We’d talked about it for months, despite the pandemic, despite everything. Over the years we’ve had hundreds of plans and promises. We keep saying that when the borders open back up, we’ll visit Canada together. We always tell each other that we’re going to drive across America and live out of our cars. We’re going to become bestselling authors and travel the world. We’ll be the greatest comedic double act the world’s ever seen. It’s nice, when you’re people like us, to believe in a future, any future. But our small lives, our day-to-day existence, offer real substance to those dreams. No, we aren’t the characters in the John Green novels we ruthlessly tear apart, but on an unseasonably warm December weekend, we can put on ripped jeans and band tees and grab our skateboards, and we can do our best not to fall, and we can laugh at each other, and days like this are enough to keep us fed. Last summer we stayed out of our houses as much as we dared, trying to get a breath of that freedom we had found in our first year of college. I would drive out to see her almost daily, making my way down the hills and into the valley in the late afternoons when the sun would be low and golden, and the bushes and leaves would overwhelm the roadside and tumble out onto the street. I’d pick her up at her house behind the near-vacant strip mall, where the train tracks ran right through and on, past the High School we went to together. Sometimes, when I slowed down to drive over the train crossing on my way to see her, I’d remember my brother’s face when he first learned that his friend had died on those tracks. Two kids were hit by the train in the four years we went to that school.

I’d wait for her in the driveway and watch the feral cats run back and forth in the street, and listen inanely while the couple across the street shouted at each other, at their kids, at their dogs. She’d climb into my car and we would turn right around, back into the countryside, blaring bad music and laughing at our lives. We often found ourselves at the Overlook, where the gliders are towed off and into the warm updrafts that rise from the valley. It’s one of the highest hills in the area. There’s a large plateau and then a sharp cutoff into heavily forested cliffside that’s littered with plastic and crushed cans of Miller Lite. From here we could see our favorite part of town stretching far out below us. We would park my car and sit on the hard stone benches, looking out at the broad flat fields hundreds of feet down, while on the distant hills the red lights of the radio towers would get steadily brighter as the sky got dark. The valley had patches of bright and dark; the car park and the factory shone bright white, the bridge over the river was lit with gold, and underneath the water ran a satin silver-black. We could see car lights flashing through the trees on the hills across the valley, and fireflies blinking in the weeds in front of us. When it was time to leave, we’d pass the other visitors who sat in their cars, having sex, getting high and enjoying the view. Then we would get in and we would go.

But sometimes we wanted a taste of civility, cuteness, and safety. We wanted to bask in the glow of wealth that the richer towns gave off, so instead of driving through those golden-green hills we would hop on the highway and follow the river down to civilization. Market Street, the Gaffer District, the Crystal City! A whole street lined with trees and golden string lights, home to shops that sold thousands of dollars worth of art and restaurants full of people who had just left their jobs at Headquarters. Even my parents, well-off engineers who work for the company, don’t have an office in that formidable glass building that stands beside the river, blocking little Market Street from the eyes of the rest of the world. I’d heard about it from them though. Apparently, the walls are lined with glass sculptures and the floor is decorated in mosaics of skeletons. It's made of windows but still feels dark, and its passages wound, snakelike, throughout the long, low building. I’m sure that I must have imagined some of that, though; every time I see it, I feel a shudder go down my spine. Millionaires work there, in those dark hallways, and for some reason that scares me enough to fuel my fearful imagination. My eyes never stay on Headquarters for long. We drive down Market Street, taking in the sites, enjoying every streetlight and every window. Then, we dine at the fanciest McDonald's in the area. It has electronic screens you can order from, watercolors of glass sculptures hanging on the walls, and a view of Market Street’s welcoming backside. All McDonald's have the same food and yet somehow, the fries are best there. Just a little saltier, just a little more greasy. It’s the perfect place for two bored teenagers with light pockets. One summer afternoon, I felt listless. I took her and we left the McDonald’s parking lot in search of something new. I had the feeling we were looking for something in particular, and I followed my instinct to the top of the hills that rise from the river that divides the wealthy side from the poor side. What we found was a playground. It was an adorable playground, made of wood. I’ve always had a soft spot for wooden playgrounds. They remind me of my hometown in the North Country, and so of course we stopped. When we looked closer we noticed the playground was a miniature version of Market Street. The museum, the clock tower, and the gaffer tower were all there in miniature, no taller than seven or eight feet at most. We adored it. Then we toured the surrounding area, where a flat, manmade field had been cut into the side of a very steep hill to make two smaller very steep hills. I knew what I had to do. I ran to the top while she sat in the field and watched me, laughing. I looked down and shouted that I wish I had brought my inhaler, and she shouted back that she wished she’d brought hers. I stood at the top and looked out at a new valley, one on the other side of our small world. Then I did what I always do on a good grassy hill and I rolled right down. We stayed at the playground for a long time, until the sun set and it got dark. We didn’t want to leave our little perch at the top of the world, but when we finally departed, we were in agreement: it would be a great place to sled. We left each other and our families for our second year of college, and our contact gently waned as it always does. The nights got steadily darker and colder, counting down the days until we would be home again. I stayed at school for as long as I could, dreading what I knew would be a silent and near-empty winter. I love the cold and I love snow, and I love clear winter skies and a blanket of darkness, but I don’t love being alone. I finally left my dorm late at night, listening to the same 11 songs on repeat as I drove down the highway. Soon after I got home, a snowstorm hit. I was delighted. I ran outside in the darkness and I threw myself into the snow, I built a tiny snowman, I rolled down the mountains of it we had piled up at the edges of our driveway, and when I got tired I lied down on my back and looked up at the night sky, listening to the snowflakes melting under me and imaging it was the sound of the stars. The next day, I woke up early and I sent her a text: "We did talk about sledding..." She responded, "Oooo yes", to which I replied, "This is gonna rock, I'll see you at McDonald's." We met in the parking lot and drove in a two car convoy up to the hills. The playground was overrun by families. School-aged kids were running up and down the hills and sliding all the way down, onto the frozen pavement of the parking lot. We didn’t dare put our adult-sized bodies on child-sized sleds and plow into a row of parked cars, so we made the voyage to the top of the second hill. It was steep. We are asthmatic. It was not easy. When we finally arrived at the top and had found a place suitably far from the children (to keep them safe from both our sleds and our colorful language), we took a second to catch our breath and look out again at the valley. The world had been transformed from the green summer landscape we remembered to the blue-greys of winter. The hills on the other side of the river were white with snow, and the leafless trees made them look cold and bare. We could follow their clear-lined edges all the way down into the town, where the houses looked dark under the white sky. The trees all around us were covered in snow, and seeing it gathered so perfectly on every branch sparked a million happy memories of wintertime in a town with a wooden playground hundreds of miles away. I don’t know exactly what she was thinking, but when I looked at her I knew she and I felt the same. We mounted our sleds and got ready. I admit I was scared. I had just recovered from a concussion and I didn’t want another any time soon. I sat perched on the most ridiculous sled I’ve ever seen. It was tiny, and shaped like a saddle with a black handle poking up from the center. It had a big decal number 8 on the side, which felt like a fast and dangerous number. I didn’t trust this little piece of plastic made for a third grader to keep me on, but I’d lent the regular sled to her. We decided I should go first, because we didn’t want to hit each other. I grabbed on to the handle with both hands and dug my heels into the snow. The hill was so steep. I mean it was really steep. I’d never sledded on a hill as steep, and in fact I hadn’t sledded at all in at least six years. I held on as tight as I could and pushed off, flying down the hill on my little red sled and engaging in a superb balancing act so as not to be thrown off. I broke through the soft layer of powder which was gently gathering and it was thrown up in my face, melting on my skin and dousing me in water. When I got to the bottom, I let myself fall off the sled and laid in the snow, laughing.

She waited for me to climb all the way back up before she went. I sat beside her and watched as she got on to my old blue sled with its yellow pull rope. Like always, I was showering her in a constant stream of anecdotes and concerned safety warnings that she had learned years ago she didn’t need to pay attention to. She pressed her hands into the hillside and pushed off. She sped off down the hill and I saw the plume of powder hit her too, and leave a bright streak of snowfall in her wake. When she hit the base of the hill, the sled threw her off and she stayed where she was for a moment while I laughed from my little spot above her.

We were there for a long time, but not as long as we would have liked. Our asthma had gotten the better of us, and soon enough, climbing the hill wasn’t worth the thrill of arriving at the bottom. I had started to throw myself down the hill on my stomach because I didn’t want to keep carrying the sled back up, and while it was surprisingly effective, my stamina quickly wore down. We elected to hold a final race down the hillside. I took the fastest of the three sleds, while she decided to take the slowest so that she was less likely to fall off. I had a minute of confusion about what to do with the third sled before she told me to push it down the hill before us, proving definitively that my year and a half of engineering education wasn’t as effective as I’d hoped. The seconds before the race were tense. I mounted my red steed with the practiced movements of someone who had been doing this for at least forty-five minutes. I gripped the handle and hunched over with the spirit of an Olympic cyclist. She scooted up beside me in her big blue sled and we agreed to countdown. I decided a French countdown would be the way to go, but after I mistakenly started in German, and at the number 1, I let her take control of the counting. Dix! Neuf! Huit! Sss-ssept! (It’s a good thing she had taken the lead on counting) Six! Cinq! Quatre! Trois! Duex! Un! Zero! And we were off! We rocketed down the hill. I leaned forward, feeling the ground under me rumble through the plastic underside of my wonderful vehicle. Woman and sled became one, and I urged us onward, my eyes fixed on the horizon, my body shifting to keep my weight center. The blue streak at my side disappeared from my peripheral. I heard a thump behind me and knew I had won, but I was going faster and further than I had all day, and I wanted to see just how far I could take it. I slid down the hill and across the field, never falling, and came to a natural, graceful stop somewhere in the middle. I looked at the edge of the field where the second hill which led into the parking lot started, and I felt a bit of relief that I hadn’t gotten any further. Instead, she took my sled and I slid down on my chest for the last time, still amazed at how fast my coat could slide on snow. We met up at the local Burger King and changed out of our wet clothes. Then, in our two car convoy, we set off on our next adventure.


You hate this. You hate living like this where your every mood can be understood by everyone. You hate how your life is predicated based on your behaviors. You hate how every time you try expressing something new, the only reaction you get is something you’d expect. Something you would predict. You just want to be… unpredictable. It all started a few years ago when scientists developed a tool where everyone’s behaviors could be predictable by someone else. Say your friend is talking about something, and they’re trying to hide how they’re really feeling about that topic. The person could tell how they’re really feeling. Now everyone can go walking through the streets and talk to a complete stranger, yet know exactly how they feel. Know exactly what they truly feel… You hate it.

People walk up to you, asking why you’re so sad. Why your mind is so clouded that all you can think about is how much you hate that machine. Why your mind is so dark that you can’t think about happiness anymore. Strangers want you to vent your feelings to them, change your behavior to make the world a better place. All you want is to have your emotions, your behaviors are secret again. You don’t want a random person to walk up to you and ask, “Why so blue?” or, “Why so angry?” The thing is, you can’t be happy. Your whole life is an unfortunate event. The rare event that you have a good day is overruled by the unfortunate consequences that you’ve been through. Losing Cora, your house, everything you’ve ever owned. Getting treated like trash as you walk through the long, endless hallways of the school buildings. The hands that reach out to you, only to get pulled away when they realize who you really were. Saying things like, “Oh, I thought you were someone else” and, “Not like I’d reach for you anyway.” Yet they always wonder why you’re so temperamental, so predictable, so… different than all the other people. Everyone is supposed to follow the rules and only use the tool when they were allowed, yet you can always seem to tell when the basic girls use it on you secretly during tests and as you pass by them in the hallway with the hoodie over your head and your head hung low. Being told to stay behind after class, yet being the first one to leave. Refuse to stay, attempt to leave, they follow your behavior. All you wanna do is be unpredictable. It was a long day at school. Tests, tools prodding at your sides, basics giggling and whispering, thinking they're being quiet but they're not. Long endless hallways where you lose your stacks of homework and sometimes lose your phone that you’ve kept in your pocket to avoid the embarrassing texts from your adoptive parents. The skin biting breeze as you're forced to sit by the open window on an overly crowded bus that has no volume control. Mumbling the words to your favorite song as everyone is trying out their new and improved tool on each other. Continue your prayers on the way home as the breeze snaps at your cold, red cheeks. Reaching under the mat that you never wipe your feet on, feeling for the cold, metal key, hoping to make it inside before your fears catch up to you on the front step of the apartment. Wrapping your fingers around the metal key, reaching out to put it in the keyhole of the lock. Whatever you do, don’t turn around. Don’t look the other way as you walk into the house. You close the door behind you, hoping that it wouldn’t slam and awaken the family dog, whose behavior was one you didn't want to mess with. You set your black bag down by the shoe box, slipping off your navy blue and white checkered sneakers, making your way to the kitchen. Whatever you do, don’t make noise as you open the door on the refrigerator and reach for the small box of apple juice. Sitting at the kitchen table only to be greeted by a note placed at your chair. “Went to the store. Don’t wake the dog. Dad will be back soon. Don’t eat all the M&M’s in the bowl” Love, Ashley. Of course. She’s always predictable. She didn’t go to the store. She went on a walk just to get away from her stressful life. God, if you had only just packed your bag and went back to the CPS building. If only you could eat all the M&M’s in the bowl. If only you could just get rid of all the tools in the world. No more poking into your mind and affecting your behavior from calm to pissed in less than 30 seconds. Every muscle in your tenses as you hear the front door of the apartment begin to creak open. Her humming was out of tune, yet she always made it sound good as she came in, earbuds in her pierced ears and her lips mouthing every word of her song. All you could think was, “Has she ever used the tool on me before?” When she looked at you, the circular tool in her hand, all you could see was her face pale and her hand began to shake in a form of fear. She showed the screen of her tool, that's when you understood why she was so afraid. Now, normally, when one uses the tool, it instantly exports a word that would describe the person's behavior. Happy, angry, sad, all the predictable behaviors and words that typically contrast each other. Blank. No words. Nothing but a glitch in the system to display… nothing. It finally happened, everything you’ve wished for. You watch as she shakily points at the door, yet you know what she meant. It hadn’t been the first time she’s done this. You nodded and walked to get your shoes from the shoe box, only for your ears to be greeted by a deep, low growl of the Rottweiler sitting on the couch, flaring its teeth at you. All you can do is just keep your eyes focused on the laces of your shoes, yet your fingers quicken their pace. Grabbing your school bag, you open the apartment door and walk out, listening to the click-clack of the nails of the dog across the floor, it’s menacing growl approaching the other side of the door. In due time, Ashley would call the police, telling them the situation. You’d be found, sent to laboratories to never see the light of the sun again as they experiment on how you're couldn’t be predicted by the tool. The tool that never failed before. The tool with 5 stars internationally. As you walk down the sidewalk through the apartment neighborhood, feet going left, right, left, right, left, stop. Listen. Muscles all freezing in place as you hear the distant sound of the police. That’s all you can do. You can’t run, you can’t hide, you can only freeze in place and hope that they don’t suspect you as you act like you're texting on your phone. Everything inside is dark and twisted, yet all you can hope is that you’re not the only one out there. Not the only one who wishes things were different. Sirens grow closer, prompting yourself to move, walk, speedwalk, run, sprint. Sprint toward the supermarket down the street where an ungodly amount of people would be, making it harder for them to find you. Run faster, they’re going to find you. Listening to the gasps as people look at you, then their tool, only to see that their tool has malfunctioned and only showed a glitched-out screen. How many people have seen you now? 20? 50? Run faster. All you can do is go out the front door of the supermarket and hope that they aren’t waiting for you there. Left, right, left, right, left, right, quickened pace. Stop to wait for the automatic opening door to open, only to proceed sprinting out and into the sunlight and breeze. Down the sidewalk, sliding down the cold concrete into an empty canal, then sprinting under the bridge. Was this all worth it? To live your life running? To live constantly out of breath, yet to live with a new thrill in your body? What would Cora have thought? She would’ve said run… Besides, they took her for being unpredictable, why wouldn’t they take you as well?


Spending the holidays with your family is the best as that's where memorable memories are made. Like when my younger brother got mad when me and my sister got a playstation for Christmas. Ah, good times. But, sometimes unexpected gifts or guest's come along the way. •••••••••• Christmas is in two days. The stress and hectic is there. You can feel it in your soul as you have to plan so many things like what food are we going to have, whose present is whose, how do I wrap this, or did I get their present. There are so many things to do in less time. You didn't want any more distractions as you had to get things done, but sometimes fate isn't on your side. * knock knock * You weren't expecting any family or guest to come over as they were getting their things done as well. You stopped what you were doing which was gift wrapping and walked to the front door. You didn't just want to open the door without knowing who it was since so many horrible things can happen since it's the holidays. Through the peephole was a woman standing there. You cautiously opened the door slightly to poke your head out. "Hello, can I help you?" You asked

The woman turned to face you and you immediately thought of your uncle as she has the same smile as him and the mole by the counter of her eye. "You must be confused as to why I'm here, but I'm your cousin. I know you won't believe me, but I found you online and saw you were close to my dad, so I wanted to visit you and ask if I could come for Christmas as I haven't seen my father in a while or since I was little," She explained, a hopeful smile on her face

"How can I be sure what your saying is true?" You asked, cautious

"I can tell you everything if you let me inside. It's a bit chilly out here if not we could meet up at a cafe to talk," She suggested "Come on in. I don't have that much time on my hands," You said, stepping back, opening the door wider

"Thank you. I'll make sure to tell you everything," She stated, walking inside, her cheeks rosy red from the cold air "Well, you still haven't told me your name, but I think you know mine," You said, closing the door behind you "Oh, sorry. I'm Mikayla Moore," She announced, looking around as if asking if she could sit down "You can sit down anywhere. Do you anything to drink?" You asked, walking to the kitchen

"Water," Mikayla said, a small smile on her face

You nodded and walked into the kitchen, pouring water into a glass and dumping in an ice cube or two. You walked back in and set the cup on the cable in front of her. "Thank you," She grabbed the cup and took a sip

You sat down on the opposite couch, watching her then you looked at the photo frame that encased the family photo from a family trip. You grabbed it and held it to Mikayla. "If you don't mind, can you point to your father, so I can see if your telling the truth, sorry," You said "Yeah, I know you don't mean to be offensive, I understand, so I'll do anything to gain your trust," Mikayla grabbed the frame and looked at A smile appeared on her face when she saw her father, smiling with his arm draped on another man's shoulder. "He's right here with his arm around a man," Mikayla said, pointing to him You looked closer and saw it was the uncle you were thinking about.

"Do you by any chance know his name?" You asked, testing her "Aiden Garza," Mikayla said, looking at you "You really know him. I just want to ask why didn't your mother tell my uncle, I mean your dad?" You asked, curious

"I asked my mom that too, but she told me that she didn't want him in my life. I do remember particular memories that I've met him, but I was too young to remember. He did pay child support, but I never got to spend time with him. His name is on my birth certificate," She told me, reaching into her purse and taking out a paper then handing it to you "It's alright, I believe you. I d-" "Please, just look," She shook the paper You grabbed it and looked at it. Your eyes landing on the father's name section. 'Aiden Garza.' He really was on it and he even signed it. You looked at the birth date, seeing that she was the same age as your sister.

"My uncle didn't tell us about you, but I remember seeing a photo of him holding a little girl. I'll bet he'll be happy to see you if you came christmas," You said, handing her back the certificate

"Really, you'll let me come," Her eyes gleaming

"Yeah, I think my uncle deserves some happiness in his life. Even can I know more about this whole situation?" You asked You couldn't believe that you had a lost cousin, but you were so excited since you had a female cousin and who was close to your age. "So, let's see. I wanted to know more about my dad, so I kept pestering my mom, but she would tell me to stop asking about him. I didn't have a great childhood. I have 5 half siblings, the youngest was older than me by 3 years. I didn't live in a great neighborhood, I lived in a house for 13 years then moved into an apartment and lived there until I was 19. I couldn't bear to live there anymore as my mom gave me trouble every single time and I wasn't doing good. So, I worked until I had enough money to get an apartment or stay in a motel, but now I'm here to get to know my dad and be in his life if he wants me too," Mikayla reminisced, an annoyed look on her face "Sorry for asking about something so personal," You apologized, not knowing she had a rough childhood "It's fine even though I can't change it, but it's a part of me," Mikayla stated, shrugging her shoulders "But I can see you grew up well despite how you lived," You said, a small smile resting on your face "Thank you, but I think I should get going as you probably have many things to finish," Mikayla said, standing from the couch "No problem and thank you for coming to share the news that you've been hiding. I know this Christmas will be perfect for my uncle,"

"I do hope so, but can I have your number so you could tell me when to come like when my dad has arrived," Mikayla asked "Yeah, give me your phone," Mikayla gave you her phone and typed your number in it, sending a message to yourself. Your phone ding. You handed Mikayla her phone back and took yours out to save her number. "Thank you, Sam. I'll see you Christmas eve," Mikayla said, waving and leaving through the front door "Bye, Mikayla. See you Christmas eve," You said, waving at her. You watched her get into her car and drove off. 'This Christmas is going to be something .' •••••••••••••• "Hey, why do you keep looking at your phone?" Your uncle asked, not Mikayla's father

"Oh, I'm just waiting for my friend to text me so I can give her her present," You told him "Oh, okay," He walked off Mikayla's dad was already here, you texted her once he arrived and she said she was on her way. You were worried that she would bail, but were hoping that she was on her way or she was stuck in traffic. You just waited, talking with your family and playing games to pass the time. You left to the restroom to do your business and once you were done, you heard talking. "So, your Sam's friend?" "Yeah, I came to talk to her about something,"

Mikayla was here. You quickly walked to the living room and saw Mikayla standing there by the christmas tree by my family surrounding her.

"Mikayla, why didn't you call or text me that you were here?" You asked, worried as you walked to her "Sorry, Sam. I forgot, but I'm here," Mikayla said "Mikayla?" My uncle, Aiden, said, staring at her "Yeah, that's my name," She said, but you could tell she was scared and nervous

"Is your last name, by any chance, Moore?" My uncle asked "Yeah, how'd you know?" Mikayla asked, trying to act like she didn't know "Can we talk privately?" He asked her, nodding to the front door "Yeah," Mikayla followed him outside

Everyone watched them leave then they looked at you. "Who is she?" "Why is Aiden acting like that?"

"She's my long lost cousin and Uncle Aidens long lost daughter," You stated Everyone was shocked and started talking, wondering how nobody knew and why he never told anyone. So, time was the essence as everyone waited for the both of them to come back inside to know what was happening.

Soon, the both of them came back in. You could tell that they were crying as they were sniffing and their eyes looked a little red and swollen. "Everyone, I know this is confusing, but I want to tell ya that I've been hiding that I have a daughter, but she's right here," He looked at her, hugging her from the side, "Mikayla," "Aiden, what the hell! You hid that I had a niece. Why couldn't you tell us?" My mom asked, shocked

"You hated her mother, Lydia, even I couldn't see because of her, but now we can see her whenever," My uncle said, upset "Okay, I understand, but I have a niece," My mom went over to Mikayla, "Let your favorite aunt give you a hug,"

My mom hugged Mikayla, who was awkward and shocked, but she hugged her back. Everyone started a conversation with her, telling her every memory that would make her laugh and smile. It's not so bad having a long lost family member come back into our lives.


Mark drank his coffee as he watched the sun rise. He used to do this with his wife, but marriage was something that he or his wife Jennifer could seem to master. They got married young assuming that they would learn how to manage a marriage as they went, but they did this with no luck. Their little girl was the only thing that kept them from divorce. 8-year-old Maggie was the love of their lives. But they did not feel the same about each other. Mark and Jen had loved each other when they got married at 19 and 20, but now well into their 30’s they could not stand each other. They argued often about something and nothing all at the same time. Mark spent too much time working and Jennifer not enough. Money, time and responsibility plagued their marriage with unhappiness and resentment.                Throughout these struggles the couple still tried their hardest to provide the best life for their daughter. She went to a prestigious private school because her mother wanted her to succeed, and she played baseball because her father wanted her to learn how to let loose and have fun.  These two different outlooks on life were yet another point of argument for the pair and was something that was “discussed” in great length behind closed doors. Maggie was no longer a toddler and understood that her parents were not always happy but like a child did not know why and wished that she could help.                June 21 st marked the summer solstice which meant two very different things for Maggie’s two very different parents. For Jennifer this day marked the first day of Maggie’s summer school. A summer course not because she was behind, but so she could get ahead. For Mark however June 21 st meant the first day of summer and the longest day of the year. This day for him signified a tradition in which his whole family used to drive down to the beach of Florida and kick off the summer. Although he now lived in California with his small family he still liked to carry on this tradition.                His plans were meant to be a surprise for his daughter, but after disclosing them to his wife and kickstarting a heated argument Maggie became aware of his intentions for a beach day. Through much convincing of her mother, it was finally decided that Mark and Maggie were going to go to the beach on the summer solstice.                After persuading her mother to let them go Maggie pleaded with her mother to accompany them to the beach, but she would not hear about, Jennifer was stubborn in her ways and was determined to get out of her husband’s childish traditions. So, with that Maggie and Mark drove down the street on their way to the beach to kick off the summer adventure.                The trip was short lived however, because even before the pair could turn the corner, a busted transmission ruined their plans. Although his wife had told him repeatedly to get the car checked out, Mark never did. This meant that Maggie sat in the driver’s seat as Mark pushed the car back down the street and into the driveway.                Disappointed but not yet hopeless, Maggie suggested that her father just drives her mother’s car to the beach for the day. Unfortunately, what the little girl did not understand was that Jennifer’s car was a manual transmission car, also known as a stick shift, also known as a type of car that Mark did not know how to drive. After carefully explaining this to his daughter Maggie began to sob over her ruined  plans.                The pair unpacked the car and walked defeated into the quiet house. Having heard of this setback and not wanting to see her daughter cry with a slight smile on her face Jennifer offered to drive to the beach. Maggie’s tears dried up instantly at this new plan, she ran over to her mother and hugged her, ecstatic about this turn in luck. Mark looked down, he had been excited to spend the day alone with his daughter, but was relieved to see her happy.                With that, the family piled into the car, Maggie sitting shotgun and Mark behind the driver’s seat. The 2-hour drive was filled two different types of conversations. The first were conversations between Jennifer and Maggie and the others were between Mark and Maggie, the two never mixed or became combined. Jennifer asked Maggie about school and quizzed her on math and science and Mark asked about friends and games. Eventually the ocean was in sight, just off in the distance. Maggie squealed with excitement, Mark told her all of his plans and Jennifer said nothing, for this was Mark’s conversation not hers.                Jennifer and Mark were not surprised that the beach was very crowded that day, parties littered the coast, parking lots were full and the ocean was overflowing with people. Jennifer eventually found parking and the family walked casually to the beach. Maggie was bouncing around them eager to swim and play in the sand. Mark was smiling and he took his shirt off, emboldened by the salty air. Jennifer was smiling, but her eyes showed no happiness, she was not happy to be at the beach because she had different plans for the day, but nonetheless she was pleased to see the smile on her daughter’s face as they approached the sand.                Hours went by and the family started behaving like a family, they swam in the ocean and built sandcastles. Mark and Jennifer buried Maggie in the sand and laughed as she sprang out into the breezy ocean air. They watched their daughter play in the waves together, for the first time in many months the husband and wife were happy to be with each other. Shortly before sunset the couple and their daughter decided to go for a walk along the coast. They walked for about 20 minutes before the shaking started. The sand quivered as the earth shook, palm trees rocked and buildings were evacuated. Screams could be heard from all around them, people ran consumed with fear from the quaking earth. The shaking stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving people to wonder whether it had all been in their heads. Maggie was afraid and she held onto her parents’ hands. Mark quickly began to lead his family back along the coast towards their car. He became suddenly aware of the receding waterline, but put it out of his head, all that mattered was getting back to the car and driving away from the coast.                The waterline was getting noticeably further away, and in the distance a wave grew. The wave traveled towards them at an alarming speed. The family stopped moving and stared out into the blue sea. Mark could no longer hear the screams from the many people around him, but he knew they were still there. People ran in every direction consumed with fear. Cars were stopped in the road, helicopters flew above them, but none of that mattered to Mark. Maggie was frozen, staring into something that she had no way of understanding. Mark got on his knees and hugged his daughter as tight as he could knowing that running was pointless. Jennifer also on her knees completed the circle around their daughter. The family created a circle of calm in midst of a storm, a family that had been plagued with the longing for separation was finally at peace together. And with that, the wave overtook them, preserving that peace forever.


Little Ina Little Ina has been in an orphanage trying to get adopted for over 25 fortnights. She was finally going to get adopted before the pandemic struck. No one was allowed to leave their houses and there was unrest in society during the pandemic. Ina was devastated because she just wanted someone to love her, to make her feel like she belonged, unlike how she felt for so long. Ina was for so long neglected at the orphanage after her parents died. She was short with warm skin, and chocolate eyes, and hair braided down her back. She had a long thin scar running down her face from when her head slammed against the seat when her parent's car crashed. She had just been an infant. Maybe two or three at the time. She was so young when it happened it seems like a distant memory. She had always gotten teased at the orphanage. She cried herself to sleep every night feeling as though there was no one to love her. When the pandemic struck; no one knew what was happening. She got teased worse, and the adults didn't help. No one could go outside and everyone found it as an opportunity to target the weakest person. They'd play pranks and bully her until one day when they took it too far. They snuck into her room and cut off her hair. She woke up to a shorn head and startled, ran out crying. She passed people who were pointing and laughing in her face. She turned away and ran into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror as tears rolled down her face. A strong presence radiated around her. She felt soft hands wrap around her and pull her face up. She smiled a true smile. "Mom!" And then the ghost of a touch as the presence was whisked away; torn from her. "Mom!" she cried. "Don't leave me!" But it was too late. She turned and saw herself standing in the mirror with red puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, and tears streaming down her face. She turned as two girls walked in and pushed her into a stall door. She hit her head and crumpled to the ground. The last thing she heard was their laughter ringing in her ears. She woke up with a bump on her head. She looked at herself and couldn't see anything valuable. Why would anyone want her? She looked at her short hair and ran her fingers through it. She despised her hair now. She heard all the mocking and laughter in her head and it drove her to the point of insanity. She sheared her hair shorter, into a neat bob. She ran out of the bathroom so she could get to her room. All around her people laughed and pointed, or shoved her into walls. By the end of the night, her body was covered in bruises. She wished there was someone out there to care for her, but the honest truth was that there is nobody out there who could ever love her. She gave up hope that she would ever be adopted. She started slinking around the orphanage with a glum look on her depressed face. Nothing could make her smile anymore. Years later the pandemic passed and no one wanted her. She was still getting teased daily. One day she had had enough. At lunch one day a girl got in her face and started teasing her. Ina got tears in her eyes but wiped them off. "Awe, is baby gonna cry?" the girl taunted. Ina had had enough of the bullying and jumped on the girl. They rolled around and got in a brawl. Ina got some good punches in. Later she had a swollen face and black eye but it was worth it. Ina had a new aura. People respected her. Until she got into trouble for giving that "poor" girl a black eye. Now whenever people would come to adopt, they would stay away from her like she had the plague. No one wanted her, or ever would. She didn't sleep and she did not eat anything. She would stay in her room and avoid the other kids in fear of harassment. No one would befriend her after the accident and that girl became a sort of a celebrity as the innocent victim of the vicious girl who got attacked for no reason. News spread, even outside the small orphanage, and out of the very small urban town. She knew she made a mistake, but why should she get punished? It was only out of self-defense. After that day whenever she looked at herself in any mirror, all she saw was a monster. Someone who couldn't be trusted, and could not be loved. After all: who could love a monster? She wasn't even sure what she was and all the negative voices in her head were telling her to just stop trying. It is not like she'll ever get adopted. She tried and tried, but could not silence the voices. She miserably thought that if she died, so would the voices, and the laughter, and the taunts. At least no one could hurt her if she was dead. But that wouldn't do her any good and it is too soon. Also, what would her mother think? She could see her mother. She slammed her head against a wall. What was she thinking? She couldn't end her life! She walked back to the orphanage one last time as a couple was looking for someone to add to their family. Someone to love! She ran up to them, but they chose the girl who she had earlier punched. The girl who had made her life miserable. The girl who was going to belong and be loved. Why couldn't she be that girl? With the pandemic, she never got adopted and even after the pandemic, she didn't get adopted. So she finally learned the truth: No one wanted her, and no one ever would.


He glided through the hospital hallway as if he was walking on air. Brimming with enthusiasm and confidence, it was the first day of his fellowship. Ronny Livingston had accumulated awards and accolades everywhere he went. Through college, medical school, internship and residency, he had shone. It was his destiny to excel, be the best. His parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts told him so. You could tell just looking at him that he was something special. He was tall, had a high forehead, a Roman nose, upturned mouth and those penetrating dark eyes. You felt that he could see into your soul. It was intimidating. Yet there was a magnetism about him you could not resist. His laugh was contagious and there was joy in everything he did. Despite his successes and obvious talents, it was hard not to like him. He was humble, generous and kind. His personality and talents won over the most hardcore teachers and professors over the years. He had a golden pathway to success and seemed to be destined for greatness in his chosen field of rheumatology. Nothing or no one could stand in his way. That is, until he met Dr. Christina Patzakis. Christina was a wunderkind of sorts herself. She was the youngest woman to graduate from Medical school in Greece and completed her medical residency and fellowship in rheumatology at UCLA with top honors. She was recruited widely for faculty positions internationally but chose to remain at UCLA. Christina was the oldest of five girls in the Patzakis family. Her parents, Spiro and Rodanthi were considered Greek royalty. They both were well educated diplomats who travelled extensively and were rumored to be cousins remotely related to the last Greek king. Christina was precocious and pampered. She was academically gifted but unlike Ronny she was haughty and condescending from an early age. She knew she was good. Her saving grace was her heart. It melted easily and she could be kind and generous. Friends adored and admired her while others were repelled by her imperious attitude and ambitious nature. She had one glaring weakness as she reached puberty- a voracious sexual appetite. Christina was tall and developed early. She had a full figure and thick shoulder length jet black hair. Her face was long, lips thick and nose a little too big. Although she was not attractive in the conventional sense, many men were attracted to her intensity, intelligence and earthiness. Her sexual conquests were legendary in Athens and often the source of scandal. It was rumored that she left for America to escape the stain of an affair with a married professor. During her training at UCLA, she managed to keep her affairs under the radar. She developed a reputation as a brilliant researcher, clinician and hard task master as a teacher. *** Ronny had yet to meet Christina or as he called her Dr. Patzakis but was sure they would collaborate well. He knew her reputation as a teacher and clinician and was excited about their potential as a team. He welcomed the many pearls of wisdom she would offer. Each stage of his training and each mentor had added to his knowledge base and confidence and been joyful. Why would this stage or this mentor be any different? As he approached the meeting point on the rheumatology ward, he saw a cluster of white coats. In the middle stood a tall woman with jet black hair and long dangly earrings, wearing a colorful low-cut dress under her lab coat. As he came closer, he could see that she was frowning. He picked up his pace and looked at his watch. Surely his two-minute tardiness could not be the source of this woman’s frown. “Dr. Livingston, I presume!” Christina said with a sarcastic smile. It wasn’t the first time Ronny had heard this line but never with such sarcasm. Ronny approached Christina with a smile and offered his hand before saying: “I’m sorry for my slight tardiness. It’s my first time in this hospital. It’s great to meet you, Dr. Patzakis. I’ve heard great things about you and look forward to working with you.” Christina looked Ronny up and down and ignored his offer of a handshake before saying: “Dok-tor Livingston, we don’t tolerate tardiness here. We expect our doctors to be early not three minutes late. Good habits are important. Now follow me and we can finally get started.” Ronny’s face reddened as he stepped in line with the rest of the group of students and residents. He was flustered and felt chastened. He had never had such a rude introduction to a professor or mentor. He was uncharacteristically quiet as they went through rounds, offering clinical observations only when called upon. Next to Dr. Patzakis, he was second in seniority. Yet, he felt Dr. Patzkis treated him like a medical student. She sneered at some of his observations even though he thought they were spot on. For the first time in years, he began to doubt himself. When rounds ended, Christina turned to Ronny and with the whole group still in attendance, said:” Dok-tor Livington, I want you to stay behind and review all the cases on the ward. Treat them like they are members of your family. Let’s see if you can come up with some fresh ideas. Then meet me in my office.” “Yes ma’am.” Ronny answered with humility. “My name is Dr. Patzakis not ma’am. Carry on.” Christina responded with a raised eyebrow. If Ronny had a tail, it would have been between his legs. He retreated to the ward to review the charts and reexamine the patients. He was determined to familiarize himself with each case and come up with fresh ideas regarding diagnoses and treatments. While examining each patient individually, he would establish a healthy therapeutic relationship. Even though it seemed that he and Dr. Patzakis had had a bumpy start, he knew he could gain her confidence. *** As he descended in the elevator to the third floor and Dr. Patzakis’ office, Ronny rehearsed his summaries of his findings. He had gone to the library and researched some of his theories and knew he had valid fresh ideas for each patient. His treatment plans were new variations on established ones but might add something. In one mystery case, he was sure had discovered the diagnosis. It was a disease due to this newly found renegade antibody called IGG4. It was a new and exciting diagnosis in the literature. He had called down to pathology to make sure they did special staining for it on the lymph node biopsy they had obtained days ago. Ronny was excited and thought Dr. P would share his excitement. So he bounded into her office without knocking. His exuberance and smile quickly dissipated when he noticed that she was on the phone and dismissed him with a wave and a frown. He backed away and stood at the entrance of her office until she hung up the phone and gestured him in. “Are you always so rude and intrusive, dok-tor?” Christina sat at a big oak desk which was covered by stacks of papers and files. Her office was painted off white and had rows of bookshelves filled with medical texts and journals on either side of her desk. Ronny’s usual calm and self-confidence wavered as he answered: “I’m sorry Dr. Patzakis. I should have knocked but I have some exciting news.” “What could be so exciting that you forget your manners? Dok-tor, in this program, we expect you to be a good caring clinician and a considerate human being. Now let’s start over. Take a seat and tell me what you found.” Ronny took a deep breath, sat on the wooden chair in front of her desk and shared with Christina all his findings and recommendations. He left his exciting new diagnosis until the end. Christina sat quietly, pursed her lips and nodded intermittently. When Ronny came to his new possible diagnosis, she raised her eyebrows and frowned. Ronny was puzzled. “Dok-tor, your research and hard work are appreciated and expected. The theory you have is interesting. Of course, I have considered it. I wish you had asked me before calling pathology. You are new and don’t know which pathologist specializes in this kind of staining. I do. Please dok-tor familiarize yourself with the proper protocols in this program. I am your mentor and direk-tor. Consult me before any decisions or actions.” Ronny paused and knitted his eyebrows. “I thought that as a fellow we have some autonomy. I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries.” Christina smiled slightly and nodded. “Eventually, you will but you are new and need training. I need to know I can trust you.” Ronny had gained trust and autonomy quickly at each stage of his training but somehow, he thought this time might be different. He nodded and was about to rise when Christina motioned him to keep seated. Her demeanor suddenly changed. He noticed that she seemed to be sizing him up. It made him uneasy. She was leaning over her desk, partially exposing her breasts. The atmosphere in the office suddenly became heavy. Christina smile changed. It felt lascivious to Ronny. He squirmed in his seat. Christina seemed to relish his discomfort but in a new heavily accented sweet voice tried to make him relax. “Sorry Ronny if I have been harsh to you. It’s okay if I call you Ronny?” Ronny nodded and Christina continued. “You are new to the program, and I have to set boundaries and rules, you understand? I want to invite you to my house for a party for all new Fellows this Saturday. I hope you can come. Bring a bathing suit. Do you have a girlfriend?” Ronny shook his head. He had broken up with Rhonds six months ago. His head was whirling but he thought he heard Christina say “Good.” ***

 Ronny drove to Christina’s house in Brentwood. It was only five miles from his apartment in Santa Monica, but the quality of the houses changed dramatically. Her house was gated ranch style and two story. The lawn was manicured with two large palm trees in the front yard and Birds of Paradise and Bougainvillea lining the walkway to the front door. The gate, Spanish style windows and red tile roof gave the house a Mediterranean feel. Ronny wondered how Christine could afford such a house on a professor’s salary. Rumors were that she had been through a messy divorce a few years prior. Was this part of the settlement? As he reached the ornate wooden front door, he noticed a paper sign instructing guests to go around the back to the pool area. Middle Eastern music filled the air. He followed the walkway to a side iron gate, pulled up the latch and entered the backyard. Immediately, he was struck by the smell of chlorine. A large patio led to a large Jacuzzi attached to an oval pool. Two of the new female Fellows were sitting fully clothed on lawn chairs by the pool. The only other male Fellow was sitting in the Jacuzzi with Christina. Everyone had a wine glass in their hand and looked up when Ronny arrived. It was three pm. But Ronny noticed a few empty bottles on a table by the pool. Ronny felt strangely uncomfortable. He approached the Jacuzzi and waved at Christina. She smiled and raised her glass. “Ronny, welcome! Go inside, change and join us. There’s wine glasses in the kitchen. The Jacuzzi is very hot and the pool is warm. Jeremy and I just got in.”  Ronny smiled. He really was not in the mood for a Jacuzzi. Dr. Patzakis made him very uncomfortable. She was wearing a string bikini top, and he wasn’t sure she was wearing bottoms. What kind of program had he entered? He knew Rheumatology was going to be fun but this… Maybe it was cultural. He had been to some nude beaches in Greece. He was not a prude, but he had always separated his professional and academic life from his private one. Dr P was a renowned teacher and clinician. He looked forward to learning from her but what hoops would he have to jump through? Only time would tell. He entered the house, found the bathroom and changed into his speedo. Considering all his options, he decided to join Jeremy and Dr. P in the jacuzzi. She toasted him as he slowly lowered himself into the steaming water. He wasn’t sure but he sensed that she slid closer to him. He smiled and looked down. It would be an interesting three years.


“You have to do something, Keilo.” I blinked. My mother was staring at me. I knew that, yes, but I couldn’t see her. My head was in the blankets. Deep, deeply burrowed like a little bug who knew they would surely be killed if they came out of their hole. Not that my own mother would kill me. I knew that, at least. I blinked.

“What are you doing with your life, Keilo?” I shut my eyes closed tighter and pulled my legs close to my body. If only I could will her to go away. I was okay. Really. It was fine. It was. My mother didn’t think so. She was determined. She was… she yanked the blankets back off my head and my burrow broke. The world was cold.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I have a life. I’m doing things. Just… quieter than before.” I rubbed my eyes. Bright bright lights burned at the back of my head. I blinked and tried to smile. “Isn’t that okay? I’m just tired.”

She knows that’s not true, though. Mothers know. And I’m not good enough to fool myself either. I wasn’t fooled. What was I doing with my life? I didn’t know. Maybe I didn’t want to. I knew one thing. I wasn’t going back to school, anyway. No one missed me. At least I could sit at home in my bed and eat pork rinds and watch reruns of Old Westerns and no one missed me. I wondered what it would be like if they did, but no one misses a spider once they take away its web.

“No, I mean it.” My mother grabbed my shoulders, pulling me upright. “I signed you up for something. It’s an art class. You’ve always liked art, haven’t you? Get up.” It wasn’t a question; what she said about me liking art. She practically just told me that I liked art. Always have, apparently. Well. I decided that I didn’t want to go. Wasn’t going to go, and good riddance to anyone who tried to make me. Even if it was my mother.

I shook my head. “No.” I sniffed and pulled the blankets back over my head. “Thanks, though.”

My mother stood up and I thought she was leaving, but she wasn’t. Instead, she picked up the glass of water from my bedside table and poured it on my head. I sputtered. “Mother! Hey!”

“Get up.” She tore the blankets clear off the bed and threw them all on the floor. Then, having a second thought, she picked them up and carried them out of the room. Most likely to the laundry room. They hadn’t been washed in two weeks.

It had been two weeks since… well. Since everything at school, I guess. I don’t know how else to say that. It’s not enough to say the story because the story doesn’t begin to cover it. The story doesn’t tell how everything that happened at school two weeks ago went back way before then. It went back before I ever started at that school. It started when I was born. I know that sounds dramatic and moody and whatever else you want to label me as, but it’s true.

I’m not like anyone else and it’s not in a cute or quirky or unique way. That’s how girls can be, yeah, but when boys like different things, or don’t do and talk how people want them to, they don’t get called cute or quirky or unique. No one tries to sugarcoat what they’re trying to tell you. They say what they mean and expect it not to hurt your feelings, and when it does they laugh more. And if you cry… well, you’d just better not cry. That’s not something to do. Especially if you’re me, Keilo Ibanza.

Because two weeks ago, something happened at my school, but like I said, that wasn’t when it started. It started when I was born, and it started when I met the likes of Orris Slavko in kindergarten. He took one look at me crying in the corner of the classroom and instead of coming over to be my friend, or sharing his crayons, or giving me the last juice box, he laughed at me. This kid, Orris Slavko, laughed at me in kindergarten when I was crying and he said, “Do your parents not love you enough to make sure you don’t have food on your clothes?” I had peanut butter on my shirt and jelly on my hands. I knew my mother loved me though. I knew that. She just didn’t have time to help me that morning. She had to get to work. I didn’t tell that to Orris Slavko, though. Instead, I cried harder and curled into a ball under the table, pretending not to hear the evil patterings of little feet crowding around me and laughing. All through sixth grade, Orris did things like that to me. Laughed and pointed and told me I was nothing at all. He’s the reason I was a bug in the first place. Anyway, I moved eventually. At the new school, I could move quietly among the shadows and no one noticed me too much, even when I joined the football team. And then one day they noticed someone else.

Her name was Penelope and she had yellow hair and blue eyes but she only ever wore red clothes, so it made her look like a part of the colour wheel hanging up in the art classroom. The one that noticed her was someone else on the football team. His name was Wade Harts. He was bothering her. He said, “Hey.” She didn’t answer. He said, “I’m talking to you.” She kept walking. He grabbed her backpack and pulled her back and breathed in her face and said, “Listen to me, girl. When someone talks to you, you listen.” And she pushed him away and straightened her dress and backpack. Then Wade Harts growled lowly in his throat and he grabbed Penelope’s wrists and she yelped. I stepped out of the shadows.

“What are you doing?” I glared loudly at Wade and his thick fingers wrapped around Penelope’s wrists.

He laughed, “I’m doing whatever I want to do. Get out of my face, stupid, and go back to whatever gutter you crawled out of.”

I ignored him. “Are you okay, Penelope?”

She shook her head. “No. He won’t let go.”

“Let go already.” I stepped closer to Wade.

He dropped her hands and she ran off to class. I was taller than him. I was broader too, and if I wanted to, I could’ve really hurt him.

Luckily, I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t want to hurt anyone until later, when I found out that Penelope was put in the hospital after trying to… well. She was trying to hurt herself because she thought it would be better that way. Because of Wade, who had been bothering her for far longer than what I thought.

So the next day when I saw Wade Hart, I smacked him in the back of the head with a sock full of batteries. That’s why I was never going back to school. Because I couldn’t. No one wanted me there. And no one missed me, anyway. I didn’t want to tell Greta that because she may not have understood. She would have seen that I was too angry and too emotional and too much for my own good, but that wasn’t what I meant anything to be. I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I just wanted Wade to know he had hurt someone. That’s all. I know it wasn’t a right thing, but it was a thing that I thought could be justified. I was wrong, but that’s what I thought. I thought that I was just tired of everyone being so mean to me and not caring, so I thought maybe I could just fix this one thing. It didn’t work.

Now I was awake and I was still not ready to leave my room. But my bed was cold and my clothes were wet. I should probably get in the shower, I thought. Man, I smell like the absence of all things good and holy, I thought. I trudged to the bathroom and turned on the water and I got in the shower. I got out of the shower fifty-three minutes later and then I didn’t smell so much like the absence of all things good and holy quite so much. There were some things, though, that even the longest of showers couldn’t wash away.

When I went downstairs, I was wearing my jeans from last Christmas and my jacket from when I played football. My mother was surprised by that, I know. Her eyes popped and then she tried to pretend they hadn’t so she just smiled and said, “Hi, Keilo.” “Hello. What are you making for breakfast?” Small talk, I thought, was a good place to start building trust back. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but I could do it. I’d try with this, and I told her I’d go to the art class. I said yes, I will go to that class. And my mother clapped her hands together like a seal.

She drove me to the community center and parked by the front doors. “Be good, you hear me?” That’s what she yelled while I was walking inside. I waved back at her to say silently, “Yes, I will be good.”

That was her worry, I knew. That I wouldn’t be good, like she told me, and that I’d do something that was the opposite of good, was her biggest fear. Because of two weeks ago. She couldn’t hide the fact that well. Not from me; not from her own son. I heard the door click behind me.

There was a lady at the desk who looked at me and said in her head, “Here is a menace. This is a danger. I should call the police. Yes, I think I will make something up and call the police and they will lock this menace up and he will not visit this establishment anymore.” Except she didn’t really. She just looked that way because her eyes screwed up deep in her wrinkled head and her wormy lips tightened around her movie star white teeth. I never understood how people with teeth so white could bear to eat food with color. Like, how could they eat beets? Did people not like beets when they did that, or maybe was it a sacrifice they had to make? I didn’t care, incredibly enough.

“Hello, I’ve signed up for the art class here. My name is Keilo Ibanza.” I smiled pretend hopefully at the lady. Even if I couldn’t trick myself into thinking I was happy, and even if my mother didn’t believe me, I knew this lady couldn’t know that. She never could. Ha, I wouldn’t give her that, at least.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll get right on that.” I could see the art class meeting in the back room. They had paint out on the table and I could smell it. It smelled like blue and purple and blue and purple was the color of bad wallpaper but great flower arrangements.

“Hi, um. I see the room back there. I can just go. I know I’m on the list. I’ll check in when I meet the teacher, if that’s okay.” The lady pursed her lips and clucked cluckily like a clucking chicken. What was her clucking deal?

“I don’t know if that’s a great idea. We have a strict security policy.” Sure they did!

“Sure you do!” Oops, I hadn’t meant to say that one out loud. I bit my lips together but it was too late and the lady blushed furiously. Before she or I could say anything else, a girl came in the door. She looked at me and looked at the tight lipped lady and then she grabbed my arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’m late! Come on.” And she was pretty strong so I had to go with her, which was okay because she went to the art room. She waited in the doorway with me before we walked in. “Hi. I’m sorry about that. Is that okay?” “Um, yes. It was fine. Thank you.” The girl let go of my arm and took her motorcycle helmet off. “My name is Keilo.” Why did I tell her my name? I didn’t know. But I wanted to and that was reason enough.

“Oh, well, hey. I’m Greta. You’re new to the class.”

“Yes.” I nodded and blinked and howled in my head because I knew that nodding and blinking were bad and people don’t like to talk when you nod and blink too much. “Yes, I am. My mother signed me up for it. She said I needed to do something with my life.” Greta quirked an eyebrow and ran her hands through her hair. “Do you?” “Oh, I guess. I’ve been sleeping a lot.” “Why don’t you go to school?” “That’s not your business.” I pushed past her lightly and walked into the classroom. Fine. She was being nice and that was fine but there was a certain point when enough was enough and I didn’t want to answer those questions. She wouldn’t like the answers, anyway. I realised I didn’t know what I was doing. The teacher was a tall man wearing paint splatted clothes and he had clay in his fingernails. He had holes in his shoes. “Hey, I’m Keilo.” The teacher turned to look at me and smiled broadly. He held out his hand. “I’m Ivan. Your mom called me earlier. We’re glad to have you. Why don’t you sit over there by Ramona and Tarrence? They won’t bite.” A girl, presumably Ramona, waved at me. The boy next to her scowled. I walked over to their table and sat down. Greta sat at a table across from me. She didn’t seem fazed by my non-answer brush off. She didn’t seem to care at all.

We were painting trees. It was tremendously boring and tedious and I hated it so much that I thought my head would fall off and roll under the table. When I was done, I found that my trees looked too long and twisted and everyone else’s trees were beautiful and shining. I crumpled the paper into a ball when the three hours were over, but I wasn’t mad I had gone. It was good for me, like my mother had told me. As I left the community center to wait by the flagpole for my mother, Greta was walking towards her motorcycle. She stopped and stood by me. I shifted from foot to foot and then I said, “What do you need?”

“Um. Nothing.” “Okay.” And so we stood by the flagpole until my mother drove up in the car and I got inside and then I watched Greta get on her motorcycle to ride away. “How was the class?’ My mother asked me, smiling. “It was fine. It was great. I loved it. What do you want me to say?” She was quiet and then, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Will you go back?”

I knew I didn’t actually have a choice. I nodded. “Yep.” I hoped Greta wasn’t there and that Tarrence would stop scowling at me and that Ivan would stop blowing bubbles and telling us stories about a place called Bombolla, but yes, I would go back.

I’m still the villain, and people like Wade are the victim. I should’ve known that people wouldn’t see it how I needed them to. I should’ve known they would have turned this on me. I guess now I have to learn how to trust not everyone is like Wade or Orris, and that there are still good people, like Greta and Ivan and my mother. I guess I have to learn to see the world like I could’ve seen my trees.

They were crooked and tangled and ugly, broken and messy and unruly, sprawling and dark and shadowy, but they could be beautiful if you looked hard enough. If I uncrumpled the paper and looked at the picture again, maybe I could see that I wasn’t the bug after all, but instead I was a bird.

I went back to the class and I looked in the trash can for the picture of my trees, but it wasn’t there. I asked Ivan, and he told me to ask Greta. She pointed to where she had taped it to the wall in the center of the room. My trees were the same. Twisted and sprawling and in the middle of the whole little shattering forest was a bird. Not just any bird, but instead it was a bird made of heart and fire and and everything in the world saying yes I can to everything that said no you won’t. It was a phoenix flying up out the ashes. And now I think that’s what I need to learn. I need to learn how to be a phoenix.


It was no secret in Lockeside that there was an abandoned home at the end of the road, right by the last remaining Catholic Church. Once the liveliest area of the old West Virginian town, it was left bare and withered with the installation of the new highway. It didn’t help that there were old rumors of that place; rumors which had only grown with its rot. It was that of the Etsons and their son Charley. The Etsons were good folk, according to Pastor Davidson. They went to church every week, volunteered some miles out at a soup kitchen, and often left tips for the local sheriff to get ‘those wild rascals out of the woods.’. Their son went out with his parents to church and those volunteer groups, which was to be expected, and people found the Etsons to be both charmingly conservative and blessed with great moral fortitude. That was until Charley vanished one day. Of course, people talked about it—there wasn’t much else

to  talk about in Lockeside—and that kind of talk led to accusations of neglect, abuse, and even selling Charley’s soul to the devil, but no one never worked up the courage to report these suspicions to the sheriff, not that the sheriff would’ve believed it anyway.

That was years ago, before the highway installation.

The Etsons moved out—no one remembers when or how—without their belongings and, more importantly, without Charley. Some folk say that, when visiting the end of the road—at night no less— little Charley can be heard screaming for help in the basement—as though he’s still there, still as young as he was the day he vanished.

Jaime was determined to figure out if those old rumors held any real weight.

He slipped on his flannel jacket and zipped it over his black baggy tank. Turning to his girlfriend, Jaime said:

“Ready, Lil Miss Hills? Or are ya feelin’ too chicken shit?” Alissa scrunched up her nose and smacked his arm lightly.

“No! I told you I was gonna do it, didn’t I?” “Yeah, just makin’ sure is all.”

Truth be told, Alissa Hills wasn’t a cowardly type. A Californian immigrant with a semi-spoiled attitude, she craved adrenaline the same way an addict craved their preferred substance; something which united her and Jaime. He wouldn’t have asked her out otherwise.

Alissa reached down and pulled her shoe strings. Her black leather boots had been giving her hell lately, but she insisted it was kind of a style; what with the leather stripping off the sides and the laces stretched so thin they appeared as though they could snap at any moment. She tied the laces carefully and tucked them into the tongue of her boot.

Meanwhile, Jaime crossed his living room toward the kitchen. His lil’luns, Waltie and Billie, were crouched over the table busy with their homework. Billie was learning his basic addition and subtraction while Waltie was learning the differences between geometric shapes. Jaime cleared his throat. “Alright, if y’all need anything, you best call me, y’hear?” Billie nodded and gave him a thumbs up. “I love you!” Jaime half-sang, half-said.

“Love you too!” Waltie sang back.

With that, he and Alissa were off. The hardest part of leaving at night was heading down the hill to downtown Lockeside. There were rolling mountains round all corners, with trees  which blocked out most of the pouring moonlight. Jaime pulled out his flashlight and felt around for the switch until he managed to click it. White light nearly blinded him and Alissa both, casting evergreen shaped shadows across seas of twigs and moss covered rocks. Alissa tucked her black leather jacket close and pulled her hood over her French braided, jade dyed hair.

Jaime shone his flashlight over piles of yellow-orange leaves til he found car tracks leading downtown. He gestured to Alissa and lead the way.

There were hardly a lick of streetlights in Lockeside and the few that were there had bulbs that hadn’t been changed in years; leaving only glimpses of the relatively dead town for anyone passing through. The narrow, pebbled road snaked through the mountains out toward Point Pleasant and, further out, Ohio. Most tourists passed through here just to go there and whisper among themselves legends of Mothman and the tragedy of the Silver Bridge. Despite being Lockeside’s main source of income, the locals resented those damn tourists and their snooty Northerner opinions.

Jaime shone his flashlight on the nearby pub. The scene of gossip, sport gatherings, and sheriff lunches, Harty’s pub gathered the community together just as well as the church. Get wasted at the pub on Saturdays, confess your sins on Sundays, rinse and repeat—-and gossip, always gossip, about the going ons of local Betty, drunk John, the lil’luns, gunshots heard uphill—that sort of business—and point out the tourists. Always do that too.

Snap ! Jaime shone the flashlight in Alissa’s direction. She lifted her foot. Just a damn twig, no need to worry.

They passed by the daycare-elementary school and Middle-High school. Both buildings were made of the same old brick, even the architecture was the same—rectangular, flat roofed, double-doored. It was said the church came together to build em back in the early eighties—on account of the fact that the parents of Lockeside were irritated they had to drive out about ten to fifteen miles just to drop off their lil’luns, all the while praying their children weren’t swayed by liberal teachers. They wanted their kids close, to fill their minds with Bible parables and traditional values, as well as with stories of Satanic cults hiding up in the mountains. Jaime never understood why kids needed to hear such tales, but he kept those opinions to hisself. He’d only been a local since he was six after all and his aunt and uncle didn’t care much about religion, nor about the community. The community didn’t care much for them neither.

There it was, Charley’s home. Wind whistled through broken, fogged windows and shredded curtains. The front door was ajar and the patio was left in a state of brownish-green, with holes poking through its aged wooden planks. The Etsons’ rusted, red truck was parallel parked to the left of the house too—Jaime had heard the Etsons had multiple vehicles, they weren’t poor—so the story goes. Alissa plugged her nose. “What the hell’s that awful—?” She whined.

“Wood,” Jaime answered. “….Maybe food too? Can’t tell.”

“It better be.” Alissa mumbled under her breath.

Jaime walked up onto the patio, stepping carefully round the holes, and gently pushed the door back. Alissa followed him in. Jaime swung his flashlight across the kitchen and stairs, barely catching the sound of rats pitter-pattering ‘cross dusty rugs into their secluded nests. He wouldn’t mention this to Alissa, she’d scream at the sight. For what it was worth, the Etsons’ home was built way back in the late 1800s. Considered one of them luxurious mansions for its time, the man who built it was something of a crackpot. He was too terrified to engage with society in any general sense, convinced both the Union and Confederates were out to get him. At least, that’s what Jaime read about. Now the house was like any other modern day building—average-sized. He stepped further in. The source of the smell was indeed leftover breakfast or lunch. Roaches crawled over hardened hush puppies, scrambled eggs, cups of aged milk, burnt grits, and moldy pancakes. Alissa winced and straightened.

“That’s so fucking gross!”

“If we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us.” said Jaime. “Sides, we’re going to the basement, ain’t we?”

Alissa exhaled and nodded. Jaime turned his attention to the stairs and shone his flashlight ‘cross the wall to a door adjacent to an old calendar. Looked like the Etsons left in the early nineties, sometime in July. He walked up to the door and turned the knob. It took him a minute to realize he had to pull the door back rather than push it. He shone his flashlight at stairs that led down to the basement.

“Oh, shit,” Alissa gasped. “You hear that?” Scratches. There were more rats down there. Jaime turned to Alissa with half-a-smirk.

“Rats. You sure you wanna go down there?”

Alissa hugged herself and broke eye contact with Jaime. After a moment, she nodded hesitantly. He raised his eyebrows, but she faced him and nodded again. “Okaaaay.” Jaime headed down, trusting his flashlight wasn’t missing no blind spots on the stairs.

Unlike the kitchen, alcohol permeated the basement. It wasn’t the usual kind of alcohol purchased at no grocery store, no, it was the kind that stunk up emergency rooms and teal smocks. There was a bed too—at the heart of the basement—surrounded by transparent bags hooked to IV poles, with a sphygmomanometer on top, next to folded blankets. Boxes full of alcoholic wipes and other cleaning utensils were piled up behind the IV hooks to the far left of the room.

Shit .

Jaime frowned deeply, lowering his flashlight toward the floor. He remembered reading that Charley’s mama was a nurse; though he’d only read it in passing as he’d been gathering up information on the rumors.

“That’s it?” Alissa said coldly. Jaime narrowed his eyebrows as he faced her.

“Show some respect, will you?”

“Sorry,” Alissa paused til a thought struck her. “If Charley just got sick then why’d his parents leave abruptly?”

“Wouldn’t you leave if a whole town was accusing you of abusing yer sick kid?” Jaime bit back. Just as Alissa opened her mouth to return the attitude, she stopped.

“You hear that?”

Jaime froze, leaning in only slightly to catch what Alissa was referring to.

“… Mama … Mama … please …”

Alissa squealed.

“Oh, fuck!” She jumped back and grabbed the stair railing. Jaime straightened.

“Hullo?” He called out. “Somebody there?”

“…. Mama…please….it’s too painful…”

“I’m getting the fuck outta here!” Alissa leapt up the stairs and raced to the kitchen. Jaime stayed, watching his flashlight flicker briefly.

“Charley?” He called out. “That you?”

“… Mama….Mama…Mama! ” The whispers swelled up into sobs, but then— “Mama’s right here, Charley. I’m not leaving you, honey.”

Jaime followed the noise to the back of the basement and moved boxes out of his path. There was a TV in the corner, a real old one from the eighties, playing a recording of Charley in bed. He was being tended to by his mama. As his papa began to sing happy birthday quietly, the recording stopped and a VHS tape popped out. Jaime grabbed it and stared. He frowned again, letting his shoulders sink. “Rest in peace, kid.”

Jaime turned back to the stairs, wondering whether he ought to tell Alissa that there weren’t no ghost down here. He grabbed the railing and headed back up. Then again, what the hell had turned that TV on in the first place?


The group was sitting around a bond fire. They had all gathered at Ryan’s house after senior prom. With graduation early the next morning, most of the friends had left for bed, or to hook up somewhere else. Only five kids remained, sitting in beach chairs as the fire slowly died down. Leslie was sitting on Ryan’s lap, affectionately twirling her fingers in his hair. Lucas and Cindy were sitting, holding hands and whispering to each other quietly. Jacob was laying with his seat reclined, staring at the stars, with a bud light can dangling in his hands. He was the only one who had really drank that night, Ryan and Lesly preferring weed, and Cindy had been carefully watching Lucas to makes sure he wouldn’t be hungover for graduation.            Truthfully, the two couples were secretly hoping Jacob would go to bed, but he was sleeping over at Ryan’s and would probably be staying up as late as everyone else was. Jacob stood up and walked over to the cooler Ryan’s dad had brought down. Mr. Notley had filled it up with Gatorade’s and water, but Jacob and some of their other friends had filled it up with Bud Light and White Claw’s. Jacob turned to friends, “Anyone need a beer?” he asked.            “Nah, but can you get me a water?” Ryan asked.            “You’re such a pussy, dude.” Jacob responded, but he tossed a water to his friend nonetheless.”            “Bro, I cannot drink right now. I would get way too crossfaded.” Ryan responded as he caught the water bottle. “I also got really bad cotton mouth. Low key, I’ve been dying of thirst but I didn’t want to say anything.”            “Ryan, why didn’t you say something? I would have gotten up!” Leslie said.            “Idk, man. Thought you guys would be weirded out, or something.” Ryan responded.            “Dude, did you really just say ‘IDK’ instead of ‘I don’t know.’ How high are?” Lucas said.            Ryan burst out laughing and nearly choked as he said, “Pretty fuckin high, dude.”            Everybody laughed. Something about the way Ryan laughed was contagious. His mom liked to boast to her friends that he had an “infectious smile” and she was right. He was a kid who got along with everyone, and was quick to welcome anybody to join in whatever he was doing. In fact, he had annoyed his friends when he invited Gabe, a quiet kid who never really talked to anyone, to his house after prom. Gabe had come, and sat quietly by the fire pretending to drink a beer. He didn’t talk to anyone until Ryan had asked everyone to go around the fire and share their favorite memory from high school (Ryan was a camp counselor, and had a habit of forcing everyone to do things around the fire.) One by one, the group shared their memories, things like winning the Lacrosse champion ship junior year, or pep rally senior year were common answers. When it was Gabe’s turn he was hesitant, at first saying “I pass.”            But Ryan nicely implored him to speak, saying “Come on man, you gotta have a favorite memory. When you look back at high school, what’s the one thing you’ll remember.”            Gabe looked around at everybody, blushing. He wasn’t used to having so many people listening to him. He looked at Ryan and softly said, “I’ll remember tonight. I think it’s the best night of my life.”            The group was silent, unsure how to react to this confession that this stupid after prom party was so meaningful to this kid that they barely knew. In the hands of a different person, that may have turned into an awkward moment. Ryan handled it like a pro, giving a high five to Gabe and saying “Me too, man, me too” and raising his drink to give a toast to the night.            All of this is to say, it is easy to understand why Leslie was in love with him, and as she watched at Ryan laugh at himself for being too high, she realized that she really was in love with him. He may not really love her, they were only in high school after all, as her mom was quick to point out whenever she mentioned any future with him, but she was deeply in love with him. In fact, in her mind it was perfectly reasonable to want to spend the rest of her life with him. This was dawning on her, and as the laughter died she was staring and Ryan intently, with a slight smile on her face. Ryan noticed the look and asked “What? Is there something on my face?”            Leslie giggled, “Nope! I’m just thinking how much I’m going to miss this.”            “Miss what?” Cindy asked.            “Just…this.” Leslie gestured around the fire, “Hanging out with friends without a care in the world. Just enjoying each other’s company. After this summer, who knows what’s going to happen? We’re all going to different colleges, different paths in life. It’s kind of sad.”            “Alright, shut up with the sad talk!” Jacob said as he stood out of his seat. “We can deal with all of that nonsense at the end of the summer. Tonight? We rage!”            Leslie and Cindy rolled their eyes as Lucas and Ryan laughed at their drunk friend. “Yeah buddy, this is a rager all right.” Lucas said with a smile.            “Raging is about mindset, not about the number of people.” Jacob responded as he grabbed another beer from the cooler.            “Whatever you say, bro.” Ryan said.            The group grew silent. Cindy yawned and rested her head on Lucas’ shoulder. It was almost one, and they were supposed to be at the school by 7:30 the next morning for one last walk through before graduation. She was about to suggest bed, when Jacob once again broke the silence, “Let’s play a game!”            Leslie sighed, “What game?”            “I don’t know, something fun!” Jabob responded.            “How about truth or dare?” Ryan asked, “Jakey, I dare you to walk to the beach.”            “No, that’s lame, I don’t want to do that.”            “Ohhh, what are you scared?” Leslie teased.            “Big bad Jake is too scared to walk to the beach?” Lucas added in mock surprise.            The beach was only about a half mile away from Ryan’s house, in fact a lot of the people who had left the fire early had probably gone there. It was a known secret spot for couples to venture to for some alone time. There was nothing sinister or scary about this walk, it was one they had all made plenty of times. That being said, the two couples saw this as a chance to get rid of Jacob for a little and just enjoy the quietness of the fire.            “Jake, my man. If you’re too scared to walk to the beach in the dark just say so!” Ryan said, knowing the exact buttons to push in order to get Jacob to go. “I can always think of an easier dare. If you’re too chicken to walk to the beach, that is.”            Jacob stood up and chugged his beer. He stomped over to the cooler grabbed two more, the last two, and turned and stared at his friends. “Fine. I’ll walk to the fuckin beach. You happy?”            He turned and walked away. Lucas called after him “Make sure you bring back some sand, so we know you went all the way!”            Without turning around Jacob held up his middle finger. The couples laughed and then settled in comfortably. Leslie, still sitting on Ryan’s lap, draped both her arms around him, and rested her neck on his shoulder. Cindy got up and sat on the ground in front of Lucas. She laid her head back on his lap and he began to play with her hair. Within in 15 minutes, all four of them were asleep.            Ryan woke up to a bang. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that Jacob was back and was tossing wood on to the fire. He wiped at his eyes, causing Leslie to mumble something he couldn’t make out. “Jake, dude. What time is it?”            Jacob looked at him and didn’t respond. Ryan asked again, and received no answer besides another log being put on the fire. He struggled to reach his phone without bothering Leslie, and saw that it was 2:17. About an hour had passed since Jacob had left for the beach. “Jake, I don’t think we need more logs. It’s getting late.”            Lucas had been awakened by the second log toss, and now had realized what woke him up “Jacob, shut up, man”            Jacob once again looked at him with no response. “What time is it?” Lucas asked Ryan.            “Like 2:15.” Ryan responded, closing his eyes again.            “Oh shit!” Cindy said, bolting up from where she now lay on the ground, “My dad’s gunna kill me! I gotta get home.”            She stood up and walked over to Leslie, gave her a shake and said “Leslie, we gotta go!”            Leslie tried to shrug her off and nestle deeper into Ryan’s shoulder, but he began to stand up, “Cindy’s right, Les. You gotta get home. Your dad is probably pissed.”            Leslie untangled herself from Ryan and they both stood up. Lucas sighed and got up as well, “I’ll give you guys a ride.” He said. They began walking towards the car, leaving Jacob behind, until he reached out and grabbed Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan turned and asked “What?”            Before he could get an answer they heard a yell coming from the driveway, “Guys! Guys! Are you still down here?”            A person was sprinting around the corner towards the fire place. They couldn’t make out who it was until he was standing right in front of them. Everyone froze. Ryan looked at Jacob and then back at the new arrival. “What the fuck?”            The new arrival was staring at Jacob. He looked as though he was looking at a ghost. He seemed petrified with fear. As if he was seeing something unbelievable. And maybe he was. Because he was staring at himself.            Leslie screamed. Lucas stood with a dumbfounded look on his face, Ryan once again asked “What the fuck?”, and Cindy stood clinging to Lucas’s body. The Jacob that had a hold on Ryan’s shoulder smiled. He spoke. “Surprise.”


It was a little colder tonight, but I still decided to go on my nightly walk. I needed the fresh air and frankly the exercise. I always walked the same path and normally never saw anyone. I lived in a quiet small town, so seeing people is very rare for me. I was about halfway through my walk when I saw another man and a girl on the other side of the creek. At first, I thought nothing of it, a father and daughter, or maybe a brother and sister. I liked it when I saw others, it made the world feel a little less lonely.

I kept walking down my path trying to keep my eyes off of them since mom always used to tell me staring isn’t polite and I mustn't do it. I would glance at them every so often, and imagine I was walking with them. I had never walked my path with another and I wondered what it would be like.

I was just about to turn away from the creek and head back home, but I took one last glance at the others. I couldn’t tell what the man was doing, but I knew it wasn’t normal. Instead of turning away, I hid behind a bush to find out what was happening. It was a little hard to see them since I was across the creek, but it looked as if the man had his hands wrapped around the girl’s neck. The next thing I knew the man had the girl on the ground. He was killing her. I started to panic. I slowly backed away from the bush and ran the rest of the way home. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. The thought of me not doing anything to help was running through my mind. If I had just shouted he might’ve stopped.

Even though it was ten at night I ran to the police station. This man could not get away with this. When I got there they told me to wait in the lobby. I told them I couldn’t wait and it needed to be dealt with now. The lady at the desk didn’t seem to care and still told me to have a seat.

I waited patiently for what seemed like forever. After a while, I went back to the front desk and demanded to speak to someone now. It was urgent I told her. I was getting angry, I thought they were supposed to help.

I sat back down and a few minutes later someone finally came out to get a statement from me. They took me into an integration room since I told them it was urgent.

“Ok sir, what is it you’d like to report,” said the officer.

“A murder. I saw it happen, by the creek. It was awful he strangled her. You have to get him. You just have to!” I pleaded. I started panicking again which had to do with the condition I have. I have bad anxiety and normally don’t socialize. The officer just looked at me like I was crazy. Like I said small town, word gets around. People think I’m mentally ill and can’t function on my own. Gosh, why did I think they were going to believe me.

“Ok, we’ll take a look into that. Have a nice day sir,” he said standing up and leaving me in the interrogation room all by myself.

I felt silly even being here. No one cared and no one believed me. I knew he wasn’t going to look into it. I could see it in his eyes. I stood up and walked out of the station. I felt stupid, this is what it feels like when the whole world is against you. No one listens and now that poor girl’s killer will never get caught.

I was almost at the end of the parking lot when an officer stepped out of his car. He walked right up to me and it wasn’t until he was standing inches away from me that I noticed he was the killer. I almost didn’t recognize him since he was far away when I saw him kill her.

“You ok, you need a ride?”

“No,” I said frantically and ran off. I sprinted most of the way home and when I finally got there I knew that he would never get caught.

The next day I went back to the police station with my mother, the only person who believed me, and told them an officer killed the girl. I told them it was Officer Westley and they had to believe me. I knew I sounded crazy, but I didn’t care. The men who were supposed to protect us just killed an innocent girl last night. I need to get justice for that girl. I didn’t know her, but I felt like I owed this to her and her family.

An hour later my mom and I walked out of the station with the words: “I’m sorry but what your son is saying makes no sense and there is no proof of Officer Westley killing anyone.”

I felt defeated. The murder had won and there was nothing I could do about it. No evidence, no case. Her death will forever be unjustified.

... Twenty years later and he was never charged or even arrested. I think about that poor girl every day of my life. I started to work with my condition and live for her. I went back to school and got into law and criminology. I am now a lawyer who helps families make sure killers get sent away for a long time. I will forever be grateful to that girl, she made me realize there is more to life than my mom and a nightly walk. Even though I never found out who she was, I hope she is in peace and I wish to thank her. Maybe someday they will find her body and her family can have peace as well. Until then I will continue getting killers locked away for what they did.