A dream A lively dream A tiny or big one To cherish in the life To shower lovely rains By washing all odd fouls Creating an eternal abode It's the magic of dream  For which heart is always craving!!! The story is for a fighter... We are all fighters. We fight for right .To achieve our dreams, at the real sights. We fight to live. We fight from day to night. The world is full of chaos, challenges. Nothing is achieved without fighting. Every seconds , every moments, every little hope is far from the sight. But if we fight, that's easily at our site. Fighting doesn't mean to blood shedding, to kill someone, to crush forward things. Want something, without making any effort; if don't get, then don't hurt for the lost .We need to make efforts. We need to fight for this. Good is always fighting overcome bad. That's the real fight, right sight; it's fight. We all are fighter, at each platform of life. To overcome, to achieve the goal; for a better life. Alan is a poor guy, belonged to a middle class family. A person in the middle class family, bearing so much responsibilities. He has no right to take a dream for his own. He should think for others. But as a human being , he has also a dream. That resides in his mind secretly. He never knows that is still litten and try to express, when the suitable time is come. Dream sings a song by his subconscious mind... Reflection of mind Life gives us so many challenges Lot of them are full of uncertainty Anything can be possible at that site Death or alive is not a concern of prime It's demanded by life Making me fulfill by your pride Dark or light that's not right I want to be illuminated by all sites At least one thing is so bright Making dream day to night The dream is blooming in the mind Sketching the best scene in that canvas Loving caring with dear ones Shining the surroundings with all strikes Creating a land of mysterious colors Not a place for any painful acts There no conflict exists within all All are friend under the same roof Is it a day dream or reflection of mind Which is always nourishing in all minds The universe is the only abode Where life is only one Don't waste it anymore Take a deep breathe to pursue the dream You have the spirit hidden itself Awakening that spiritual power To make the dream in reality Alan is smirking!!! Yes, I should pursue my dream by hook or by crooks. But that's not so easy. In his family, he has 2 little sisters. His parents are sick. They live in a shabby house. So much hardships making life so measurable, yet he never gives up. The dream is persisted in his mind. Mind is so bold to hold. He has achieved first position at the graduation. Now, searching for a job. A job, in a multinational company is founded. Within 6 months, he is promoted. His outstanding performances mesmerized all. He gets the golden chance to move to foreign. But he denied. If he went away, how can the family be survived? He must take care the family first. Lisa is his beloved. She tells –Alan, now it's time for us to marry. My family pressurize me for marriage. I tell them all about you. They want to talk with you. Are you ready for going? Alan is so surprised. How can I marry now? I have two sisters. They should be married first. A lot of responsibilities on my shoulder. I can't think about my life right now. Lisa- what do you mean by that? We together can bit the battle. What's the problem? I say no; that's not fair. It’s one kind of selfishness! “How much time do you need to take the initiative?” Alan-I don’t know that; may be 5 or 10 years. Lisa- I am surprised! Do you think my family is listening you? “I can't wait such a long time .Then you should forget me.”  I am silence. Just get up and go away. The love story is ended. My heart is broken. Dreams are shattered. But, I hide all the pains, inside itself. My thoughts myriads… Hidden pain Fiercing heart Burning soul Blank mind Blind eyes Vacant brain Blurred thoughts

All are happened

Due to hidden pain That pain Can’t talk Can’t express The sea of pain

Always wavering

Inside itself

Sometimes for a while Overflowing

Comes out As a drop of tear Hidden tears A bridge build up To walk Over the tears Still not showing

To win the open world

Only living In the hidden pain world!!! I have come back home. Father is so sick. Mother is worried. Siblings are quarrelling. There's a lot of issues. My mind is vulnerable. I go to my room. Why the life is so strange? Give so much challenges . I am ready to sacrifice all, for all of my beloved ones. The night is so scary. My love is going far away . I’m going to lose her forever . I have no choice left.

Oh God! HELP ME! The moonlight is so bright Try to talk with me Let's me share my pains Only with you The dream !!!! Never tired to come at my door. Always knock, yet the door can't open. Time is passed by this way. Year to year is passed. Now 9 years are passed . So many incidents are happened. I lost my father. My mother is in bed. Two sisters are married. I have done, all my responsibilities very sincerely. My professional life is also so enlighten . I'm settled in life.  I am very pleased after doing that all. I feel so relax. A solace!!!! At the evening, I go for a walk. Then, sit on the bench . For a while, I am lost myself. I don't know, where I was belonged. A deep breathe. I was fight at my life as a freedom fighter. My youth is faded. It reached in the verge of the life. Suddenly one day.... A little celebration is taken by the mysterious life. A poem is recited by my mind… After a long time They again meet each other

Both of them are quite surprised Today they are far apart

Once a time When they were love birds

Fate gave them a tough time

They couldn't connect

At the verge of certain platform

Fate gives them that golden chance Now they seem to be so happy Bcz their life pass alongside with lovely memories This day is a big one Just celebrate it By heart!!! My lost love is now come back in my life. I’m happy. After sufferings all, now the luck is in my hand. Both of us hold our hands. The evergreen dream of eternal love is true. We are going to create the divine in this earth. The universe of our eternal love!


As I walk along the pathway that lay beside the rusting playground where I grew up, a million memories swarm in my head… But what catches my attention isn’t the new statue they’d built, nor the rose beds but instead, a man who looked all too familiar.

… It’s wintertime 1989, I’m fourteen years old sitting on the swing next to Marco, the best-looking guy from my grade nine class. I wore the red and white checked dress stained with coke with a denim jacket despite my mother’s warning about the weather. It was freezing and the river that flowed nearby was almost frozen over. We sat side by side on our swings occasionally talking, sometimes looking at each other, and rarely laughing. … It was the biggest dare yet this year. My grade had come up with some stupid dare system where if you did something that the whole class voted you do, then somehow, you’d become more popular. And that was my dream – popularity. I was just Santana, the brown-haired, brown skin, brown eyed girl that no one ever bothered to talk to. So the day I finally spoke up and said I wanted to take part in the immature dare game they called The Devils Dare, was the day most kids actually noticed me for the first time.

I did have one friend, Angie, but she had just moved schools before The Devils Dare began… lucky her. So that left me alone and I was sick of living like that. At fourteen years old, I’d never even held hands with a guy! Vivian, my class’s most beautiful, most popular girl had done everything. She’d held hands with not only one, but many boys, even kissed a few too and who knows what else, and one day she came to school ‘drunk’ claiming she’d stolen alcohol from her parent’s liquor cabinet. But the day Vivian came to school and announced she had a boyfriend, three years older than her was the day I was sick of being lonely. So, I spoke up. “I’ll play,” everyone turned to look at me. I could feel my cheeks beginning to turn the colour of a tomato.

No one spoke. They were all either completely in shock or didn’t know what to say. “What?” said Vivian.

“I said, I want to play.” “ You

want to play The Devils Dare?” “You heard me,” I replied, joining the circle. Vivian began to shake her head. She turned to look at the rest of the people in the group which was essentially my whole grade. But none of them argued against me and my offer to play.

Flicking her perfect blonde locks back over her shoulder, she turned her attention back to me. “Fine, it’s Elliot’s turn to pick the dare so let’s hear what he has up his sleeve shall we?” Elliot, being Marco’s sidekick and even more irritating follower smirked and cleared his throat. “Santana, Santana, Santana…” I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to give me my dare. For some reason, the silence in the air didn’t even make me anxious, somehow, I felt… ready. “I’m waiting

Elliot ,” I said getting a little bit impatient. “And I’m thinking,

Santana .” “ I  have a dare,” snickered Vivian. “Mind if I steal this one from you Elliot?” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, go ahead.” Everyone gave into Vivian, it was like the boys were under some type of trance anytime she asked for a favour. To retrieving her a pencil or carrying her to the sickbay when she fell over in sport one time, the boys were willing to go miles and miles for her. Maybe one day they’d realise. “I dare Santana to go out with Marco. This weekend. At Pablo’s Diner, 6 pm sharp.” I instantly look up at Vivian, slowly my eyes are drawn to the other side of the circle where Marco sits glaring at me. “Vivian, are you kidding me?

Santana ?” He rolled his eyes. “No way!” “I’m down,” I say. Murmurs start to arise and chatter replaces the silence. “I’ll be there, Saturday night at Pablo’s, 6 pm.” That was that so I got up and walked away, leaving my classmates behind. … 5:55 pm, Saturday night I walk into Pablo’s Diner to find Marco. As I walk through the door, the bell rings and instantly I’m hit with the sounds and smell of Italian food. Marco’s nowhere to been seen so I take a seat on the empty booth right at the back of the diner by the window. The bell chimes and a boy with blond hair, hazel eyes, and adorable dimples walks in – it’s Marco. He sees me and begins to walk my way. He’s not smiling nor frowning so that’s a start I gather. “Hey,” I say as he sits across from me.

“Hey,” he replies.

Neither of us says anything for a while, I had a mental list of things to talk about in my mind but with a guy like him sitting across from me, all my brain cells had left well before I had a chance to use them. “F-food,” I stammer. He cocks his head to one side in confusion. “Do you want to order,” I rephrase myself. “Sure.” Marco clicks his fingers to get the attention of the closest waitress. The blonde-haired girl turns and starts towards our table. Out of all the waitresses in this town, the one to serve Marco and I is Vivian’s older and even more popular sister and not to mention the girl Marco claims to of kissed on

multiple

occasions. I immediately look down, busying myself with what’s on the menu. “April,” says Marco, I didn’t know you still worked here.

She nodded, her bosoms bouncing up and down a bit too unnaturally. “I see you’re on a date with Santana here. How adorable!” her voice sounded just as fake as her personality. I looked up, trying my best to give her my most realistic smile.

“We’re not… o-on a

date  exactly,” clarified Marco almost immediately. The smile that I had tried my best to plaster on rapidly faded.

April looked at me just in time to see my smile fade. “Well, I think Santana here had a different idea. Is that right San?” “San tana ,” I corrected her, emphasis the rest of my name. “And frankly, no, this is not a date, instead, a dare set by

your  sister.” There was a pregnant pause before anyone spoke again. “Well, what can I fetch for you two?” “I’ll take a loaded cheese pizza and coke,” said Marco. “And I’ll take a creamy carbonara please, with a lemonade.” April wrote down our orders and walked off. Marco pulled a bottle from his jacket, it was only small but it had a golden-brown colour to it. Taking a swig of it, he winced when the liquid trickled down his throat. “Want some?” he pushed the bottle towards me. I shook my head. “No thanks. What is that stuff?” “Rum from my father’s office. He won’t even notice it’s gone.” “Marco!” I whispered although it came out louder than intended. “You shouldn’t be drinking. You’re only fifteen!” “Sixteen actually,” he said. There was a two-year age gap between us. Once I graduated grade three, the teachers were that impressed with my numeracy and literacy skills, fourth grade wasn’t even an option, it was straight to grade five for Santana. Our drinks came and Marco proceeded to top up his coke with his father’s rum while I listened to him talk. His speech was beginning to sound like spaces never existed between words. The alcohol was kicking into his system and fast. Once our food came, Marco dug into his pizza and I began with my pasta. I really thought that I was having a good night. I was beginning to actually enjoy myself when Marco tipped his glass over. It could’ve gone three ways… onto him, onto the sides of the table or, onto me. Just my luck, it tipped straight onto my lap, staining my red and white dress. I didn’t overact as most other girls would screaming hysterically, instead, I just looked up at his guilty face.

No words escaped his lips so I stood, leaving a twenty on the table and walked out. I didn’t know where my legs were taking me. This was the first time I’d been out on the town at night. Most young girls my age would run home or run to their nearest friend’s house, but I didn’t.

Before I knew it, my feet were crunching under the bark chips at the local park. Rain had fallen recently and I could hear the river gushing nearby but that wasn’t the only sound my ears picked up. I heard footsteps approaching me from behind. I was never one to think of the worst so I confidently spun around to face whatever or whoever was coming from behind.

“Santana, I am so sorry, really I-I’m…” “Forget it, Marco,” I replied in a firm tone. “You’re drunk and you just need to go home. Really this is all my fault. I was the one who wanted to play this stupid game to start with. If I’d just kept quiet, we wouldn’t be here.” “Exactly.” “Exactly what?” I asked. “We wouldn’t be here,” he said taking three steps closer.

Now an arm’s length away from each other’s body, I noticed Marco’s tear-stained face.

“Marco, were you crying?” I asked although I knew the answer.

It happened within two seconds. No words said just Marco wrapping his arms around my shoulders and releasing the build-up of tears. He stood in my arms sobbing. What was I to do? Push him away? Comfort him like he’d treated me like gold my whole life? I settled on just lightly wrapping my arms around his back. “Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered after he’d let go. His cheeks were shiny with the tears that dried on his skin.

Then he did it. He kissed me. It wasn’t just a peck on the cheek or lips it was something more. Something that felt like it had meaning.

“Marco…” “Santana, I don’t care anymore.” “About what?”

“About who. About who sees this. About who hears about this.” “Oh please,” I replied earnestly rolling my eyes. “As

if  you mean that. You’re drunk and you are going to have no comprehension of this tomorrow morning so don’t say anything you’re going to regr-” “I love you.” I licked my lips and nodded, raising my eyebrows in doubt. “You do?” “Yes, I have for a while now.” “Okay buddy,” I said carefully selecting the tone and pitch of my voice. Let’s go to the swings, shall we? Just sit? Maybe talk?” Marco nodded. The only light in the park came from the twenty-year-old streetlamps which gave off just enough light to make out someone’s features if they were within two feet of your face.

The swings creaked as we sat on them. “What time are your parents expecting you home?” I ask. “9:30 pm.” “You live on the corner of Rowling Street, right?” He nodded vaguely. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a hike from here.” “I’ll call for a taxi then.” I walk slowly toward the payphone on the corner of the playground block. Once I get to the phone, I glance back at the swing set to see nobody on the swing next to where I was. Instead, it swung back and forth as though someone had just gotten off it. “Marco?” I asked. “Marco!” This time raising my voice. No response. He was gone. … I spent that weekend worried sick about Marco’s whereabouts. Although he’d acted like such a jerk and treated me as if I were a ghost majority of the time we’d known each other, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had meant what he’d said. He’d kissed me and told me he

loved

me. No one had ever said such things about me. I couldn’t even remember the last time my mother had told me she loved me.

Monday morning rolled around and I walk through the school gates, peering around for Marco or at least his best friend, Elliot. Then, I see him. He has his back to me but I know it’s him. No one could miss Marco. I wander over to where he sat on the ground. Elliot must have said something about me coming because Marco turned his head and immediately jumped up. I stop walking and let him approach me. Without even saying hello I burst out with, “where the heck did you disappear to?” “I’m sorry,” “You’re sorry? God Marco, I was-” I stopped myself in my verbal tracks. No, I shouldn’t let him get the satisfaction of him knowing I was worried sick about him. “I was just about to call the taxi and then you were gone!” “So he got you, yeah?” Elliot had joined the conversation at some point although I couldn’t recall inviting him.

“You

knew  about this?” I asked.

Elliot nodded, obviously very satisfied with himself. “So how was his acting?” “Acting!?” I repeated. “But he was… Oh my God, you weren’t even drunk, were you?” I now faced Marco. “You pretended to act drunk just so you could see me make a fool of myself. I can’t believe I was even going to let myself hate you just a little less than before. Now I hate myself for even thinking about that.” I turn the other way, my long hair flicking over my shoulder as I storm off. “He’ll take that as a compliment,” yelled out Elliot on Marco’s behalf.

The next thing I heard although I tried my best to zone out their irritating voices was, “this has gone too far.” It was Marco’s voice. I slowed my steps but didn’t stop. The next thing I knew, Marco had grabbed my arm and spun me around. I didn’t have time to think before he kissed me. Again. This time in front of the

entire  school. As our lips parted and our eyes opened there was just silence with the occasional mutter or murmur but then, someone yelled out. “Marco did it! He finally kissed Santana! The girl he’s wanted to kiss since grade five!” It wasn’t just anyone who yelled out those words, it was Marco’s older brother. Gradually cheering and clapping became the sound I heard. Marco stood in front of me, smiling. Unconsciously, a massive grin had made its way onto my face and I stood there looking as taken aback and happy as ever.

“It’s true, what my brother said.” “Really?” “Sure is.” … My heels crunch under the bark chips, this time, twenty-five years later. I no longer have the long dark hair trailing down my back no do I have the innocence I had twenty-five years earlier. I have life experience. I’m a mother to a ten-year-old boy back at my new home by the beach.

“Is that Santana I see?” said the familiar voice. Nothing had changed about him, not even the blond hair or dimples in his cheeks.

“Sure is,” I reply. I embrace Marco into a hug and take in his strong scent. “It’s been too long.” “But here we are. Our very own high school sweetheart reunion. Just for the two of us.” I shake my head and smile. I realised instantly that I’ve missed his presence in my life. “What do you say, want to go sit on the swing set? Maybe talk? Make sure this time you don’t disappear on me, okay?” “Never again,” said Marco. “I don’t know why I ever let you go…”


I brace myself as we pull up to the banquet hall, a white stucco monstrosity flaunting French windows echoed by excessive arches. As expected, a crowd packs the sidewalk before it: reporters readying microphones and cameramen hoisting their equipment on their shoulders; photographers, bulky cameras clicking and flashing (they can’t see us through our limousine’s tinted windows, but, apparently, they see a public demand for pictures of the vehicle); others here simply because idolize us, because of who we are rather than what we do.            I’ve been dreading this for days now, fighting the temptation to try to back out. But I know Mother wouldn’t stand for it; I am a princess, and, as such, I need to make sure that I don’t seem “aloof” to our citizens. We govern them, and they, in turn, govern us.            I pull a breath into stiff lungs. The driver reaches my door and opens it for me, as if I haven’t the strength to do so myself. I force reluctant legs to propel me out, into the throng. As my mother slides out behind me, questions pelt me. Too many at once to make out any of them.            My mother takes charge, telling the crowd that they will have their questions answered if they kindly wait until she calls on them. The crowd instantly quiets; my mother is a true queen, her presence commanding the respect and obedience her slim frame and average height cannot. I swallow what feels like a baseball and prepare for the onslaught.            The first person my mother calls on—a reporter for Channel 7—remarks to me, “I love your coat, and I think I recognize it. Did you get that from Queen Holly?”            My late grandmother. Yes, I’ve topped my shift dress with one of her coats, a gray wool belted trench. One of her favorites. I didn’t want to wear it; I feel as if, after clothing Grandma, it finds my inhabiting it a colossal disappointment. But my mother insisted, proclaiming it a symbol of tradition—something that she holds as dear as she does my brother and me, or maybe even more (I don’t like to ruminate on that question). I tell the reporter that yes, it did belong to my grandmother, and I feel honored to wear it.            Another reporter asks us whether we look forward to the gala. A big to-do where we’ll parade around like zoo animals, making small talk with people who love us but don’t know us, people in glitzy gowns and custom-made suits sipping from champagne flutes that they’ll refill far too many times. Mother says we can’t wait.            A reporter asks me when Arthur and I are going to have children. The question wracks my gut with pain very much like that that I felt three nights ago. I see myself doubling over on the toilet, Arthur smoothing stray hairs off my sweat-drenched forehead, my mother in the other room, talking on the phone with our doctor. We didn’t speak, didn’t dare voice the panic twisting our brains, as if that would jinx it, as if that would make a difference.            It didn’t. When he arrived, the doctor confirmed our worst fears. Even though I’d spent the last hour contemplating it, it hit me like an asteroid fresh from space. I collapsed into Arthur’s arms, and he collapsed onto me, and we cried ourselves as dry as cacti in the Sahara. I’ve spent every free moment since either trying to convince myself that I don’t deserve the blame or excoriating myself because I feel I do. And now I have to pretend it never happened because Mother says we can’t reveal it, because it would “weaken our bloodline” in the public’s eyes. They would, she feared, lament Grandma’s decision to, after the death of her son—her only living relative except for me and my brother, who were both too young to take the throne at the time—allow my mother, a commoner by blood, to take the throne following her death. I don’t think they’d judge us so harshly, and, if they did, I wouldn’t want their support, anyway. But I will oblige, because I have to. Because I’m a princess.            I don’t tell the reporter of the pain. I don’t tell her that we don’t have to have kids if we don’t want them. I don’t tell her that it’s none of her business. Instead, I swallow my grief and anger and tell her that we’ll get to it when the time feels right, with a smile that I can’t help hoping will tell her she’s offended me but know won’t.            They move onto other topics, other questions. Mother fields a few. Then, they ask me about Kristin—my brother’s girlfriend of two years. They tell me—as if I don’t already know—that rumor has it that she and I don’t like each other very much. The rumors are true. I tried to like Kristin, I really did, but she’s made it impossible for me. The way she drags my brother window shopping to not-so-subtly point out that she “adores” a piece of jewelry that they “happen” to pass by in one of said windows; the way she reminded him at least twenty times that she had a birthday coming up; her snide remarks about the clothing of people who probably can’t afford better, or who would rather spend their money on more worthwhile things than Michael Kors dresses or Giuseppe Zanotti heels; the way she constantly whines about having to work, just like almost everyone else. It gets to a person. But I assure the reporter that such talk could not be further from the truth; Kristin and I adore each other. The reporter nods, smiling, but I can see disappointment flashing in her eyes.            Another woman comes forward. A baby wriggles in her arms. I freeze for a moment, the glint of its denim-blue eyes piercing my flesh, its coos ice picks thrust into my ears. The woman asks if I’ll take a picture with the child. I force a breath into lungs as stiff as crackers. I’ll do as she asks. It will break me. But not here, not now, not until I’m alone in my room, with a pillow to muffle my sobs. Because I will not let Mother down.            Because I’m a princess.


Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; . . . Gaze no more in the bitter glass. ~ W.B. Yeats, “The Two Trees”              The sun stretched out over the sky with a ferocity akin to the thrashing wings of lore. All the daylight poured into the decaying garden, and affected it faster than did the approaching night. Scorched, wilted, brittled, shorn of all life.            Young Luther writhed from his bed with little energy, like out of some monastic order after a long day’s labor repressing the floors with wax—except it was a prison for him and not a sanctuary. He got up and saw the garden through the window. It was once a delightful garden. Today it looked more like a garden of deadness than delights. Stepping into the closet, he did his business and just glanced at the mirror before closing the door. He made his bed. He had to sleep in it again tonight.            Lethargic as ever, he stumbled into the kitchen and had breakfast. So much to do, so much time, and so little desire. Or maybe too much. The clock ticked.            A cloud was crouching into view over the garden as Luther descended from the house into it. He dropped into the beach chair heavily and lit up a cigar next to the rosebush. Then he opened the news on his smartphone. It bothered him. As much for its nature as its character—or the lack thereof in both. The news was most assuredly lacking in both.            A few old tatters of paper lay next to the ashtray, some crumpled under the table. Luther yawned nervously and moaned at the sky as he stretched his neck. His body crumpled as he pulled his knees close to his chest. His phone fell off the edge of the chair near the table. Luther jerked quickly in a spasm and groped for the phone in the grass, wiping off all the dew onto his shirt. He resumed reading, staring in his typical trancelike state, but promptly swiped off into the other more stimulating staples.            Bored, he popped up from his leisure in a restless state, pricking himself on the thorny outgrowth. The rosebush rustled as he caught his balance in its embrace. It drew blood from his temple, just missing his eye. He rushed inside for some gauze to stop the bleeding. The sun had just started out before he cut himself and blazed onto the shrub’s outreaching arm. A shriveled rose fell from its grip.            At last the bleeding stopped. Usually Luther spent his days moving mindlessly between the garden and house as though they were no different—as though they were as indistinguishable as West Egg from East Egg, separated only by ashes. One in the same. Now he had escaped inside and saw its reality staring at him in the mirror.            A discolored outline of blood was dried in a stream down his face. He dampened a tissue with his wet hands and cleaned himself up. He dried his hands with a towel and buried his sweating head into it. Looking up slowly, exhausted, he saw himself say, “El Bosco, El Bosco, omnis effusus labor. All your labor’s poured out . ” He looked again as if in reply, “What have I become?”            Angrily, he snapped away from the mirror and threw down the towel. He stormed into his room and slammed the door. Crumpling down into a ball by the wall, he started to cry. First softly, then profusely. He wailed in lament and tried, in failed attempt, to once again repent. It seemed as fruitless as his garden, as fruitless as his loins. Because he still had in his possession that deathly power of man’s stare. Oh, brutal agony of mortal memory! Pluck it out! CUT IT OFF! He flailed his arms in a fit of demonic rage, tearing his clothes, tossing about like a tempest, roiling his body in a frenzy, and throwing himself upon the ground stark naked.            He descended almost alike into madness, still wailing, still repeating ferociously, “Cut it off! CUT IT OFF!” And he continued like that for an hour onwards until, suddenly, it stopped. It was quiet . . . except for a soft lingering cry. He rolled to his side, staring vacuously into the distance, and then . . . went silent. He looked like to dead. Until his lips moved abruptly, his diaphragm heaving for air to say: “My God, my God, why have I forsaken you?” Life went silent. The sun turned in the sky, escaping over the landscape and flooding across the garden into the room. His body felt warmed by it.            And then, it happened. Like to a lamp from light to night, he flew up to his feet with abandon and threw every object in sight soaring through the window. His phone was solid enough to shatter the old-paned window into the garden, landing on the rosebush and falling down into the mud. Luther gained newfound liberty while he madly threw another object, his inkwell, from off his desk. And then he threw another and another and another. If a monster he was, a happy monster was he! If it was madness, there was method in it. He found his computer, his television, his night-lights, his old devices, his new devices, and chucked them all squarely beyond that gaping hole of a window.            Everything but his books and four things remained in that house: keys, a wallet, a typewriter, and a suitcase. And to all these things he went. He filled his suitcase with books and carried them in loads to and fro, dropping them in the backseat, filling them to the car’s rooftop so that they began to spill over into the front seats. The typewriter went into the backmost part of the trunk—as precious cargo as it was—even more precious than himself perhaps, so he thought. And then he packed his suitcase with every clean bit of clothing around and set it directly into the trunk, holding the encased typewriter against the enclosed side. His wallet went into his front-pocket. The keys into the ignition. And straightaway, he was ready to take off from there. Then he remembered something.            He got out and walked behind the house to that old garden. He looked out toward the horizon and saw the sun dipping away from the innocent moonlight. The waxing moon stood resolute, ready to overtake the work of the sun’s harshness and ground our young Icarus firmly on the ground, dissolving, not melting, any residual repression into the bright shiny substance of a morning dew. Luther stepped toward the rosebush and chair. Pensive, he squatted to his knees and saw the scorched rose all shriveled on the ground.            Directly behind the rose, one could see a muddied object protruding from the ground, almost akin to a be-winged rocket ready to lift off into the sun. Luther reached his palm out for the rose but stopped short, clenching his grasp. He looked up and his eye caught a red glimmer of the moonlight within the tree. He reached his hand deep into the rosebush and plucked the sprouting rosebud. Holding it out at arm’s length and turning away from the tree, he beheld it gently against the moonlight. All desirously, he kept it in the air . . . then raced it to his heart and clutched it deeply there. For the first time in his life, standing in the stillness of moonlight, he felt quite sure that he had found the meaning of love.            Luther tarried a moment longer. Then he strode to his car and took off into the night . . . toward the eternal vehicle of flight and that pure light of renewal, in which no Fall exists and but one tree stands .


One Night at the Diner By Halo Roberts Jenny My feet hurt. Not a shock when I’ve been on them for 13 hours. Phil promised to get another girl to cover the second shift, but also not a shock , he ‘forgot’. My hair feels like it’s soaked up most of the grease from the fryer that bubbles away back in the kitchen. I’m not sure what the smear on the front of my apron is, but it looks weirdly like bird crap. It has been a day. A table of high school kids have finished up and I plaster my happy face on as I wave them out the door. I built you guys four banana splits and kept you in pop refills all night, but thanks for the two-dollar tip. I live to serve. I snicker at myself as I mentally picture their faces if I dropped a quick curtsy. Jacob, the bus-boy, appears from the back and begins quickly clearing the tables, he’s a good kid with an easy smile. Glancing around at the remaining customers, I head behind the counter to grab a pitcher of water. As I make the rounds, checking on the last two tables, filling waters and chatting, I hear the bells over the front door jingle. Sweet, supposed to close up in ten minutes, fingers crossed he’s not in the mood for broasted chicken. The man that walks in doesn’t look much like the usual customers. Rita’s is not the ‘upscale’ kind of diner, it’s pretty old school. It’s also far enough away from the city lights and the interstate that we only have regular customers. You can get a cheap cup of coffee and a good piece of pie. Let’s just say there is no ‘appetizer’ section on the menu, which is an uber-classy light up board above the counter that no one ever looks at anyway, but everything is homemade. His suit probably cost more than my car, and I don’t know much about watches, but his appears to be designed to make a ‘statement’. He’s a little older than me, not much, late 20's I’d guess, with well-cut dark hair, strong features and nice broad shoulders. A hint of stubble darkens his jawline and at that point I stop staring like an idiot. This isn’t a ‘wait to be seated’ place, so I wave a hand at the mostly empty diner. “Grab a seat anywhere, I’ll be right over.” Flashing my pro-waitress smile, I head behind the counter, fill a glass with ice water and follow him to the booth at the end by the big picture window. He nods as I set the water down and then we have a little mini stare-down until I remember he hasn’t been here before.

“Sorry, the menu is on the wall above the counter,” I point, but serious brown eyes keep steady contact with mine and I feel myself starting to blush. Did it just get hot in here?

“Um, maybe if you know kind of what you’re hungry for I can help?” Get ahold of yourself Jenny, cripes, he’s not that good looking...yes he is...whatever! Do your job girl! Unaware of my internal battle, he stares at me for another ten seconds. “I apologize,” his voice is low and beautiful and sounds like money. Old, old money. Why is he here, he could buy this place with the change in his car seats. He continues through my musing. “I’ve had a rather awful day. Could you just bring me a plate of the best thing the kitchen produces?” He sighs, mustering up a tiny smile.

“Sure thing,” best thing...hmmm. He nods and his gaze drifts away from me to stare out the window. A light rain has started to speckle the glass, every drop shining as the sun sets on a beautiful September evening. Feeling a little flustered, I head for the kitchen. This man needs comfort food, and that’s what Gloria does best. Queen of her realm, Gloria is about four feet tall and four feet wide. She has the kitchen set up so that she doesn’t actually have to walk anywhere, she just turns in a circle and cooks up a storm. If it’s out of arm’s reach, she hollers for Jacob. Prep counter in front of her, fridge to her left, fryer and grill behind, she likes to joke that it’s a ‘one-butt kitchen’. “Gloria, there’s a guy out there that needs some love on a plate, what do you think?” Gloria expertly flips a couple of burgers and sets two plates on the counter and then glances at me before looking out the service window.

“Something special huh? I’ve probably got enough left for one good plate of the chicken-noodle-taters,” she muses, assembling the burgers quickly and setting them up in the window. “Take these burgers out Honey, I’ll fix him up.” She flaps a hand at me to get out of her way, reaching for the lid on a simmering pot. “Okay, okay, I’m goin’,” I sass at her with a wink as I grab the plates. A couple of coaches wolf the burgers down like pros, and they’ve paid and left by the time Gloria pings the bell in the window. I quickly ring up the Nelson’s, an older couple that come in every night for dinner. Helping them out the door, I head back to get my last customer his dinner. Gloria nailed it. I’m hoping she has just enough left to make a plate for me as I carry the food to his table. Creamy mashed potatoes are covered with a heaping serving of Gloria’s special chicken and noodles. She rolls the noodles from scratch and cuts them with a butter knife on the oldest butcher block known to man. Chicken stock gravy full of meat and veggies that’s been simmered for hours tops the whole works. Stopping to grab silverware rolled up in a paper napkin, and a big glass of iced tea, I take the whole works over to his table and set it down carefully. His eyes widen appreciatively, and he doesn’t have to work so hard to find his smile this time.

“Wow,” he groans softly and a small laugh escapes my lips. “Enjoy,” I give him a smile of my own and busy myself behind the counter as he starts eating. Michael I don’t recall what brought me into this particular diner as I drove aimlessly out of the city, but this food would bring me back. What’s been a complete trainwreck of a day is almost erased by a plate of chicken, noodles, and mashed potatoes. Washing down every bite with a gulp of iced tea, I barely realize that I’ve finished the plate and my glass is close to empty until the waitress appears with a pitcher.

Light brown curls are escaping the bun her hair is wound into, and large hazel eyes with flecks of green meet mine. Her smile reveals dimples in each cheek as she refills my glass and nods at my plate. “Gloria makes magic in that kitchen, huh? Maybe turning your day around a little?” Her voice is light and musical, the errant thought flits through my brain that I would wager she sings like an angel. “Indeed she does, and indeed it has,” it’s easy to smile back, a relief in fact, I haven’t felt like smiling in days. The bell at the kitchen window pings imperiously and we both glance back.

“Jenny, come take this out,” the cook calls, the bell pings again and the waitress, Jenny, turns with a small sigh. “You’re the only one here, what is tha-? Oh…” she lets loose a small chuckle, “hope you’ve still got room.” Quickly walking to the kitchen she pours a large glass of milk and takes another plate out of the window and brings both to my table. My stomach groans as she sets the milk and a large piece of cherry pie loaded with whipped cream in front of me. “There’s no bad day that can stand up to Gloria’s pie,” Jenny sagely promises, flashing her dimples again. Leaning her hip against the table, she crosses her arms comfortably. “Does she have another piece?” The words are out of my mouth before I’ve considered them. Jenny looks at me in surprise. “I know it’s good, but you’re going to want two? I can check,” she shakes her head at me. I speak again before she can turn to go to the kitchen. In for a penny… “No, I was wondering if maybe you’d join me.” At my words, she stops like she walked into a wall. This is why I should always think before I speak. This. Right here. This really awkward moment I’ve gotten myself int- “Well...okay,” she breathes, the faintest blush staining her cheeks, “be right back.” Walking back to the kitchen once more, I hear her call to the cook, and then the cook’s face appears briefly in the service window. Jenny soon returns with her own glass of milk and plate of pie, still blushing, and settles carefully into the booth across from me.

Eyes on her food, she takes a small bite and then looks up at me, chewing reflectively before reaching for her milk and taking a drink. “Do you want to talk about your day? It must have been a doozy if it got you to drive far enough to find this place.” Her gaze is warm and open, and I find myself wanting to unload every detail, but I don’t. How does one tell the story of their best friend since primary school, and the business they built together right out of college, and the millions that I lost today because he made some terrible decisions without consulting me, and the friendship that can’t be repaired, and the life I have to start over… “That bad huh?” Jenny reaches across the table and lays her hand on mine, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long. “Yes, it’s a long story, but here’s the short version. I trusted a friend and that brought me to the brink of financial ruin. I’ve learned many lessons this week, and lost a friend today.” Shrugging uncomfortably, I take a bite of pie, eyes on the food, it hurts to admit it out loud. Ruined, so much to rebuild, alone.

“Oh,” she whispers softly, “yeah, if there was a prize for bad days, that would be in the running.” I bark a laugh and she smiles. Giving my hand a light squeeze, she lets go and continues eating, not demanding anything, just offering comfortable silence. After a few minutes, we begin again, silently agreeing not to discuss my problems. Jenny and I talk into the wee hours, about everything and nothing. The cook and the bus-boy have long since turned off the kitchen lights and departed for home. Finally, the length of the day catches up with us and as Jenny tries unsuccessfully to hide a small yawn, I regretfully say my goodbyes. Walking her to her car, she unlocks the door and then turns back to me. We stare at each other for a moment and then lean in at the same time. Her lips are warm and soft under mine. Her hands slide around my neck and I put my arms around her waist, holding her close. When we break apart, our breath mingles in the cool night air. I kiss her again, softly, tuck her safely in her car, and watch her drive away. Gloria He’s back. Every dang night, Michael walks in, about twenty minutes before we close, that rascal with sparkly brown eyes. The night they met, they sat up ‘til who knows when, talking, and Jenny was on cloud nine. It’s been two months and he hasn’t missed a night, he always sits in that booth on the end and just asks for dinner. Every night he pops his head through the kitchen door and thanks me for the meal. Every night he waits for her to finish her work and walks her to her car. The way she giggles and carries on, it sounds like they’ve been together every day she has off work too.

Tonight he seems nervous, fidgety. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on him through the service window. If he breaks her heart I’ll have Jacob bust him up. I love that girl like a daughter. Jenny walks over to his booth to bring him a piece of pie and tonight he doesn’t ask her to join him like he usually does. Instead he stands up out of the booth, takes a knee, holds up a ring, and asks our Jenny to marry him.

She says yes. The End


THIS IS MINE by Rick Pascal London - 1926 Edith Chatsworth awoke with a start, her heart pounding as if attempting to escape from her delicate rib cage. Her thin silk nightgown was no match for the cold sweat that enveloped her fragile frame as she sat upright in bed, shivering. The words, “This is mine, and you can’t have it,” reverberated in her mind again and again. She clutched her ears endeavoring to block the ominous repetition. Only sitting still for a few more moments enabled her to silence the threat posed by the unknown sinister voice in her head. Her sudden movements startled her husband. “Are you all right, my darling?” he called. “It’s that dream again,” she responded. “I’m frightened, Henry.” Henry felt his wife’s slim frame tremble as he put his arms around her, offering comfort. “Try to relax, dear. It’s just another bad dream, that’s all.” “But, Henry darling, that’s the third time this week that I’ve heard that terrible voice. It must be some kind of warning. A bad omen, I’m sure.” “Don’t be foolish, Edith. There’s no such thing as a bad omen. That’s only superstition. Try to go back to sleep.” **** Lord Henry Chatsworth was a proper English gentleman, a graduate of Eton, and a noted archeologist whose explorations were financed by the British Museum. He glanced at the clothes in his leather suitcase and nodded approval. “That ought to do it,” he said, closing the lid and fastening the straps. “Are you finished packing yet, Edith?” “Almost, darling. Are you absolutely sure you want me to go with you? You know how I detest being near those sweaty, half-dressed men. They’re always staring at me, and they smell awful.” “Come now, Edith. It’s not that bad. Besides, the dry desert air in Egypt will be good for your asthma. The museum will provide for all our needs during the dig. The tents have fans, the cots will have soft mattresses, and they’re even providing carpets inside the tents so you won’t have to walk on the sand in your bare feet. We’ll have a cook who will prepare our meals and make sure you’ll have enough turmeric tea and ginger decoctions for your asthma. And there’ll be guards to protect us. So you see, darling, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got this all worked out. We’ll be back home in two weeks’ time. If all goes as planned, I’ll be the most famous archeologist in all of England; probably the world. “Nothing to worry about but that horrible voice in my head. I’m convinced that this trip is a bad idea.” “Stop it, Edith! I’ve told you time and again that there’s no such thing as an omen or superstition.” “All right, Henry. If you say so. I’m just about ready.” **** The two-day trip from London to the burial site of the Pharoahs in Saqqara, an hour’s drive south of Cairo, was uneventful. Edith read her favorite book, Henry Esmond by Thackeray, while Henry could only think of uncovering the tomb of Amenrajah and finding the fabled jeweled gold medallion given to him by his wife, Nefterami. No one knew for certain that the medallion even existed, but Henry believed it did, and that he would be the one to find it. It was rumored that the medallion had unknown magic powers and was entombed with Amenrajah in his sarcophagus. It was also rumored that Nefterami put a curse on anyone who attempted to steal the medallion from her husband’s tomb, which lay undisturbed for nearly 3,000 years. Henry and Edith settled into their tent as soon as they arrived in Saqqara late in the afternoon, just as the sun began to set. Their cook prepared a sumptuous meal for them, served outside their tent on a table set with a linen tablecloth, fine China dishes and silver utensils. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon accompanied the meal. “I don’t imagine you thought the desert would be this luxurious, did you, my dear?” Henry declared. “And the red wine is good for your asthma, too.” “I suppose you’re right, darling,” Edith sighed. “I just hope I can sleep tonight.” “Don’t worry, the desert air is good for you. You’ll be fine.” Tired after a long trip, and drowsy after finishing a bottle of wine, Henry and Edith went to bed soon after the sun set. Not long after they fell asleep, Henry was awakened by his wife’s wailing. “What is it dear? Are you all right?” he probed, reaching out for her. “It’s that horrible, terrible voice again,” she panted. “I can’t make it stop! It just keeps on saying, ‘ This is mine, and you can’t have it. ’ I’m petrified, Henry. Make it go away!” “There, there, Edith. It’s another bad dream, that’s all. It’s probably just being here in the desert that’s scaring you. But I assure you it will be all right. Take one of your sleeping pills; it’ll help you get back to sleep.” **** Henry and his excavation crew were out at the dig site just as the sun was rising. Edith’s pills helped, as she remained asleep long afterwards. When she finally awoke, she became aware of the excitement coming from the dig site. “What’s going on?” she asked the cook, who was getting her breakfast ready. “They seem to have made some discovery in the tomb,” he responded. “Everyone’s down there.” Without waiting for breakfast, Edith dressed quickly and ran to the dig site. “Where’s Henry?” she asked one of the diggers, recoiling and grimacing from his malodorous perspiration. “Is my husband in there?” “Yes, madam,” he replied, oblivious to the handkerchief she held over her nose. “He’s in the tomb.” Impetuously, without considering her asthma, Edith rushed inside, past other diggers, continuing to press the handkerchief against her nose. The smell of their perspiration, coupled with the mustiness and dust inside the tomb was overwhelming, provoking her asthma and causing her to gasp for air. She dared not venture more than two steps into the tomb fearing that she would no longer be able to breath. Standing on tiptoe, she strained to watch Henry pry open the sarcophagus and peer inside. He stood motionless, amazed at first, but the excitement of his discovery immediately became apparent. Edith could see the wonder in his eyes reflecting the flickering flame of the lantern held by the dig foreman. “Henry,” she shouted, “What have you found?” Henry continued to stare, enthralled at the mummified remains of Amenrajah. A golden chain around the mummy’s neck, stretching down to his chest, bore a magnificently crafted, golden jeweled medallion. “This is it!” Henry screamed. “I’ve got it at last. It’s real! It does exist!” He reached into the sarcophagus and wrapped his hand around the medallion. At the same moment, a rumbling was felt throughout the entire tomb. As if manipulated by a puppet master from above, the mummy’s arm emerged from its wrapping and raised its hand seizing Henry’s wrist with a vice-like grip. Its other hand sprung up and grasped Henry’s throat. A dark hole opened where the mummy’s mouth would be, expelling a most foul and putrid stench causing everyone near it to hold their noses and swoon. The walls of the tomb shook violently; the floor quaked and the ceiling began to crack. Sand and debris rained down from the ceiling. A loud, fierce, gravelly voice emanated from the dark hole in the mummy’s head and echoed off the walls: This is mine, and you can’t have it! Edith screamed and turned back toward whatever remaining daylight was visible through the dust and sand. Standing near the entrance, she was able to escape just as the sandstone ceiling crumbled and fell, burying everyone else. She collapsed outside the tomb’s doorway, which was now blocked by tons of sand and rock. She was taken back to the tent, unconscious, and transported to a hospital in Cairo where she remained in a catatonic state for another week before returning to a hospital in London. Doctors and psychiatrists attempted to get her to speak, but her silence remained unbroken. Edith sat in her hospital room, continuing to stare at the wall, as if focusing on some unseen being, her arms wrapped around an invisible object, clutching it tightly to her chest as if her life depended upon it. All she could utter was a single phrase that she repeated over and over: This is mine, and you can’t have it.


“Let me call you back in a few minutes, okay?” “Okay. Bye.” As soon as she hung up, Terrence sighed and threw his phone on the plastic wrapped couch. Hands on his waist, he took his time examining the empty white walled apartment he had just moved into. Walking past the furniture, he slid the floor to ceiling doors apart and admired the view of the evening sky’s reflection on the man-made lake across the streets adjacent to his apartment block. “Something new,” he said to himself. He had just got accepted in a new firm and had to move halfway across the country to the bustling city. Though he was to start the following week, he preferred to get there a bit earlier to get the lay of the land and settle in before he started. After setting up his microwave, he heated some frozen dinner he bought at the shop on the ground floor and sat in silence as he ate. The whole time he was wondering what it would be like to work in a new city. He hadn’t travelled much in the fifteen years he had worked, only moving to one more auditing firm before this new one, and the thought of being in unfamiliar territory made him shudder. “It’ll be worth it,” he said again. Just then, the lights disappeared, leaving his phone as the only source of light in the room. “Oh, come on,” he grumbled, “day one?” He took his phone to make his way to the door, eager to complain to the caretaker, but stopped when he heard a loud thud. He froze at the door, his handshaking on the handle when he heard a low moaning sound, like someone breathing, followed by a shuffle of footsteps down the stairs. “I thought I was the only one on this floor,” he whispered. His ear on the door, he waited to hear anything else. The monotone drone of his fridge along with the room filling up with bright lights made him jump. He smiled at himself as he returned his phone to the charger. “Day one. I’m living next to a ghost,” he said to himself while chuckling. He then made his bed and plopped onto it, blacking out in a few minutes… The wind blew across his face in his convertible car, his left arm on his girlfriend’s’ thigh as she giggled in glee. They drove along the coast for about two hours, wanting to spend time with each other before he moved. Just then, the truck he had not seen hooted at him, forcing him to brake suddenly before it rammed into him with a loud thump… He sat up in his bed, wondering what had just happened. He sighed as he saw the time. 3 a.m. he lay back on his bed in the hopes of getting back to the coast, but the loud thumping sound came again. He sat very still, barely breathing and staring into the darkness. The thumping sound came again, followed by what sounded like a nail across the tiled floors. He bit his teeth and clenched his fist at the sound, only easing up when it stopped at the wall behind his back. He knelt on the bed and pressed his ear at the wall. He jumped when he heard a low growl, and this prompted a shuffle of footsteps, followed by a loud bang on his door. “What the fuck is that?” he asked himself. He puffed his chest out and proceeded to the front door, counting to three before he could open it. All he saw was the fluorescent lighting in the corridor, the door across his own and the stairwell. “Was I imagining all of this?” he asked himself as he closed his won door. He walked in the dimly moonlit living room to close the curtains behind the sheer blinds. However, he froze in his tracks, eyes popping out and breathing rapidly when he saw a figure, draped in a hoodie and mask and standing under a street lamp, staring right into his apartment. The man stood there for some time, looking through his door, then turned and went away, after which Terrence ran back to his room and covered himself in his blankets, hoping to get this living nightmare over with. *** “And he just stood there?” the voice on the other end of his phone asked him. “I swear, Carla,” he said as he gobbled down his cereal, “he was just looking into my house.” “Did he see you?” “I don’t think so.” “I told you not to pick that place. Didn’t I tell you not to? Now see your life, sharing an apartment with thieves,” she scoffed, making him chuckle a bit. “I’m going to have a word with the caretaker. He should know what happened here.” “Or, and I’m just saying…” “We’ve had this discussion before,” he said with a dismissive tone. “Okay, okay. But this wouldn’t happen if you accepted the company’s offer.” “I’ve stayed in one place too long, Carla. There’s more to the world than one place all the time,” Terrence said, nodding in self-assurance. “Okay then. But make sure you check whatever the hell is going on there.” “Will do. I’ll call you later,” he said as he hung up. After a quick shower, he put on a white shirt with brown pants and black sandals and walked out of his apartment. He got to the gate of the complex and stood underneath the same lamp post that the man from last night had stood. Leaning on it, he crossed his arms and looked into his living room. “Even with the sheers, he couldn’t have seen me,” he told himself as he peered into his room. He wondered what the man could have wanted in there to begin with. “Maybe he’s just a tenant,” he said as he left the complex and walked to a nearby coffee shop. He ordered his usual white with two spoons of sugar and a bun, relaxing as he perused the paper. His eyes skimmed through the usual politics, and he would have skipped to the sports section had the headline not caught his attention. “WHERE IS PURITY?” “Six months later,” the excerpt read, “the whereabouts of Ms. Purity Kivananga still remain a mystery. Last seen at her lavish Lakeview Apartments, she was rumored to have gone out with her friends before never being seen again.” “Lakeview?” Terrence asked, finishing the statement in his head. ‘She lived in our complex?’  He shook his head when he saw her picture. She seemed full of life, with pearly white teeth brightening up the frame, flowing black hair that sported a pink clip on the right side, as well as a golden heart-shaped necklace. “How many of these girls are going to end up missing?” he asked himself as he turned the page, Purity’s disappearance being a dark cloud in an otherwise bright day. After going through the rest of the paper, he folded it neatly and walked across the road to the lake. He walked past many people walking their dogs, others playing with their children and some like him, just walking around. Just then, he spotted his caretaker, a tall lean gentleman with drooping shoulders, across the water body on his way back to the complex. He hastened his pace just in time to reach him as he got to the gate. “Excuse me?” he said as the caretaker turned around. His drooping eyelids, ashen face and dry lips did very little to convince people of his rather warm and friendly character. “Hello, I’m Terrence. I just moved in…” “Ah, you’re the new guy,” he spoke slowly, a smile breaking out on his face, “how can I help you?” “Yes, I have a complaint.” “Oh, what is it?” the caretaker asked, his face a genuine look of concern. “Well, last night, I heard some sounds in the unit next to mine. like there wass someone banging something in there or something. Then last night, just at that gate, I saw a man looking through my doors.” The caretaker’s face did not break as he spoke, and when Terrence finished explaining, he merely nodded. “I see,” he said, “what floor are you on again?” “Fourth floor, D8,” Terrence said. The caretaker gulped, looked down and asked Terrence to follow him to his quarters. “You said D8?” “Yes. I heard some strange sounds and saw a man looking into my apartment,” Terrence said, watching him unlock the CCTV control room, where he was met by an array of monitors. “I’ll look into it, sir,” he said, “I’ll let you know what I find.” “You have cameras in the rooms?” Terrence asked, a bit mortified. “No, just the common spaces. Give me till the end of the day, and I will let you know what I find,” the caretaker said. “Okay, I’ll come back later in the evening then. I have a few errands to run anyway,” Terrence said as he bade him goodbye. *** He spent the night dancing in a night club and was on his way back home in an Uber. “So you live at Lakeview?” the driver asked, eager to break the tense silence. “Yes. I just moved in,” Terrence replied. “That’s where that girl lived. Purity, I think,” he said. With that, Terrence leaned forward, resting his arm on the center console. “You know about that?” “I dropped her home that day.” “What?” “Yes. I spent a good amount of time explaining that to the police. But I don’t believe she went missing. I think she was killed.” “Why do you say that?” “Well, I remember her saying that she was trying to get away from someone who came to town looking for her. She said he had bugged her phone or something, so she left that night with her friends. She hoped that he would have stopped by the time she got home.” “Did someone else know this? Surely, she could have told someone about it?” “No idea. After that night, she was never heard from again. Just like those other ones.” “Other ones?” “Yes. There have been several disappearances in the past few weeks.” That statement ushered in a long period of silence that was only broken when he said goodbye to the driver. “Hallo, sir,” the guard greeted him as he opened the gate for him. “Hello,” he replied as he smiled. “Did you find what you were looking for?” “What do you mean?” “Yesterday. You came here and stood under that light for a few minutes. You asked me to not mind you because you were looking at something,” the guard explained. Terrence stared at him, remembering the man from yesterday peering through his window. “Um, no,” he said, “did I say anything else?” “You haven’t said much in the six months you’ve lived here, sir,” the guard said. “Six months? That cant be right, I moved in on Monday,” Terrence said. The guard seemed taken aback, but his face was resolute. “No, that isn’t right. He! How much have you had to drink?” the guard asked as he laughed, patting Terrence on the back. He merely chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head at the guard’s words. “Can we talk tomorrow then?” he asked. “No problem, sir. Have a good night,” the guard said as Terrence went on. He passed by the caretaker’s quarters to find him asleep on his table, the door ajar. “Hmm,” he said as he went to his room. As he stood by his door, he looked at the one across him for a few minutes before he headed into his own house… *** The thumping sound woke him up again. He sat up on his bed, heart racing and nerves on edge. “This again,” he said as he got up, carried a cloth and tiptoed all the way to the room. Luckily the door was open, so he carefully opened it and made his way in. the layout was much like his own, save for the lack of furniture in the living room, the blood stains on the floors and the broken doors. He walked into the bedroom and stared at the bed with crumped sheets. He squatted and switched on his torch, seeing Purity’s gagged face looking up at him. she tried to scream, but he held the cloth at her nostrils until she passed out, after which he dragged her from underneath and placed her on the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heart-shaped necklace and put it on her. He then crawled beside her and spooned her, his hand navigating the scars on her body as he whispered in her ear: “We were meant to be together.” ***


“Dan, it’s pouring out here! Can’t this wait?” Deidre yelled over the roaring wind, buckets of rain pouring down their backs.

“No! It can’t if I can’t get this thing running we might as well have packed up and moved back to the high country,” he said, water pouring down his face as he held the flashlight. Dan hovered over the engine of the sputtering generator that ran the sump pump.

“Without the generator, we’re sunk, literally! Wait! Here’s the problem, this plug isn’t screwed in all the way. Hand me that pair of pliers, would you, honey?”

Deidre reached out for the metal pliers inside Dan’s nearly floating toolbox when it seemed as if the world stopped for a brief moment, each of them feeling the hair stand up all over their bodies. About the time Deidre reached for the metal tool, blinding, searing lightning entered her body through her right hand and exited out the bottoms of her feet. The bolt, electrifying every part of her, including her heart. Dan, standing in water, got a shock but not like his girlfriend.

Dan grabbed the wooden railing of the deck and thrust his aching body toward Deidre who was lying lifeless rain pelting her ashen face.

“Deid! Honey!” Dan felt for a pulse, none. He reached for the cell phone on his waist, it was fried.

“I’ve got to DO something!” He screamed. “Think, Dan!” He bent over Deidre, shoving the pliers off the wooden slab, tilted her head slightly and began giving rescue breaths and shoving his hands up and down, heaving her chest. Dan thought to himself, “Who am I kidding. I’ve only ever seen CPR done in PE class and that was over ten years ago!” “One, two, three, four, five…..breath, breath. Do I repeat it?” Dan continued for what seemed like an eternity then the color began to return to Deidre’s face as she gasped for air, sputtering water from all the rain. “Honey, I’m going inside to call 9-1-1. Don’t move, I’ll be right back!” Dan said nervously as he rushed inside, grabbing Deidre’s multi-colored rose decorated cell phone. His wet fingers slid all over the glass surface initially, until he dried them off on a paper towel.

“Emergency services, how may I assist you?” The eerie calm automated voice on the other end gave Dan the creeps.

“Send an ambulance, my girlfriend’s just been struck by lightning! Hurry!” He yelled.

“Sir, what is the nature of your emergency? The voice said once again. “Lady, I need an ambulance. Deidre’s just been struck by lightning! Don’t you understand English!” He shouted in frustration.

“Sending an ambulance to your location and thank you for calling Emergency Services.”

“I can’t believe this is what the world’s come to”, he said as he went outside to help Deidre but she was nowhere to be found. “Deid! Where are you? Deidre!” Dan walked around the side of the house by the garage, saw the open door and walked in to find Deidre in the car with it running. “Aren’t we going to the hospital? You said you were struck by lightning, didn’t you?” Deidre asked.

“No, honey.” He reached over to turn the car off. “You were! There’s no way I’m letting you drive. There’s no way I’m driving because I got a shock, too!”

“So that’s what that light was. It seemed to go on forever, everything was lit so intensely for so long! Are you sure that was lightning?” She asked, clutching her chest. “Ugh, Dan, my chest! It feels like someone’s been pounding on my chest for hours!”

As the ambulance pulled up, sirens roaring over the din of the pounding rain Dan reached out to help Deidre out of the car, collapsing at her feet. Deidre noticed something strange about Dan’s sneakers. They’d turned this strange shade of brown around the edges. At first, she looked and thought it was because they were wet, but the closer to the ground they were, the darker the shade of dirty brown.

“Help! Over here!!” She cried, ushering the soaked paramedics to a breathing but incapacitated boyfriend.

“Sir!” The first paramedic yelled, rubbing the middle of the dragon on Dan’s chest, his favorite tee from the glory days of high school football.

“Ma’am, what happened?” The other paramedic asked Deidre.

“I’m not exactly sure. One minute we’re working on fixing the generator, the next I wake to Dan giving me mouth to mouth! The only thing I really remember is right before I passed out, I felt a strange tingling sensation all over, then a sudden burst of heat, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.” The paramedic wrapped Deidre in a blanket, ushering her to the back of the ambulance where Dan was being loaded on a gurney.

“Ma’am,” the paramedic started, then paused, staring at the profile of her face. “Wait! Are you Deidre Maxim, the Deidre Maxim?” He asked, astonished.

“Yes,” she replied with a bewildered look on her face. “Do I know you?” “No, but I know you. You graduated from Ashtyn High School?” He asked, making sure he was talking to the right person. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?” Deidre replied, starting to feel a bit creeped out.

“You, it’s really you!” The paramedic said, grabbing her hand and shaking it. “It’s such an honor to meet you. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to meet you!”

“What on earth are you talking about?” She wondered aloud as the other paramedic hooked Dan,coming around but still groggy,to the heart monitor. “You’re the girl who saved my fiance's life! The reason why I do what I do today!” He replied with the excitement of a five year old being given carte blanche to a candy store.

“Then your sister must be….Angelica? Deidre asked, unsure she was remembering the name correctly.

“YES! You don’t know how grateful my family and I are to you! We’ve been trying to find you for some time now. We knew you went to Ashtyn High but the school, for obvious safety concerns, wouldn’t release even your mailing address. And here you are in my ambulance! Just goes to show you, there are no coincidences!”

Deidre smiled, reaching out to grasp his hand. “High school can be rough. It was for me. I was just doing what I hoped anyone would do if I were in that situation.”

“Yes, well, because of you, I have a future with an amazing woman. She told me the whole story, how you acted quickly, getting those sleeping pills away from her, getting medical attention, holding her hand all the way to the hospital, visiting her while she was recovering. It meant the world to her, especially after she’d lost so much that year, her best friend moving and her mom leaving without a word.” “Isn’t it strange how some life events can alter our lives in such a short time?” Deidre asked, holding Dan’s hand with a stronger grip than before.


1.22.2020 Dear Diary, I think we all have something important to say.

I haven’t found my story yet, but I intend to. I’ve always wanted to say something that was helpful to others. Or maybe helpful isn’t the right word. I want to say something that gets people thinking, and hopefully, talking to one another.

I am only in 8th grade and don’t know much, but I do know that 6th period US History with Mr. Hizal is my favorite part of the day. Right now we are learning about the US Constitution and we have to make over 100 flashcards to memorize. We have debates every Friday morning with the other US History teacher’s class, Mr. Raskin. That class has all of the Academy students, which means they try extra hard and get A’s on everything. We don’t stand a chance, but Mr. Hizal thinks we can beat them at this week's debate. He picked me to go against Conner Nelson, a straight-A student and basketball player. I think now would be a good time to tell you that I have a stutter, which has only gotten worse since I had braces put on last summer.

I don’t want to look like an idiot, but I also don’t want to let Mr. Hizal down. He thinks that I’m smart because I was the only kid in the class to get a 50/50 on my US States and Capitol test. He ran around the room and pretended to give the 100% test to five other students before he stopped at my desk, smiled, and placed the paper gently down in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling that whole day. But this is a different challenge, one where I will have to speak in front of a whole classroom, no, TWO whole classrooms full of 8th graders who already think I’m weird.

I’m so nervous. Wish me luck.

Love, Zoey ★★★ 1.24.2020 Dear Diary,

I surprised myself today. When it was my turn to stand up against Conner, I stood. I walked to center of the room and only looked at Mr. Hizal. He read off the first question and Conner got to his bell before me, even though I knew the answer. He answered Article II and was wrong. The question went to me and I answered Article V, which was correct. The rush of winning flooded through me and it gave me the power to keep trying. Before I knew it, I had answered eight questions correctly, with Conner only getting two. Then the class was over and my friends were cheering and making faces at the Academy class. Mr. Hizal clapped and Mr. Raskin shook my hand. I never stuttered, not even once.

On my way out the door, Mr. Raskin asked me to join a Speech Club. I just might.

Mom took me out for Golden Spoon frozen yogurt and even let me get Oreo toppings!

Love, Zoey ★★★ 3.10.2020 Dear Diary,

I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry! I’ve just been so busy with school and speech club, but I made a new friend. Her name is Kensi and she likes Harry Potter too. We met in Speech Club. She’s better than me but she doesn’t make me feel bad after it’s my turn to talk.

In Speech Club, we can talk about anything we want as long as it “has a point.” Well that’s what Mr. Raskin says. Oh, and it has to come from a list of topics Mr. Raskin gives up. Last week I stood up in front of my classmates and talked about Global Warming. I kind of knew about it before, but after I had this assignment I learned how scary it all is. I hope things change soon. Conner has started to talk to me and even showed me how to throw a basketball into a net. I’m really bad and it makes him laugh, but it’s nice to have a friend.

Love, Zoey ★★★ 3.25.2020 Dear Diary, Everything has changed and my world is upside down. I am scared.

One week ago, this virus, the “Coronavirus,” came to our home. Mom says things will be different for a while. She says no more school, no more Speech Club. She says I will have to stay inside most of the time. It makes me sad because I just made two friends and now I can’t see them. The worst part is I can’t see Grandma for a while. I cried last night because I missed seeing her. Now, I’m terrified that I might get her sick, just by giving her a goodbye-kiss on the cheek.

I hope this ends soon. Love, Zoey ★★★ 4.29.2020 Dear Diary,

My family has stayed in this thing called “quarantine” for one full month now. I’m not allowed to go anywhere without a mask and gloves on. Mom bought me a Chromebook so I can see my friends through Zoom, but it’s not the same. School was transferred completely online and my sister’s college graduation was canceled. Conner says school has been even harder, but I am doing OK.

Mom got very sick in the last week of March and we think she had the sickness that’s all over the news. One night, I stayed up until almost midnight watching my mom pace up and down her bedroom. She was breathing hard and sweating. My hand never left the phone; I was ready to dial 911.

We tried to schedule Mom for a COVID test, but they said she couldn’t get one. I don't know why, but Dad was mad.

The worst thing though, was that my Dad lost his job. Mom was really upset, but Dad is out there trying his best. They tell me to focus on school and Speech Club. If it were not for my weekly Speech Club Zoom meeting, I think I would be even more sad.

Love, Zoey ★★★ 5.25.2020 Dear Dairy, Things started to turn around in the early days of May. Mom has finally recovered and even went for a walk last night. The beaches here in San Diego opened up and my parents let me see my friends (as long as I wore a mask and kept 6 feet apart). School ended but we still have Speech Club. Mr. Raskin says he thinks we should still meet each week for our Zoom meeting and prepare a weekly speech. I like that idea very much. I really thought things were starting to get better, but then today something bad happened. A man named George Floyd was killed. I saw the video on my Instagram and started to cry. I texted Kensi and she was really upset. She said her parents were angry, and that the evil in the video could have happened to them. I was really sad but also confused. I didn't understand why the Police Officers were doing that. When mom found out I watched the video, she took my phone and laptop away for a week. I was mad that I missed a Speech Club meeting, but I didn't want to upset mom.

Mom says she took my phone away because there are a lot of angry people out there and she doesn’t want me to see them do bad things. I don’t really understand, I just miss Conner and Kensi. Love, Zoey ★★★ 6.26.2020 Dear Diary, Things have gotten worse. I went to the grocery store with mom today and saw a car on fire with a large group of people around it. They were shouting and throwing stuff at a building. It was scary and mom took us home. She says it is going to take a long time for things to get better, but I don’t know if I can wait any longer. The good news is I have my phone and laptop back. Last night was my Speech Club meeting. Mr. Raskin asked me to wait online after the class meeting ended. He told me that he has a special assignment for me. He said he thought some of my classmates were really sad and that he wanted me to write a speech about everything that has happened since March. I told him that I didn’t know if I could find the right words, but that I will try. This assignment makes me a little nervous, but I do have something to say.

Love, Zoey ★★★ 7.4.2020 Dear Diary, Happy Fourth of July! Dad found a job and mom is really happy. I have been happier too.

I gave my really big speech to my classmates last week. Some of them cried, and Mr. Raskin told me I was brave. I was proud of myself. I decided to write it down here in my Diary, in a safe place where I will always remember it. Here it goes:

There is a lot of pain right now. In mid May we hit the 100,000 mark of deaths due to the Coronavirus, and now we watch twitter, snapchat, and the news for videos of Police Officers attacking peaceful protesters. We watch radical activists attacking Police Officers who stand on their side, supporting Black Lives Matter.

I suppose at one time or another, we all have a hate so vile, it bubbles up in us, and we can't help but explode. We on the outside have no right to tell someone to “simmer down.” I don’t know what it will take to feel safe again. To not hurt when you wake up, or cry when you watch the news. Political leaders say you can start by coming out and voting. Maybe. But I also think it starts in the morning, when we decide to get out of bed and be the best version of ourselves, each day. Every morning, we are faced with the choice to be kind, to have an open heart, to love our mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. To respect anything alive, from plants to animals, from a white person to a black person. I thought we had overcome racism decades ago. But I guess monsters have a way of lurking in dark places. They decide to jump when you least expect them to, or, when you are least prepared for them.

I have decided to find the beauty in everyday things, from the warm yellows the sun sends, to my smiling dog down at my feet now. I remind myself that my family is alive, and well, considering the horrors sweeping the nation. I remind myself that I can read and think for myself, and in some small way, I am making a difference, by choosing to be aware, and choosing to love.

I hope you do, too.

Love, Zoey


The counter assistant is busy today. The latest book of a popular author is selling well since it came out just last Monday. Today is Saturday. It's 2pm and he must have checked out at least 5 copies since he got back from his lunch break. He greets each customer cheerily and politely and they go away happy with their purchases or Christmas returns. He is aware of people around the aisles and knows that other assistants are ready to help if needed. 2. In the children's section, a girl in a pink velour tracksuit sits in an armchair with her legs curled up. She plays with her Rubik's cube. She has the red side and the white side done, but the other colours are mixed. She can see her little brother, in his jeans and T-shirt, looking at the selection of children's books. She thinks he is taking too long picking what he wants. He takes out book after book, looking then replacing before taking the next one. She carries on playing with the cube. 3. A man enters the store. He looks around at the shelf labels and sees the one he is looking for. On the way to the self-help section he passes a lady in a pale blue coat that just covers her knees. Her slender calves meet the top of her black ankle boots. She is eyeing the novels in the romance section. 4. The lady in the blue coat walks along the carpeted floor in her low-heeled black boots. The footsteps cannot be heard on the carpet. She finds the cookery and crafts section of the store and finds this more interesting than the romance novels. 5. The little boy in the Batman T-shirt finishes looking at the children's books. His face looks frustrated. He stands up, thinks, makes a decision, walks away from the children's section. 6. The counter assistant notices a little boy in jeans and a Batman shirt. The boy wanders past the counter and the assistant briefly wonders who is with him as he appears to be alone. A couple of girls come to the counter to pay for some teen magazines and he serves them. Behind them the queue is building again. He sells another of the new novels. 7. The man at the self-help section is looking at books that promise happiness if he will only follow what they tell him. He is puzzled at the apparent contradiction between the advice in some of the books. He wants them all to say the same thing so that he will know they are right. He likes what some of them say but not others. 8. The little boy in a Batman T-shirt wanders around the store. He feels a bit lost and is not sure what he is looking for. He sees a shelf labelled self-help. He thinks maybe he will find what he wants there. His feet in their trainers make no noise on the patterned carpet of the store as he walks up to the shelf. He sees the word happy on one of the titles and thinks that sounds good. He pulls the book from the shelf to inspect it. 9. The man looking at the self-help books is bemused as to why a child would be looking in those too, but he thinks that it is none of his business. He continues to look at the books on the shelf, occasionally pulling one from the shelf for a closer look before putting it back. He is wondering if he will ever find what he wants. 10. The girl curled in the armchair has now got the yellow and green sides of her cube done, but the red and white sides have got mixed up. She sighs. She stayed up too late last night reading Harry Potter and she is tired. Her eyes droop and close. 11. The counter assistant serves a lady in a blue coat. She has chosen a book about making flavoured liqueurs. He thinks it looks interesting and says so. The woman smiles and agrees, her glossy auburn curls bobbing by her face. She leaves the counter but does not leave the shop yet. She heads towards the children's section where she can see the pink headband that matches her daughter's tracksuit. She approaches her daughter but cannot see her son. Her daughter is asleep with a Rubik's cube at her side in the armchair. The woman shakes her daughter's shoulder to wake her. “Zanna, where is Vinnie?” she asks. 12. Zanna opens her eyes and glances across to the shelf of children's books. She does not see Vinnie. Tears well in her eyes as she looks back at her mother. 13. “Zanna, you know you were supposed to keep an eye on him. He was only 7 yesterday, for goodness sake! You should know... look we'll talk about this later. He can't have gone far. Stay here.” The woman flags down a passing store assistant to ask for help. The store assistant checks the security cameras and sees Vinnie. Vinnie is talking to a stranger at the self-help section. Mum and the store assistant head towards the self-help section. 14. Vinnie has got talking with the man in the self-help section. The man knows that it was Vinnie's birthday yesterday and that Vinnie has no money. He is amused by Vinnie's assumption that self-help means help yourself as in free. He means to be kind and buy him a birthday present. Vinnie and the man go to the children's section to choose just the right book. 15. Zanna sees the man coming towards her with Vinnie. She doesn't know who the man is but she is cross with Vinnie for getting her into trouble. 16. Mum and the store assistant get to the empty self-help section of the store. Mum looks stressed. The store assistant reassures her that another staff is watching the door so they know that Vinnie is still in here. She offers to take mum and Zanna to the staffroom while the staff track down Vinnie. They head back to Zanna and see Vinnie is there with her. Vinnie is excited that he will get a present from the man . Mum is relieved that Vinnie is found. Zanna hopes that mum will forget to be cross. The man realises some of what has happened and introduces himself. He says he is still happy to buy the book for Vinnie. Mum is surprised as Vinnie has a gift card. She asks Vinnie why he thought he could not pay for his book himself. Vinnie explains he has no money. Mum explains about gift cards. Finale. “Oh!” exclaims Vinnie. “Now I know why you said to bring my birthday card out to the shops!” He goes back to the children's books and picks out a volume of Mr. Men stories. On the cover is a picture of Mr. Happy with some of his friends. The counter assistant wishes Vinnie a happy birthday as Vinnie pays for his new book with his birthday card.


It's not fair. The way my heart beats so loud that I can hear the pounding in my ears. It's not fair. That crooked smile and curly hair. It's not fair. The way my whole body trembles when you say my name. It's not fair. It's not fair because you are not mine and I am not yours. But you kiss me like I am. Teeth and tongue and low moans. My guilty pleasure is you. You kiss me like you'll never see me again. It's the best feeling in the world until I'm driving back home to the one who is mine. I feel guilty and I promise myself that was the last time. You are my addiction. I tell myself that I got my one last hit that I needed so now I can finally quit. But I cannot quit you. Hands and arms and fingers. You touch me and everything within me ignites. Our souls collide and sparks fly. I need your touch more than I need air to breathe. You are everything that I want, but everything I can’t have. Secret kisses and hidden touches. Wanting each other, but we cannot show it. We promise each other it's the last time, but when we have the chance; we jump. We jump into the deep end. Drowning in passion and wanting. I try to swim back up to the surface, but I can't. I'm stranded in the sea of you and I can't find the strength to get back to shore. Guilt and confusion. We lie to the ones we love. They would break if they knew about us. I never knew that you could love two people at once. I love him and you love her, but we share I love you's too. The kind of I love you's that make everything within you collapse. The life-altering, all-consuming, devastating kind of I love you's. You whisper it in my ear when they aren't around. But I want you to shout it from rooftops. And I want to hold your hand at the mall. And I want to go grocery shopping with you. And I want to argue with you over what's for dinner. I want all of the little things and big things with you. I want to be good with you. Bad with you. All of the things with you. With him. I feel crazy. Insane. I hate you for making me feel this way, but I love you for making me feel this way. It’s not fair. The way my heart aches for you. It’s not fair. Those big blue eyes and light brown hair. It’s not fair. The way my cheeks flush a deep red when we exchange glances. It’s not fair. It’s not fair because you are not mine and I am not yours. I burn for you. Like I've never burned for him. I feel safe with him. I feel comfortable and warm like Christmas morning; wearing fuzzy socks and sitting around the tree opening presents with family. It’s different with you. You somehow make me feel cold and warm and hot and frozen all at once. You make me feel like one of those trick candles. The ones my parents stuck in my birthday cake when I was nine years old. I made my wish and blew and blew the bright orange flame, but it never went out. The flame just slightly swooshed to the side with each blow, but always came right back. I remember getting so frustrated because the flame wouldn’t go away. I welcome the persevering flame now. I welcome the persistent burning. It makes me feel alive. I know I am not a good person for loving you. And loving him. I know I can’t have you both. But I do. I have him most of the time. I have you sometimes. When you aren’t with her. When I’m not with him. It reminds me of when I was little and it was my dad’s weekend to have me. I remember sitting in my light pink car seat while my mom listened to Sugarland on repeat. She would pull into the grocery store parking lot and my dad would already be there to collect me. My dad and I would have the best two days and we’d meet at the grocery store again so my mom could take me back. I had my mom most of the time and my dad sometimes. I had more fun with my dad, but I felt safer with my mom. Maybe I can blame their divorce and the constant back and forth for the reason why I’m so messed up. Maybe I can blame you for making me feel things I’ve never felt before. Maybe I can blame him for not making me feel those things. Maybe I can just blame life entirely and how unfair it is that it brought you into my world. I was fine before you. I was happy and content. I was okay with my comfortable and warm Christmas mornings. You came and turned my entire world upside down. You sent everything within me crashing and burning. I love it. I hate it. It’s unfair. It’s unfair. I can blame just about everything. But the truth is that it’s my fault. I can’t help how I feel, but I could have stopped myself. I didn’t have to learn your touch. How it feels for my entire body to be electrified; lit up like a sky full of the brightest stars, just from the feel of you. I didn’t have to learn your kiss. How it feels for my knees to buckle and my heart rate to skyrocket just from the simple touch of your lips on mine. I didn’t have to learn the language of your body. How it feels to know exactly what excites you the most. But I did. I’ve learned everything and somehow it’s still not enough. It's not fair to him or to her. So I tell myself every day that I’m going to stop. But I know that I won’t. I can’t. The flames will continue to engulf me. And I’ll continue burning. Burning for you.


Short Story Choice of Genre Writing Assignment - Fantasy

It was just like every other Thursday evening in the castle; the king and queen stood strong among their people in the royal court, taking mind of the issues among their kingdom while the princess sat up in her room, laying on silk fitted bed sheets in a puffy purple gown with the most stunning floral embroidery, reading the royal lore. Nothing was unusual about this Thursday evening, until there were guards screaming in the courtyard. “Over there! Get her! Don’t let her get away!” Princess Edeline set her book down and rushed to her balcony, seeing what all the commotion was about. She looked down across the grounds, seeing guards surrounding a mass of green smoke, each of them looking utterly baffled. The princess stood there looking at everyone coming out of their homes to see what was going on, but became distracted when she heard a small crash from behind her while panel folding screen, followed by the same green smoke she saw outside.

“Oh god, this isn’t my house.” Said the girl behind the green as she came around to the other side. She had the most beautiful long black hair, and skin a deep shade of green. She looked around until her cool grey eyes landed on the princess. “Nice place you got here.”

“Who are you?” Edeline asked.

“Ah, how rude of me.” She said, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “I’m Emmie.” She extended her hand out. The princess shook her hand lightly. “I’m Edeline.”

“Already knew that, princess.” Emmie said, causing Edeline to feel a little embarrassed. Emmie dressed in mainly black, and she walked around the room with her head held high, as if there was no place she wasn’t worthy of being. It made Edeline feel intimidated.

“How did you get here?” Edeline asked.

“Little spell. I meant to go home but one thing led to another and POOF! I’m here, not there.”

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you.” This catches her off guard. As if no one has ever found her presence to be a lovely thing. It made her smile a genuine smile, a smile she’d forgotten about ever having.

“So what do you do around here for fun?” Emmie asked as she ran her fingers down the spines of the books scattered around the room. “Lots of reading, I assume.”

“Yes, lots of reading. I have my lessons and classes, and all I have outside of that is my books. There isn’t a lot I can do outside of this room.” She sat down on the edge of her bed. Emmie never thought in a million years that someone of a royal family could be unhappy with their life. Having everything, never having to worry about money or having food. It sounded splended.

“Edeline?” Emmie began. “Would you like to leave the castle for a few hours?” Being called by her name, not princess, gave Edeline a feeling she’d forgotten. It made her feel less than what she was. Like she wasn’t just the daughter of the king, but like she was a person.

“I’d love to.”

“Excellent.” Emmie went over to her, taking her hand in hers, and just like that with a few words, there was a puff of green smoke, and they were gone.

It’s been a year since the day that Edeline and Emmie met by chase, maybe even by fate. Every night now, they ran off to a cottage in the forest just outside the kingdom. They came after Edelines bedtime of eight o’clock, and left before her classes began at seven o’clock the next morning. They did this every day for a year, 365 days exactly. It became a haven for the girls. A place where they could be free from the thoughts and expectations of those around them. When they were there they were nothing more than who they were. They’re titles they held were unable to pass the threshold. Edeline was not a princess, Emmie was not a witch, they were just people. Two joyful people in love feeling nothing but bliss. If only the girls would have know it would end so soon.

“She’s in here!” One of the palace guards was looking through the window of the cottage, seeing Edeline and Emmie laying there together petting the stray cat they found in the kingdom that they took in. The king bursted through the door.

“Edeline, what have you been doing here? With her?” He yelled. “This girl is very dangerous!” Edeline tightened her grip on Emmie’s hand.

“No, father, she’s not.” She said. “She is the single kindest person I have ever met.” The king noticed their hands, their fingers entertwined, how the cottage only held one bed rather than two. It then hit him that his daughter had a secret, a secret he deemed impure.

“I love her, father.” Emmie scooted closer to her. “Please, father, just try to understa-” “No!” He interrupted. “This cannot go on! You are to be betrothed to the price of the kingdom across the sea. The prince !” A tear slid down Edeline’s cheek.

“But father-” “Enough!” He glared harshly into Emmie. “You are to never return to the kingdom.” He grabbed Edeline’s wrist, pulling her away to the carriage outside. Just like that, they were torn from each other, and just like that, two hearts broke in unison.

Ten years later Edeline was married to the price of the kingdom across the sea, Prince Christpoher. They lived out their life ruling over both their kingdoms side by side, helping each other with any issues their people faced. They were a wonderful team and a lovely pair, but there was something missing. An aspect of love that they couldn’t feel for one another, but other women that they were torn from for this very marriage. It made them resentful of each other at times, but they were still together, feeling more like good friends rather than lovers.

Adeine wandered through the castle, standing in what was once her bedroom. It was never changed from the way it once was, how it was when she felt that everything in her life was at peace. She sat down on her bed, running her fingers over the dressed set that she no longer fit into now that she was older. Out of what seemed like thin air, a cat came running across the room. Edeline stoot up, walking over to see the animal, She picked it up and recognized the colors of it’s fur. The cat her and Emmie once cared for. Her sweet little Nightingale.

“Oh, I’ve missed you more than you could possibly know, my love,” She said as the cat purred in her arms.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Said a voice from behind her. She turned around, and there she was. Her green skin, her black hair shorter now, her voice still as sweet as honey. Edeline was in shock. She almost didn’t believe that it was real. “Are you going to say anything?” Edeline ran over and fell into her arms. They stood there melting into each other just as they used to.

“I love you.” Edeline said.

“I love you, too.” Emmie replied. They stood there, her hands in hers, looking at each other as if it was the first time they'd ever seen one another. “Come with me.” Emmie said. “Back to the cottage. Back to our home. Just you, me, and Nightingale.” Edeline didn’t know what to say. “We’ll be happy.” Edeline nodded. Emmie released a long breath, letting her shoulders drop and her body relax as if she’d been holding this in for so long.

“I’ll go get my things.” Edeline said, but Emmie stopped her. “Allow me.” With the wave of a hand and a puff of green smoke, her bag were backed and sitting on the bed.

“I need to leave something for Christopher.” Edeline said. She took a pen and parchment from the dresser drawers and began to write. I’m finally going after my happily ever after, it’s time you go after yours. She removed her ring and set it down on the paper, leaving it there for him to find. And just like that, with a puff of green smoke, they were gone.