers on my coffee cup. Hmmm. How should I approach this? “How about a slice of lemon meringue?” I got up and opened the refrigerator.  My thick soled loafers swooshed across the tiled floor. “Huh?” Michael glanced up, then back to focus on whatever was so important in that blasted magazine. “No thanks, Honey. Save me a piece for tomorrow.” I sliced into the yellow and white dream, licking my fingers after flopping a gooey mess onto my plate.

Tomorrow? If only. As I carried the plate to the table, I froze in place, watching my thumb swirl a gelatinous purple hue for a second before regaining its brown structure. Exhaling, I made it back to the table in one piece. Staring at the deliciousness before me, my mouth watered. I hoped it was saliva as I wasn’t quite ready. I savored each bite of the pie. Each forkful lingered in my mouth, against my teeth. My tongue tasted the tangy lemony goodness. This was the day, there was no getting around it. If I didn’t complete my task tonight, there would be no more todays. But what of Michael?

Michael didn’t know, didn’t know what was to come. He couldn’t. Will there be acceptance or rejection? Will he be happy for me? For us?

He will always be a part of me, two souls as one. I felt a trickle down my cheek, ending at the crease of my lips.

What’s this?  My finger wiped away the salty offense.  This was supposed to be a glorious occasion, one I’d been looking forward to ever since I met him. Putting the plate and fork in the sink, I lifted my head to see my reflection staring back at me in the window, thankful the darkness hid the ugly brick wall of the neighboring building. If I don’t do this now, I will never do it. All would be lost. Taking a deep breath, I stepped in front of Michael and put a hand on the top of the magazine. “What’s up, Honey?” His dark eyes held the question longer than the echo of his words. “Michael, you know I love you, right?” I put the magazine on the table. “Of course.” I took both of his hands in mine, pulling him to stand facing me. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

His brow furrowed, searching my face. Then his face brightened with a wide grin. “Are you…? Oh my God, are we…?” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “Oh, no, Michael, no.” I exhaled and pinched my lips together. His shoulders drooped and my heart sank too, pondering for only a second what kind of offspring we would create if it were possible. This wasn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I cleared my throat. “I’m changing tonight.” “Changing? Changing what? Your hair?” He began to turn away, obviously not understanding what was happening. I grabbed his hands and held tight. “Michael, this, what you see, is not me.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, it’s me, but not the full me.” “The full you…what on earth are you talking about, Alana?” He scrunched his face and tried to pull his hands from mine. I didn’t let go. “Alana, you’re hurting my hands.” “I know. It will hurt initially, especially if you fight, but it’ll all be over soon. I don’t want you to suffer.” “Don’t want me to suffer!” He tugged harder. “Alana, let go of my hands!”

The pain in his eyes made me uncertain I should do this. If I didn’t, I could not survive. My mind whirled with thoughts of my life without him. Could I find someone else? Who did I know that I could bond with now? To fall in love with and make him or her a part of me, within hours? Minutes? No, not time.  There was no one I wanted to spend my life with more than Michael. He was my life, my essence. I needed to do it now, with someone I loved, someone who loved me, with Michael. My hold softened. I wasn’t paying attention and Michael freed himself from my grip. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I hoped we could have been in a warm embrace, his lips touching mine as I transformed. His dark eyes longing for me, his groin pressed against mine. “Michael, please don’t resist.” I pulled his hands to my chest and grabbed him around his waist, swaying his body with mine. “Alana! Alana, my god, no!” He pushed against me. A futile attempt. My skin felt heavy. I lifted my hands and found them marbelizing into a purple, brown goop. Michael recoiled, his eyes wild and frantic told me it was happening. I was changing, and Michael was horrified. The venom was swift. It reached him before he could take another step. My long thin glutenous tongue lashed out within milliseconds, reaching its target.

He careened backward and collapsed to the floor, his head bouncing off the tile. Stunned, he groaned but was motionless. My venom saw to that. My emptiness intensified as I melted down, my solid structure, gone. I slid across the floor, my body a silky mucus reflecting light across the kitchen. My length increased.  A ball of deep purple reached his left foot, encasing it.

Michael’s scream bit into my core. The venom I gave him should have numbed his body completely. He was strong. I had to work quickly. I didn’t want him to suffer. I slipped myself over him, his pulsating body vibrating mine, exciting me into a frenzy to take him fully. His strength allowed me to form my right hand. I touched his cheek, caressing his open lips. His eyes filled with terror. I gasped goo as I watched his face go lifeless before we became one.

My body pulsed and squished during absorption, my edges squeaking the tile. Unsatisfied, I rolled over and continued to digest and soak up his energy. I waited for warmth and fulfillment to come.

Wasn’t it supposed to be immediate gratification?  I had only one chance at this!

Where was his affection for me? My shriek vibrated the walls, knocking over several glasses in the cabinet. Purple-green droplets hit the floor. The ache inside me intensified and the emptiness returned.

How could I have been so foolish?  I needed to take him in a passionate moment. Instead, he was repulsed, disgusted by my conversion. Gelatin flattened, turning green as I spread across the room. A thin bubble sprouted from my body, popping, and expelling my last breath.                                                                 #


ROMANIA’S PROPOSALS Romania had wished for a proposal this Christmas. All her high school friends were already married and had started their families, and she was tired of being the professional bridesmaid or wedding arranger. She dreamed of the day she would walk up the aisle with Sam Rogers, but somehow, he seemed to see her as a good friend. They had spent countless special times together but, he seemed unaware of her love for him. Romania had dated a few men over the past two years, but none of the relationships seem destined for the altar, at least so she thought. Apart from Sam, there was James an astute businessman who spent most of his time at the office and, when on dates, on his phone. Then, there was Terry, the boisterous, humorous guy who always made her laugh and could move the clouds away on a cloudy day. She loved being with him but felt he needed to be a bit more balanced. He didn’t know the meaning of the word serious. Alex was a fitness instructor who kept her on track to maintain her fine figure but, would she have to be constantly looking over her shoulder every time she went to the refrigerator? He was so particular about the types of food she should eat, and how often she should snack.! And finally, there was Nathan. Nathan was fun, cool, and romantic, but he was a spendthrift with no thought of tomorrow. So, here she was seven days before Christmas, wondering if she was going to end the year singing Celine Dion’s “Another Year Has Gone By” to her ever- present teddy bear. The guys had all asked her out to dinner that week so, at least her schedule did not shout loneliness. She would make the best of it and forget about her musings. Dinner with James was the usual, and she wondered why he had bothered. His attention was so focused on the phone and constant business calls that he did not even enjoy the beautiful and cheerful songs played by the band. Was she surprised then, when during desert, he handed her a beautifully wrapped tiny box. “Thanks James”, she said as she gave her gift in exchange, thinking that a pair of earrings was just what she needed. But much to her surprise, James put aside his phone as she opened the gift and asked, “Will you marry me?” Shocked at the question, Romania hesitated then told him she was not sure about it. Seemingly a bit disappointed, he agreed to give her time to consider as he answered another call. Well, that was enough for her to make her decision! Her next date was Terry, and what fun she had as they sang along with the carolers, took pictures with the snowmen along the way and bit into juicy burgers (Terry’s favorite). When they arrived at her door, Terry jokingly reached for a twig of mistletoe from his pocket, hung it over her head and kissed her. “Christmas will be truly the best for me”, he said if you’ll agree to marry me”. Dazed, she wondered if Santa was playing tricks on her. Did he really hear her plea for a husband? She knew however, that Terry was not her choice and she told him she only considered him as a very good friend. “Ouch”, he said, but his disappointment quickly disappeared as he returned to his old bantering and kissed her good night again. Well, two proposals in one week was a record she thought, but when Alex proposed to her the next night, she could not keep silent. “How can one girl get three proposals in three days?”, she asked. He was taken aback at the question and, after some discussion about the proposals, asked about her choice. Of course, that was easy. No! She wanted her moments of cheesecake and chocolates and fun! She did not tell him her thoughts though. She just said she would rather they remain friends. It was more difficult for her the next night though when Nathan proposed openly at the mall. Singers came from every area of the mall singing “Will you Marry Me” to a Christmas tune, as he knelt on his knees and proposed to her. Everyone waited with bated breath for the “yes”, but she hastily took his hands and lead him to a corner to explain how great a guy he was but was not sure about marriage to him at this stage. He was crushed but said he would not give up. On Christmas Eve, Sam picked her up to take her to her favorite restaurant. She wondered if Santa’s proposal surprises would continue! During the meal, an announcement was made for a special song dedicated to her from Sam. As the song ended, the singer approached their table and handed Sam a tiny gold box. Sam then knelt as he opened the box, while Romania watched on in utter disbelief. She could hardly believe the words she was hearing. Sam was asking her to be his wife. He was telling her how much he always loved her and how he wanted them to be together forever! She felt like pinching herself to ensure it was real. Without a second thought, the words four other men had hoped to hear that week came out without hesitation! “Yes”, she said. “I will marry you”, as he slid the diamond ring on her finger. A loud applause resounded through the restaurant. For a moment, she had forgotten there was any one around and as they left the restaurant holding hands, Romania knew that the next wedding she would attend was her own. The air was crisp, the carolers were singing, children were shouting as the songs of Christmas filled the air; but Romania was in her own world, with Sam right beside her. She would finally be the bride, and not the bridesmaid. The lights seemed brighter, the carols sounded sweeter and she truly felt that she had gotten the best gift for Christmas. She was going to be Sam Roger’s wife! Mrs. Romania Rogers! Her wish had come through! Carolyn G. Philip


Nathan Wassum and I have been dating for 7 years now. We're what you'd call high school sweethearts. Ever since we met I knew he was the one. Since we've both graduated college I think it's finally time we... you know (saying it is a little embarrassing). I spent so long figuring out the best way to ask, the best place, the best ring, the best material. I know it's not conventional for a woman to propose to a man, but come on, it's 2020, who's conventional anymore?

Anyway, I finally settled on throwing a cookie exchange party and inviting all of our friends. None of them have any idea what I have planned! It’s going to be the most magical moment of my life. Sure, Nathan has his flaws, but who doesn’t? Plus, in the words of my mother, “do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance". It was a tradition in my household. I want my moment to be perfect. I decided that separate to my plate of home-made cookies, that I would make another batch, making sure that it turned out perfectly, just for Nathan. To make him feel special you know?

It was a half an hour before the party and I’m sitting in my living room waiting anxiously for my love and my friends to show. Not even 20 minutes later, they started to stream through the door, one by one. Nathan was the last one in as punctuality was never really his strong suit. He looked at me lovingly as he hung up his coat, he always ramped up the theatrics around others. He gave me a sweet kiss and thanked me for setting this all up. My best friend David shot me a look. Then he said exactly what I knew he would. “Ew. If you two were planning on being all cute the whole time this should’ve been a couple’s cookie date.”

I laughed. “Davie you act like you aren’t like this with Mark around all of us.” He sighed. “Yeah you’re right… And I would be right now if he wasn’t away in Barbados. Ugh businessmen. Hate to love 'em.” He slouched back in his chair, daydreaming about his husband.

There was a long moment of silence as we all looked at David with jealousy. His relationship with Mark is the definition of true love and there wasn’t a single member of our group who wasn’t at least a little envious of their love, even those of us in relationships of our own.

Lina stood up with force, jingling the bells entangled into her hair. Definitely the most jolly-merry person in the entire world with the exception of Santa himself. “OK. Enough relationship stuff. It’s Christmas! And this is a cookie party, not a Saturday girl’s night out! Let’s bust out the cider and stuff ourselves with cookies!” We let out a unanimous amen, and the party has begun. We all set our home-made cookies on the table, set up the other snacks I pressed play on my Christmas music playlist, and pulled out the card and board games. Throughout the night we played dozens of rounds of Pick-Up Sticks, Poker, Black Jack, and other games, while happily eating everyone’s cookies. Nathan kept losing, which he didn’t like very much. He’s the biggest sore loser I’ve ever met but it really brings out his competitive fire. “You know what? I’m tired of playing. I’m done. Let’s watch a movie or something. This blows.” His cheeks were red with frustration. “Not so good at being a good loser huh? Loser. Hahaha!” David giggled.

“Oh shut up!” said Nathan, obviously irritated. I decided that was my cue to deescalate the situation. “Come on Davie don’t make fun of the man, he gets really invested in these games.” I turned over to Nathan making sure to smile. “Hey baby, it’s ok. You can’t win all the time.” I addressed the group next. “OK. I’m gonna go get some food while you guys choose a movie to watch. Anyone want anything?” “Oh yes! Can you get me some more cider please?” Said Lina. “Ummmm I guess I could always have more chips, OH! You’ve GOT to make some popcorn while you’re at it!” David winked.

“Ahaha you’re right-” I turned to my boyfriend, “And anything for you?”

He looked at me. “Five cookies.” He said grumpily. I sighed and headed to the kitchen. Finally I had some alone time to go over my plan. While I gathered the snacks the group asked for, I snuck upstairs into my room where I was hiding my surprise. I had to be extra sneaky, I didn’t want to spoil my magical moment. I came back downstairs and made sure the arrangement on the tray was perfect. Making sure there was enough popcorn for all four of us, making sure there were enough chips in the bag, that the cider was warm but not tongue burningly hot, and making sure that the five cookies were the best and the most special ones. No matter what this was going to be my perfect, magical moment. Down to the smallest details. I brought out the snack tray, set it on the floor in front of where the group was watching Christmas Carol , definitely Nathan’s choice, seeing as it is his favorite Christmas movie of all time. Everyone mumbled a thank you, obviously invested in the story. I watched Nathan take a bite of the perfect cookie and I knew it was time for my moment. I paused the movie. “Guys? I have something to say.” “Ugh don’t say you don’t like this movie. It took us ages to settle on one” David said. He looked at me as though the movie selection had destroyed his mental energy. “Your little hubby over there wouldn’t agree on any of our suggestions” He rolled his eyes and Nathan looked at him tiredly. I spoke up. “Um speaking of hubby… Nathan, I have something I’d like to ask you” I stood up and he followed my lead. I took a huge deep breath. In and out. I could do this. I could ask. I was about to make this the most magical moment. “Nathan, we’ve been dating since junior year of high school, and although we’ve had our ups and downs, although we’ve had plenty of fights and disagreements, we always pulled through in the end. I couldn’t imagine being in any other relationship” It seemed like Lina had caught onto what was happening. Her face had suddenly lit up and she looked like she was about to explode. “Nathan Wassum,” I knelt down. “Will you make me the happiest girl in the world and-”  I didn’t even get to finish. Nathan grabbed my shoulders, pulled me up to my feet and kissed me. He looked me straight in the face and said “Yes.” Lina screamed with excitement. I was completely speechless. My magical moment. It happened. My mother would’ve been proud.

After a quick round of congratulations and a cup of cider to celebrate, we finished watching the movie. After everyone had left, I started cleaning up. When I brought all the dirty dishes to the kitchen, I looked over at the plate of special cookies I made just for my love. My now fiancé. I smiled at them, thanking them for being the excuse to gather everyone here. I went to sleep that night, satisfied with how the day had gone. Moving forward, I would get to reap the joys from my magical moment.

**** It’s been 8 days since the party. I woke up this morning excited to start the day with a nice cup of coffee and the morning news. I sat down on my couch and turned on the TV. “ Welcome to New York Morning News. Today is Monday, December 28th, 2020, and it is chilly outside at 46 degrees Fahrenheit. This morning we have some devastating news to share with you all. A man by the name of Nathan Wassum passed away last night, reportedly while out at a restaurant with a group of his coworkers… ” I dropped my cup. I stared blankly at the screen while the reporter continued, “ ...police suspect that he was poisoned. Eight grams of arsenic was found in his blood stream when paramedics performed a test… ” I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I turned off the TV and took myself to the restroom.

I gazed into my eyes in the mirror, and a smile crept onto my lips. The words of my mother flitted through my head. “Do it while you’re still young, or you’ll miss your chance.” and I did. I did it mother. Are you proud? My perfect, magical moment. I thought back to my special cookies, just for my dear, and thanked them again.

The End.


“If you don’t do it then you can’t hang out with us anymore.” “What? You're kidding.” “No, I’m not. If you don’t complete the dare then you’ll die.” … “Fine.” * * * 8 hours earlier * * * “Hey, Josh!”

“Hey?” “We’re having a little get-together later tonight, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join us?” “Wow, really? I can probably come, who, where, and when?” “Does it matter? I’ll be there… But it’s at Daniels house around seven.” “Oh, Daniel’s house… Okay, I’ll have to ask my mom. Do you think I could bring Sam?” “I think Daniel said only one more person, and I chose you. Also, It’s a sleepover .” “Uh, okay… I’ll let you know what my mom says.” “Okay! See you later, Josh.” That was Julia, one of the popular girls. She’s got dark hair and hazel eyes, like me, and a beautiful smile, not so much like me. She’s friends with the 8th-grade guys here at Hickory Grove Middle School. We used to be close in elementary school, but when we got to middle school she started hanging out with the older kids which made her very popular among our grade.

Anyways, I’m Josh, if you couldn’t tell. I’m in seventh grade and would not consider myself popular. I hang out with the “nerds” who don’t actually do anything except play video games, but I love video games too. That Sam kid I mentioned is my best friend. He’s pretty shy and has a weird sense of humor, other than that I think he’s awesome.

“What was that about?” “She was asking if I wanted to go to a party with her.” “Actually? What’d you say?” “Well, I said I had to check with my mom first, which reminds me.” I pull out my phone and text my mom, “going to a friend's house for a sleepover tonight, be home in the am. <3” “Dude, if we can go to this, do you know how popular we’ll be?” “Oh, Sam, I forgot to tell you, I asked if you could come and she said there was only room for one more.” Sam pauses his excitement for a moment. “Well, that’s alright. I can just stay home and play Dragon Slayer 3, which I think I’d rather do anyway.” “What do you mean? You don’t want to go?” “Well, I do, but I’ve heard things about 8th-grade parties… They do stuff.” “What kind of ‘stuff’?” “Ya know, like the kind of stuff you can’t tell your parents about.” “Just tell me already.” “Like…” Sam looks around to make sure no one is listening and then whispers, “alcohol.” “Sam, I can always just say no.” “I’m not too sure it works like that, Josh.” The bell rings. “Oh shoot, you made me late for class! Mrs. Wertz is gonna kill me.” Sam starts running away, “I’ll catch ya later, and if I don’t, then you’re telling me all about tonight over some games tomorrow.”

“Okay, see ya!” What the hell does Sam mean by, “I’m not too sure it works like that?” Of course it works like that, I choose what I do. I look down at my phone and see two messages; “okay, have fun, love you” from Mom, and “Come in through the back door tonight ;)” from Julia. *** I throw down my kickstand and leave my helmet on the handlebar. I catch a glimpse of a shiny blue something in the bushes next to me. I start to peek inside the bush when I hear someone harshly whisper my name. “Josh!” I snap my head to where the voice came from. It’s Julia peering around the corner of the house, waving her hand, signaling for me to come over to her. I look back at the bush, but she calls for me again. “C’mon!” “Okay, okay,” I whisper back to her and run across the yard. “What are you doing out here?” “I was… huh, I don’t remember. Come on inside!” She opened the door to the basement. There were a lot of people, and by a lot, I mean at most twelve of us. Everyone was just hanging out on the couch, except for the two boys playing ping-pong, Tyler and Peter. “Heyyy, what’s up John?” says Daniel, walking over to me. He holds out his hand, I reach out to meet it and grasp it firmly.

“It’s Josh, but nothin’ much, is this everyone?” “Nah, we have like four more coming.” “Alright.” “You want something to drink?” “Uh, sure, what do you have?” “Oh that reminds me!” says Julia, waving her hand before bringing it to a fist, “Damnit, I’ll be right back.” She bolted back out the door.

“We have some sodas if you want to get one, they’re in that fridge over there.” Daniel points over to a small refrigerator in the corner of the basement. “Okay, thanks.” I walk over to the fridge, open it up, and grab a coke. As I’m cracking it open, Julia comes back in through the door carrying a large blue crystalline bottle. “So that’s what I saw,” I say under my breath.

“I got it!” “Yesss Julia! Bring it here.”

Julia walks across the room, all eyes crowding on her as she hands it to Daniel. He takes it and unscrews the cap. “Jack, could you grab me a cup?” he says, turning to me. “Name’s still Josh, but sure.” I grab a red solo cup off the table and hand it to him. “Now this is where the party begins!” Daniel yells, he pours some of it into his cup and then takes a sip. “Here Jake, have some.” “No, it’s Josh.” “Whatever, take a sip, I dare you.” “I’m fine, thanks.” As I finish saying this, the people around me all gasp. “Josh, you can’t back down from a dare,” Julia piped in. “What do you mean? Sure I can.” “It’s just water,” Daniel continues. “Oi, I’m not an idiot.” “Oh right, you’re a nerd.” “No, I’m not.” “Prove it, take a sip. If you don’t do it then you can’t hang out with us anymore.”

“What? You're kidding.” “No, I’m not. If you don’t complete the dare then you’ll die.” I sit and stare at the bottle. The group bursts out laughing. I look up at Julia who now has tears in her eyes, laughing at me. “He’s joking Josh. You’re not gonna die,” she says. “Fine. I’ll do it.”


The starry bright night skies painted across the hillocks loomed forebodingly. A sudden shrill crowing pierced the silent atmosphere. Within seconds the dusty old grandfather clock decided to start working. Letting out a loud ominous strike at the stroke of midnight. A presage of all that was to come. The inhabitants of the house, a elderly farmer and his wife, began to stir. She put her hand gently upon his shoulder as a gesture to see what all the hubbub was about. He patted her reassuringly before dropping his feet down towards his night slippers. Still sleepy, he staggered down the narrow hallway and into the living room. The pendulum of the clock was still swaying. The kindly old man opened the glass door and began to examine the mechanics. Nothing seemed functional. Puzzled he scratched his head, searching desperately for a rational explanation. His answer, or what he had presumed as an explanation, came when a rumbling shook the house violently. With a sigh he turns back towards the hallway and makes his way into the master bedroom. She stared at him with peering eyes. He rubs her cheek gently before kissing it softly. Older Man/Farmer: Go back to sleep honey. There's a nasty storm coming. I'll stay awake and keep vigil of the news and wake

                    you if something was to arise. Which I assure it won't.                     Either way, I got you. You are safe with me. She smiled softly and lay her head on the pillow. The man tucked her in and sat for awhile until she fell asleep. Then proceeded to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. Shakily he reached up into the cupboard to grab a cup for his instant coffee. The lightening flashed vividly. Followed by a huge grumble of thunder. This startled him greatly. He fumbled the cup in his hands trying his darndest to not drop it. Older Man/Farmer: For Pete sakes... With a huge sigh of relief he was able to recover the cup safely. He turns on the faucet. Distractedly, he began looking out the kitchen window towards the elder tree as his cup overflowed.

Older Man/Farmer; Dagnabit! Come on, Walter, get it together! After emptying the excess water he placed the cup into microwave and pressed the start button. Still curious about the grandfather clock he moseyed on over into the living room and began to shake it. It clanked. Not at all like the sound that he had heard. This pendulum was dull. Too dull, in fact, to make that new symbol like sound. The microwave then began beeping. He grabbed an oven mitt and removed the cup of water. Slowly he added a few scoops of instant coffee before giving it a stir with his spoon. He rinsed the spoon off and placed it back into the dish drainer. His wife didn't have to know. For the longest moment he sipped his coffee staring out at that old tree as the lightening flashed in the background. The began to pick up tremendously. Yet, there weren't any severe storm warnings. The wind howled angrily. Then came the loud thumps of large hail. He tossed his coffee aside and rushed to his wife's side. He scooped her up from the bed side and began running for the shelter. The wife was completely unaware of what was happening as she was being woke from a deep slumber. Older Woman/Farmer's Wife: Walter! Walter! What on earth is going on? Older Man/Farmer: There's a tornado coming.

She buried her head into his chest fearfully. Once outside the wind was so strong it was practically blowing them over. A loud, angry shrill of wind pierced the atmosphere. Looming off in the near distance was the tornado. He managed to rush to the cellar beneath the tree. He opened the doors and ushered his wife in then closed the door. You could hear her yelling his name. He hobbled over to the clothes line and ripped the tattered rope from the posts. Glancing over his shoulder he could catch a glimpse of the massive dark cloud barreling towards them. He knew there wasn't enough time for himself so he started wrapping the rope around the cellar knobs repeatedly with tears in his eyes. He could hear the desperation in his wife's voice as she pounded on the wooden doors and pleaded. Older Woman/Farmer's Wife: Walter! Walter! Please, don't do this!

He held onto the doors as they shook uncontrollably. A limb then smacked him across his face. Grasping the branch with a elongated plume of red berries he place it to his chest and began to pray. Older Man/Farmer: To the elders of the Earth and Heavens,

please, keep my wife safe. Watch over her. Please. Debris began flying all around. He crouched desperately into a fetal possesion. Clinging to both the door knobs and the elderberry branch. The winds whipped him around violently flinging him into the tree fracturing his spine. As his head thrashed back and forth rigorously against the tree trunk causing severe head trauma. Once the storm had come passed the woman shook the doors furiously trying to escape. Desperate to rush to her lover's side. She fiddled with an old coat hanger then began to tediously undo the matter knot. She burst free only to be met with a grimm scene. The house was demolished. All that left was a slab. The rare tree that Walter beloved was uprooted. Debris littered the yard and there underneath a sheet of tin was Walters body. He lay there almost perfectly. Still holding the elderberry branch across his chest. The newly widowed woman wept many tears as she lay her head upon his chest. A sudden burst of wind blew the branch catching her attention. She removed the berries from the branch he held and place it down into the hole where the tree once stood. Crawling on her knees she gathered up mounds of dirt to fill in the hole. Then watered it with her tears. Not just of sorrow, but of thankfulness....thankfulness to the forty-three years of amazing memories that they had shared together. As she lay on top of her deceased husband sobbing a neighbor was making his way across the field of debris. The look of complete and utter shock bestowed upon his face when he reached the widow. He pulled her from the body and tried to console her. He walked her passed the newly planted patch of land.

Neighbor: I'm terribly sorry for your loss. That damned tree was cursed. I'm so glad to be rid of it. Stupid ecologist, or whatever they are tried to say I couldn't remove that tree because it was endangered and the authorities would be involved. So, I did the next best thing and moved way out yonder. It's such a tragedy. This was a wonderful community full of wonderful people. I swear to you, mam, it was that gosh darn tree! The forlorn woman sniffled and sobbed, but had a puzzled look upon her face. She paused a minute with great hesitation before responding to him. Elderly Farmer's Widow: My husband absolutely adored that old tree. I do not blame the tree for it was the tornado that had taken my husband. May I ask why it is that you are so taken aback by said tree? What harm has it done upon you personally? The man took off his cap and held it to his chest before waving it towards a nearby tombstone that stood in a once family owned cemetery.

Neighbor: My daughter, Maggie, she killed herself. I found her face had cerise patches, and they were on her hands as well. She lay right there. Against that tree. She had consumed multiple handfuls of elderberry seeds. We were told they weren't poisonous. Them berries would just give you a major stomach ache if you ate too much during the morning hours. She died holding onto a branch from that very tree. The elderly woman stood putting her hand across her mouth and she began to tremble. The coincidence were unsettling, but she was trying her best to not let some superstitious curse take hold of her mind. A loud shrill echoed through the silence. The coroner arrived and began placing the farmer's body into a bag before whisking him away. There were multiple ambulances and EMTs attending to injured people. You could hear the chaos buzzing through the air, from the roaring of the sirens to the screams of children, and even those who were grieving. The elderly woman refused medical care. Her only concern was drudging through the rubble for her and her late husband's belongings. It was like something came over her. A wave of anger shrouded her as she shredded her hands ragged looking for their things. Bloody and bruised she screamed in emotional agony. She was becoming frantic, and people were taking notice. A kindly tree-trimmer stopped what he was doing, and put down his chainsaw. Tree-Trimmer: M'am, what is your name? Elderly Woman/Widow: Sue. My name is Sue. I can't find it. I need to find it!

Tree-trimmer: Okay, Sue, my name is Tom. What exactly are you looking for? Maybe I can help you. Elderly Woman/Widow/Sue: My photo album. It's all I have left. It has to be here. I already lost my husband, my house, my car... I can't lose that! With a nod Tom, the tree-trimmer, began searching for her beloved album, but after tireless searching it was nowhere to be found. The woman was absolutely devastated. The man comforted her as best he could. He picked up his chainsaw and begin to resume cutting limbs. Then there was something that stopped him dead in his tracks. A picture of his late father. He burst into tears. Sobbing while holding the photograph in disbelief. Sue, whom was still franticly searching, when she heard a loud cry that caused her to stop, and see where the crying was coming from. She noticed that the young man, Tom the tree-trimmer, was sitting on a log that was cut from the elder tree crying. She walked over to have a seat next to him. Tom the tree-trimmer: My father loved this tree. I hadn't noticed that it was this very one. I was only twelve. My dad wanted to build me a tree house. There was an accident. He died still clinging onto a branch from this very tree. I never did find the photo he kept in his right front pocket.

The tree-trimmer handed the woman a photo a young father holding his infant son. It was old, tattered, and slightly stained with tree sap. The woman gasped and briefly told the man of her story and that of her neighbors. Both of them were in sheer disbelief, but what happened next was astonishing. He began to fumble in a hollowed out hole in the tree. Tom the tree-trimmer: What other secrets are you hiding, Mr. Tree? He grabbed ahold of large object with smooth ridges. It was Sue's photo album, and stuck to the bottom was a ring. The ring belonged to her neighbor's late daughter. They both decided to take the ring back to the rightful owner. He broke down in tears, and decided to put the curse theory to rest. Together they carved, crafted, and painted an ornate bench. Then they had a metal plack with all three names attached in the benches center.

It read: In loving memory of the three wisdoms of the tree.

Leaf Wisdom/of change ever lasting: Laura Michele Birch.

 Branch Wisdom/of growth ever reaching: Walter Alan Conkrite.

Root Wisdom/of endurance ever deepening: George Robert Stanton.


The sun was particularly harsh today but the pickles seemed happy and bubbly, yawning as I opened the lids of their jars to spread them out. Their cheerfulness rubbed off on me too. The secret consignment of mangoes that I had received that morning was also partially responsible for my joy. It had been raining for days on end, a spell that made one wonder if the sun had somehow been extinguished by a gutsy gale. But it had now returned and brought along with it the hope of father's return.

He had been gone for a month now. Clearly, the celebrations must have extended beyond her birthday, as they usually did except the two times my siblings had died. Those years had been quiet. I hope father hadn't landed on one of those. For all its magic, the court astronomer was yet to fix the year selection on his machine. At least it got the day right. I couldn't bear to think what would happen if he landed on the fateful night of my mother's death. It had been one of my recurring nightmares, which was strange considering I had lived through it. *** I can't forget the screams that pierced through the air as my mother fought to give birth to my baby sister. A few hours later, she fell quiet. The life drained out of her along with the blood. And along with the four promises she made him make, it seemed like she took father's spirit away too. The burial was harried and not something a empress of her stature deserved. But that's all I could arrange for. My father had locked himself up in his chambers and over the next year, all we heard of him were shrieking cries. Only his trusted aide was allowed to bring him food--a simple fare of rice and lentils that he would have scoffed at earlier.

The day he emerged from his hiding, he was a mere shadow of the man. His disheveled hair was a shock of white and his eyes dug deep into their sockets. He looked like a madman, bent at the waist, dressed in tatters with eyes that flitted about in all directions. The first day he held court, he couldn't form a coherent sentence and whispers of a dethronement reached me soon enough. That's when I jumped in. Acting on his promise to my mother to build her a mausoleum, I took along the court architect to visit him.

Over the next 18 years, architects and artistes were commissioned from all over the world to help complete a piece of paradise, as my father put it. I saw, built before my eyes, a marvel in white marble. I saw the joy returning to my father's face as he disinterred my mother's remains and had them placed in a place he had painstakingly selected. I also saw how it took a toll on the royal coffers.

But it was a sight to behold. The poets wrote verses on its beauty and the sick said it healed them. The rich said it humbled them and the poor said it gave them hope. But to me, it was only a pretty looking, expensive building that had kept my father distracted. In hindsight, I hoped that he had instead had the time machine commissioned to meet his beloved wife. Because within a few years of the mausoleum's completion, he felt gravely ill.

For my brothers, it was excuse to claim the throne which is what they did. To my dismay, the brother who won the battle, was someone I had always disliked. True to character, he had father placed under house arrest immediately, under the pretext of his treatment. Over the next few months, I nursed him back to health but he was never welcomed back to the palace.

That was when I learnt to sneak in father's favourites for him. At first, it was just medicines and fruits that he needed but was denied. Later on, I could bring in people without anyone suspecting anything. The guards hated my brother anyway. And it was one such evening, during a party with secret guests, that my father wished that he could travel back in time. The court astronomers, each a scholar in their own right, took it on as a challenge. Four years later, we had a contraption that could traverse the waters of time. I had tried it first but due to the anomaly, was thrown to a birthday when I was a mere toddler. After having my parents fuss over me for weeks, the return home was disappointing to say the least. My aged father had shrunk further with worry about my return. But once I had ascertained it was safe, he could wait to climb in and go. This was his third trip.

*** The room with the open roof was empty, as I had kept it since my father's departure. Landings were never his strongest suit. The last time he was visiting mother, he had spent the whole time there tending to his injuries. But she had been happy to see him keep yet another promise--that of being there by her side on every birthday. The day was darkening and the mausoleum appeared to be a blush pink. I was just about to start lighting up the lamps when I saw a glimmer in the sky which grew and grew until it hit the room's floor with a terrifying thud. I couldn't immediately rush in because the astronomers had warned us of contamination but as soon as the warmth of the landing subsided, I went in running. Father was in a really bad shape. One of his eyes was closed shut by the grotesque purple swelling and the gash on his lips was bleeding. His face was a mask of pain and terror and for the second time in my life, I was sure I'd lose him. *** That night I smuggled in an army of medicine men, who tended to his injuries and tried to bring his temperature down. But by the time the first light of morning broke, father was sound asleep. When he woke up that night, he was still a man possessed. While his eye and lips were in a much better state now and he didn't have fever, he was a study in worry. I sliced up some mangoes and brought it to him. When even the yellow flesh of his favourite fruit couldn't bring him out of his misery, I knew something was amiss. Perhaps he had landed on one of the bad years and couldn't return due to the clouds. But no amount of prodding yielded answers. At some point, we both dozed off, staring at the monument that shone like a pearl under the moonlight. "I didn't do it. I'm not a barbarian! I didn't do it!"

I was jolted awake to father's screams and had to shake him into consciousness from whatever nightmare he was stuck in. Even when he sat upright, he seemed like he was still far away. When he did look at me, it was with the pained expression of a man lost. "They have made me into a villain, daughter," he cried.

"Who, they? Brothers?"

"No the people of tomorrow. They think I was a cruel ruler," he was now sobbing. I had never seen my father break down this way. Even when mother died, his grief had been private. For a few minutes I didn't know what to do. Who was he talking about? Was he slipping into the madness again? The royal coffers wouldn't entertain one of his whims to build again but perhaps it will put him in a good mood. "Father, I'll call the architect tomorrow. We'll build something even better than the mausoleum," I offered. "No!" his face was a raging red now. He got up from his bed and stormed over to the window that overlooked the monument, started at it for one full minute before shutting it off and returning to bed.

I couldn't believe what I had just seen. Ever since he had been imprisoned here, at the fort, he had insisted all windows facing mother's mausoleum be kept open at all times. I had shivered through several winters because of this. Something was seriously wrong.

The next time he looked up, his bloodshot eyes motioned me to sit next to him. "Father, please tell me what happened on your trip…did you land on the year of mother's death?," I jumped at the opening, determined to find for myself. "Worse. I was thrown into a time yet to come," he whispered, searching my eyes for reassurance.

"The future?" I gasped, "Can the machine do that?"

"Yes, I went ahead by centuries. It was a world I didn't know, people I didn't know, places I didn't know," he shook his head.

"You could have asked for the mausoleum. It must have been around?" I half ask. "Daughter, it was around. But it was surrounded by rude, angry people who wore weird shoes to walk on it. They smiled and laughed and ate all around my beloved's grave. Do you know I'm placed there too?" "How can that be? We are building one for you. God forbid when it's your time to go, that will be your resting place. I'll ensure that," I offer, completely forgetting he had seen that it wasn't to be. But he didn't tell me that. Instead he continued to recount the horrible things he'd heard there. "They call it a 'building', as if their's are better. Theirs are nothing in comparison, daughter, that's why they paid to see mine. Yes, paid, but with paper. Can you believe it?" I couldn't but I could see he was getting worked up. I began to get up to offer him water, but he pulled me back down needing to share every last detail lest he forget. "There were so many people milling about there, daughter, and here in our house too, right here" he looked around. This I found creepy but he continued. "And they weren't our people too. They weren't our descendants and yet there were some people who were telling our story like they knew us. Do you know what did they claim, daughter?" I just stared back.

"They claimed I had cut down the hands and gouged out the eyes of all the architects and engineers and workers who had worked on creating the mausoleum," he shrieked, his voice quaking with rage and defeat. *** When morning broke, we were still sitting next to each other, unable to move. He couldn't forget what he had seen and I couldn't fathom it.

If what he had said was true and our legacy had been tarnished like this, surely it would be a shame. My first thought was to inform my brother, the emperor, our captor. But drunk on power and blinded by the throne, he'd think it was a ploy to distract him.

By afternoon, between supervising the meals being cooked for father, I had decided to go to the future myself to find out why people thought what they did. But father was scared of the machine now and it would be a while before he agreed to let me go. It was finally in the evening, as I went around the fort, lighting the lamps, with the mausoleum a dim gray behind me, that I had an idea. I couldn't let a monument decide the course of our legacy.

"Father, I have an assignment for you," I announced in a chirpy voice that betrayed the fear I felt within. "I want you to narrate every last detail of your life to me". "Why, you already know everything," he dismissed. "I do. But now I want to write it for the people of tomorrow".


“I thought you told me he came from Poland.” “No, Austria technically. They were close, and when he moved to a part of town primarily inhabited by Polish immigrants, he went with the flow, easier, safer. His village was close to the border, they spoke the same language, easy default.” “Yes, but then it was not true. Claiming to be from one country when you are from another, seems fraudulent. Why couldn’t he just say he was from Austria?” “I don’t see what difference it makes. Where you are from, should have nothing to do with who you are, or who you want to become. Why do you think people from certain origins all settled together. It was not just the language, food, customs, it was also the security. Look what happened to the Japanese during the Second World War, they lived in close proximity, were citizens, and yet they were rounded up for being supposedly, a risk to our security. So, we took theirs. Even when you band together for safety, it doesn’t necessarily mean you are going to experience safety, but it helps. Race also has a lot to do with it, but you know that. Grandpa, as I recall from all the pictures, was from a region where nationality didn’t really make a lot of difference. Survival was the means to the end. “If he lied about his origins so he could fit in, how do we know he didn’t lie about all sorts of other things?” “Why would it matter. Did what he had to do to belong, have a detrimental affect on you? Did it impact your life, other than provide a substantial benefit financially and ethically to your life. People often hide things, or minimally don’t expose them to scrutiny when it doesn’t matter. Prejudice comes in all forms. I’m not saying you should lie about your origins, but I don’t see why you’d want to put them on a billboard for the whole world to see. None of their business. You should be judged on who you are, not what they believe you are.” “I get all that. I just have to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we aren’t what we think we are, who we are. Doesn’t that bother you? Would you lie about your origins to fit in?” I know her. If I continue to feed her insecurity we will be here all night talking in circles until one of us, probably me, looses patients and says something I’ll regret later. Best to not continue to kick a dead horse, it isn’t going to get up and go back to living, just because you think it should. I find the whole origin premise, as to who you “Probably are,” disingenuous. We are all from someplace. Why does it matter where? It all comes down to not knowing people unlike ourselves. We tend, for better or worse, to not trust what we don’t know. We are inclined to fill in the blanks in what we don’t know, with what we want to be there. We invent lives for people, because it is easier to do, than get to know them. That would take incentive, initiative, a willingness to prove ourselves wrong. I just don’t know a lot of people willing to look for something, they may not like when they find it. I spent some time in the South. Being from the North, I have my own built-in presumptions. They are passed down to us. The osmosis involved in protecting yourself and community from what we don’t know. I lived in a community, where anyone different was suspect. It is a survival mechanism built into our culture. We traveled far less, than we do now. Most children grew up and stayed in the same neighborhood. It was not that it was expected, it was never questioned. It was just the way things were. I escaped. I say escaped, because that is what I inadvertently did. I hadn’t even realized I was escaping at the time. Didn’t realize that until I was exposed to the differences in cultures, societies, and their acceptance or distrust of anyone not of their social family, that I was complicit in the continuance of presumptive speculation. It is simply a means to survival. Empathy is more easily applied when you have experiences that parallel those in a similar situation. My first induction into this new reality of society and culture, had primarily to do with race. There was little divergence in the social networks of the time, so you grew up being indoctrinated by those around you, whether you wanted to be or not. It came with the territory. Until you are able to get away and look back, you have no reason to question the indoctrination, or its implications. I had two diverse experiences that I will always remember. The first being, that getting to know one person, singular, of a different social and racial background, is appropriate. They may even become a friend. But if there are more than one, plural, beware. “They are probably up to no good, and will cause you harm.  Don’t trust them, they ain’t your kind.” My second lesson was when an elderly woman asked me, “Where you stayin at Honey?” I was working with a relief program at the time, and was involved with differing social settings, predominantly shared by people who looked similar by race or culture, and different from me.

I went on to tell her where I was staying, and why; she looked shocked. I thought at first I had offended her in some way, but she quickly put me at ease. “You shouldn’t be stayin down there.  That place is full of crackheads and whores. You need to stay over at…” and she went on to tell me where it was safe to stay, in her opinion. I realized then, that she, despite our color difference, was my grandmother. She didn’t have to be concerned with my wellbeing, but she was. Not because she had to be, or it was expected, it was just her being a good person I believe most people are, given the opportunity. How do we change the distrust associated with stereotypes, and see the trees, not just the forest? I believe the only way it will ever be possible, is for us to come out of our societal cocoons and get to know one another. I know that sounds simplistic, but I know it works. Painting everyone with the same brush is easy, it is our choice of colors that is difficult, but also the most rewarding. I was in Washington DC, not long ago, apparently on the wrong side of the tracks, when I was stopped by a two guys leaning up against an old car. I didn’t think anything of it, there were people standing around visiting, everywhere. One of them said, “hey, you.” I stopped and looked at them. Then one of then said, “You shouldn’t be here. Dangerous place for people like you.” People like me? The first time I realized, I was “a people like me.” Then the other one says with a smile, “you know we all bleed the same color.” It wasn’t until later I understood. Presumption, prejudice, affiliation, and many other labels that are applied when trying to fill in the banks, aren’t adequate, no matter how hard we try. When we assume we are the only ones that know, we are making the biggest mistake, of ours and other’s lives.


I was dreaming about something, something that I didn’t know. Something far, far bigger than myself. Or maybe I wasn’t dreaming of anything at all. No, no. That’s not right at all. I was definitely, or at the very least, likely, dreaming of something. But then, maybe nothing is, in fact, far bigger than myself. Bigger than any of us, really. In that sense it is entirely likely that I was dreaming of nothing. But not nothing as in nothing. Nothing as in a vast space of darkness. I suppose darkness is some type of something then, even if it is entirely empty. I know I was sleeping, or at least not conscious by any means, when I began to hear a voice. It was less like a voice than what we know a voice as, such as words from a human mouth, and more like the voice of a calling of fate. Fate speaks in tongues. There I was, floating, if floating is what you do in nothingness, at least I was doing something similar to floating, when I started to hear it. I turned my head in one direction, then the other. There was nothing around me. But in a sense everything was around me at the same time. I managed to turn my entire body. But it wasn’t turning anywhere. It was like my eyes were able to see in every direction at once. I could hear the voice but it wasn’t coming from any direction in particular, it was just there. Like when you talk to yourself in your head. Is that where I was? In my head? Had I managed to implode into myself? If I imploded into myself, then I would be nowhere at all. Was it my own voice I was hearing? I tried to call out. “Hello?” No sound escaped me. I was entirely silent. Everything was entirely silent, not even ringing in my ears. Except for the indistinct voice calling me. Possibly my voice. It sounded as if I were under water and somebody from the surface was yelling for me. But not yelling, more like talking. Yes. It was like I was on the floor of the ocean and somebody was having a conversation on the surface. I opened my mouth to yell out again, and again no sound escaped me. I almost expected water to fill my lungs. It didn’t. I looked around me again, my eyes seemingly the only part of me that could move. Around and around they went but there was nothing for them to see. Suddenly, as if an earthquake had hit me, not around me but actually hit my body, I felt something around my arm. It was warm, soft, and gentle. But the feeling of it was like my body went entirely through an earthquake. Almost as if I was the earth. As if I were crust, mantle, and the outer and inner cores. I sat with it, only for a minute, that thing wrapped around my arm. Or maybe it was two seconds. Or an eon. A decade. Or five thousand years. It was a hand, that warm, soft, gentle thing wrapped around my arm. I tried to hold it, to grab it, to place my hand on top of it. I was frozen. I felt my eyes open and I was weightless. I saw the universe flash before my eyes. Every inch of it, and I was flying through it. I was on the sidewalk and a woman, gentle and kind, was holding onto my arm. She was knelt down next to me, brown hair pushed behind her ears. I looked at her. Not in a weird way, but in a way that somebody looks at something interesting. I watched people pass by, cars drive, birds fly, and this woman mouth something to somebody. I couldn’t hear a thing. Was there somebody else there? I tracked her eyes as she mouthed something. Yes. Yes, there had to be somebody else there. Her eyes were looking behind me. I moved my eyes to look behind me, and it felt odd to not be in the nothingness I was just in. I had to use muscles to move my eyes now. It was a man. A short man with gray hair, or at least gray enough. He had a clean face, not a single piece of stubble on it. The two were talking, and I could start to hear that voice again. The one that sounded like fate. Like I was moving through a tube of gelatinous liquid, I pulled my eyes back to the woman that was mouthing something to the man behind me. Her eyes caught mine and she mouthed something to me. I felt more pressure from her hand, as if she were squeezing it. Squeezing it. As if surfacing from the bottom of the ocean I could hear the words she was saying. That woman. “Are you hungry?” Me. Nothing. That woman. “Can you hear me?” Me. Nothing. Her voice trailed off again to something else. As though if she weren’t talking directly to me, I couldn’t hear her. But her voice, her voice was as gentle as her hand. I hadn’t realized it, but I was lying down. I felt my back stiff and hard against the pavement. But was I lying down? I had just been floating. Or at least the equivalence of floating. I was back under the water, words filtered through the thick waves. I couldn’t hear anything. Nothing. The only senses I had were touch and site. I felt the sidewalk underneath me. It was warm, hot almost. It was grainy, as if I were lying on the black and white static of an old television. One that had lost connection. Slowly, like a small stream flowing into the river, then into the vast ocean, my ears filled with the static noise of an ancient television. Not ancient in the way the beginning of the world is ancient. But old. Yes, not an ancient television but an old television. I opened my eyes again and this is not where I had remembered being. Even before I had imploded into myself into absolute nothingness, I was somewhere else completely before. Where, I do not currently know. Maybe I do. Yes. I was at home. At least a place I called my home. I was on a couch and there was a cat, an orange one, lying, purring on my chest. I was petting it, stroking it from its head down its back and to its tail. I remember it loving the way I did that. Was it my mother’s house? My house? Or was it a shelter. I’ve been in a few of those. It definitely wasn’t here. Where is here? Here is nothing. Here is nowhere. Now here. I could hear again. As if I had never lost my hearing. I could hear everything around me. The cars, the people, the birds, the wind, the grass. Everything was as if nothing had ever changed. Me. “No.” The man behind me. “Do you know where you are?” Me. “Yes.” Him. “Where are you?” Me. “I’m on the sidewalk.” The woman. “Do you know your name?” My name. My name. What was my name. Who was I? Was I anybody? Did I have a name? I reflected on that. Put a mirror in front of my soul and reflected on who I was. It was hideous, my soul was. Disgusting and putrid and rotten. I don’t know how it got that way, but that’s how it was. Me. “Robert.” The woman. “Robert, what’s your last name?” The questions. All of these questions. They were starting to piss me off. I felt myself getting angry. I wasn’t angry at her for asking them, but at the questions themselves. As if they were alive, living and breathing, questions. Like they had a face and a name and a history. These questions. Rage. Rage. Rage. Me. “Somewhere.” Was I still dreaming? I could be. I could not be. There probably isn’t that much of a difference. Not really. Not between the human experience and a dream. The woman. “Do you know what happened to you?” Me. “Nothing happened to me.” Was that right? No. Yes. Yes, something had happened to me. What was it? Me. “Something happened to me.” I had only just realized that the man and the woman were paramedics, that they had on blue uniforms with badges and they were wearing latex gloves. I got up, all the way up onto my feet and I was extremely dizzy. I managed to catch myself, to find balance. Or at least something similar to balance. The man. “Hold steady now.” He let me place a hand on his shoulder. He was shorter than me. Not by much, but by a little. Enough. The woman started talking into a radio that was clipped to her lapel. I didn’t hear what she said. The woman. “You tried to kill yourself last night.” Me. “Kill myself?” That would mean I was something. I had to be something. You can’t kill nothing. Nothing has never existed. But it has. I’ve seen it. Nothing is absolutely everything. Now here. The man. “You remember that?” Me. “No.” The woman. Why were they always switching? “Will you go to the hospital with us?” Me. “I don’t want to kill myself.” The woman. “What happened last night?” If I knew, I would tell her. She seemed nice enough. If I had any way of replaying the previous night, I would tell her all about it. The entire thing. I would tell her my entire life story if she had time to listen. Explain to her every single thing that I knew. But there was nothing for me to tell. My name wasn’t Robert. It was something else entirely. It wasn’t Justin or Zach. Not Theodore or Alabaster. It ran and hid from me. My name did. Leapt through the forest and hid in the shadows. I could not catch it, could not catch anything like a breath. My breath. Long, raspy, and heavy as it was. I focused on it and it was difficult, trying. I was still leaning on the man. I now expected him to hold me the way we expect floors to not collapse beneath us. The way we expect misery to follow grief. Me. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” The woman. “Do you know today’s date?” The date. The date. If I guessed the date, I would have an infinite number of guesses. Monday January 19, 1280. Friday September 2, 1934. Wednesday April 39, 0000. 0000. As if it existed. Me. “I don’t want to kill myself.” The woman. “Do you know today’s date?” I forgot that I never answered her, only myself. Me. “It’s Monday.” The two people looked at each other, confusion in their eyes. Not confusion, concern. Yes. They were concerned. For me? The woman. “Do you know where you are?” I was still leaning on the man. He didn’t seem to mind. Like he was doing a duty for me. Now here. Me. “In Kentucky.” Her. “Do you know which city?” It was frustrating me that they never told me if I was right or not with my answers. I couldn’t ask if I was right because then it would seem like I was guessing. Me. “Lexington.” I had lived there before. Ten years ago. Again, the two paramedics looked at each other. If I had thought about it, I would have looked at the badges on their uniforms before. Atlanta Emergency Squad. Atlanta? There wasn’t much difference between Atlanta and Lexington. Not much at all. Other than geographic location. I was in Atlanta. The night before I could have been in Lexington like I could have been in San Francisco. Or like how I could have been on Neptune, or Pluto, or some other galaxy all together. Now here. Me. “Atlanta, Georgia.” Me. “It’s Wednesday.” Me. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” Me. “I don’t want to kill myself.” Me. “I was in Lexington. I came here to visit my sister. She doesn’t live far from here.” I had no sister. The woman. “We can’t force you, but if you would sign here indicating you are refusing medical assistance, then we can be out of your way. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I have a granola bar in the truck.” I signed her papers, it was on a clipboard. I signed them with no clear letters, just a line of loopty loops. My name. What was my name. It wasn’t anything. I had no name. No past. No future. No present. But I had to have a name. Somebody had to name me. I had to be somewhere. Atlanta, Georgia is where I was, but I don’t mean somewhere in that sense. I mean somewhere in the sense of existence. They left, the man and the woman. I was left alone, all alone. Entirely alone. I laid back down on the sidewalk, hoping to be transported back into the nothingness that I remembered. But nothing happened. I felt the hard concrete underneath me. I was back to life and could never go back to the dark nothing. But what did that mean. I didn’t know. I wanted to sleep. Yes, sleep. A long, deep sleep. Not death. I did not want to die. That was, is, the truth. I stood up again, stared directly at the sun for a few seconds, and when I couldn’t see anything because of big, flashing blobs of black circles, I began to walk nowhere in particular. Nowhere. Now here. Repeating. Repeating. Repeating. Now here. Now here. Now here. Nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere. Did I want to kill myself? To stop. To cease. To end. It is possible, but not entirely. Not completely possible. My pockets were empty. I walked into the nearest gas station, asked to use a phone, dialed a number that I had memorized. It could have been centuries old. The first phone number ever invented. The voice. “Hello?” Me. “Can you pick me up? I’m in Atlanta.” The voice. “Who is this?” My name escaped me. I was alone. Completely, entirely, alone. Me. “It’s me.”


Content warning: homophobia, child sexual abuse

I understand that I will never see Father Felix again. I will never again hear the gaiety in his laugh, see the brilliance of his smile, hear the great charisms in his sermons, or eat any of the bread that he has turned into God.

We have loads of bread at the church. That is where we go to think about God. God is the one who made our mothers give birth to us. He did the same thing to their mothers. Father Felix’s job is to turn the bread into God so that we and all our mothers can eat Him.

Father Felix had plenty of other jobs, too. He was a busy man. He would organize retreats and food drives and pancake breakfasts and bring the bread that he turned into God to people who were too ill to come to the place where we think about God. My favorite job that Father Felix did was talking to whoever was supposed to admit things to him. I would see Father Felix once or twice a week to admit things to him and he would tell me that it was alright.

* * *

Me and Father Felix both had parts called a “dick” that could turn girls into mothers. Lots of people have them. If I touch mine too much by myself, God wants me to go tell Father Felix and then he will tell me that it’s alright. I touch it too much every few days because it is very hard not to, but then I go see Father Felix and he tells me that it’s alright. He does this for all the other people my age who have dicks. Most people with dicks tend to touch them too much every few days. Every time I go to the church to tell Father Felix about how I touched it too much the other day, there is always a long line of other people with dicks waiting there to do the same.

We have chemicals in our heads that make us want to turn girls into mothers, but if we just touch our dicks too much instead, the chemicals don’t know the difference. Girls don’t want you to turn them into mothers all the time, so the people with dicks usually just touch themselves too much instead and the chemicals stop for a little while. Then we go tell Father Felix and he says it’s alright. One time he told me that I didn’t need to admit things so often and that I could just come once every month or so, but I wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t too awkward or unpleasant, admitting things to Father Felix. He would always say it was alright and that God loved me greatly. It felt nice to hear someone who could turn bread into God tell me that God loved me. He meant it, too. When Father Felix said that God loved someone, he really, truly believed it. I’ve never seen anyone believe it as much as he did. There wasn’t a single person I knew who didn’t love Father Felix. Probably because every time he saw you, he would tell you how God loved you, and he didn’t even care if you had a dick or if you touched it too much every few days.

* * *

Father Felix is never allowed to turn any girl into a mother. Most other people can, if they go with the girl they love to the place where people think about God and get permission to. Several years ago, Father Felix went to the place where people think about God to get permission to turn bread into God. That permission was granted, but only on the condition that he never turn any girl into a mother.

* * *

I will never eat any bread that Father Felix turned into God again. I will never again tell him that I touched my dick too much the other day. None of the people with dicks who are usually in line to admit things to Father Felix will ever see him again, either. He didn’t die. He isn’t even very old. Father Felix will probably live a few more decades for all I know.

We can’t see him anymore because they kicked him out of the place where people think about God. A lot of people who can turn bread into God have been kicked out because they did abhorrent things to children. Some of them got to stay. Some people who can turn bread into God have been kicked out because they tried to make girls into mothers.

Father Felix never did anything abhorrent to children. Father Felix never tried to make any girl into a mother, either. He didn’t even want to, and the chemicals in his head didn’t make him want to. Father Felix got kicked out because the chemicals in his head made him want to be in love with a person who had a dick. Most people in the place where we think about God don’t want people with dicks to be in love with other people with dicks, so sometimes they get kicked out or told to go somewhere else. All the people who can turn bread into God have dicks, so none of them are allowed to be in love with people who have dicks. That’s why Father Felix got kicked out and that’s why I will never see Father Felix again.

* * *

I’m not happy with the people at the place where I think about God who kicked him out. I think I am mostly alone. The other people there liked Father Felix, too, and they loved when he told them that God loved them, but they could never stomach eating bread that was turned into God by someone with a dick who wanted to be in love with someone else with a dick. That sort of thing cannot be tolerated at the place where we go to think about God. Sometimes, I don’t know if I really want to keep going there to think about God. I wish they didn’t care if Father Felix liked when other people had dicks. It is becoming increasingly hard for me to bring myself to care.

If Father Felix didn’t want to love a person with a dick, I might see him again. But I won’t. I won’t ever admit things to him again, so I will have to find someone else to admit things to. Someone else will hear from me and from all the other people with dicks about how we touch them too much sometimes and then they will tell us that it’s alright. Someone else will turn bread into God and we will eat Him. Someone else will tell me that God loves me, but I’m not sure if they will mean it as much as Father Felix did. I’m not sure I will believe it as much as I did when Father Felix was the one saying it.


TRAPPED We had barely moved in thirty minutes. I realized, of course, that I would be in the same frustrating circumstance if I did not have a passenger, but there she was. Like me, Barbara was on the board of the Community Center which met once a month. Barbara was a single (divorced) woman about my age, with two grown daughters away at college. She worked as an administrative assistant in a real estate company.

I approached these meetings like I do my teeth cleanings, necessary but kind of a drag and a time suck. But being on the board was my attempt to “give something back”. At each meeting, Barbara would ask for a ride home. She would take the train from her job to the meeting, and since I lived near her it wasn’t out of my way. This was no hardship, except for the fact that we had little in common, and in fact, we tended to have opposing viewpoints on many board issues. The 30-minute ride to our neighborhood seemed a lot longer as we would struggle to make conversation. This meeting ran longer (and was more tedious) than usual. A lot of resolutions and voting and discussions, punctuated by a few people on the board so completely in love with the sound of their own voices that they insisted on reiterating points someone else had already made. Mercifully, the meeting came to an end two and a half hours after it had begun. There being no windows in the boardroom, we were all shocked when we got to the front door to see that in the past two-plus hours, a storm had dumped a foot of snow on the ground, and it continued to fall at an alarming rate. Shit, I thought, after a whole day of work and an interminable board meeting, this is just what I need to cap my day.Barbara helped me clean off the car, which was something of a futile gesture given how fast the snow was coming down. I had determined to stay off the side roads which I knew would be more treacherous. When we got on the main roads, however, it appeared that everyone else had the same thought and we were stuck inching along the parkway until we stopped. What made matters worse for me is that extreme weather always turns me into a white-knuckle driver. I decided not to mention that fact to Barbara. No sense in both of us being anxious, not to mention the fact that, well, it’s embarrassing. We quickly ran out of traffic conversation, as we had no other route options, and our plight was evident. “So, that was some meeting,” I volunteered, having no idea what I meant by that. “If you mean it was excruciatingly boring, even by our usual standards, I agree.” “I suppose we should be glad that we didn’t have to put out any fires, like harassment complaints.” “You’re right. I think we should hope for a continuation of boring meetings.” Having nothing more to say about the meeting we went right to the tried and true. “Did not see this storm coming,” I volunteered. “I don’t think anyone did”, Barbara countered. Not being meteorologists, that concluded the obligatory weather discussion portion of our drive. We had barely gone a mile. We were both tired and hungry, and I was holding on to the steering wheel so tightly that I could have been stopping the blood circulating to my wrists. Then, Barbara said something totally unexpected. “You know Mike, you’ve been driving me home for over a year. Our paths have crossed at other meetings and outside of where you work, I know nothing about you. You could be an axe murderer for all I know.” “You’re right, we don’t know anything about each other. But I should tell you that I didn’t qualify for the axe murderer slot on the board. I think Mrs. Hernandez got that.” Mrs. Hernandez, the 85-year-old community activist, is most likely to be nominated for sainthood. “Well now that I’m fairly certain that there isn’t an axe underneath your seat, why don’t you tell me something that people in your professional circles don’t know. And then I’ll do the same. What do you think?” The traffic started moving, though not very quickly. Just like that, I forgot about my weather anxiety as I thought about how much I felt like revealing to someone who was slightly more than a stranger. There was something about being in this barely moving car, with snow coming down hard that made me feel like I was in a protective cocoon. “Well, I’m currently single after being in a relationship for four years. I thought we’d settle down…” “But…” “But she found someone else.” “Sorry to hear that. You had no idea?” “Not only didn’t I have an idea, but I was not aware that-how can I say this- that her gender preference was more fluid than I realized.” “You mean…” “She fell in love with a woman.” “Wow.” “Yeah, didn’t see that coming at all.” “Does it make it worse that it was a woman?” “You know, it really doesn’t. Being dumped is being dumped.” And the floodgates opened. I was no longer thinking about the snow.  I hadn’t told anyone the full story, fearing other people’s judgement not only of me but of Anne, my ex. As hurt as I was, I didn’t want to hear anyone speak harshly of her. I barely had my foot on the gas as we continued to be enveloped in white. I replayed the whole relationship for Barbara-well, the highlights, anyway. I felt somehow safe enough to describe how the relationship evolved and devolved so she could get the whole picture of my sadness. I loved Anne. I just couldn’t get angry. You love who you love.

I took a breath and said, “That was probably more than you bargained for. It was certainly more than I expected to say.” “Well, I’m glad you did”, Barbara replied. “Okay, your turn.” “I’m not sure if what I’ve got to say will make this better or worse for you”. “Hard to see how it could be worse.” As we got further, we picked up a bit of speed, but I was still very cautious as the snow continued to fall. “I have something I’ve been keeping from everyone. I’ve been very vague about my separation from my husband. I let everyone think he was just disenchanted with our relationship. Some people speculated he had someone else, and I didn’t discourage that line of thinking. The reality is, he caught me in bed with a woman.” I was stunned and could only manage, “Wow, that’s big.”  I think I always knew that I was gay, but I tamped down those feelings and went through the motions, to have, what I thought was a “normal” life. Then I met Sophia, and something just got…I don’t know…activated, and my life and how I saw myself just changed completely. I have to tell you though, it’s very freeing. I’ve come out at work and to my friends.” “Well, that all sounds, good “, I answered. “Yes, except I haven’t told my daughters. My husband is mortified by the whole thing. He’d rather they think he cheated on me than that their mother is a lesbian. I’m going to tell them next week. That is if I can screw up the courage.” “You sound pretty brave to me.” All of a sudden, we found ourselves in front of Barbara’s apartment building. It seemed like we had gotten there by magic. “Well, we made it.”  “Yeah, this is where I get off. Thanks for listening” “You too, and good luck next week.”  As I drove away, I was sure we’d never have another boring ride home.


Standing near the beach Alyssa watched her kids and her husband Ryan playing. A smile was plastered on her lips looking how the kids were having fun and Ryan was freely spending time with them without worries and pressure of work. It has indeed been a long time since they had a vacation. She saw Ryan running towards her leaving the kids to play alone. "What happened?" "Nothing, just missed you" he said as he hugged her. Both admired the setting sun above the roaring sea. "It's been long....hasn't it?" said Ryan. "Yes, really long." "You still won't forgive him?" Ryan said taking Alyssa a bit aback by his sudden question. Since she left her home they never talked about her dad. "What d-do you mean?" "I never actually realized how he must have felt until I became a dad. Jennie and Jay have actually changed me a lot. I became a dad, my kids see me like a hero of their life, just the way you used to see your dad. Now I can feel what dad ego feels like.", a sad smile crept on his face. "Jay made us parents. Our first child, undoubtedly the best son anyone could ever get. He is talented, generous, intelligent and a perfect child. But Jennie became the reason why I still smile even after the toughest days. I am not differentiating but Jennie always makes me feel more alive. I just love how she search for me when she returns from her school, how she waits for me at night just to listen a story from me. I think now I understand what it feels like to be the father of a daughter." They both were smiling looking at each other. "Once you too used to be someone's princess until I stole you from him isn't it? It hurts me when I think that someday someone will take away my princess too. Now I realize, your father wasn't wrong. I would never let any guy lurk around my daughter too. He did wrong by not considering your happiness but he wasn't wrong as a dad. He felt betrayed as a dad. You know a father can make mistake but not a dad. I saw the pain in his eyes today. It's been 10 years. Forgive him, not as my wife but at least as his daughter." Alyssa was not able to utter a single word. Warm tears coming out of her eyes. "Y-you remember what he said to us right, then also you are asking me to forgive him." "But he is your father. Whatever he did that day , he did because he wanted her daughter's man to provide her all the comforts and luxuries he provided her. He wanted her daughter to live like a queen because he also raised you like a princess and being a father, now I can understand what he felt at that time. Whatever I am today, I wasn't the same 10 years back. Maybe the reason behind my success was my desire to show your dad that I can love his daughter more that he thinks.", Ryan said calmly. "Ryan, he clearly said that I was dead for him from the day I left with you and if he saw us anywhere he will kill us right there and you are saying this. I just can't get over his words.", Alyssa said, pain clearly visible on her face. "You know what, I also thought of him wrong, but today in the party we met him after so long and the pain on his face was clear. He really wanted to call you princess, he wanted to meet his grandchildren not as a business partner but as their grandfather. He really love you baby and he want his princess back.", said Ryan, with his eyes glistened. Just then they heard someone clearing his throat behind them and they turned back. There stood Mr. Gonzales with guilt and shame over his face. "Can we t-talk p-princess?" As much as she didn't wanted to, Ryan gave her assured smile to give it a try and went back to play with the kids leaving them alone. "You became such a responsible wife and mother princess I can't believe you are my dau-" She cut him off"because I am not! Remember you said I am dead for you? I am just Mrs. Ryan." Her words pierced his heart like an arrow. "You raised you kids really well. They are really well mannered." "Yes, all the credit goes to Ryan." "How are you princess?", he asked. "Best! My family made it best for me." He then said," I am happy seeing you happy." But she said, " didn't you said that you will kill us right away you will see us Mr. Gonzales." Now he went silent, he doesn't had anything to say her but he said, " Ryan is a good guy. I am really guilty for everything I said to you. I am so glad to you stood for yourself. I am sorry I failed to see your happiness and just to expand my business I wanted you to marry the guy I wanted. But I am really happy seeing you smiling. I was scared that he will not be able to provide you all the luxuries but now I am satisfied, you chose the right guy for you. I just wanted to see you last time and ask for your forgiveness. Even if you don't forgive me but I want to tell you that I don't hold any grudges against you. You will always be my princess. Although you didn't marry a prince but you made someone a king. I wish you all the happiness princess. I love you very much.", with that he left her confused at his statement. After that Ryan came to her,"What happened? What did he said? Did you forgave him?" "He said that, you didn't marry a prince but you made someone a king. What does that means?" Ryan smiled at her words and hugged her. "Let's go" without letting her say anything he took her with him. They dropped the kids at the hotel and went to for a date. After they enjoyed their date they went for shopping. Ryan stood in front of store and then smiled and took her in. "Show us the latest collection of heels." The employee came with the best heels and Ryan selected one. "This looks good, let's try this one." The employee bend down to make her try the heels but he stopped him. "No, no Let me do it.", Ryan said and bent down making Alyssa wear the heels. She tried to stop him but he said "What? Let me do it. 10 years ago someone asked me to do so because he thought you as his princess but today I am doing it as your king and you can't stop me." She was shocked at her words. "No matters how many problems came into our lives, how much poor or rich we became, the destiny proved that I was born to be your man." A small smile crept on Alyssa's face as she said, " choosing you over everything was the best decision of my life. I love you."


I still didn’t know why I had come to the hotel. There was little I needed. Married women weren’t meant to sit in hotel lobbies flicking through out-of-date magazines.

Waiting on men they weren’t married to. However, the stories in those magazines reminded me of my youth. And of my predicament. They too were stories out of their time. Stale and left aside.

Told once and then never do we find what came of them. I used to read my mother’s old issues. I’d sit in the kitchen under the table. She’d cook and talk with my aunts. Conversations not meant for children.

I would listen. I would read the tales of romance and woe. Affairs, scandal and loss. and I’d write my own. My brain flooded with what if questions. How could she do this?

I’d ask. How does she trust him? I’d ask.

And then I’d write stories from there. I could write the same story a hundred ways. Soon a fling with a waiter would be so much more. Such was the beauty. I called these moments ‘pivot points’. A place where the story branches and we make a choice on who we are going to be. Life is all about choices, but these were the defining ones. Those places in the story where everything would always echo with what if from that point on. They always felt so local to that moment and obvious, but now that I was watching Bobby pull into the car park I realised that they were anything but.

They permeated and crept up over and over. Some choices you had to keep making. High school was kind to me in some ways and cruel in others. I was popular, enough, and I had a boyfriend. So, I wasn’t lonely. Bobby Trent was the tough type. He was a bad boy in a leather jacket who smoked and rode a motorcycle. Yet, on a summer’s day he’d take me to the park.

He put a flower in my hair and kissed me. Told me he could hear the giggles I tried to hide inside. And then when he kissed me again I heard them too.

I left my hometown and Bobby at eighteen. I fled cross-country after fighting with my father. There was a great many topics, but Bobby was one. He would never accept that I loved this man.

“He doesn’t even work, he wants nothing to do with college and he’s a lay-about-good-for-nothing…. A punk”.

I never could look my father in the face and say, “But he makes the sun shine brighter on a rainy day. You don’t know the way he makes me feel when his hands caress the parts I hide and only lift so he can kiss and accept my flaws. And you don’t know what it is like to have all your insecurity lifted when you see in his eyes that he didn’t even know they were anything less than perfect”.

But I still missed my home. Often wondering what if I’d stayed. Settled down with Bobby and watched my mom grow old. The hotel we were meeting in was the Blue Valley, where he’d taken me so many years ago. It wasn’t luxury then and it wasn’t luxury now. But it didn’t have to be. No, like Momma’s cooking it was rich in those familiar tastes of nostalgia. The sweet indulgent flavours of memories.

Bobby wasn’t long in the lobby. I watched his strut through the door. He Flashed me a smirk and his eyes appeared to signal something. Then I was in his arms. We giggled in the hall. And we spilt across the bed like wine. Everything flowing like music when the old band gets back together. And then the crescendo came.

And in the aftermath I wrapped myself in sheets while he stood naked. I sat and watched him smoke on the balcony. The smell was too real for dreams. The thing about my mother is that I love her, and she was never a good cook.

The hotel had dirty mirrors and a light coat of rust and age everywhere you looked. The haze of nostalgia always cleared when I visited and tasted the food I’d missed. Then my father got up on his pedestal to look down at me again. Reality crashed in like an alarm clock breaking the spell of the dream.

It never tastes how you remember it. I stopped eating french toast when momma died, and now I realized it wasn’t cause no one else made it right. That is what I told people. It was because I missed her and it reminded me of how long she’d been gone.

Time passes so fast and so slow all at once. Bobby aged before my eyes and soon I saw less of my rebel and more of the accountant. The motorcycle was gone. He drove a station wagon. And his bulletproof hair was thinned to the last. I left the hotel before sleeping. The trip home was one of silence. I found myself in my small house. I stared down the hall at my fat husband. My husband. And I heard him say, “You okay princess? If you need to talk let's go out to the patio. I just got the little ones asleep.”

The tears came. He didn’t know why, but he held me. And I cried harder than before. My father may have been wrong about Bobby all those years ago. But I was wrong this time. The grass may well be greener elsewhere, but my grass was green enough.

We took our tea out in the garden and I knew I’d tell him soon. I knew he’d leave. I knew I deserved it.

My father didn’t understand how Bobby made me feel and I guess what I hate about my dad is how much alike we are.

In the morning I’d tell him everything, but tonight I wanted to be held. I wanted to know, “what if I’d just been happy with what I had? What if I hadn’t thrown it all away?”


Savannah had been sent to the principal’s office yet again. Her IEP allowed her to speak to the guidance counselor before anyone determined whether disciplinary action was necessary. She stormed through the door and slammed herself in the chair at the table outside the counselor’s offices. Ms. P. was making me feel like shit about my math skills again so I flipped her off. She thought, but no one would believe that a teacher had acted that way, and even if they had, did that excuse her behavior? She placed her head on the table between her arms, flipped her hood up, and began to quietly sob. Savannah didn’t want anyone to know she was crying because she feared they wouldn’t take her seriously. The teen was so filled with rage, sadness, and shame that she was frozen. Savannah could hear everyone around her talking, but she couldn’t gather the strength to respond. “Are you okay?” Mr. Davis, the guidance counselor, wondered as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Of course not, you twit. Everyone thinks I’m an idiot, and I don’t want to be in this miserable place. “You need to come to my office,” Principal Booker demanded. All I need is a fucking hug! She wanted to shout. Savannah knew that if she just had a chance to speak to her mother maybe she could calm down, but those demoralizing thoughts kept taking over. What’s the point? You’re dumb. No one here cares about you. Don’t bother. Everyone around her kept talking, but none of it was sinking in. Help! She cried, but everyone just kept prodding her. They treated Savannah like she was being belligerent, but she wasn’t. She just felt worthless, and her body refused to respond to any commands beyond weeping. “Call the police. If she won’t come to my office, we’ll have to have her escorted off campus,” declared the principal. When the police arrived, Savannah was lost in the shroud of her mind more so than ever before. I’m drowning! Help! I don’t need the cops; I just want my mother. “Either come into my office now or you will be forced to leave,” said the principal. It took everything Savannah could spare to pull herself to her feet, and in a split second, “Fine!” She shouted just before her emotional whirlwind shot into her leg, which slammed her foot into the wall next to the principal before going into the office. “I want her out of here, now !” One of the officers tackled the frail fifteen-year-old to the ground and cuffed her so tightly one of her wrists was cut. Savannah wanted to cry until she had no more tears to shed, but she was numb. As she awaited her mother’s arrival, one of the officer’s cuffed the teen to the desk. “Can you take these off?” “You gonna run?” “And go where?” The officer’s eyes narrowed. He nodded and released the young teen who shook life back into her wrists. “Are you charging her?” A stern voice cut through Savannah like nails on a chalkboard and a warm hug at the same time. “No ma’am.” Mom, I’m so sorry. Ms. P. made me feel so badly about myself. I was just crying. I didn’t think they’d call the cops . “Let’s go, Savannah.” Her gaze was met with the cold eyes of a mother who hadn’t decided how she felt so the teen followed her mother to the car in silence. Savannah took her backpack and climbed the stairs up to the apartment without a word and went straight to her room where she stayed until she smelled food. The teen cautiously emerged from her room as her stomach growled so loudly that it echoed in her ears. “You’re spending your suspension with you father. He’ll understand this.” Savannah’s father had been arrested his fair share of times. He was a pacifist who hated authority, and he lived about 80 miles away. She could feel tears gathering behind her eyes. Are you so angry at me that you don’t want me around? “Okay.” She whispered before adjourning to her room to pack. Savannah grabbed her backpack and tossed in enough clothes for four days, her hairbrush, her handheld gaming system, and a sketchbook. She changed into her pajamas so she could sleep and lied awake in bed listening to the music of her stomach. She could tell she dozed off briefly because it was suddenly 11 o’clock. Mom is bound to be asleep by now . She thought before sneaking out to the kitchen. She rummaged through the refrigerator and found some chicken, but the risk of her mother hearing the microwave was too great. It’s not that her mother would take issue with Savannah eating, but she didn’t want to deal with her empty, frigid eyes so she inevitably just munched on various snacks before finally going into her bedroom and falling asleep. The ride to her father’s was the longest, quietest hour and a half of her life. “I’ll pick you up Monday night. Don’t forget to do your homework so you can turn it in on Tuesday.” “Okay.” I love you. “Bye.” Savannah listlessly replied before turning toward the ramshackle apartment building behind her where her father was waiting. Not a word was spoken between the two until they were at apartment 3-B. “Your mother loves you, ya know?” He said as he opened the door. “Yeah.” She said as she tossed her bags aside and plopped herself down on the dusty, brown couch. “I made you some cake.” Her father said as he offered her a slice. She took the plate and sniffed it. This is mint chocolate which is disgusting. “I’m not hungry.” Savannah’s father popped Superman into the DVD player. She tried to ignore it, but she enjoyed watching Christopher Reeve’s performance. “So, what happened, kiddo?” Savannah sighed. I was crying like a little bitch and no one gave a shit. “I’m honestly not sure.” “Savannah, the cops once pulled me from my car and beat me to a pulp. You can tell me anything.” She sighed, “they called the cops for no reason. Then they said I ‘resisted arrest.’” Her father scoffed. “They always tack that on as an excuse to charge you with something else.” Savannah smiled for the first time since before math class. She spent the rest of her weekend playing video games, basketball, and avoiding her homework. When she returned to school on Tuesday, she discovered that she was a hero to her classmates. Apparently, Ms. P was horrible to everyone , and Savannah was the first student brave enough to take action. The following year, she was gone.