The library door slid silently closed behind her. Alice felt the chill of the evening probing at her unzipped, oversized coat, searching for a way in. She flicked her hood up and scanned the street ahead. All was quiet. The library had become a welcome sanctuary after school, they would never find her in there. They probably didn’t even know what a library was. She hung her head forward, allowing her long mousy hair to cover her face. Hugging her folders tightly in to her chest, she hurriedly crossed the road, stopping outside her favourite shop she peered in through the window. The small ugly creatures in the display gawped back at her, some were carved from small pieces of wood, some were made from odd shaped pebbles with big googly eyes painted on them. One was even made from a hairy coconut shell. That was Alice’s favourite one...it looked like she did first thing in the morning. She gazed at the eclectic mix of items filling the window. It was one odd shop she thought to herself...odd, like me.

She heard them before she saw them, approaching from the corner of Holland street. Laughing and shouting as they prowled along looking for their next victim. Alice didn’t hesitate, she slipped in to the alleyway next to the shop, squeezed in beside the bins, and sat on the floor pulling her legs in tight. She rocked gently, picking at the elastic band on her scared wrist. Pulling it hard and letting it go. Pulling it hard and letting it go. Her hair draped across her face. As the pack got closer she could feel their footsteps on the pavement. She could feel their punches, their spitting. She could hear their words. “Freak! Freak! Freak! Freak!” When the footsteps and shouting were virtually on top of her. She squeezed herself tighter still and hummed quietly, waiting for the first blow. She might as well take her punishment……she was a freak after all. She held her breath. Alice stopped humming and listened. She could just make out the pack as they rounded the corner on to the high street. She waited until their laughing and shouting had completely faded into the sounds of the city. Cautiously she peeked her head out of the alleyway and checked the street. There was no one about. She brushed the dirt from her clothes and peered into the window of the shop again. She looked at her reflection. Her limp hair hanging across her face. Her slumped shoulders. The oversized army jacket she wore virtually covered her whole body….good she thought. Cover the freak up. She focused her eyes from her reflection and allowed them to adjust to the reflection of the other side of the street. A man stood waving. He wore a worn out black suit. He had worn out shoes and a bowler hat with a floppy red flower in it. He was smiling and waving frantically at her. Lorenzo?....No, no, it can’t be, she said to herself. She watched in the reflection as the man skipped across the deserted road. She watched as he came and stood right behind her. He cleared his throat dramatically and tapped her on the shoulder which sent goose bumps through her whole body. “No…..it can’t be you!” she said. “It can’t be you….you’re dead…..Lorenzo, I thought you were dead?.....they told me you were dead.” Alice closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I know you’re not real….when I turn round you’ll vanish.” Alice slowly turned round keeping her eyes shut. She could feel the man’s excitement. He hopped from one foot to the other clapping his hands really fast. “Here goes!” she said, as she opened her eyes. The man threw his arms around her scooping her up into his embrace…..she felt six years old all over again. He smelt the same as he always did. Candy floss and toffee apples. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. When they finally parted she looked at his face. “But you don’t look a day older?....Where have you been?” She laughed and cried as tears streamed down her face. “I thought I would never see you again….Dr Munroe said you were gone. She said I didn’t need you anymore….But I did, I do! I do need you Lorenzo I always did!” Lorenzo wiped Alice’s face with his worn out cuff. His smile was always more than just a smile. His whole face smiled, and when it did his bowler hat would lift slightly. And his wise old blue eyes would sparkle just that little bit more. “Well hello to you Miss Alice sugar! It’s a pleasure to be in your acquaintance again.” He tipped his hat and did a little curtsey. They walked for a while, Alice chatted uncontrollably, Lorenzo smiled and listened. He nodded and he gasped as she told him about how life had been since he disappeared. They rounded the corner that led through the park and Alice stopped. She looked at her watch.

“It’s getting late Lorenzo, I wouldn’t normally walk home this way….it goes near the park….I guess now you’re here it would be ok, and it’s quicker. Lorenzo squeezed her arm. “Whatever you thinks best Miss Alice sugar, whatever you thinks best.” And his eyes sparkled in the dusky light.

#### Chad leaned back in his chair which groaned under his weight. He always found the night shift challenging. Glancing around at the array of CCTV monitors in the control room, he puffed out his cheeks at the prospect of another eight hours of staring at the screens. He lazily clicked the mouse and zoomed in on one. Sitting forward he dragged the chair closer to the desk, the worn out wheels refusing to turn. He pulled down his microphone. “This is CCTV control….We have a female youth….Caucasian….approximately Five foot eight…wearing a long green jacket with long brown hair. She’s making her way east along Church Street. Looks like she’s heading for the park. Probably not a good idea at this time of the day. Do we have a foot patrol anywhere nearby? Just in case….she’s walking alone….I repeat she’s alone……Over.” #### Robbo drained the last drops from his can of disgusting warm cider. He stood up on the bench, steadied himself against the railings and harpooned the empty can onto the spiky fence.

“Take that you bastard!” he bellowed before letting out an enormous burp. Cliffy sat motionless. He drew in hard on the spliff, the red glow illuminating the gaunt features tucked away under his hood. He flicked the butt away, leaned forward and spat on the street between his feet, allowing a trail of drool to hang from his stubbly chin. Something at the end of the road caught his eye. He sat back and pulled down his hood. “Eh….Robbo, this is gonna be too easy…look at this, is she talking to herself? Or was that shit really good! Man, she’s more fucked up than you are. I reckon even you can do this one!” #### Alice stopped chatting and grabbed Lorenzo’s sleeve. “Uh oh” She said, as the two men approached. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…What do we do Lorenzo?….I’m scared.” Lorenzo pushed down on his hat. He turned up the cuffs of his jacket. “Well Miss Alice sugar….Don’t be scared…I’m here now. I think we can handle this….together.” The pair stood still and watched the two men approach. “All you’ve got to do is focus on what you can see Miss Alice sugar….What can you see?” Alice shot a look at Lorenzo then back at the danger approaching. “Err…I can see two nutters coming towards me?” “Look closer…what can you see?” Alice took a deep breath and studied the scene. “Ok…The skinny one who’s slightly in front and probably weighs less than me, is puffing out his chest and trying to make himself look threatening….he actually looks a little scared” “Good…and the other guy?” “The other guy is more dangerous. His movements are slower. More calculated. He’s kept his right hand in his pocket the whole time….my guess is he’s got a knife. But he looks completely stoned. Lorenzo grabbed Alice firmly by the shoulders. “Very good Miss Alice sugar…very good. Now watch this!” He pushed Alice backwards, spun elegantly round, and took two quick steps towards Robbo. Robbo panicked, his alcohol blurred vision couldn’t keep up with Lorenzo’s speed. He swung a punch desperately into thin air and as he lost his balance and began to spin, Lorenzo leapt high in the air landing down hard with his heel on the side of Robbo’s knee. As the ligaments snapped, burning pain flooded through Robbo’s malnourished body and he passed out instantly. Lorenzo straightened himself up and pulled down on his blazer jacket brushing at the lapel. He smiled at Alice. A big smile that made his hat lift up. Cliffy pulled the knife from his pocket and waved it in the air. Before he had a chance to speak Lorenzo kicked the knife from his hand. Cliffy’s eyes followed the knife in disbelief. Lorenzo grabbed one of Alice’s folders and in one fluid motion swung round. As the corner of the folder made contact with Cliffy’s temple he got one final glimpse of Alice as he dropped to his knees and blacked out. “Run Alice! Run!” Shouted Lorenzo. The pair of them ran as fast as they could. #### Chad’s jaw hung open. He slowly positioned the mic in front of his mouth. “Errr, this it CCTV control….dismiss the last message, I repeat, dismiss the last message….Can we have an ambulance to the park entrance on Church Street please. That’s an ambulance to the park entrance on Church Street please. We have two males down….Over.” #### Alice stopped running and bent forward to catch her breath. Her long hair hung down in front of her face. She pulled the elastic band from her wrist and tied her hair up in a ponytail. She rubbed at the red mark the elastic band left.

“No more.” She said. “No more.” She stood up straight and took off her coat stuffing it into her bag.

She stood alone on the curb waiting for the traffic to slow so she could cross. A big red bus drove past and as she watched herself pass by in the reflection in the bus windows, she saw Lorenzo. His arm around her shoulder. A Huge smile on his face. His smile was always more than just a smile. His whole face smiled, and when it did his bowler hat would lift slightly. And his wise old blue eyes would sparkle just that little bit more. Alice smiled back.

“It’s good to have you back Lorenzo….It’s good to have you back.”


  The loud blaring of the alarm clock brought me back to reality. I was having the best dream before the dream snatching alarm click decided to go off.   I was this close to kissing my high school crush.

Bloody blocker!! I begrudgingly stood up from the bed and made my way into the bathroom   My long blonde hair was literally everywhere.

I look like someone who hasn't seen a comb or brush in like ages.  I quietly observed my routines and got dressed.  I have to go to work and the best part is that it's a night shift.

Yay!! Note the sarcasm. I hate working, my mum decided to punish me because I snuck out of the house to party with my friends.  I mean what does she expect am an adult now. I laughed out as the look on my mother's face appeared.   "Chloe Clarissa Harrison, what in the world has gotten into you"   After one of her long lectures of being responsible she decided to punish me by not giving me my allowances, according to her ;   "You have to learn to be responsible"  I picked up my purse and went down the stairs.  "Mum am off!!! I yelled as I walked into the kitchen.  "You don't have to yell am right here" she said with an agitated look on her face.  "Whatever" I mumbled with an eye roll but of course, she heard.  She always does. It's as if she has supersonic hearing. "You better watch that mouth of yours young lady" my mum said with a sassy tone, hands on her hips and her feet tapping on the floor board.  "Sorry mum" I whispered  "Now off to work. I'll be going for dinner with a friend be sure to take your keys "   "Okay mum. Bye"  "No kiss for mama? She asked still in her don't mess with me position  "Of course there is" I ran towards her bad gave her a kiss "Love you mum"  "Love you too baby"   I made my way towards my custom made Ferrari, which is pink. I inserted the key and the engine roared to life feeling the eerie silence of MacDonald's street. I reversed and drove off to my newly acquired work place.  " Perfecto " .........     My mum was the one that secured my position in this hotel and guess what my work is.....  Waitressing!! That is like the worst kind of job (No offence, I love waiters. You guys are amazing. This is just for a good storyline)  I've already made a new friend, Madison.  She is just a little bowl of energy. Sassy, feisty, all out risk taker and that was what attracted me to her.  I went into the dressing room and changed into my work clothes which consisted of a pencil skirt and a white shirt and of course, the apron.  "What's up baby gal? Madison said with her fake western accent.  "Am great. You look excited today, what happened? I know my friend way too well to decipher her emotions.  She was all smiles, like toothy and stuff. "Oh no big deal just that the boss's son is present" she said with excitement.  I let out a squeal and jumped up and down like a high schooler. I mean am one but not for long  "Did you see him? Did you? I was really excited.  Fernando has been my crush ever since junior high. He's like a walking Greek god.  "You betcha" We both let out a loud squeal  "Both of you!! Mrs Patricia our mini boss yelled. Our heads jerked towards her and our excitement quickly melted away.  "GET BACK TO WORK!! She yelled in our faces. We both scurried off to wait on the customers.   "You!! She called out "Yes ma'am"    "I need you to go to the bar on the top floor and get me a Tequila bottle, now"  I stumble out of the kitchen and towards the reception area. As I walked in I sighted Fernand o but I quickly hid before he could see me.  Whenever I see him, my heart begins to swell and imaginary butterflies fills my stomach.   I quickly went into the elevator and luckily no one was inside. I took out my phone and started scrolling through my Instagram.  I was unaware that someone had gotten in with me.

After I was satisfied, I quickly put away my phone and looked up only to be meant by the electric blue eyes of Fernando

   Oh biscuits I quickly turned away. But from the corner of my eyes I could see him staring at me.  Oh goodness gracious! I was literally sweating out of nervousness and my emotions were everywhere.  All of a sudden the elevator power went out.

This can't be happening I reached out to the emergency phone to call for help but of course there was no signal  I think its because we're stuck between floors or something.   "I've noticed how much you stare at me when you think no one's looking" he said staring right at  "Huh? I questioned as I tried my best to be as far away to him as I can get.   "You always have that cute little smile of yours" he took a step towards me and I took a step back. We continued till I felt my back hit the wall.   His face was just an inch away from mine, if the we're any sudden movement our lips would brush against each other. And I would love nothing more than that  Shut up Chloe!! You know you want it as much as I do Shut up girl!!  He placed his hands on either side of my face and leaned into my neck, be took a long whiff and breathed out.  "W-what are you do-doing? I managed to let out. "Me? Oh nothing. Just enjoying your smell" he said it so casually as though we've known each other for ages now  My knees jerked as I leaned more into the wall of the elevator. I tried my best to get away but he had me at a tight grip.   "P-please let me go" I mumbled as I tried to suppress my cries  "Not gonna happen baby doll" his grip on my hand tightened as I struggled more  "P-please I beg you. Someone please help me!! I yelled at the top of my voice "No one will hear you because they think everything is working out perfectly. You see, am the reason the elevator stopped"  "Well put it back into Motion" "No can't do. Until am done with you" his tone changed drastically to that of a psychopathic maniac. I knew in that moment I had to get away.  I remembered my self defense practice and decided to use my skills.  I raised my knee and it connected with his non existent family. As he crouched his groin something fell out of his suit pocket. I used my phone touch to search for it. When I got it, it was some kind of remote so I pressed every single button on that. I heard the ding of the elevator and I jumped with happiness.  As the door opened I tried to get out but he held me by the ankle causing me to fall, I made us of the other leg and hit him in the face.   I scurried out of the elevator and ran towards the stairs to get to the dressing room. I quickly changed and ran to my car.  Started the engine and drove off.


I finally understood the point of funerals. It’s the “moment of clarity” you wouldn’t expect to happen before dying. But I guess it helps that my death so far has been long and drawn out. Hours melted away like the wax on my candle, and the sun should’ve been beaming through the attic window by now. I’m still surrounded by darkness though, my legs painfully asleep, my eyes toasted from the light of my single candle, and my world cut down to just this small circle of salt around me. It’s just me and her now. Me and It. Almost ten years ago, I skipped my grandma Lou-Anne’s funeral. I made a fuss getting into my kid's suit, only to never wear it again because a growth spurt hit afterwards. I cried and refused to get out of the car when we arrived at the church. Aunt Shirley was impatient to get in the church, annoyed that her sister couldn’t train her kid better. I guess my mom ended up having the same frustration and told my dad to wait in the car with me. He ran through the typical “Oh, are you sure? I wanna be there for you dear,” routine but was shot down. He breathed a sigh of relief when the two women went in the church without us boys.

He turned around from the driver’s seat to look at me, with my eyes red and suit wrinkled, and he chuckled. “You know Dax, you’re lucky your grandma loved you. Always buying you toys. You know what she got me? She almost got me a divorce.” And that’s all he said about her that day. That’s probably why he was killed first. None of this would be happening if I had just gone into that church. Not to sound overly Christian or lean into the “born again bullshit” as my dad called it, but that church was important. The point of funerals is to come together and remember your loved one in the best light you could. That’s why in movies and books and stuff the grizzled detective always goes like, “Ma’am, you don’t wanna see the body,” and the mother breaks down because the guy is right, there’s no reason to remember your loved one as horribly disfigured. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty. A week ago, I came home from football practice drenched in sweat, reeking of teenage cockiness, but my mother pulled me into the kitchen. My dad and Aunt Shirley were sitting at the table looking stern. I immediately thought this was an intervention, maybe they found out about their precious high school quarterback smoking weed on the weekends. Pretty naïve in retrospect compared to what they wanted. My mom slammed the damned book on the table. Literally a damned book. “It’s called the Gospel of Eden, Dax, don’t be disrespectful and call it a B-movie prop.” My mom was in no mood for my sass. Her patience with me had sprung a leak ever since I skipped the funeral. “Jackie, baby, I love you, but…” My dad wasn’t enthused with the crusty book in front of him either. “Grow a spine Jonathan,” Aunt Shirley snapped. It turns out both her and my mom were in on this plan together for a while. Someone at their church spoke to them about grief and regret. One thing led to another and- “I swear to you all it works. Me and Shirley have seen it with our own eyes. All we need are some candles and a moonless night. But we need your help to do it. The more people that remember her, the stronger her connection to this world is. The four of us can bring her back, just for a night.” “Born again bullshit,” my dad said. Not then, of course, not to his wife, but just to me later on. I’m sure at one point, my mom and Aunt Shirley were beacons of kindness, raised by a single mother who worked her ass off to make ends meet for her two girls. If I had just gone into that church, I might’ve heard more stories about the “Invincible Lou-Anne, the one woman army,” or something like that. But no. I wasn’t too sad to go in. I was too scared. Getting incurably sick with a disease even the doctors struggled to pronounce is some reward for working so hard all your life. I’m sure the injustice of it all corroded my mom’s and Aunt Shirley’s faith in humanity, God, karma, whatever. I do have nicer memories of them from when I was really little, I swear. But it’s funny how those memories just corrode away, rust growing over it, holes breaking in them. That’s kind of what happened with my memories of grandma. Kind of like what happened tonight. Holes breaking in rust. “Look mom, it’s not disrespectful. If anything, it’s a sign of respect, like, ‘ Oh, you’re coming from heaven, we’re not worthy to touch you ’ or something.” “If anything, it’s a waste of salt.” I tried my best. I really did. Spent the whole week arguing against the idea. Why? Because I’ve seen a fucking horror movie before, that’s why. But my mom placed more faith in a stranger from church than her own son. Both she and Aunt Shirley did live through a séance already, so I wasn’t convinced I would die. But I figured a ring of salt around us would just be a failsafe. An unnecessary precaution. Why salt? I wish Google provided a foolproof explanation why, but it kept coming up, so why not? As the adults shuffled into the attic, candles and book in hand, I stayed behind and snuck two saltshakers in my back pockets. I felt stupid as hell sitting on them cross-legged on the creaky wooden floor. My mom went around the circle, lighting each of our candles, the only way we could see in this pitch black attic. The Gospel of Eden sat in the middle of our four person circle. I had taken a peek at it earlier in the week, but it wasn’t written in English, or any language I recognized. No pictures either. Whoever the stranger was that taught my mom how to use it definitely knew something regular people aren’t supposed to know. “Now, all we need to do is to focus our thoughts on Lou-Anne. Our memories are what will reform her. When I start the chant, just remember all the good times you had with her. How she used to be before…” My mom trailed off, holding back tears. Aunt Shirley grabbed her hand, the two seeing eye to eye for the first time in a while. They missed their mom, and nothing would stop them now. But me and my dad were just there, trying to support them, trying not to feel like set dressing. At least I was. “ From Eden we come, and to Eden we return. We ask for the Eternal Gates to open for us tonight. May the Lord of Hosts take our memories and bring- “ I think at that point in the chant I knew we were fucked. “Remember all the good times,” – I was seven when she died. I had the least amount of good times in the circle, and I feel like a piece of shit for thinking that. I know she hugged me and smiled when she saw how big I was getting. I know she got me the best Christmas presents, plus she brought over a toy every time she visited like ten times a year. Hell, she gave me my first football – how can I ignore how that started a domino effect leading to me being the star quarterback at high school? But… when she got sick, my mom insisted grandma stay with us in the upstairs spare bedroom. She refused and refused, wanting to stay strong and live on her own. She only gave in toward the end, spending her last month alive in that bed upstairs. “Don’t let Dax see me,” I heard her rasp while listening from the stairs. The door was closed by the time I snuck to the top of the stairs. A month of doctors and church members and mom and Aunt Shirley going in and out of that room. Never letting me in. On the last night, the ambulances came. Paramedics rushed upstairs. The red lights streaked into the living room, dashing across my face, the red drowning my world in what looked like blood. My dad was on the phone downstairs, furiously trying to get my mom and Aunt Shirley to come home from their quick grocery run. No one stopped me from going upstairs. My candle is almost out. The sun hasn’t risen yet but it definitely should’ve. I’m laughing at the absurdity of it all. I should’ve gone into that church and stayed out of the bedroom. It was really that easy. I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes while my mom was chanting. I opened them when I heard Aunt Shirley gasp. In the middle of our circle, hovering above the Gospel of Eden, was Lou-Anne. Just like a ghost, almost see through but not quite, a grey wispy aura around her. She wasn’t facing me but I could tell it was her from the way her hair curled and was kept short to the floral dress she always wore. Her attention was fully on her daughters in front of her. “My baby girls,” Lou-Anne spoke, choking back tears just like my mom had just done. Her daughters were fully crying now, hands over their mouths. Aunt Shirley started to rise, going in for a hug, but my mom grabbed her quick. “R-remember, we gotta stay in front of our candles.” Shirley nodded and sat back down, still crying. But Lou-Anne started to flicker in and out, like a dying lightbulb. My mom gasped and immediately turned to look at me and my dad. My dad had started to crawl backwards away from the ghost, away from his candle. My mom shrieked. “Jonathan, get back here! You have to remember her or else!” “Or else” – that’s what my mom said. I don’t know if she knew the consequences of breaking the ritual, or if she was threatening my dad afterwards with words that would cut like knives. I’ll never get the chance to know for sure now. My dad shuffled back toward the candle, ass on the floor like a dog, muttering, “L-Lou-Anne, I- I- I missed you.” Her ghost paused and slowly turned around, letting me see her face for the first time. She was smiling, with the same twinkle in her eye as when she’d pull a toy out of her big purse for me. “Oh Jonathan, I missed you too. You’ve been treating Jackie well, I hope? Someone’s gotta now that I’m not here,” she chuckled. Something snapped in my dad. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, except this time it might as well have split the camel into bloody pieces. “Of course I’ve been treating her well Lou-Anne. Y-you, you- you know, you always assumed I don’t treat her well.” “Jonathan, knock it off! She didn’t mean anything by it!” my mom scolded from across the circle. But he wasn’t having it anymore. There was a weight on his chest that he needed to get off, so he hijacked the whole séance to do it. I should’ve seen it coming. In some ways I did since I started to form the salt circle around me. But in the important ways I didn’t see it coming; otherwise I would’ve been anywhere but here tonight. “Lou-Anne, I take good care of your daughter, and I raised your grandson to be a fucking good young man, but you didn’t get to see that. All you did was criticize and- and-“ His confidence went out like his candle did. Her daughters couldn’t see it, but we did. My dad’s memories stopped being good ones, started to gravitate around the bitter arguments they had while she was alive. Bad blood that I wasn’t even alive for, but he still dragged me into his argument. So he stopped remembering her as a good person, and for a second, just for one goddamn second, he thought of her as he truly felt. He remembered her as a monster. She lunged forward toward him, nails growing longer into claws. He yelled as they sunk into his neck, veins snapping and blood streaming out. My mom rushed out from behind her candle to try and pry the ghost off him. I was frozen, the air sinking to what felt like subzero temperatures. I saw Lou-Anne’s ghost grow sharp teeth as she snapped at my dad’s face. “THIS IS WHAT YOU THINK OF ME???” she yelled in between taking bites. “No, please no Mommy!” my mom cried out, gripping the ghost- though at this point, she was fully solid, so I don’t even think a “ghost” is what she became. Blood gurgled in my dad’s mouth as he thrashed and revealed his nose was missing, a wreck of flesh and blood around a hole in his face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Shirley pick up her and my mom’s candle. “Jackie, I’m ending this shit!” she yelled, blowing out the candles. For the briefest second, I saw my mom’s horrified face turn around, too late to stop her sister. Then, my candle was the only light left in the world. Something about the chant rattles around my mind now. “ Eternal Gates to open… ” – like letting a dog out of the yard. If that’s the case, then the candles are the chains around the dog’s neck, making sure it can go back to where it belongs. Just a theory… but I’m sure as hell not letting my candle go out after seeing what happened. With three out of four candles out, the entity shook, trembling with a surge of power. It threw my dad to the ground and turned and grabbed my mom by her throat. By my flickering light, I saw Aunt Shirley turn to run down the stairs, leaving us behind. But the entity chased after her, still gripping my mom by the throat. They disappeared out of sight down the attic stairs. I heard a loud tumble as it sounded like the thing caught up to Aunt Shirley, and all three crashed down the wooden steps. “THE SACRIFICES I MADE FOR YOU GIRLS!” I heard it yell amidst the panicked screaming of the other two. My dad’s body laid by my side, face turned away, but the gash where his nose was burned into my memory. I stood to run toward my mom, drops of courage greasing my muscles to move, but as soon as I stepped out of my salt circle, I heard footsteps come racing back up the stairs. My nerves gave out and I fell back into my circle, thankfully keeping my candle upright. The screams had stopped by the time it made it back up the stairs. And then it stood before me. I never told my parents why I was scared to go to the funeral. I was convinced that for some reason, we’d all have to look at my grandma’s body the whole time, that the casket would be upright, and she’d be facing us the whole time. And I couldn’t bring myself to see that face again. That face I saw on her last night alive. “Dax. Dax. Please look at me,” it spoke. That’s how I knew it was no longer Lou-Anne in front of me. Not even an ounce of her soul left in this vessel. She went out of her way to make sure I couldn’t see her dying but I did anyway. The paramedics were taking her pulse and blood pressure, watching her convulse while trying to get the stretcher upright in the room. Her face was toward the ceiling but as soon as I naively stepped in the room, she turned to me. Skin crusted, discolored patches. Holes. Holes amidst the rough patches. Cheeks and forehead covered in them. Eyes sunken in. Not even able to look at me. Never to twinkle again like they did when she handed me that football. That’s how I remembered her. That’s the only way I could remember her. So that’s the only way she could appear before me now. I only took one glance at the entity in front of me, but it matched what I remembered. But it was amplifying all of it, feeding off of my fear, the holes in my memory. She didn’t have eyes at all this time, instead empty caverns where stale wind blew through. The holes in around her face were more prominent this time, forming a twisted mask pattern, the edges bleeding and angry purple skin showing. “Dax, look at me. Let me in,” it spoke, just standing there, watching me. I’ve spent what feels like a lifetime just sitting in this circle, crying in silence, not letting my tears touch the candles, knowing it’s watching me through empty holes. The salt must be having some effect, but I can’t risk what might happen when the last candle goes out, if it’ll cause another surge of violence. I wish I could remember her any other way, but I’m all that’s left. I’m the last one here alive. “Lou-Anne” can’t exist any other way except how I remember her. “I’m sorry grandma,” I whispered to myself, hoping she could hear me wherever she was, hoping she knew I remembered the twinkle in her eye. Hoping she’d forgive me for remembering the holes more than that.


“Why did you take this class if you are only going to stare at a blank piece of paper?” I glance up to see who's speaking. It’s a man with boyish looks and curious blue eyes. He sits at the desk next to mine. His paper already holds all kinds of objects. A square with deep shadows. A sphere with lots of pencil shading like the one on the board in front of the class. It looks even cleaner than the one our instructor drew. The rest of his paper holds a flawless cylinder. It captures the light hitting it at the perfect angle. It’s so smooth it looks like a photograph and not a sketch. I can’t help but glare. It’s obvious he’s taken art classes before. I straighten my paper on my desk. It’s still crooked. I straighten it again. I take my box of charcoal pencils and lay it evenly next to my paper. I straighten them both once more. My eraser is too far away. I place it next to the box of pencils. Perfect. Everything lines up in a nice, neat row. All I have left is to get started. I glance back over at the guy next to me who is waiting for a response. “Oh, you’re one of those,” he says, answering his own question. My brows knit together in confusion, “One of what?” “A perfectionist.”

My heart misses a beat. I hate that word, perfectionist. I look away from the guy without answering him. My blank paper stares at me from the table. It taunts me. Go ahead and get started, what’s stopping you? “I wouldn’t say I’m a perfectionist,” I tell him quietly. I move my pencil box to the left side of my paper, deciding it looks better there. Now the eraser is in the wrong spot. I move it again. It’s only after I tidy things on my desk one more time that I tell him, “I do like having things a certain way. It helps.” “Helps what, exactly?” he asks, in a playful tone. “It’s painful to watch you.” “Everyone has their own way of doing things,” I snap back, defensive. “You don’t have to watch me. I’d rather you didn’t.” Waves of anxiety hit me at the thought of someone judging my work. “Right. Okay,” he says, smiling in a carefree manner. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re doing anything wrong. My name’s Gausik. What’s your name?” “Camellia,” I whisper, turning my attention back to my paper. The sharpest charcoal pencil I have sits between my fingers. I start to mimic what our instructor created on the board. The sphere feels like a safe place to start. My pencil scratches at the center of the page as I persuade it to create a perfect circle. It’s too messy. I erase it and start again. The second attempt isn’t any better, so I erase it, too. No amount of furious scrubbing with an eraser can remove my past mistakes. I pull another sheet of paper out and begin again. It was an impulsive decision I made to be in this class. The local high school had posted a flyer. It said they would be hosting several different night classes with guest instructors. The classes went all throughout summer. Anyone above the age of eighteen were welcome to attend. I had wanted to go to college when I was younger. My dream had been to major in art. A pipe dream. College is for kids who land scholarships or have parents who can afford to send them. I didn’t fall into either of those categories. A new blank paper looks at me from the desk. I pick up my pencil and then put it back down. Class is almost over. I wasted the last forty-five minutes too scared to draw a circle. Of all the “P” words used to describe me, “Perfectionist” was the wrong one. The guy next to me should have used the word that really fits. Pathetic. No wonder I’m painful to watch. Tears form in the corner of my eyes. The last thing I want is for Mr. boyish good looks to see me having a breakdown on the first night of classes. I scoop all my things into my bag and dip out of class early. What had I been thinking? My shoes hit the sidewalk in loud steps on my way to the parking lot. It isn’t fair for the night sky to look down on me with a perfect moon at its center. The moon’s round face has a smug smile hidden in its craters, as if to say, look – even I can make a circle. My keys shake against my car door as my fingers tremble with frustration. Anyone who happens to be watching me will think I’m the first one to die in a horror movie. My keys drop to the ground, and I snatch them back up. I can’t do anything right, can I? A yelp escapes me when someone grabs at my shoulder. It’s all reflexes when I swing myself around. My bag connects with something solid. “Ouch,” it hisses. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” The solid object is Gausik. He rubs at his arm with a sheepish look on his face. A ping of guilt for hitting him stabs at me before I push it away. What business does he have sneaking up on a woman in a dark parking lot? Without confinement to a desk, his height towers over me. His hair is a mess of brown curls. He looks around my age, late twenties. “Why did you follow me?” “I wanted to give you something,” he says, and opens his hand to reveal a small slip of paper. “Don’t let tonight discourage you from going after what you want.” I stare at the paper confused for a moment, and when I look up, I notice the guy had walked away. He reaches a scarlet motorcycle on the other side of the parking lot. Light from the moon reflects on the back of his leather jacket. It reminds me of the cylinder on his paper. A single line of reflected white light trails between his shoulder blades. The white then fades to various shades of grey before it disappears into solid black. “Hey wait,” I yell. “What is this?”

He gives me a mischievous grin before he slips on his helmet. He slides onto his bike and the engine rips through the air with a violent sound. He offers a thumbs up before he pulls out of the parking lot. Fury builds inside me as I watch him go. How hard is it to answer a damn question? I study the piece of paper. It reads: 1412 King Ave, Tulsa OK Friday, June 13th 6:30 p.m. How stupid would I be to show up to this address without more answers? I climb into my car and listen to the familiar whine of the engine. Anxiety claws at my chest. I’m not good at doing new things or going places I’ve never been before. It’s up there with my other fears like “meeting new people” and “ordering food over a drive thru speaker.” It took insane courage to come to this class. What good did it do? Isn’t it time to let go of the idea that I could ever be an artist?

*** My nails drum against the desk. My heel taps against the floor at the same speed. The clock above the door grabs my attention. Hello, it’s four forty-five in case you care , it tells me. Ohh ho ho, it’s 5 o’ clock and you know what that means, it continues. I glare at its red digital numbers and debate throwing my shoe at it. A broken clock can’t tell time. My computer blinks into a black void as I power it down, readying myself to leave for the day. There are no last-minute calls needing me to schedule appointments. All the accounts payable paperwork has been filed. I can’t think of a single thing left to do that would keep me at the office late no matter how hard I try. My desk is organized to the point that a furniture magazine would use it for advertising. The only thing holding me back from going to that address tonight… is me. *** It's a tall building. I didn’t expect that. The architecture suggests it’s from the 1920's. Lots of old buildings in downtown Tulsa are from the 1920’s. My fingers itch to park myself across the street, pull out my sketchpad, and draw every old brick one-by-one. The glass doors are covered by a moss green canopy. The windows are arched and a staircase zigzags down the left side of the building in a series of black iron bars. Next to the staircase is a giant painted canvas of a black bear. It holds a yellow daisy in its paw, sniffing it. Above the bear reads, “Black Bear Hotel.” It’s when I get to the doors that I take note of an important detail missing from Gausik’s slip of paper. Where am I supposed to go? There isn’t a room number. It’s not too late. I can still turn back and go home. No one is making me go inside. My traitor feet drag me through the hotel doors and dump me into the lobby. Cherry red sofas and chairs are spread across the room. Old black-and-white photos of Tulsa landmarks decorate the walls. A turquoise chandelier hangs from the ceiling with thousands of dangling beads. There isn’t anyone behind the counter to check guests in. My shoulders sag in defeat, and I head back to the hotel doors. I did try. I should get points for that. I yelp as someone grabs at my back. My body turns before I tell it to and my hand connects with something solid. It takes a second before it registers that my hand has been captured. It’s wrapped tight in fingers larger than my own. “I was ready this time,” Gausik laughs. A girl stands next to him. She’s in overalls. A striped shirt with long sleeves is underneath. She’s covered in splashes of paint all the way down to her black combat boots. Bright blue hair is tied into pig-tails high on her head. She smiles at me with brilliant red lips. “You must be Camellia.” Gausik lets go of my hand. “Everyone is waiting. Let’s get going.” He tosses a grin to the girl, “told you she’d show, Maddie. Where’s my ten bucks?” She fishes a ten dollar bill from her front pocket and shoves it into his hand. Then, she snakes her slim arm around mine. “We love new faces. I’m happy to be wrong. Let’s go,” she says, dragging me up a flight of stairs hidden behind the check in desk. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask. One flight of stairs turns into two. Two turns into three, three turns into five, and I ask another reasonable question. “Where are we going?” “The rooftop,” Maddie says, as if it’s obvious. Gausik throws open the door at the end of the last flight of stairs and we funnel onto the roof. I let out a gasp. On the top of the roof are at least eight huge canvases. Buckets of paint, paintbrushes, and tarps, are scattered everywhere. Strings of lights hang low with glowing yellow bulbs against a fading sun. Several more people are on the rooftop. A trio near the right corner of the roof sing in time with music I’ve never heard before. Their hips and paintbrushes sway to the beat. The words are off key as they sing. They don’t seem to care. Maddie lets go of my arm and runs to the center canvas. The image makes my heart skip a beat. A nude woman is turned around in the center of it. You see her arms crossed above her head. Her hair is trapped in her fingers as it tumbles down her bare back. The curves of her hips meet the bottom of the canvas leaving the woman’s lower half to the imagination. Her head is angled away. All you see there is the side of her angular cheek, her curved nose, and the lines of her chin. Above them, a closed eye with long lashes. The picture is painted in several shades of grey and blue. “It’s mine, Camellia. What do you think?” Maddie asks. A nauseous feeling hits my gut. I shouldn’t be here. “It’s stunning,” I tell her. Something slaps me in the stomach and I look down. Gausik had put a large paintbrush in my hand. “This is my sister’s art studio. Welcome to Novice Night. We host these every third Friday of the month. Pick any blank canvas you want.” He says this like it isn’t a big deal. Anyone can pick up a paintbrush and lay it against a blank canvas. Anyone can choose the right colors. Anyone can make something out of nothing. Anyone can create art. My breath comes out faster and faster until I can’t keep the panic inside any longer. I push the paintbrush back into his hands and turn to the door. “Camellia, where are you going?” he asks. “Thanks for inviting me,” my voice comes out tight and my eyes sting. “But I’ve never painted before.” “Hey… hey. No need for crying,” he says to soothe me. “It’s okay if you haven’t painted before. It’s not a test. Don’t you want to make art? Did I get that wrong?” “You have to be an artist to make art and I haven’t had a chance to learn yet. I’m not ready.” He tilts his head in confusion before he says, “Who told you that?” “Well, it’s true. I’m not like everyone else here. You guys are talented.” He laughs and it’s a full sound that shakes his whole body. Shame burns my cheeks and I take a step closer to the door. He grabs my hand pulling me back. “Camellia, everyone is an artist. Don’t you know? If you wait until you think you’re ready, you’ll never get started. The time will never be right or perfect. You don’t have to have talent to create art. The only thing you need,” he leans in close to my ear, “is to be human.” His words sink into my head. I blink a few times. He pushes the paintbrush back into my hands. A blank canvas mocks me as it stands next to Maddie’s perfect painting. No matter what he says, I still can’t bring myself to move. He shoots me a toothy smile before picking up a bucket of paint at my feet. The color is black. In one large movement he lets the paint fly. It coats Maddie’s painting and she shrieks. Instead of anger, she surprises me, and lets out a laugh. She takes her brush blurring the black paint into the background. When she finishes, I'm struck again by her talent. Everything is black except for fingers twisting into hair and the side of the woman’s face. “What’s it going to be, Camellia? Worried you'll make a mistake?” Gausik asks. “Are you going to let the fear of not being good enough hold you back for the rest of your life?” The first color I choose is red. Red like the anger inside me for needing to be perfect all the time. A voice is loud in my head with every stroke against the blank canvas. I can’t tune out the words. Oh, you only took second place in your track meet? Why didn’t you take first? You have a B on your report card this semester. It was all A’s on the last one. You need to try harder. We expect more from you. Camellia, your hips are hanging over your jeans. Don’t you think you need to slow down on the food? Your face is breaking out again, Camellia. Why don’t you ever wash your face enough? Is that what you’re wearing? I don’t want people to think I raised a daughter who doesn’t care about her appearance. Tears run down my cheeks when I see the canvas in front of me is no longer white. All I see are shades of red. I attack the canvas further as if the sound of paint strokes can drown out another voice in my head. My own. You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never be loved. Everything you do is a mistake. You’re trash, Camellia. Don’t you know that? Who are you to think you can be an artist? Don’t make me laugh. How can you create something that means anything when you mean nothing? How can you make something beautiful when you’re so ugly inside?” I grab black paint and keep going. The place painting takes me to is a state of release. It’s a symbiotic relationship between chaos and peace. Its Maddie’s voice that brings me back to the present. “Oh, this is truly something… it’s beautiful Camellia.” My fingers still against the canvas, finished, and I hear Gausik say in a low voice, “I told you, didn’t I? We’re all artists.” I study the painting, surprised it’s my own. Looking back at me are ruby red petals. They belong to a Camellia flower. They ripple against the canvas in a way that steals the breath from my lungs. Around the Camellia flower are black bars. Such a beautiful delicate flower and yet, it’s trapped in a cage. The petals are messy. The lines aren’t straight. Despite it all, I sink to my knees. A weight on my shoulders has been lifted. This is what it means to be an artist. Everything about my painting is… right. It’s perfect. It’s human.


TW: Language and Chaotic Sequences Terri set the cooler and tote bag on the grass beneath her feet. She pulled the big blue blanket out of the bag, gripped the edge, and let it unfold in the breeze before setting it on the ground. She set the cooler on one corner, the tote bag on the other diagonally opposite.

“Well, come on, then,” said Terri. Her eldest child Lexi, carrying her youngest brother Ezra, stepped onto the blanket. She let Ezra go as she crossed her legs, scooping her red hair behind her ear and away from the wind. “This isn’t the best day to do this,” said Lexi. “I can’t see anything.” “It’ll let up,” said Terri. “Don’t worry about it.” She opened the cooler and pulled out a handful of sandwiches handing one to Lexi and tearing one in half for Ezra. He stayed standing, holding the sandwich in his clenched fist, examining his surroundings. Terri couldn’t tell if it was bewilderment or confusion on her son’s face but found it comical regardless. “Sit down, Ez.” He sat, feet forward and cheeks red. “Why peanut butter and jelly, Mom? We have this every time,” said Lexi.

“It’s the standard,” said Terri. “I didn’t hear you once volunteer to pay for and make new sandwiches.” She smiled but Lexi didn’t reciprocate, just forced a bite and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “You’re not going to be on that phone when your father gets here. We’re going to spend quality time together.” “That phrase makes me want to puke. ‘Quality time’. Isn’t any time quality time?” “Don’t get analytical with me now. Just eat your lunch.” Terri watched Ezra bite his sandwich, a glob of jelly slipping free from the bread and landing on the blanket. She thought to complain but saw it paired nicely with the old vomit stain Lexi had put into the blanket six years prior. The bloodstain by her flip-flops was now a deep brown, a remnant from when Patrick had kicked their orange soccer ball a little too hard and drove it into Elliot’s nose. He had come running to her, a mix of tears and blood streaking down his face. One of his teeth, having already been loose, was knocked free. They’d left the beach that afternoon without finding it, even after another hour’s worth of search. Patrick had put a dollar under Elliot’s pillow anyway. Pop! The snap of Lexi’s gum brought Terri back to reality. She could smell the artificial grape flavoring despite the wind blowing against her daughter’s mouth. A yellowjacket came to visit, floating under Terri’s nose. It hovered, nudging at her cheeks. She swatted several times, shooing it away. It circled around, almost tickling at Lexi’s scalp. Ezra watched it float off into the trees behind them, licking the peanut butter off his lips.

Despite the wind, Terri felt proud for picking today to have lunch at the park. The sun shone in a sky as blue as toothpaste, wisps of clouds drifting along like slow-moving animals searching for rest. The trees shuddered in the wind, leaves singing and dancing in the invisible current. A couple of families studded the grassy expanse of Ridgeville Park like pimples, some sitting at benches, others playing with a yellow frisbee. A play structure sat to their left, built with seven slides and a set of swings on the end. There was a sandpit with a crane arm and seat, giant climbable tires, and some sort of spinning seats attached to poles that made her nauseous to look at. “Da!” said Ezra, bouncing in his place. His left hand was covered in jelly. He pointed with his right down the slight incline, near the play structure. “Da-da!” Approaching them was Patrick and Elliot, both with hair like fire. Terri stroked her brown hair, throwing it over her shoulder as best she could with the wind. Elliot charged up to the blanket, almost tackled his mother with the hug. Despite being only ten, he had his father’s strength in him. Patrick came up, handsome as ever with his beard and button-up shirt and tie. He picked up Ezra, placed him on his hip. “Hey buddy,” he said, giving him a forehead kiss. “Having a good day? Are you giving Mom hell as always?” “Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Terri. Patrick kissed her as he knelt, rummaging through the cooler. “That’s my boy,” he said with a smile he’d hoped to hide from his wife. “Hi, Lexi.” Pop! “Hi Dad,” said Lexi, looking at him before returning to her phone. She was lying on her back now. Patrick shrugged and took a big bite of his sandwich. He’d tossed another to Elliot, who’d already taken several bites by the time he started his, eating around the crusts. They looked like toenail clippings.

“How was the dentist, boys?” Terri asked. The wind had begun to settle, the gentle tickle giving their hair an ethereal floating effect. Ezra’s nose had regressed from red to pink. “Fine,” said Patrick, resting on his right elbow as he leaned back. “They found a couple of small cavities between his teeth but everything was fine on the surface. They gave him a small bag with the usual stuff but gave him two cartridges of floss and heavily emphasized that he start using it.” “I will,” Elliot said, chipmunking his sandwich as he nibbled on a carrot. “Trust me. I don’t want my teeth pulled.” “Slow down, hon,” said Terri. “Swallow the food already in your mouth before shoving something else in.” Elliot gave a hard swallow, almost choked, and took a sip from his juice box before eating again. Snap! went Elliot’s carrot. Pop! went Lexi’s gum. “Nothing too expensive, I hope?” Terri asked before biting into a Thin Mint. She’d bought a box two days prior when the Girl Scouts had migrated to their side of town. Her family didn’t need to know she’d gotten an extra box of Tagalongs for herself that was currently hiding under the driver’s seat in the station wagon.

“Compared to what we have to pay for our dental work? Not expensive at all,” Patrick said. “One less thing to worry about,” said Terri. “For now.” She reached into the bag on the opposite side of the blanket and pulled out a short wave radio. Her father used to have one himself; they’d stay up past her bedtime listening to old radio broadcasts from the 50s; crime dramas that kept her up until morning, praying the batteries had enough juice for the next episode the following evening. When she left for college, her father had given her a spare radio he’d hid in the garage when she was home but worked on repairing for her when she fell asleep. She’d cried over it when he bid her goodbye and she cried over it again the night after he passed away. Now, she flicked through the radio stations, hoping for something more interesting than adverts and pop songs. “Brite-Shine, the new mold-clearing cleaner that’ll have your tubs looking as shiny as the-,” said one station. Click . “I just can’t hold this feeling in me anymooooo-” sang some twenty-something. Click . “-the bombing of Jackson Bank on the north side of Ridgeville. This assault is the third in what appears to be a string of serial attacks against-” This was enticing but she didn’t want to scare her boys. Click . “You say goodbye and I say hello,” sang the Beatles. Terri smiled and set the radio down, taking in the sun. Birds chittered somewhere in the trees surrounding the park. Behind them were cars, some honking, others revving. Despite being two in the afternoon, the avenues were packed. She thought of Dr. Seuss and Oh, the Places You’ll Go! That one line came strong amongst the others; Everyone is just waiting . When Ezra’s curiosity got the better of him, he took off toward the playground. Terri began to rise but Patrick ushered her back down. “I’ve got this,” he said, chasing after his three-year-old son. He stomped down the small incline, roaring and swaying his arms like a monster. Ezra shrieked with happiness, took off under the monkey bars and they were gone, lost among a jungle gym and the plastic construct of the slides. Terri ate a Thin Mint and looked at herself. Her sides were peeking through the lowest part of her shirt, pale skin exposed for the world to see. She put her hoodie on, zipped it up. She admitted that maybe she could cut back on the sweets and left it at that… until she ate two more cookies. At least Patrick still thinks I’m pretty… right?

“Can I have the cookies, Mom?” Lexi asked, reaching out her hand. Terri blinked. “Did you eat your sandwich?” Terri wondered, her eyebrows raised in challenge. “Like… half of it,” said Lexi. “Please?” “Fine, but you need to eat some carrots sometime before we go, okay?” Terri said, tossing her the sleeve of Thin Mints. With the quietness of a panther, Elliot dove headfirst and snatched the cookies out of the air. Terri flinched and Lexi squeaked.

“I’ll take those,” said Elliot. He popped a Thin Mint into his mouth, his smile full of crushed cookie. “Fucker!” said Lexi, getting up and giving chase as Elliot began to run.

“Hey, watch your language!” Terri called after them. “Don’t hurt your brother, please!” She heard Ezra shriek at the playground. Patrick was chasing him, arms in the air, swaying back and forth with slow stomps carrying him forward. She thought there was dirt in Ezra’s hand but couldn’t tell from the blanket. Lexi had Elliot pinned. Face to face, she geared up her gum and blew the biggest bubble she could. Elliot squirmed as the purple sphere neared his face.

BOOM! Terri couldn’t tell what had happened. It was like her vision went dark and she was just now able to see again. Her ears rang, the screams echoing through them muffled. Lexi was still on top of Elliot, frozen and staring straight ahead. Terri sprinted to them. Elliot bucked from under his sister, trying to wrench free but to no avail.

“Get off, Lexi!” Terri said, wrenching her hands from Elliot’s wrists. “Are you both okay?!” “I think! What’s going on?!” Elliot shouted, rubbing his ears.

“Lexi!” Terri and Elliot both said, shaking Lexi’s shoulders. They followed her gaze and saw it. A cloud of black smoke plumed into the sky and at its tail, a building wreathed in orange and yellow flame. Half of it was gone, scattered across the street and setting some of the nearby foliage ablaze. Another blow came from inside, windows left unbroken now shattered, shards of glass clattering onto the sidewalk below. Terri’s ears popped, heard the hundred car alarms screeching in disharmony. People were screaming, dashing to their cars, all away from the building. Terri grabbed Lexi and Elliot, turned them away as, one by one, survivors from the explosion came sprinting out of the building, arms flailing and engulfed in fins of tangerine. Some jumped through the windows up high, screaming as they collided with the concrete. The rest ran down the streets, crying for help, rolling on the ground. “Come on,” said Terri, turning away. The three of them ran back to the blanket. She gathered what she could of their stuff and then her children’s attention. “You stay right here! I have to find your father and brother! Lexi, you watch Elliot! Do you understand?” Lexi gave a shaky nod, her gaze returning to the flaming people running in the streets. Elliot was crying. “Don’t look, sweetie. Don’t look. I’ll be back.” By the time she got to the structure, the flames had started to spread. Sirens were wailing somewhere across the city. The trees separating the burning building and the park were starting to catch flame, bark popping as the fire licked up their trunks. The grass curled into charred spirals like black licorice whips. The fire crept along, inching closer to the playground. “Patrick!” Terri screamed, jumping onto the play structure. The wood chips surrounding it started to smolder. “Patrick!” “Here!” shouted Patrick. He came barreling toward her from under the structure, crying Ezra in his arms. “Oh, thank God,” Terri said. She hopped down and took his hand. “Let’s go!” They ran, watched the flames start to climb the play structure, singe the pine handrails and melt the plastic tunnels. Lexi and Elliot were still there. They all collapsed onto the ground, huddled like football players. “Are you okay, Dad?” Lexi asked, patting him down. “Is Ezra okay too?!” “He’s fine,” said Patrick. “We have to get out of here. The fire isn’t going to stop spreading. Let’s get to the car.” They picked each other up and slogged to the car with what energy they had left. Ezra’s face was red with tears again. Terri kissed his forehead and strapped him in.

“Hospital?” Terri asked as she buckled into the passenger’s seat. “Good idea to get there now than later,” said Patrick. They sped off, taking a sideroad and breaching the parkway to avoid the congested avenues. Ridgeville Hospital North, and South for that matter, was always busy, but the fallout from the recent explosions had them pushing the limits of their capacity. The limit would certainly be toppled after this one. With Patrick leading, they stepped into the emergency wing. Patrick told the nurses the situation and they were seated to wait for the next available examination. The lobby was practically empty save for an old couple and another family with a crying newborn. They sat and whilst waiting, watched a stream of folk in dirty clothing come barging into reception, distressed and screaming at the nurses for help. Despite the catastrophe, this happened only a few times before the room fell quiet. Patrick had made the smart move to travel farther to the south hospital. He’s always been good like that . They settled in. Another family that happened to be at the park came into the lobby, met, and talked to help ease the tension, but otherwise kept to themselves. Patrick drank himself a cup of coffee, Terri holding Ezra in her arms. He was fast asleep, eyes swollen from the crying. Lexi and Elliot sat together on Terri’s right. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw them holding hands.

“Your gum scared me,” said Elliot. Lexi looked over, eyes bloodshot. “What do you mean?” she asked. “The bubble popped when the building exploded. Thought that’s what made the noise.” “Well, sorry… not gonna chew gum for a while.” “Yeah, you’d better not if it makes buildings explode,” said Elliot. Patrick chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah, Lex,” said Patrick. “How about you switch to something else for a while? You’re gonna get caught if you keep doing that.” “Oh, to hell with you both,” said Lex, smiling. “How do we know it wasn’t your monster stomps that brought it down, Dad? When chasing Ezra?” “She’s got a point,” said Terri, smiling with a bit lip. “Oh yeah?” Patrick asked with a stunned look painted across his cheeks. “Peanut butter makes me fart. It could have been your sandwiches that did the job.” “Sounds more genetic than anything. I shouldn’t be blamed for that at all.” Terri laughed as she spoke. They poked fun for a while before the hysteria brought them back down. It started to rain, drops pecking at the glass windows of the waiting room. Smoke danced on the horizon, painting the sky gray. Terri dug through the bag at her feet, picked the radio out, and caressed it, going over the lines and buttons with her fingertips before turning it on. Click .


It was never easy keeping track of everything at once: your appointments, maybe your kids if you have any, your money, your family, friends, birthdays, even the days of the week can slip us by at times. It's especially hard for someone like me who has terrible memory loss and can't even remember my age when being asked at the liquor store. I'm just kidding(no I'm not) but for real, there's no denying I need constant assistance to accomplish everything I need to get done. There's just one problem: I'm a HUGE technophobe. I don't trust the new robots, as I like to address anything with a screen, with anything pertaining to me or anything I consider personal. That being said, it took a lot to get me to set up something as simple as Google Pay. I know, I know, it's "protected" by laws and all that good stuff but anything can be hacked. I don't know how to do any of that but I'm sure there's someone out there who does and believe me when I say I would be embarrassed if a hacker saw what I was working with. They might actually hack some money into my account. We definitely don't need THAT happening! Anyway, I felt it was a necessary move being that, as I stated above, my memory is completely shot and I'm constantly forgetting my debit card at home. It's extremely frustrating to be in a store for an hour at the least, wait in line for another 15-30mins, just to get to the cashier and realize all that precious time out of my life was in vain. What's worse is that I have to blame myself for it. Thus, I linked my card to my Google account which, in that statement alone, sounds terrifying enough. I've obviously found it helpful on the days my brain forgot to wake up but I still worry about websites or outside users hacking and tracking my activity or payment methods. I don't want to admit that it is indeed handy because I want an excuse to eliminate this robot trick from my everyday life but I honestly just can't trust myself like that, yet. Another Google function that I've unfortunately found to be helpful is Google Notes. Yes, my own brain is the reason I have to rely so much on my digital enemy. Everything goes on that app, there's no way around it. Leaving sticky notes have proved to be futile as habituation kicks in and I forget they're even there. Or the marvelous moment when I do see it and forget to take it with me and let me be honest enough to say that I have way too many pictures on my phone to be able to find one of my notes. These all being the reason I have(almost) no choice but to jot everything down in my phone. I feel like it's way too accessible to be a good thing. All in all, I'm pretty much still on the fence about it. I'm very much so against the new age era of technology because I do feel it devalues human life and diminishes the good things we have around us. People, especially children, don't value nature anymore or explore the outdoors on the hot, summer days like we used to. Things simply are not the same and it saddens me to see all my childhood landmarks coming down for a screen ad or billboard for a new phone or other piece of technology. Life in itself is way too different for my liking. These doubtful feelings coupled with the convenience of the technology I do possess leave me in a limbo of hating and loving it. Where do I stand? I don't know, let me ask Google and I may have an answer within a couple seconds unless it already knew what I was going to say. One other thing I've found to be super cool about everything becoming digitalized are the departure boards at the train stations. I'm from New York and one thing we can all agree on is that the MTA(public transportation) really sucks. They're always late, stuck in a tunnel somewhere or they may even stop running altogether. It used to be close to impossible to figure out when your train was coming, if at all, but two devices made that less of a struggle: the departure screens and the cellphone(surprise). The screens display the amount of time we have to wait for the next train or simply says "Delay" when there is a delay. You can also check the time of arrival on the website. However, these both aren't always correct which leaves room for a LOT of frustration. There are some technology that I find myself to be grateful for such as the ones I stated above but I also know I'm still not looking forward to where these things are taking us in human nature. I have two children who I know will have to learn how to use a computer but at the same time, I don't want them to be used to the idea or have it be normalized in their lives. They're too susceptible to becoming addicted to it, which many studies have shown. I definitely do want life to be a little easier(at least as far as living in the city goes) but I still don't want this to become normalized. I'm definitely comfortable with putting in more laborious work to get what I need or accomplish a task but sometimes it is a lot more convenient either for time and/or efficiency to have a robot help you instead. These longtime issues have been solved by a simple device but how far will it go? When will it stop and will there be huge consequences for not using critical thinking for every day tasks and interaction being that we would have gotten used to a machine completing the tasks for us? I'm not sure but I do know one thing: I can control what I do in my life. I'm just not sure how I feel about it becoming apart of our lifestyles. Google Pay does come in clutch, though.


I sit upon this train And stare out the window, As the gray high rises flash by, Making me ask myself why; Why do cities have to be so noisy? Why do people want to live in such places? Why would they opt to breathe smog, choked air? Why, when they could live anyplace, but there? Every day I see the same people, though I know not their names, Nor do I ask. They are strangers to me And I to them. I ask not, because they will never want mine. And I have to ask myself why. Why are there some that say, “You should not talk to that person, Because you don't know him... or her,” Whichever the case may be. How can a friend become a friend, if not given the time? I have to ask myself why. Why do people have to meddle where they don't belong? Why must they try to re-write other people's live’s songs? Why be a friend, when you're just going to manipulate? Why help Evil do what it delegates? I spy a child, sitting by himself And think it's sad he is all alone, Without a loved one, by his side And I ask myself why; Why would a parent send their child off alone? Why do other passengers seem not to care? Why is an eight-year-old sitting amongst strangers? Why must he be thrust into a world of danger? Every so often a new face appears; Sometimes it's old, sometimes young, or in-between, Once a girl, of twenty, got on to never be seen again; I know what happened, and it's a shame no one was convicted of the crime And I have to ask myself why. Why does justice not always go according to plan? Why did the beast have to come out and play? Why must I keep bottled up inside the where, the why, the how? Why has this world, of woe, been brought into being now? An elderly woman gets on at the next stop And I offer her my seat, When I see no one else is willing to try, And I have to ask myself why; Why is there not more respect? Why are the aged not treated better? Why do people feel the need to segregate? Why when they see how frail she is they hesitate? I smile as the train curls its serpentine body across the land, When I spot a blind man scratching the ears of his companion. A child kicks the well-behaved dog, and her mother pays no mind. And I have to ask myself why; Why doesn't she spank the child like the mothers of old? Why do the people wonder where they have gone wrong? Why don't they seem not to care at all? Why are we letting ourselves be led like sheep to the firing wall? A tear slips from my eye, to course down my cheek, Because on this train, a life ceased to be. How is it that I'm the only one that cares he has died? I cry silent tears, as I fix his hair, and ask myself why; Why must egos not see beyond their own facades? Why must life be measured by how many friends you have? Why did this poor soul have to take his last journey alone? Why won't they answer the ringing of his phone? Two rival gang members sit opposite each other and stare. I don't see anything being accomplished by a glare. If there were a way to go back in time, I would like to, in their pasts, to when they were younger, still, but then I ask myself why. Why should I care that they want to annihilate each other? Why suffer my heart the pangs of caring to fix two miss-guided youths? Why do I feel like I'm letting them down, because I cannot their lives mend? Why should I cry tears of remorse, even as they hate their fellow men? I whip my head around at the sound of agony and ferocious pain; And my heart leaps into my throat as someone yells for a doctor. I silently pass through a gathering crowd, which is witnessing the birth of a child. And I ask myself why. Why must one life end, so that another may start its journey? Why were these onlookers absent when the old man died, so that this birth could happen? Why does pain of sorrow have to beget tears of joy? Why can I not be free from this prison, so that I might be with my own baby boy? I look down at my wrists and ankles, but see no shackles, there upon; However, even if I, nor anyone, notices them, they are ever present; Tethering me to this train, upon which I ride And I have to ask myself why. Why do I have to sit and watch humanity go about their days? Why should I have to care that they need a little sunshine now and then? Why do I smile, when everything seems so bleak? Why do I not try breaking my invisible shackles, making myself free? A strange light fills the air around the outside of the slowing train; I've never seen this happen before. There's something pulling me; Something that won't be stilled; And as I exit the train, I see a beautiful sight. Then a voice says, “Welcome to Elysian Fields.” “Why couldn't I have just came here when I died,” I ask. “The journey cleanses the soul and repairs the tears that life leaves behind” “Why doesn't everyone get to see this beautiful place? It might make them change.” “There are none that see's Elysian Fields until they die. I'm, sorry, but that's just the way it is.” “Why did the old man not exit the train with me?” "He has to take the same journey you did, so don't worry; He will be here when the time is right." “Why wasn't I given the ability to help the suffering that I saw, every day, on the train?” “It is not our place to help, but to protect. The living need to learn, if they are to survive.” “Why am I the only departed soul that traveled upon this train?” “Not all that wish to come here will, and, therefore, there will be many trains to Eternity that are nearly empty.” “Why do you not send heralds forth to tell them of this place?” “What do you think you have been doing?” I smile as I look across the field of golden grain, kissed by the dappled sunlight, and see all manner of beast lazing and grazing in the temperate climate. I amble forth and sweep my hands through waist high grasses, which no longer cause me to sneeze. A Grizzly bear, the symbol of my spirit protector, blocks my path, so that he might nuzzle my hand, then ambles on, with not a care in the world. I twirl 'round-and-'round, with my arms out, then run, feeling finally free. I sink to my knees, and bow my head, and thank God for making me free, to live the life that he had planned for me all along. I notice not as the train blows its whistle saying goodbye, as it continues its journey back to the land of the living. Too bad that the living on the train were blindfolded by their everyday lives and did not get to see the beauty that awaits them.


Through my own heroin use personal experiences I always believed in the duck test that is a form of deductive reasoning. This is its usual expression: If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck. The test implies that a person can identify an unknown subject by observing that subject's habitual characteristics. In the case of Lolita heroin use the look fit to a tee. The swimming part fit and she most times flew high like a duck going south for any winter season. Yet in reality she was just your garden variety garden snake. Basically she was a no good for nothing heroin junkie. For those of you who may not be aware heroin is an opiate drug derived from the poppy plant, is a stimulant that produces euphoria. Though it has some medical applications, recreational use is illegal in the United States. Smack. Dope. Mud. Horse. Skag. Junk. Black tar. Heroin comes with many street names. Nevertheless, heroin abuse is a common problem. Drug addiction has caused Lolita Greenhowe to be accused about doing things she thought were impossible. When heroin, also known as the dragon, enters the brain, it activates receptors that will then release the chemical dopamine. This is where the feelings of euphoria and pleasure come from. The rush sends numbness through the body as it flows through the blood. The central nervous system is depressed so someone on heroin won’t feel pain. The heart is depressed and breathing is shallow. All of this results in a sedated appearance that is hard to ignore. Lolita’s constant use of many times stepped on heroin is one reason she couldn’t be a mom to her two children, who are being raised by their grandparents. I met Lolita during my 5 th or 6 th stunt at a rehab facility in New York City. She was ordered by some tea toting Judge to join our outpatient classes after being released from jail for drug trafficking and after violating the terms of her probation. Heroin has been Lolita’s primary drug of choice since she began using at age 17. All of us female heroin addicts who were forced or court ordered to sit around the girl scout rehabilitation campfire telling true or make believe stories from the crypt sitting in a circle. Lolita was now 55 looking like a young 85 year old sea and weather beaten junkie hag. When it was her turn to share the first story she allocated with us 11 other heroin addicts, was the time she got accused of killing a trick (A man that pays prostitutes for sex or a man that pays women to hang around him), named Balderdash. Even Rosie woke up from a nod to asked her how did that john (A man that pays prostitutes for sex or a man that pays women to hang around him), come up with a nick name such as that old lady rhyme who shot up so much heroin up her right scarred up arm that she didn’t know what to dos. Before Lolita could respond Rosie Perez returned to the land of nod. Lolita said for the record he got that name because he was one who acted senseless and stupid and used exaggerated talk after spiking up. This heroin junkie who called herself Peaches, yelled for Lolita to get on with her lying sordid story if you please!  One thing about a heroin junkie is when they get interrupted is the fact that they have to collect their thoughts when intentionally interrupted. Where was I Lolita asked herself? Cookie Love shouted the trick the trick! You see Balderdash cashed in what was left of his 401K. He had accumulated over $62,000 at the junkie age of 50. Rumor had it that he was some kind of broker. Everyone in the group started laughing even Rosie laughed as slobber dribbled out of the side of her big painted green lips. She looked more like the Joker than the real Joker. As all of you hookers well know, what really happens when you have excess to a lot of dough. Rhonda croaked. Yeah them trickin days is over. Anyways me and dashed shacked up and an abandon building for a little over a week. All we did was shoot up constantly. Whenever he called the dope suppliers they came as fast as FedEx. When he died of an overdose. Everyone blamed me for his death. I even got charged with  conspiracy to commit murder. If it wasn’t for me being held in a mental institution when they discovered his decomposed body those charges may have stuck. After I got released from that god awful place I was ostracized on the streets. No one believed me when I tried to explain to them that I asked him to take a day off. You see in truth when Balderdash found out that he was dying from aids there was no stopping him. Besides, he only had about 8 grand left in which the police found in my purse. One thing about heroin junkies they have a short memory especially after I started spending the money I acquired to watch someone who insisted on killing themselves. The sad part about my life is that in a few months later I was accused of murder again. This time it I was with my pimp Macaroni. Sure he treated me and all his streetwalkers like dogs and sometimes beat us with a clothes hanger, but that didn’t mean I was the one who killed him, even if the thought of killing him crossed my confused mind a million times. Someone shot him up with enough anti-freeze that the police thought his body would  never overheat or thaw. Whoever did that to him left the syringe in my purse when they found me all beat up and half dead. If it wasn’t for the 8 ball (An 8-ball is one eight of an ounce of heroin, approximately 3.5 grams, enough to OD on) I shot up that day I probably wouldn’t be sitting around you sorry junkies trying to prove my innocence. The room wet silent for a few minutes and all that could be heard was the snores coming from Rosie. I swear on a bag of bad dope that I didn’t have nothin to do with his timely demise from this world but no one ever believed me, I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. The doctor who saved my life testified to the grand jury that I was just a victim of circumstances. Whatever that meant. It taint easy trying to convince heroin junkies that you didn’t kill no one. Lolita completed the 30 day treatment and I don’t know if I should share what eventually happened to her. Anyway through the street grapevine it was rumored that since she was accuse of killing two people. She decided to kill herself. I can’t say that I believe she was all that innocent of killing those two losers because she didn’t even leave no suicide note or nothing.


“Are you ready for this?” I looked over, putting the car into park. Lily gave a half nod as she held her purse on her lap like a shield. She smoothed out her coat and checked her makeup in the dim light as she pulled down the mirror. “Relax, it'll be fine, my older brother is bringing his new girlfriend to Valentine's dinner. So at least we will all be uncomfortable” I chuckled trying to lighten the mood and was rewarded with a pointed stare. I subtly checked my pocket for the ring and smiled knowing tonight was going to be a good night.

“Yeah, that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Lily said, reapplying her lipstick. “I’m sorry I get really nervous meeting family’s, it’s just so…” She slumped back into her seat, squeezing her eyes shut “weird” She sighed. Gently I reached over and took her hands in my own. Tucking a stray piece of auburn hair from her face, I kissed her. “Great” She laughed “Now you have lipstick on you”

Lily and I shared a look as we made our way through the endless streamers and hearts that decorated my parent’s front door.

I took her hand, scared I might lose her among the explosion of decorations. “Strange, my mom doesn’t usually go overboard with decorations like this, it looks like cupid barfed all over the porch” Laughing we forged our way to the door. “This looks like something my mom would do” Lily said, pressing the doorbell. The song Can’t help falling in love by Elvis Presley echoed through the house, loud enough to be heard through the big front door. I shook my head and groaned, knowing now it was too late to leave. The door opened with a flourish as my dad answered wearing nothing but a too tight cupid outfit. I reached over and covered Lily’s eyes, but it was too late, the damage had been done, that image was going to be burned in her head forever.

“Dad” I yelled, still trying desperately to protect Lily “What are you doing?” He laughed pulling out a toy bow and arrow. I stood stone face as the small heart shaped arrowhead bounced off my chest. I blinked hard as a tall brunette woman scurried past the door and into the kitchen, she too wore a cupid outfit, a little more appropriate but not by much. “Ah come in son, we’ve been waiting for you” My dad laughed, waving for us to come in. Lily looked over at me, her face frozen between embarrassment and wondering if it was too late to make a break for it. I squeezed her hand and rolled my eyes as we pushed our way past my dad’s overexposed belly. “Son, I want you to meet someone” He beamed “My new girlfriend, we met a few months ago after your mother and I got divorced.” “What!?” I stammered, tripping on my shoe that was halfway off. “Divorced! You never mentioned you were getting a divorce” Grabbing my head I leaned against the wall, wondering if I had time to add to cupid’s vomit outside.

He stared at me blankly, then shrugged. “I Facebooked it on Facebook, come on I want you to meet her, she's making dinner for all of us” Reluctantly we followed him into the kitchen, regretting the decision not to run. “Tommy, I want you to meet…” “Mom!” Lily shrieked, holding her hands to her mouth. The color drained from her face as she slumped on to a stool. “What the…? How the…? Where’s dad?” Was the only thing she could sputter out. Lily’s mom gasped as she dropped the salad on the floor. I awkwardly looked up at the ceiling as she bent over to pick it up.

“Well this can’t get any worse” I muttered, holding on to Lily’s shoulder for support. Then Elvis Presley rang through the halls as the doorbell rang. My overly excited dad ran to the door, pulling up the back of his adult diaper. As the door opened, long and beautiful curses drowned out the last verse of the song as my brother walked in, with his new girlfriend or more accurately my recent ex girlfriend.

Chairs scraped loudly as we all sat down at the dinner table. The only conversation to be had was between the utensils as they angrily screeched along the plates. Food and angry glances were passed around the table. My dad cleared his throat, but thought better of it as everyone glared at him. Lily’s mom rested her hand on his and gave him a sly smile, causing him to turn as red as the row of hearts behind him. Though I hadn’t eaten anything all day, I pushed away my food, suddenly losing my appetite.  “Well I think it’s time for us to go” I said, pulling out the keys from my pocket. Everyone froze as the ring bounced off the hardwood floor, mercifully coming to a stop at Lily’s feet. She gasped as she realized what it was. She stepped back as I kneeled down to pick up the ring. I looked up at her with the ring in my hand, then realized what this looked like. “Wait, Lily, I’m not…” Her hand flew to her mouth like she might be sick as she ran for the front door. I ran my hand through my hair and whispered “Oh no” as I ran after her. I took a deep breath as the doors to the chapel peeled back. Dozens of friends and family had gathered to mark this special occasion. With my head held high I walked down the aisle to take my place at the head of the chapel. Cold sweat poured down my back as I could feel every eye on me. My heart skipped a beat as Lily walked down the aisle. Her long hair pulled back revealing the dimple in her smile.

She climbed the steps of the chapel and turned as the organist changed the song to the familiar tune of Here Comes the Bride . The audience stood as the bride filled the open doorway with her overflowing dress. Her brunette hair sparkled as she walked down the aisle. She flashed a playful grin at my dad as she took his hands, as they turned to face the marriage officiant.


It was April 22 the year was 1962, it was pouring down rain and the wind was gusty, just another day in Centralia Washington. A beautiful seventeen year old Eileen was trying her best to make it on time to her first date and wasn't having much luck. Her tire was flat and she was drenched and a bit nervous about going to meet a stranger. Her best friend Betty, and Betty's fiance, Charles assured her he was a decent respectful young man and that they would be great together, so she pushed her nervousness and skepticism aside and started walking the remaining half mile. In the center of North Gold Street stood a grand Victorian mansion that looked like a miniature castle from a fairy tale. It was made from light grey stones and had beautiful stained glass windows with many steep gabled roofs and turrets and a beautiful wraparound veranda with ornate turned posts and a fittingly elegant black roof. Inside a man was rushing around trying to perfect everything, hoping the effort would pay off. It was his first date and he wanted everything to be magical, "the candles for ambiance check, record with love songs check, roses check." Without warning Lyle was jolted away from the thoughts in his head as he heard a loud almost frantic banging on the front door and rushed to open it. There in front of him stood a soaking wet somewhat muddy, and possibly crazy petite 5' 3" woman. "Hello I'm Eileen" she said as she gazed into the foyer with its gorgeous solid highly polished wooden double staircase real gold and crystal chandeliers and gorgeously designed terracotta floor. Then she looked at him. Lyle was tall 6' 7", handsome with a strong jawline, fit body, jet black hair and piercing green eyes. He invited her in after hearing her explanation and had her brought fresh clothes from his mothers closet. She removed her soaked jacket and hat revealing a head of enticingly curly fiery auburn hair and a ravishing red dress that brought out her lovely shape and made her hypnotic Carolina blue eyes really stand out as she turned to close the bathroom door behind her. One look and Lyles heart skipped five beats "impossible" he said to himself "there is no way I can be in love, I don't even know her", "come on Lyle Johnson, pull yourself together." As she was changing she couldn't help thinking of his handsome seventeen year old face. "YOU JUST MET HIM" she screamed at herself "YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BE IN LOVE" she scolded herself. "Eileen Dawson you really are crazy". She exited the bathroom and he pulled a chair out for her to take her seat. As they sat together eating the perfectly cooked steak and potatoes with broccoli that this wonderful man prepared for her, they were silent except for there minds. Both of them felt so strongly for the other that they felt they would burst. As dinner ended they sat there in silence looking everywhere except at each other. Lyle finally spoke and said "I wish my mother hadn't insisted on hiring a tutor  then I could have met you sooner" her face blushed and so did his, he then dropped the subject and instead asked if she had any plans after high school. "After graduation, I want to go see the world, but if I can't I'll just settle for seeing and experiencing new things like the space needle that opened up yesterday in Seattle," "it looks like fun," she added. " By the way, where is your mother? I haven't seen her" Lyle got a pained look on his face. " she and my father passed away two years ago in an automobile accident, but luckily they were wealthy and wise enough to make sure everything was taken care of financially for me growing up and now I'm set for life luckily" Eileen felt bad for asking and as if sensing her pain and shame for asking he said "really I'm fine, even better now that I met you." Then he simply stood up and walked over to the record player and said while he was putting a romantic song on "I've always dreamed of seeing the world also, but for now may I take you to Seattle tomorrow?" "Yes," she replied "I would love that". Then he grabbed her hand and said "come on" as he led her up from the table and through double doors into a most exquisite and quite expensive looking ball room with arched ceilings and royal blue stained glass windows and four gorgeous silver and crystal chandeliers each with a mesmerizing blue sapphire dangling in the center. "Dance with me" he said and they danced for what felt like hours the sound of their laughter and heels clicking the shiny glass like floor gave new life to the lonely old rarely used room. The next day they went on their date to the Space Needle which soon led to more and more dates. They were married in 1965 and had the most beautiful wedding in the backyard of that grand old house. Three years after their marriage and traveling the world together they had a beautiful daughter they named Betty Eileen Johnson and a handsome baby boy two years after that, that they had named Charles Lyle Johnson after the two people that brought them together. Betty grew up to be a teacher but sadly passed away in 1992 at the age of twenty-four from cancer. And Charles had gotten a lucrative job in New York City at the World Trade Center until September 11th 2001 when he was and his office and tragedy struck. Lyle and Eileen cried as they had to bury their last remaining child who was only Thirty One at the time. At forty years old and going through the second biggest tragedy of their life they weren't sure how they were going to make it but they did Eileen and Lyle stayed together through thick and thin the good and the bad until his death in 2020 he passed from old age at seventy-five years old from a disease called covid-19. Now Eileen sits with not much longer to live looking at the old photo album of Betty, Charles and Lyle reminiscing of the old days and the happiest day of her life. It was the day she vowed to spend the rest of her life with her first and only true love. With no one and nothing left she takes her last breaths staring at that photograph of her and Lyle on their wedding day and slips away to see him and her children once more.