Month: November 2019

I was awoken by the sun’s soft, early morning rays. I’ve always been a light sleeper, which is always a good thing for waking up early to work like I do. With a quick yawn and a stretch, I slid out of bed and laced up my boots again. By the looks of things when I got downstairs, Mother and Father were still asleep. Hunting takes up most of my day if I’m to catch anything, so I grabbed a decent chunk of bread from the kitchen and filled up a waterskin at the well. Lastly, I headed to the shed just outside of the house and retrieved the bow and quiver of arrows from the shelf. The early morning air was cool and the breeze was slight, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, leaving the land covered in a golden haze. Today should be a good hunt for me. That is, if I didn’t get too frustrated first. With a last glance at the house, I silently made my way to the nearby woods, bow gripped tightly in my hand. 

Surprisingly, within minutes, I found myself hiding behind some bushes while a deer grazed a few paces away from me. I slowly pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it on the bowstring. Before I could pull it back and ready my shot, a twig snapped behind me and scared off the deer. I whirled around to look for the source of the noise, only to be faced with trees, shrubs, and nothing more. I let out a low growl of frustration and stood up. Another twig snapped, this time seemingly closer. Eyes narrowed, I pulled the bowstring taught and aimed towards the sound. I still didn’t see anything, but a feeling of unease had begun to creep into my body.

“Who’s there?” I called, a slight shake to my voice.

I got no answer, which only deepened the sense of dread that had begun to weigh me down. I waited for a few more moments, and lowered my bow. I bit my lip, and quickly moved on, scanning the forest floor for any more tracks. I spent a few more hours following what appeared to be deer tracks, but after a while I realized that I had gotten completely lost.

“Of course… of course I get lost…” I grumbled, kicking a few rocks out of my way. The forest had gotten dark, even though I knew that it couldn’t be any later than noon. I had never been in this part of the woods, and every shape in the undergrowth seemed foreign or threatening. I found myself drawing my bow at the slightest noise. Eventually, I saw the beginnings of a pathway and my hopes shot up. I followed the path like an excited puppy, eager to get out of this wretched forest. The path led to an open mouthed cave, and I could faintly hear voices coming from within. As I made my way to the entrance, I tripped on a rock and fell flat on my face with a small cry. The voices stopped and I scrambled to my feet. 

When I looked up, a tall, thin man was leaning over me. I like to think of myself as rather tall, but this man was a good head higher than I was. His greasy, shoulder-length hair was dark, his eyes even darker, a glimmer of something otherworldly lurking behind his irises. His skin was like ivory, so much so that it seemed nearly translucent. His lips were the only colorful part of him, as if they were stained with wine, or something of the like.

“Well well well. What have we here? A little lost pup?” The man purred. His voice was smooth and slick, dark amusement oozing from every word.

“I won’t deny I’m lost, but I’m not a pup.” I glared and dusted off my trousers. 

The man laughed and turned back towards the cave, where two more men were standing with their arms crossed.

“Well how about we play a little game then?” The man stepped back a few paces, joining the other two at the cave’s mouth.  “Think of it as… a game of hide and seek.”

The three men grinned, in near-perfect unison. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and I gripped the handle of my bow even tighter.

“I don’t have time for this. If you won’t tell me how to get back to the village of Farnworth, then I’ll be on my way.” My tone grew sharp, masking the fear I felt deep in my core. There was something off about these men. That much was clear.

“Oh but if you win, we’ll even take you right there!” A second man piped up. This man was burlier than the first, muscular even. His golden, curly hair was cropped at his ears, and his blue eyes glittered with the same sick amusement as the first man.

“Yeah, thanks for the offer but I’ll make my way out.” I turned to leave, but suddenly the third man rushed forward with unnatural speed and gripped my shoulder tightly, his sharp nails digging into my flesh. 

“Have it your way then.” The third man was the smallest, but also the most terrifying. His eyes were almost colorless, a dead sort of grey. His hair seemed to be falling out, despite his rather young appearance. If he weren’t standing in front of me and talking, I would have said that he was dead, or close to being in such a state. I swatted his hand away and nocked an arrow.

“I think I will.” I aimed the arrow at the man’s chest with shaking hands.

The three of them burst into laughter.

“You see that Lucien?” The first man called to the third. “He’s shaking!”

Lucien, the man in front of me, merely smiled, revealing a row of rotting teeth with several of the front ones missing. I barely held back a cry as two of those empty holes began to fill in front of my very eyes with long, wickedly sharp fangs.

Those fangs sent a chill down my spine. They belonged to some… creature. A wicked monster my sheltered mind couldn’t begin to comprehend. My eyes grew wide and a wave of cold fear crashed over me, making me shake even more. Even though my legs felt like lead, I turned around as fast as I could and began to run in the opposite direction. I could hear the three men howling with laughter as I bolted, weaving in and out between trees and fallen logs. My heart hammered in my chest, uneven breaths forcing themselves out into the now-frigid air. 

“You really are a curious one.” I yelped as the first man murmured in my ear. He was barely breathing hard, yet he had run up to me quicker than any creature I had ever seen. I screamed and tried to whack him with my bow, but he caught the end of it effortlessly. “What a pathetic little toy.” He grinned, exposing sharp fangs so white and polished I could swear I saw my own reflection within them. 

The man wrenched the bow out of my hand as if he were taking candy from a child. I whimpered and stumbled back, now thrown off balance. I fell to the ground with a grunt, hitting my head on a tree trunk. Pain blossomed at the base of my neck, a pain I’d never really experienced before. Black spots danced almost mockingly at the edges of my vision, teasing and calling me to fall into the world of the unconscious. 

“Well gentlemen, I know we just ate, but we never say no to a free meal, do we?” Lucien snickered, kneeling down in front of me, fangs bared.

“M…meal?!” I stammered out weakly, blinking several times to clear my vision.

“Oh come on, little pup!” The first man giggled. “Judging by your reaction I assume you know what we are!”

“I don’t have a damn clue! Whatever you are, you can’t be real!” I cried, clenching my eyes shut.

A cold hand grabbed my chin, nails digging into my cheeks. 

“I can assure you, we are very real.” 

I grit my teeth and kicked out my leg, hitting one of the men in the chest. My eyes flew open and the other two seemed startled by my kick, so I turned and began running again. My muscles screamed in pain, begging for me to slow down, but the adrenaline coursing through my body pushed me forward. My head throbbed, pounding with each step I took.

Then, I was suddenly tackled from behind and found myself pinned down on the forest floor, my face pressed into the dirt. 

“Rather persistent aren’t you?” The man dug his nails into my back, nails so sharp that they easily tore through my shirt, leaving a line of gouge marks oozing with warm, sticky blood. A strangled cry leapt out of my mouth, muffled by the dirt and leaves. “I usually don’t play with my food but this has been… delightful!”

I could hear the other men approach as well, and I squirmed under the man’s hand. 

“Ah ah! Stay still! It won’t hurt as much if you do, I promise.” One of the men cackled.

Tears were streaming down my face, hot tears born out of a cold fear. I whined as the man pinning me down pulled me upright and tossed me violently into a thorny bush with little effort. I opened my mouth to cry out as the thorns wedged themselves into my skin, but no sound came out. It struck me then and there that this was how I was going to die. At the hands of some strange monsters that I never stood a chance against. 

I wasn’t even able to —

My thoughts were cut short as a firm hand pulled me out of the thorn bush, and a fist smashed into my face. Once, then twice. Then a few times more. I scratched and clawed at whoever was holding me, my eyes swollen shut from the relentless blows. 

My my. This is rather pathetic, a voice chuckled. But this voice was not one of the men beating the life out of me. This voice seemed different, and seemed to come from all around me, not in one specific location. The pain seemed to fade away for a moment, as did the rest of the world. I felt like I was floating in some strange, endless void.

I can help you, you know, the voice thundered again, still without a definite source.

“How? Who are you?” I tried to speak, but my words fell flat against the darkness.

The voice laughed, a heavy boom that resonated throughout my entire body. 

“Hey! Answer me!” I yelled, looking around to find the voice. I felt as if I were on the brink of tears, but my eyes were strangely dry.

Just look at yourself, the voice purred, and the void around me exploded into a vivid scene, and a familiar one at that. I was back in the woods, watching the three strange men hitting and beating a slumped-over figure, seemingly enjoying themselves. But that figure was… me. Yet somehow I was observing this from outside my own body. Poor little thing. How could you ever survive such a ruthless attack?

A shiver ran through my body. I whirled around to see a raven perched on a low-hanging branch, its small, black, beady eyes glittering with amusement.

“What are you!?” I reached out to grab the bird, as if catching it would release me from this strange hallucination. The raven vanished as soon as I touched it.

Rather touchy, aren’t we?

“Stop it! Stop!” I squeezed my eyes shut and cradled my head in my hands. I was overwhelmed, fear and confusion running rampant through my mind, wild and untamed.

I could help you, Jamie.

I choked out a sob, opening one eye to peer at my savagely beaten body. I was covered in blood, blood which the men seemed to be scooping up with their hands and… and drinking. My arms hung at strange angles, bruises covering nearly every inch of exposed skin. There were undoubtedly more under my shredded shirt and pants.

You could destroy them, dear boy. Just say the word. 

Those words seemed to strike a spark, igniting some strange, otherworldly anger that I never imagined that I was capable of. I stood up and opened my eyes. What gave these monsters the right to do such things? To me? To anyone? Could I really destroy them? Punish them with the justice they deserve?

Yes Jamie, you can. The raven was perched on another branch, staring intently into my eyes. I can give you the power to wreak havoc on any of those who stand in your way. Scorch a path of justice, just for you to walk upon.

Well… how could I refuse with my broken body?

How admirable. I am yours to command, Jamie Darkthorn. The raven shot up into the air and dove straight down towards me. I raised my arms to block the bird, but as soon as it just touched my arm, a wave of powerful force exploded out from within me. I was back in my body, but it was no longer broken. The three men were blown back, landing on the ground with sickening crunches. I opened my eyes, only to find my vision changed. The three men, who were scrambling to their feet, now looked dead in every sense of the word. Skin and flesh was just barely holding on to their time-withered bones, eyes hollow and empty. A word bubbled at my lips, forcing itself free.

“Vampire.” I growled, my voice laced with some cruel, ancient power. The three vampires hissed and backed away from me. 

“The hell are you?” One of them snarled, fangs slick with blood. My blood. I didn’t respond. I was too busy looking at my hands and arms, which were swathed in a swirling violet light. “Hey we’re talkin’ to you!”

The vampire ran up to me, ready to lunge, but I instinctively grabbed his arm and, with some urging from the raven, I snapped it. Like snapping a twig. My veins felt as if they were on fire, burning with savage rage. 

Rip off their heads. Break their necks, the raven ordered. Otherwise they won’t die.

If I weren’t drunk on this strange, newfound power, I wouldn’t have even considered doing what the raven instructed. But my fingers twitched and itched, begging me to do it. 

A second vampire rushed at me, and I clamped my hands firmly around his neck. My body was moving without my input, guided by the raven. A flash of doubt flickered in the back of my mind and for a second, my grip weakened. I can’t do this. This… this isn’t right!

You want them punished, don’t you? The raven chided.

“I-I do,” I growled, tightening my grip again. The raven pushed and shoved, and I felt bone snap under my fingers. A sickening jolt of nausea lurched in my stomach and I pushed the vampire away. He reeled back, coughing and grasping at his neck. He then fell back onto the forest floor, gasping and panting. After a few moments, the vampire’s movements stilled. His two companions glanced at me with fearful eyes and bolted back towards their cave. I let them go, a cold mixture of guilt and fear crashing like waves on a stormy sea.

What are you doing? The raven didn’t seem angry, but rather puzzled.

“Not like this. I-I’m not a killer.” 

You aren’t. That vampire was dead. As all before it have been. You did not kill it, you just made its death more permanent.

Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and painful. The thrum of power began to fade, and my hands began to shake. A rustling of leaves made me whirl around to find the raven perched on a nearby bush, its head cocked to the side.

“Why… why did you make me do that?” I choked out, backing away from the bird.

It was not what you wanted? The raven ruffled its wings. I apologize.

“Of course it wasn’t what I bloody wanted!” I took a few more steps back, tripping over the vampire’s body. I yelped and scrambled away from it.

You wanted to serve them justice. I assumed that meant by ending their miserable existence.

I shook my head vigorously.

“No! You… you.. Leave me alone!” I screamed, running and stumbling away from the raven and the body. I didn’t know where I was running, or what path I was taking, but I eventually stumbled across a river, nearly falling in. I stopped at the bank, and looked down at my reflection in the water. My eyes were no longer their usual shade of green, but a brilliant violet, shimmering with power and some otherworldly magic. My hair was still tied up, except for a few odd strands. A thick chunk of my bangs had been stripped of all of its color, leaving it pale and silvery. With a startled cry, I splashed the surface of the water, shattering the reflection. 

I am truly sorry if I had alarmed you, Jamie. The raven was on the other side of the riverbank, nonchalant as ever.

I screamed and scrambled back.

“What did you do to me?!”

Nothing. I simply awakened the power you already harboured. The raven flew swiftly over the river’s water and landed in front of me. I will explain all in due time, but I implore that you calm down before I do so.

“Awakened? Power? You’re talking nonsense!” I kicked at the raven, who squawked and flew off a few paces. 

You have just proved my point. You are shaken up, so I will wait until you are calm enough to listen to me.

“I-I’ve gone crazy!” I whimpered, scrambling to my feet and running off in the other direction. My eyes itched and burned, so I reached up to rub them. When my hands fell back to my sides, my vision had changed again. My surroundings were clouded in a violet haze, leaving only a clear path that snaked between the trees and plant life. I shook my head and ignored the chiseled path, as it had to be my mind playing tricks on me. Yet the farther I wandered from the path, the more lost and confused I found myself. I stopped for a moment and glanced at the path. It was illuminated by small wisps of light, almost inviting me to follow them.

I gritted my teeth, debating whether or not I should give in. I eventually did, for I was exhausted and desperate for any way out of this hellish maze. As soon as I stepped foot onto this path, it flickered and glowed softly. I took a second step, then a third. After a few more paces, I broke into a run. The forest became a blur, my eyes clouded with tears once again. Finally, I caught a glimpse of the forest edge. I couldn’t help but let out a sigh and a smile of relief, dragging myself out of the densely wooded hell that I had just spent hours in. 

I had made it out. I could even see our farmhouse just a few yards from where I was standing. Yet I couldn’t find the energy to pull myself over there. I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and collapsed into the grass.

I’ve found myself wishing for simple things recently. Like wishing for rainy but warm days. Or wishing for time to laugh at nothing with a few good friends. Or wishing to find a shortcut home through the park. Or wishing to sit down and enjoy a good chicken sandwich. Or to find a good song to listen to. Or to write something meaningful. Or to tell the girl that I like that I like her. Or to just be happier.

Senior year is coming to an end. I feel like I’ve done nothing, gone nowhere, been nobody. I’ve gotta do something more with my life than just wait for something exciting to happen. I should be road tripping across the United States or something. My mom says that the US isn’t worth road tripping across. She says that it’s just 7-11s and narrow-minded people. I disagree, and so does my grandfather, Jawahar. Or Jawa, for short. And sure, there are tons of 7-11s and tons of narrow-minded people, but there is a lot more. Jawa and I both believe that we’ve spent too much time in our lives looking at what’s outside our country. We’ve gone to Europe, Asia, Australia, and South America together, but not Antarctica. I would aim to go to Antarctica with him, but neither of us really want to. We want to go on an adventure in the US. 

But that’s a distant dream.

I think a lot of the US smells good. A lot of it smells bad, but a lot of it smells like fresh air and hotel soap. All that good stuff. Or at least it all smells better than the social studies classroom that I was cooped up in while all of these thoughts ran through my brain. Like mice running away from the siren of a fire truck, into their dark nooks and crannies where they wouldn’t be found. Mr. Whitaker had microwaved his fish lunch in the classroom again. It wasn’t pleasant. I was looking out the window and trying to not be reminded of the horrid smell. There were all these crystal-clear raindrops trickling down the windows. They left their imprints for just a minute and then went away like they were never there. And, sure, it was a rainy day like I had wished for. But it wasn’t warm.

The one part that I really enjoyed about social studies was that sitting at the next table over, to my left, was Malaika Melrose. I only knew a few select things about her. I knew that she likes to travel. That she loves the color orange. I knew that she’s Tanzanian because she’s very proud of the fact that her name is from the Tanzanian song, “Malaika.” It means Angel. And that’s a pretty accurate description. I knew that she recently got a scholarship to Pomona for volleyball, because she wore the sweater they sent her like it’s a part of her. Which was hard for her, because her co-captain passed away in a car accident. That’s why she has a tattoo on her arm that says ‘Olivia.’ Except the O is a volleyball. I knew that Daniel Vettel called the tattoo tacky, and Malaika wasn’t having it, so she punched him right across the face. That was probably the highlight of my February. After Olivia died, Malaika had to be strong for the rest of her team, which was exactly what she did. Then they won the championship, which was probably the highlight of my April. And I’m really happy that she got the scholarship because you can walk to Pomona from Pitzer, which is where I’m headed next year.  

When Mr. Whitaker makes the abrupt decision of teaching on the other side of the classroom, I get the chance to look at her without seeming like a creep. Today happened to be one of those days. She tried taking notes for a little while, but then gave up and started doodling in her notebook. Since I wasn’t listening, I thought I might as well have been doing something productive, like she was. Besides, looking at someone like that and pining after them the way I was is a self-destructive tendency. So, I drew an array of half-hearted ghosts on the top of the page. 

I guess Mr. Whitaker noticed this, because he enunciated across the room, “Levi, you ok?” And just like that, with one word, this cloud of silent pensiveness I had surrounded myself with vanished. He said my name with a disappointed tone that I usually only heard from my parents. It hit me like a shard of glass right to my chest. I nodded stiffly in response. He stared for a moment and then returned to his lesson as I opened up to a new page of notes.

As the class came to an end, you could hear the crunch of papers and the stuffing of book bags as people hustled to get out the door. Mr. Whitaker was still droning on about something or the other. Malaika bolted out of the door so quickly that I couldn’t have said anything to her if I wanted to. Not that I would’ve.

I trudged out of the building, into the fading grey light that was splitting through the storm clouds. I made my way through the crowds of bustling children. I could see Malaika just a few crowds ahead of me. She was laughing really hard at something that her friend had said. It was a true and genuine laugh. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while.

I darted away from the crowds and towards the park. As I approached the entrance, I found myself paused in time. I was looking down the winding path into all this greenery. Cherry blossom season had just come to an end, so pink petals were littered along the pavement. I was wavering in between weaving a way through the trees, as a shortcut, or just going right along the main path the way I usually did. If I started a new adventure, where would it take me? In my mind, a memory unfolded of a story Jawa likes to tell. 

“When I came here from India, I was lost. I had no friends and very little money. All hope had been drained from my heart. That’s when I met your grandmother. She was the kindest girl at Columbia. Actually, she was the kindest girl I’d ever met. She introduced me to her friends, who soon became my friends. She and I and our friends would go on adventures. We loved to wander and would often find ourselves lost in the unknown together. Now here’s something to keep in mind, Levi. Wherever we went, we would find a brick wall and put a little something behind it. A little part of ourselves, or a part of our adventure. That’s how we left our mark. Levi, you have to figure out how you will leave your mark.” 

I stood still for a while and thought about this story that Jawa tells whenever he gets the chance. The anthem of the remaining water droplets scurrying off of the leaves and falling to the floor sounded in my ears. How was I going to leave my mark? Eventually, I turned left on the sidewalk, heading towards the subway station, straying away from all previous plans and all previous paths. When I had made my way down into the dingy station, I came to a stop near the wall and pulled out my phone to dial my aunt, Gigi. It rang three times before she picked it up.

“Hi, Levi!” she shouted, “How are you today?”

“Hi, Auntie,” I said, less enthusiastically, “I’m alright.” There was a pause because Gigi doesn’t know what to do when people don’t reciprocate her enthusiasm. I would normally be just as happy to talk to her as she was to me, but today I just wasn’t feeling it. I broke the silence and asked, “Are you at work?”

“Um, yeah, why do you ask?” She was typing something out on her computer as she talked.

“Can I go to your house for a little while? I want to talk to Jawa.” She stopped typing when I said this, focusing entirely on me. The lights in the station flickered a little. The world went ghost-quiet, just for a split second. 

“I mean… yeah, of course. You ok?” 

I replied, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It’s just been a while.” 

“Right. You got your key?”

“Yep.”

“Alright. See you later.”

“See ya.”  

I didn’t feel like texting my parents and telling them where I was going (they would ask too many questions). When I got down to the platform, I sat on a bench and passed the time by sketching more half-hearted ghosts on a scrap of paper. I was thinking of nothing, which was nice because I rarely get the chance to do that. But this nothingness went away with the whip of wind that came by with the train. As I rose out of my seat and onto the train, I was reminded of how much I dislike the subway. Everyone on the subway is burdened by where they need to be, except for a few who don’t have a place to go. We’re all swallowed in darkness, making it seem like we’ll never see the light again. Plus, it often smells like old cheese and burning garbage, which doesn’t help either. Luckily, Gigi’s house is just two stops away. 

Gigi’s house is the coffee-colored one at the end of the street. It used to be a fire station, so it has a big pole running through the middle of it. She thought it would be fun to keep for her nieces and nephews to play on. Unfortunately, most of us are afraid of heights, including me. 

I came to the corner and unlocked the door with the clack of a rusted keyhole. I entered the building and climbed up the steps towards the top. The draftiness and the sunshine flooded from all different areas, creating an eerie mix of temperature. Nevertheless, I love Gigi’s house. It always smells of its sun-soaked pine floors and basmati rice. 

As I reached the top floor, I saw Jawa for the first time in a long time. There he was, upon the mantelpiece stored away in a shiny silver urn. I constantly avoid going to the top floor when we come to Gigi’s house for dinner, just in fear of seeing him. Seeing him without a smile and a pleasant greeting. Seeing him lifeless. But I had to confront him because I could feel how much I missed him in my bones, and this was all I had. 

So, I closed my eyes, leaned against the mantelpiece, and forced myself to talk: “Hi, Jawa. I know it’s been a while. A long while. And I’m sorry I haven’t come and visited sooner. The family wanted me to, but it’s just that talking to you without you responding is difficult. It’s mainly because I know you’re still here. I just know it, in my gut. But it makes me really mad that you can’t respond.” My voice was breaking a little bit. I felt this sour lump of sadness swelling in my throat. “And I kind of really need a response right now. There’s so much that I need to do. And if you would just respond, you would bring me to do it. You always knew what was right for me.” I paused and opened my eyes, looking up at the urn. “But I know that you can’t give me a response. And I know that I have to do things on my own now.” 

That was when my eyes, blurred with tears, happened to notice something in the reflection of the urn. Gigi kept it so well polished that I could see the brick wall on the roof of the 7-11 across the street. I crouched down by the window, fixating my eyes on the wall. Jawa and his friends, always putting memories behind walls. I wiped away the tears and looked back at the urn. With a smile, I quickly ran into the kitchen and found a ziplock bag. I hurried back to the urn and opened it up. There was already a trowel inside, so I carefully scooped up a bit of his ashes into the bag. I closed the bag, then the urn, and headed straight for the pole, leaving my bag on the upstairs floor. I didn’t care how afraid of heights I was; I spiraled through the air on that pole, all the way down to the first floor. It was like I was afraid the brick wall might be gone in a matter of minutes or something. 

I dashed out the door and across the street and was about to head into the 7-11 when I realized that it’s kind of odd to go into a convenience store with a bag of your grandfather’s ashes in hand. So, I pocketed the bag and opened the door. I was relieved to find that Bayani, a long-time friend of Gigi’s, was working that day.

“Hi, Baya!” I shouted, running past the countertop. He looked startled.

“Hey, Levi, how are you?”

“I’m great. Do-ya-mind-if-I-go-up-to-the-roof-for-a-minute?” I asked the question as if it was one word and didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Thank you!” I called, rushing towards the stockroom.

As I climbed up the first step, I could hear him in the background saying, “You’re welcome?” I made it to the top and climbed through the bulkhead door. The sunlight was immense compared to the fragments from earlier in the day. It washed the red tear imprints right off of my face and it guided me towards the wall. I ran my fingers along the bricks, trying to find a loose one. There was one that shook a little bit to the left as I ran my hand across it. I pulled it out and was about to place the bag of ashes inside when I noticed something. I dropped the brick on the floor at the sight of it. I guess Jawa had already found this wall because there was already something behind the brick. It was two pieces of paper. I pulled out one, in awe, and read it aloud to myself:

I moved to this city out of spontaneity. I knew I wanted to get out of India and that my parents wanted that for me as well. So, my father found me a map of the U.S. at a small souvenir shop in the heart of Delhi. We hung it up against our wall, and I threw a dart at it. It was the luckiest shot in the world, landing right on New York City. So, I went. I got a scholarship to go to Columbia University and met some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Although, I try not to tell them that because their heads are big enough as it is. On this map that my father gave to me, my friends and I have marked all the places in the U.S where we have left treasures like this one. I miss India, but I made enough money in the three years after graduation to get my parents and brother settled in Brooklyn. As I sit on this rooftop, I am reminded of the fact that spontaneity saved my life. A lot of it was hard work and dedication, but it all spawned off of the spontaneity of throwing a dart at a map. So if someone finds this someday, I would like to remind them to bring spontaneity into their lives. You never know where you might end up.

— Jawahar Kadakia

This was it. This was the response Jawa had given me. As my eyes traveled back and forth from the map to the note, everything was clearer. This treasure that he had left was timeless. Jawa’s legacy is timeless. Our family is timeless. I am timeless.

And that’s when I heard a familiar voice. The door of the 7-11 opened below me. I looked downwards at who was entering. There was Malaika, talking to her mom on the phone. Suddenly, I had the best idea. Or the worst idea. I would only know if I went for it. 

I pocketed the map and note and placed the ziplock bag of ashes behind the wall. I slid the brick back in and pressed my forehead against the wall for just a moment. Then, I slipped back through the bulkhead door, into the darkness of the steps. I practically fell down them, back into the 7-11. I hurried along the rubbery floors in search of her and my feet skidded as I came to a halt in front of the Twinkies aisle. There she was, choosing between strawberry and chocolate peanut butter Twinkies. I tried my best to center myself and calmly walked over to her. 

“I would suggest the strawberry,” I said, pointing to the box to her left. She laughed a little.

“Nice,” she said, picking one up. “We have social studies together, right?” I nodded. She continued, “I’m Malaika.”

“Levi,” I said, shaking her hand. I was smiling really obviously, which would’ve been weird if she wasn’t too. “This might weird you out, but can I ask you something sort of spontaneous and probably really impulsive?”

“Go for it,” she replied.

“Over the summer, I’m planning to go on this road trip. You see, my grandfather left this treasure map, and I’m supposed to go to each location and find the stuff he left there.” I unfolded the map and handed it to her. She ran her eyes over it a few times before saying:

“Wow. You must have a pretty cool grandfather.”

“Yeah, I did.” She smiled and handed it back to me.

“Now here’s the weird part,” I said, “How would you feel if I asked you to come with me?” Her jaw practically dropped to the floor. This felt like the perfect example of an awkward silence.

I rambled on, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I just thought I should ask somebody, and y’know you were the first person I saw so–”

“I’ll do it,” she said, cutting me off. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Come. Let’s talk.” And with that, I was no longer a half-hearted ghost, lost in a pensive silence.

It was August 31st again.

But this year, what seemed like a normal day became the most important one of the year. It was the final day of the Tournament– a day both held up in honor, yet dreaded by all. 

Nobody knew how the competition had been created, but it was a tradition of the community. Every other year, ten random teenagers were selected to compete. Every other year, the competitors tried their hardest. Some years, one participant would make it to the final task. But still, every time, nobody was able to claim the Grand Prize and take over the role of the Magistrate.

Why, you ask?

Nobody made it out alive from the final task.

Every year, the monster-like bird countered each challenger with success. 

It was a horrible tradition, really, forcing adolescents into a nearly impossible tournament in which they would likely suffer a gruesome death. And for as long as the people knew, nobody had ever been able enough to take the crown from the monster’s head to deliver it to the Magistrate.

But tradition was tradition. The people respected tradition, perhaps even more than morality. And so, the cycle repeated, and every year, ten innocent children were killed. 

This year was no different.

———————————————————————————————————————

Dressed in ceremonial robes, the boy stared out at the vast crowd that lay in front of him, a massive sea of people that seemed impossibly large. How had he gotten here? He was one of thousands of teenagers in the community, yet he had been selected to die. 

Of course, he had been reminded that this was not a selection for death, but rather a selection for eternal glory and honor. Yeah, sure. It wasn’t as if you were being selected for a competition in which none of the participants made it out alive. 

He scanned the audience, looking for a familiar face. Perhaps his mother and father were watching. But he doubted it, remembering how his mother had fallen into hysteria after he had been chosen. His father would not look him in the eye. 

He had not seen his family since. 

Neither had he seen his friends. They’d simply gave him a pitying look, and moved on with their lives. As if he had never even existed. 

And so, estranged from his family, he’d left his small village for the capital. 

Isn’t it cruel, he’d thought. That this is the first and last time I will ever see something else than my tiny village? 

At the orientation, the competition’s judges had told the Ten that they might be the first to succeed, but they all knew better. Faced with death, they solemnly told their tearful families goodbye, and faced their challenges.

One by one, their lives were taken, until one was left. The boy. He wasn’t even sure how he escaped himself. Perhaps it was luck? Maybe the judges had decided to create easier tasks for him. But a small, hopeful part of him thought that he was more skilled than the rest, that he took a different approach than the others, one that was better. 

Yet he told himself that this wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to hope. It would just make his demise even worse.

The assembly was nearly over. He looked down as the Head Judge finished his speech, the people cheering him on. The sea of faces disappeared into the stadium as he watched, flanked by armed guards. There was no point in trying to escape. It would only prolong his suffering.

The judges said a few words to him, but he didn’t bother listening. What was the point, anyway? Death was only a few moments away. Mere words of encouragement made no difference. 

Now, there was no more time to ponder. Death was coming, and there was no point avoiding it. 

The boy knew what would happen. He was no fool. He had watched the task unfold seven times in his sixteen years. He had been chosen. He had faced countless tasks. He had come within an inch of death. He had watched all the others die before his eyes. 

And now, it all came down to this. 

It was all so simple and obvious. He was to be mauled to death by the monster, just as the many who had struggled before him. Yet a desperate glimmer of hope remained in him. He tried to push the feeling down, tears coming to his eyes for the very first time since the Tournament began. 

He was brought to the side entrance of the arena as the Magistrate spoke to her people and listened quietly.

“Residents of our glorious nation, we are here to witness the final task of the Tournament!”

The crowd’s cheering was overwhelming.

“This last task is the most difficult, and it only sees fit that our last remaining competitor will see it finished!”

Again, tumultuous applause erupted from the audience.

“Our champion will face his foe, a great monster that has served as our obstacle for many centuries. Today, he will take the crown from its head and deliver it to me. Only then will he become the Champion of the Tournament. He will win our eternal respect!” 

The people screamed their agreement.

“Now, we welcome our final competitor!”

The boy’s stomach dropped. 

The doors opened.

And he stepped into the dry dirt of the arena.

In that moment, he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t smell. He couldn’t see. His senses seemed to be numbed, and his mind wandered in a panic. 

I know that death is coming. I can see it. Taste it. Feel it. Smell it. I can even hear it. From the moment my feet touched the dirt of the arena, I knew it was the end. I guess I had it coming. I’m nothing but a useless teenager, ready to be fed to the monster.

Nobody has ever made it past the final task. Why did I ever think I was different? Why did I ever think I might be the only one to escape the grasps of death? I was always normal, at least I was until I was chosen to participate in this sadistic tournament. 

I was so stupid. Stupid for not realizing how cruel this tournament is. Stupid for being proud of being selected. Stupid for only seeing the flaws of our tradition now, when I am about to die. For fifteen years I watched innocent children die in front of my eyes, and not once did I question the Tournament. Not even after I watched my fellow competitors die in front of my own eyes. 

But I know it’s all too late now. Too late to turn back, to do what is right. To run away from this. Now, it’s only me and death. 

It’s a strangely funny thing, death. What comes after? What does it feel like? Is it really the end? Hah. I used to wonder about these things, but I never imagined I would be in the situation I am in now. 

I never thought I would say this, but…

I am ready to die. 

Wait, what?

Disbelief flooded his body as he realized what he had accepted.

But it was true, wasn’t it? He knew there was no turning back. He knew there was no way he could defeat the monster. And so, he’d accepted what was surely coming. 

Suddenly, he could hear again. Smell, see, even taste the dirt that had swirled up in the air. 

He was suddenly aware of the Magistrate speaking to him. 

“Our champion– are you ready to face your enemy?”

He looked up, at the thousands of people who knew nothing.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered.

They didn’t realize how wrong the Tournament was.

They didn’t realize that the Magistrate’s rule was cruel, and wrong.

They couldn’t, and they would never.

The crowd held its breath.

He looked at the Magistrate, and nodded silently.

“Then let the final task commence.”

With the grinding of gears, the doors facing him opened. 

At first, there was nothing. But then, a terrible, otherworldly scream came from the tunnel, and the monster hurtled into the arena.

It was a disturbing sight, to say the least. The monster stood forty feet tall, an unrealistic height for what looked like a normal black raven you might see on the streets. 

But it wasn’t just an oversized raven. The boy could see the differences. It had talons and a beak of steel, as sharp as knives. Its eyes were alight in fiery rage. Its feathers were enough to slice a human’s skin. 

And upon its head was a crown, made of gold and encrusted in jewels. It sparkled in the sunlight, entrancing everyone in the silent arena. 

The boy did not move, but simply stared at the monster. 

The monster stared back and slowly made its way over to the boy, towering over his figure, tiny in comparison. 

The boy stared into the monster’s eyes, and saw more than fury. He saw pain. He could only imagine the cruelty it must have faced. 

And he did something that no other finalist had ever done. He kneeled to the monster. 

The audience were frozen in expressions of shock. 

Surprised, it tracked back a few yards, and stared even harder at the boy. 

The boy bowed its head in return.

The monster returned, as if interested to see what the boy would do next. 

He raised his head, and spoke to the monster.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

The bird tilted its head. The boy wondered if it understood what he was saying. 

“I just need that thing on your head,” he whispered, still unmoving. He didn’t know what was making him stay still, but the monster had not yet tried to hurt him. He hoped his plan was working. He might have been ready to die, but he wasn’t going down without at least one try.

The monster seemed to be considering the situation.

“Neither of us want this. If you let me take your crown, you will never have to kill another creature again. You won’t have to spend your whole life trapped inside the dungeons. 

But if you refuse, I won’t resist. I’m ready to die.”

He gazed up, into the monster’s face, and looked it directly in the eye. It simply stared back. Neither could look away.

Abruptly, after what seemed like hours of breathless anticipation, the bird broke its gaze and stepped away. The audience groaned in disappointment– it had been very long since someone had come this close to becoming a champion– and the boy’s head dropped. Everyone was confident they knew what was coming next– surely, the boy would die.

Nobody expected the monster to do what it did. It lowered its head to the ground, as if beckoning the boy to take the crown. 

At first, he did not move. Had it really been that easy to finish the task? He doubted that this would be the end of the Tournament. But, tentatively, he stood up, and slowly walked towards the monster. And so he lifted the crown from its head. 

The audience roared in applause. The boy glanced up at the top box, where the Magistrate sat. She, too, was clapping, but seemed to be straining a smile. She stood.

“Now, if you succeed in delivering the crown to me,” she paused, struggling. “You will become… the Magistrate and the first known champion of the Tournament.” She gave a sour smile again and sat down.

The boy looked back at the monster– no, the bird. It seemed wrong to call it a monster now. It had understood his words and helped him– in many ways, it was no less a monster than the Magistrate…

Suddenly compelled to speak, the boy looked up at the audience. Little by little, the applause and shouting died down, leaving the stadium silent for him to speak.

“Brothers and sisters, the time is now. For so many centuries we have lived under the cruel rule of tradition. Our own Magistrate, who claims to only want the best for us, allows for these traditions to continue. Open your eyes. Every other year, ten innocent teenagers are killed for tradition. But what good is tradition if it only causes suffering and pain?”

Clearly, nobody had been expecting this. The people began to mumble and whisper amongst themselves. Many shook their heads in disapproval and some rose from their seats.

The Magistrate stood, clearly outraged. “You dare to criticize my rule? You are not fit to be our Magistrate.”

All around him, people shouted their agreement.

The boy took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. “Yes, I dare to criticize your rule. What proof do we have that you have helped our nation thrive or made it better in any way? Yes, you have stuck to tradition. But by doing so, you have permitted the deaths of innocent children.”

Fueled by anger, the Magistrate ran to the banister of her balcony box and began to shout down at the boy. 

“Nobody can dare say that I have done anything wrong for as long as I have ruled. I have held up the rules of our ancestors. I have respected tradition– so much that I have let children die for it. I have fed the wants of our people. 

“I have only done what they need. 

“So here, in front of my very eyes, stands a boy who dares to take my place. He dares to steal my power. Who is he, to take this away from me? I can see the thirst in his eyes. I can see that he is another one– a revolutionary– who will dare to change our traditions. Dare to defy the rules of our ancestors. He will destroy our people. He will destroy our nation. 

“I have respected tradition.

“But he values what his own ideals say are better above tradition.

“Maybe I killed a man destined for glory.

“But I did it for a greater cause –”

She stopped unexpectedly, as if suddenly realizing what she had said. A dark red flush began to rise up from her neck.

The people were frozen in their seats, as if unsure whether or not to believe what they had just heard. The boy was the first to act.

“Did I hear you right, Magistrate? You killed the rightful Magistrate?”

The Magistrate spluttered and tried to speak. “I, I–”

“Go on. I’m sure we would all be happy to hear what you want to say.” At this point, the boy had lost any sense of the respectful tone he had carefully used to speak to her.

The Magistrate’s mouth hung open like a gaping fish for a moment, but then, she closed it, swallowed, and began to speak, first in a wobbly tone.

“I — I am not the rightful Magistrate. But you have to understand.

“We all thirst for power. It is something we all want, whether you let it be known to everyone, or it resides in you subconsciously. Who can blame me for my own thirst for power?

“Traditionally, a Magistrate is a hereditary role. But I am not a descendant of the man who came before me. Yes, he did have a descendant. But he was cruel, ignorant, disobedient to tradition. 

“So was I wrong to take him out? Was I wrong, to kill him? Was I wrong, to ensure that our nation would be safe, in better hands than a man insufficient to rule his people? Was I wrong, to kill a man who would dare to change our traditions? Was I wrong, to long for something that everyone thirsts for?

“Yes, I killed him. I pretended that I was the daughter of the Magistrate. I pretended that my ‘brother’ had died of secret illness. I hid my secret from everybody, even the people I claim to be so loyal to. But does it really matter now? The rightful Magistrate’s body lays decaying in his grave.

“If you were in my own place, would you not do the same?”

The boy countered her almost immediately. “No, I would not do the same. Why? Because I am not a murderer responsible for the deaths of children and the rightful Magistrate!”

The whole time this shouting match had been taking place, the people had been muttering among each other, unsure of whether to take the side of the Magistrate or the boy. But now, one girl spoke.

“I refuse,” she said. “To be ruled by a murderer,” she added boldly.

The boy jerked his head in her direction and recognized her as one of his friends– well, one of the friends who had abandoned him. But still, he was grateful to her for standing up to the Magistrate.
Sparked by her words, others began to stand up to speak.

“I agree!”

“The boy is more fit to be our Magistrate!”

“She’s a murderer!”

“She should be put to death!”

The Magistrate was paling quickly. “I only did it for our good– we were a better people because of my actions–”

“Lies!” The boy was angry now. “You claim that you have made us a better people, yet you have changed nothing. You have blindly forced us all to follow the sadistic traditions of our society. You haven’t changed a thing. And you are trying to cover up the fact that you murdered a man with the fact that you have apparently made us a ‘better people?’ What a pathetic excuse.”

Nearly all the people had risen from their seats now, and were chanting loudly, obviously furious with the Magistrate. “Put her to death!” they screamed together. 

The boy strode up to where the Magistrate was hanging over the balcony. She looked as if she was shivering slightly in fear.

“You can admit your defeat now, Magistrate, and we will see fit that you are punished with justice. But if you still refuse to admit that you are responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people, your own people– who are no longer so loyal to you– can decide your punishment,” he spoke confidently. 

Everyone was unified against the Magistrate now, chanting and jeering. Even her guards had abandoned their duty. All seemed lost for her now.

Something strange seemed to flash behind the Magistrate’s eyes. Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders slumped. All emotion seemed to have left her body. “You will never take me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The boy knew what was coming. “Don’t do it,” he urged her. “It’s not worth it.”

The Magistrate stared into the boy’s eyes and wildly scanned the crowds of the people who had abandoned her. 

What happened next seemed to be in slow motion. The Magistrate stepped over the railing and fell. She hit the ground, her body sprawled awkwardly in the dust. She no longer looked like a hero or a villain. She was no more than an old woman who had forgotten what it meant to truly live. 

Just before her eyes glazed over, wispy words seemed to float from her mouth, into the air, so quiet that only the boy could hear.

“Forgive me.”

And she breathed a last breath. 

All was silent in the stunned stadium. Nobody dared to speak, to cheer, to mourn. The jeering crowds were silent, unable to jeer. The Magistrate had taken her own life just to escape the shame of her actions. It was all over, but not in the way that anybody had wished.

The boy bent down sadly and answered her, though he knew she could hear no longer.

“I forgive you.”

Once, a long, long time ago, there was a small meadow on a large continent which was protected by a tall mountain range. This meadow had just a little short grass, as the rest had been eaten by cows. In this meadow, there was a small cow named Violet. All the cows were very sad because there was not enough grass in their meadow, and no way past the mountain range. However, just across a fast river, there was a large, green meadow. In this meadow, there was large, green grass and no more cows. 

Then, almost like magic, she found a small, rickety bridge. Violet carefully crossed first, followed by the other cows, and made it to the meadow. Unfortunately, in a month, the cows had eaten all of the grass there and were always in the sun without the protection of the mountains. Then, they saw that the grass on their old side was much greener. Thinking about the many years in the small meadow, Violet attempted to cross the bridge again, but it broke, dropping them down into the river. She floated down the river, unable to return.

Meanwhile, a way down the river, Violet was trying to swim back to the other cows, but the current pulled her along and all their energy had to be put into floating. Using all of the remaining energy she had, Violet finally got up to the riverbank and lay there, coughing. Soon afterwards, a small black sheep ran up, poking the strange cow with their hoof. She groaned in pain. Not knowing what to do, the sheep dragged her back to their house.

When Violet woke up, the sheep came over and said, “Are you all right? I found you by the river. I’m Coal.”

“Violet,” was all she could muster to say. 

After about a week, Violet had regained most of her energy, and was able to walk and speak. She really wished she could go back to her meadow, but there was no way except the river and the mountains. She knew she would have to take one. 

She decided after going through the strong river current that she would try to climb the mountains. She brought some grass for the road and a blanket for warmth. Leaving the cozy house of the sheep, Violet knew she would have a hard journey ahead, but she felt ready. She set off to the base of the mountain. 

After about an hour of hiking, she arrived at the base of the mountain. Looking up, she could see it looming, breaking the clouds above. She had no idea what to think, or how she would ever reach the top. She put two hooves on the mountain and tried to pull herself up, but fell. Then she saw a path which cut through the mountain. She decided to walk that way instead.

After a while, when she had gotten a little in, a wolf jumped in front of her. She turned, but there were more behind her, and next to her… She was surrounded! One of the wolves approached, growling. 

“I am the head of this pack… You have trespassed on our land. Now you pay the price…” He growled. 

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t know this was yours, I just had to pass the mountains…” She shivered under the eyes of the pack. 

“Well, do you have anything that could… persuade us?” His eyes glinted.

“There’s a river down the road, you all seem thirsty…”  

“The cows pushed us away from that.” 

“I do have this blanket…” She pushed the blanket toward him.

The wolves took the blanket and nimbly jumped back up to the ledges on the mountain. Violet, taking her chance, ran toward the end of the mountains. When she emerged from the end of the pathway, she was back in her meadow! And there she stayed, happily, with plenty of grass. Eventually, she and the other cows built a bridge, a sturdy one, which they could cross back and forth. 

The end ._。._。._。 For now.

I am underground. It looks like there are rats hanging from the ceiling. It smells like pee. I feel like someone’s carving a pit in my stomach because my mom is sick. There’s a person staring at me. And when I get off, he is following me. He is white. He looks like he’s up to no good. He looks like he wants to injure someone. He has his hand in his coat pocket. When I get off, he starts to follow me. I run to my mom’s hospital. And I tell the security guards that there is someone following me. The security guard is a big white guy, and he sounds like he’s French or something. 

He says, “We will not let this man in.” Then I go to the desk, so I can check in to see my mom. I see my mom, and she looks the same as she did before, when she wasn’t sick. Beautiful.

I live in area 423, for only Jewish white people. Twenty years ago, the Federal West segregated everyone by religion and race. Each area is surrounded by a gate. If you get caught going past it or being with anyone in another area, you will be punished. Sneaking out last night was one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. I’ve snuck out before, but last night, last night was different.

I walked to school every day like usual. My high school is ten blocks away from my home, but today I felt sick to my stomach. It was my last day of junior year. I stopped at Quart Street to wait for Rory, my forever best friend. Rory and I have been inseparable since kindergarten. I can tell her anything and everything on my mind. We walked to school in silence. Neither of us wanted to talk about what happened last night. 

Last night me, Rory, her boyfriend Keith, and his friend Phil went to the gate to celebrate the last night before the last day of school. Everyone goes to the gate to hang out, but mostly to smoke and take drugs. I’d been there before. I snuck out at twelve, careful to keep silent as I opened the window and reached for the rope I had previously tied to my window frame. I walked down the silent streets of 423. Getting caught outside after 8:00 could result in jail time, but in 423, it was easy to sneak around. Rory and Keith were already there and Phil was in the corner smoking some new drug.

“Lena!” Rory jumped up and gave me a hug. I sat down next to her. As soon as I sat down, I heard a rattling sound. I turned around and saw Phil climbing up the gate to area 907. I sat there astonished at his stupidity.

“Get down idiot,” Keith yelled. Phil got to the top of the gate, ducked under the barbed wire, and climbed down the other side. 

“Fuck society,” he yelled and walked away into the darkness. The three of us stood there, shocked, and frozen. We slowly walked towards our homes, knowing if we went after him or reported him, we’d all be doomed. 

So, that’s why Rory and I walked to school in silence. We started to hear the screams of the kids at our school. Every yell, every shout, reminding me about last night. I was so dazed that I hadn’t noticed that Rory stopped. 

“Lena?” Rory said quietly.

“Yeah?” I turned around to face her. Her eyes were red. She must have been crying a lot. “Are you okay?” 

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Rory, I-I don’t know. I hope he does.”

She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Okay.” I could tell that my answer wasn’t the answer she was looking for. We walked the rest of the way to school, pushing our sorrows away and putting on our fake smiles. 

I sat down in math class, middle-left side. Mr. Fitzgerald walked in and sat down. The bell rang and Mr. Fitzgerald turned on a movie and went on his phone. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. There sat the incredibly hot and gorgeous Matt. Matt was on the baseball team and always played the lead in the musical.

“Hey Matt,” I said awkwardly as I faced him, his deep blue eyes staring back at me. 

“Are you okay?” He asked me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I responded with my cheesiest grin, my voice only shaking a little bit. 

He lowered his voice. “I know what happened last night.” My heart stopped, my brain froze, and I died a little inside.

“Keith told me,” he said. Of course Keith told him. Matt and Keith told each other everything, at least that’s what Rory told me. Matt and Keith were the male version of me and Rory, except I knew Keith before Rory. I practically set them up.

“Earth to Lena,” Matt’s gentle voice whispered to me. I felt myself come back and I looked at him. “Lena, I’m here for you,” he said and reached for my hand. We sat there speechless for a while. I sat there going through the events of last night. The bell rang and my body jolted. I didn’t even realize that I was still holding onto Matt’s hand. He smiled shyly at me, and I smiled back. We walked out of the room, and I dropped Matt’s hand immediately. Rory was sitting on the floor bawling with a note in her hand. I quickly sat down and gave her a hug. 

“Rory, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned and worried. She looked at me, her makeup dripping down her face.

 “I-it’s Keith,” she muttered between sobs, “he went to join the rebellion.”

Shopping List

1. milk   x

2. cookies  x

3. pony       x

4. paint    x

5. pillow    x

6. unicorn   x

7. book    x

8. camera    x

9. a grape (one singular grape)   x

10. spinning wheel  x

This morning, my personal shopper quit. She said I bought too much stuff and she just couldn’t take it anymore.

I was like, “It’s your job though.” Then she hung up. Now I have to buy everything on the shopping list for tonight’s gala. The first thing on the list is milk. I forget why I needed milk. Oh! I remember because cows and horses are related, I read that in an article. Cows make milk, and so… horses must drink milk, which means ponies must drink milk, and a pony is on my list. 

“I’m so smart,” I said to myself. So I got into an Uber and headed to the grocery store. I went to the dairy fridge and saw so many brands of milk, so I took one of each. Organic Valley, Horizon, Borden, coconut milk, almond milk. I looked at the list and saw cookies after milk. So I went to the snack aisle. Again, too many brands of cookies. I felt overwhelmed. I finally understood The Bachelorette. The cookies were all the guys. I actually know the girl on The Bachelorette right now and she told me what it’s like. This is obviously more stressful though. So I took out my phone and searched up best cookie brand. Nice! was the best one but Fairway doesn’t have it. I kept going down the list and nothing was here, finally I resorted to the last brand on the list, Chips Ahoy. They didn’t even have the original one. They only had chewy. I tossed the chewy cookies into my cart and moved on. I looked through the list and saw that the only thing left that I could get at Fairway involved shoplifting and the risk of jail. I needed a single… grape. I unsuspiciously moonwalked to the fruit aisle, trying not to attract any attention to myself. I began looking at grapes, trying to find the least bruised one. I needed the perfect grape. I discreetly searched the grape packages. 

“Finally!” I shouted out loud. Instead of having one of my many head voices say it for me in my head. Some old people looked at me, 

“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered. I tucked the grape into my pocket while being very sly. I took my cart to the register. I started taking out all the milks, 16 in total. Then I took out the crinkly Chips Ahoy bag. I began to sweat when the lady started to speak. 

“Would you like a cooler bag for an extra four dollars for all your… milk? Or would you like a normal bag for an extra fifty cents or would you like a plastic bag for no extra charge?” 

“C-cooler um bag,” I stuttered. My armpits were getting really sweaty, like that time I met Justin Bieber and he hugged me and then he made a gross face because I was really sweaty. Don’t worry. I’m still a Belieber. She started scanning everything and putting everything in a cooler bag. I handed her my credit card and she slid the card into the machine. Finally it was over. She handed the card back to me and I took the bag. I speed walked to the security alarm and took a deep breath. I stepped across and the beeps began. Beep. Beep. Beep. I stood in place as guards surrounded me. They had mini scanners in their hands and they cornered me. My only exit was the door. I backed up as they closed in on me. Then the automatic doors opened for a cute old lady. That was my exit! I was free. I ran backwards and then spun around so I was running facing forward. I ran to some bushes and called an Uber. After four minutes of waiting, I saw the car stop in front of the grocery store. The guards were busy searching behind cars in the parking lot, so I took a rushed breath and sprinted to the Uber. I opened the car door, breathing heavily and tried acting very calm, “Hi, Danny?”  I said with a breathless voice.

“Yes, Alisha?”

“Yup.” 

The car began moving and we headed to Home Depot. I said goodbye to Danny and entered the wonderful world of Home Depot. The first thing I saw were toilet seats. Then pipes came into view and then finally big buckets of paint. Why did I have to be so vague on the shopping list? Then it hit me… because I was mean to all my assistants. Maybe that’s why she quit. Rude. I set my shopping bags down and looked through the paint. Pink, blue, orange, red, magenta, maroon, brown, black, grey. I decided to get the grey paint because it’s a neutral color and the gala is called The Grey Life. Everyone has to wear grey so all the decorations pop out. I put the grey paint bucket in the cart and put my shopping bags in there too. I went to the comfort section of home depot. The next thing on the list were pillows. I had a specific pillow in mind despite the vagueness of the list. SmartHome Bedding Super Plush Pillow. It’s my favorite pillow of all time. 

I searched through the shelves and shelves of pillows but there was no sign of my SmartHome Bedding Super Plush Pillows. I resorted to an average pillow with some pink on it. I placed it in the cart and headed to the cash register. The scrawny man scanned the stuff and I went through the boring paying process. I ordered another Uber and checked the list for what was left. I needed a book and a camera. We were heading to Barnes and Noble. We got there and I entered the store. I was slow because of all the bags I was carrying but I pushed through. I took out my phone and took a selfie on the gram. Took a photo of all the bags and put it on my story, #thestruggleisreal.

I was going to get 50 Shades of Grey. A classic, definitely my favorite book of all time. It also went with the theme, just an added bonus. I found it in the romance section. I plopped it in the cart and then I went to the other section of the shop. It was called… other. I looked for one of those pretty polaroid cameras. Thankfully I found a bright pink one. It will really pop. I put it in there. Paid. You know the drill. Except, the sweet old lady who was in Fairway was in the romance section. I saw her when I was leaving and so I hid behind a tall man on the escalator. I ran up with all my strength and suddenly I smelled Shake Shack. The delicious smell of milkshakes and burgers and fries filled my nostrils. My head voices started talking. “Go eat it.”

“No, you have a gala to plan.”

“It smells good. Go. Eat. The. Goddamn. Burger.” 

“No! No! No! No!”

“I shouldn’t. But it tastes so good,” I said. 

“I can’t!!!”

Imagine a lady with a bunch of bags filled with random stuff talking to herself. Now you get it. People started moving away from me. 

I took out my phone once again and called another Uber. The dropoff location was the Apple store on fifth. It was near the horse carriages all the tourists love. The guy dropped me off and I walked across the street to the carriages. I went up to the first guy. He looked like Jack from Mary Poppins. 

“Is your horse for sale?” 

“No.”

“Can you make it for sale?”

“No.”

“Do any of these people have ponies?”

“Yes. All the small ones.”

“All the small people or all the small horse looking ponies?”

“You pick.”

“What?”

“Go away.”

I went to the next guy, “Is this a pony?”

“Yup.”

“Can I have it?” 

“No.”

“You’re just like the last guy.”

“Are you calling me a potato?”

“What? No.”

“All Grumpy Joe eats are potatoes.”

“Is your pony for sale?”

“Maybe.”

“How much is it?”

“An apology from you.”

“I’m sorry. Ok, can I have the pony now?”

“Make it sincere.”

“I’m so so sorry for calling you a maybe potato.”

“She’s all yours.”

I took the pony’s leash and climbed onto it. “78th and 3rd,” I said. The horse was still. “Move!” I screamed at the horse. People started looking at me. “Can someone help me move this pony?!”

Fast forward to when I finally got the pony to move. I dropped all the stuff at home. The last two things on my list were a spinning wheel and a unicorn. 

“How the heck do I get a unicorn?” I asked myself. I called an Uber and said hi. I took out my trusty mini bat and whacked him in the head. I only knocked him out for a little bit. 

“Sorry.” I mumbled. 

I got out of the car and took out my phone, dialing the number of my trusty car mechanic. I called him over and watched him remove bolts and lift up the car to get the tire. He had another appointment so he rushed off not noticing the Uber driver I had laid on the floor of the car. I got the tire out and left the car in the middle of the empty road. I rolled the tire back to my apartment. Jeff the doorman looked suspicious of the tire but I acted very normal. I said nothing and we made eye contact until the elevator door closed. Like I said, very normal. I hot glued the tire to my pottery wheel. There you go. A DIY spinning wheel.  

The last thing on the list was a unicorn. A majestic, elegant, unicorn. I know! I’ll just go to one of those witch stores. I called a Lyft because Uber isn’t letting me log in. 

The driver came, and he said, “So, you’re one of those people who believe in witches.”

“Nah man, I just need a unicorn.”

“Oh, yeah that makes it normal.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. We finally reached the witch store. I walked into the store and heard the bell ring.

“Hello?” I said, trying to make my voice heard. 

“Whatcha want?” An older woman came into view dressed in leggings and an orange off the shoulder shirt like she just came from an 80’s disco. 

“I need a unicorn.”

She went to the back of the shop. She came back with a stuffed unicorn in her hand. “50 bucks.”

“It’s fake.”

“Since when were unicorns a thing?” 

“Well, I need one.” 

“Go put a horn on a horse.” 

“When have you seen a brown unicorn?”

“Paint it.”

“Good idea.”

I left the shop and went home. When the time was right at the Gala, I would go to the bathroom, dump some paint on the pony, and stick the unicorn horn headband I wore for Halloween last year. 

The shopping list was done. I took a breath of relief. My phone dinged and I checked my phone. The contractor called in sick.

Chapter One: Mornings

It began as something sweet and airy. 

All things begin this way.

It was a jumble of pleasant mornings spent with a friend: two girls with their arms swung around each other making their way from street to street. They strutted at the same pace shoulder to shoulder chatting amongst themselves. They looked like twins with their matching outfits. Each wore a black skirt, cap, and shoes with white stockings and a loose blouse. They were completely oblivious to the world around them; the rolling cars on the cobblestone streets, the pitchmen that came around selling everything from newspapers and cigarettes to bowties and shot glasses, or the  sombre-looking soldiers that lined up in the streets before going to the front.  

Above the hustle and bustle in the streets, the sky had been lit up with a purple glow. Swirls of fuschia and ivory exploding like small candies were pinned to the sky. Someone must have painted the sky by hand.

The two girls were immersed in their own world of fancy.  Around them they saw classrooms instead of cars. Instead of pitchmen offering them trinkets, they recounted stories of boys offering them flowers. And instead of soldiers, they thought of their own division. A youth division just for girls. Donna’s mother insisted on her daughter arriving early to each session. Donna set off just after the crack of dawn each morning with her hair in tight braids and face washed. Donna would meet Alessia on the corner and they would walk together. That was the way it went every morning.

Donna was like a white starched linen. She had two long braids the colour of sour lemons that dropped from her shoulders like ropes. Her complexion was blanched and pearly. It was like someone had come along and white-washed the colour from her face. However she had eyes dark as a starless night that stuck out like lumps of coal stitched on either side of her nose. She was generally a quiet reluctant girl and was lucky to have made such fast friends with Alessia, the exemplary girl. Donna’s friend was conventionally beautiful with heart-shaped lips and bouncy ringlets. She had a throng of admirers who watched her wherever she went.

This particular morning, Alessia was engaged in recounting her a story about the time a boy walked up to her and pulled at one of her ringlets. Donna listened contently. As they passed through the square, Donna glanced at the clock. 

“Alessia we’re late!” She tugged at her friends sleeve. 

“Let’s run!” Alessia exclaimed after swinging around to look at the clock. The girl outstretched her legs and bounded forward. As she sped off, Donna, after a moment of hesitation, set off after her.

They shrieked with laughter as Donna quickly caught up with Alessia. They swatted their arms and clawed at each other, doing whatever they could to slow the other down. Donna was panting relentlessly. Their bodies pierced through the crowd. They were tripping, slipping, and swatting, meanwhile gaining speed. They raced right around the corner. Donna picked up her legs and began bolting forwards. She surpassed Alessia and was dashing up the cobblestone sidewalk. She jumped onto the road, slipping on the morning frost and dodging cars as they came skidding towards her. She knew if anyone had seen her and told her mother that she was running on the street, she would be in trouble. The thought of this both frightened her and enthralled her with amusement. She leapt back onto the sidewalk that spread out in front of her. Her arms swung back and forth. Exhilaration ran through her as wind lashed at her legs and blew at her face. She thrust herself forward. Alessia was calling to her. She twisted her neck to look back, her legs still wheeling forward. Suddenly, her chest fell backwards and her black shoes slid off the ground. Pain shot through the back of her head. And the scene went black.

Chapter Two: The Girl Who Cried on the Main Street

Through the obscurity, Donna could see herself lying there. Her limbs sprawled out over the cobblestones. Her meager figure laid out for the world to see. Her braids coiled around her like a spider’s front legs. Her face twisted in abject terror. Her heart was saddened by her own modest self lying down motionless over the sidewalk. 

As her eyes blinked open, above her Alessia’s ringlets poured downwards onto Donna’s face; her friend had knelt down beside her. Donna could hear phrases in the distance. The words hovered above her.

“What happened?”

“A girl just ran headstrong into Signor Di Napoli!”

“Are you hurt, Signor?”

“No, no, I am fine.”

“What about the girl?”

“Who is she?”

“Is she alright?”

“I think she may be dead!! And it is all my fault!” This last bit was Alessia, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. She grasped Donna’s shoulders and began shaking her. Four hands were placed upon her and Donna was prompted to her feet.

“Are you fine, miss?” This was the voice of old Signor Di Napoli. Five years ago, he moved to Rome from Naples and had started a toy store. All the children in the neighborhood spent their weekends lined up to go into his store. Walking through his store that now stood behind them was like perusing through a book. Metals, porcelain, plastic, gears, springs, fabrics, tinsel, colours, reflections, textures, speaking dolls, and kites line the walls and were scattered on the floor. It was a portal into another world found in the heart of Rome. An emporium of sights and sounds, feelings and imagination. From the walls, tin airplanes were suspended, glinting with light.  Dolls with glass eyes and fountains of shining hair were lined up on shelves peeping down at small girls cruising through the aisle. 

Donna always admired Signor Di Napoli. She wasn’t in love with him. She wanted to be him. She did not want to live in vain. Living with a husband and family in a fancy house with servants for her to boss around was her mother’s dream for her. Donna was opposed to this. She wanted to be a maiden forever and  live in a house with a toyshop on the ground floor and a limited loft up top to sleep and eat in. 

“I am fine Signor Di Napoli!” She grinned, making a quick recovery. “How is the shop going?” she asked eagerly. His face was sombre with a sad smile and a pointy moustache.

“I am afraid the shop is not doing so well at the moment, ragazzina.” He always called her “young girl” instead of her real name. He never thought the name Donna really suited her. 

She glanced over his shoulder to see the wooden sign above the shop doors being lowered by two construction workers.  She opened her mouth to speak but it felt like someone had pushed a stone down her throat. Her chest rose and fell abruptly. All she could squeeze out of her lungs was a gasp like sound. However the heroic Alessia put her words in for her.

“Is the shop closing Signor Di Napoli?” 

“Yes it is, Alessia.” As he looked down at the girls, they could see tears welling in his eyes. Donna was silent. Inside she was screaming. She was clawing at the construction workers and hissing at Signor Napoli for not even giving her one more day to enjoy the store. Outside the morning turned cold and frost nipped at her toes. She stood there feeling like an out-of-place pole made of cold steel.

“Why,” she whispered under her breath. He did not hear her.

“Why?” she said a little louder this time, “Why? Tell me, why?” She hung her head and sunk into a fury of muffled confusion. She had to know why.

“Why didn’t you have a closing sale or something?” Alessia asked.

“I am moving back to Naples. My brother is coming in his car to pick me up this afternoon,” he announced.

“But why?” Alessia tipped her head to the side.

“The toy factories in Italy are being turned into war industries. If I were to keep the store open, there would be no more toys to sell,” Signor Di Napoli said gravely. Donna thought she’d heard him wrong. 

“No toys…” she looked frantically at him. She felt a kind of squeamish discomfort rise within her.

Alessia suddenly remembered the time and clicked her heels. 

“Donna, we are late for our meeting! It’s already started,” she said, pulling at her friend’s arm.

“I think I want to stay for a while, Alessia,” Donna looked longingly at her friend, “but you can go if you want.”

Alessia’s face grew long. Her nose screwed itself up and her lips pressed together. They always walked together; at the mention of walking separately, Alessia’s face twisted and contorted itself in different directions. Anger. Confusion. Embarrassment. Her cheeks turned red and she turned away with an abrupt “fine.”

Donna watched as Alessia’s bouncing ringlets moved farther and farther away. She shifted her gaze over to the store. The boarded up window, the locked doors and the expressionless construction workers aggrieved. Her anguish piqued as the two construction workers lowering the sign lost their hold on it, dropped it, and it came clattering to the ground. The painted sign broke in half. The shattering sound rang in Donna’s ears. Her heart turned to porcelain. She stumbled to the boarded up window. Her hands fell on the plywood boards and she crooked her head to see through the window. The room was submerged in an inky darkness. Donna pressed her forehead against the window. She squinted. She could see the outline of smiling painted faces looking at her with their large circular eyes. They seemed to be both mocking her and silently asking for her help.  She leaned in closer, but a construction worker grabbed her arms, pulling her back. She howled and flung herself in all different directions. She lunged forward and used her legs to pull herself back to the window. The construction worker’s firm arms dragged her in the opposite direction. She was brushed to the side like an unwanted pile of shingles. She and the shop were separated. She fell into Signor Di Napoli’s arms and wailed.

A small crowd had formulated and was watching the girl as she collapsed in the middle of the main street. Tears came pouring down her face and she could not choke them back. Signor Di Napoli was unsure what to do. He tried comforting her, but there was nothing he could say. Donna did not know what she was doing. She was equally surprised as some of the bystanders that were watching her. Why am I crying, she thought. She had not played with toys since she was seven. When she was young, she had a dolly with feather wings and a plastic halo. She called her doll Anna. It was Donna’s prize possession for the first half of her life; she took it everywhere.

When she was eight, she started her training in Piccole Italiane, a youth division dedicated to preparing girls for their future. Her mother thought this very important. In the beginning, Donna cherished the division meetings. She showed so much enthusiasm that she was asked to stand and pose in traditional roman imperial clothing at a rally. She grew so busy with learning the Italian anthem and learning how to cook that she had no time to play with her doll Anna. One day she returned home from a meeting to find that Anna had been sold. She didn’t cry. At the time she just shrugged her shoulders. Now she cried. She was surprised at herself. This was the moment her memory flashed on, like a light switch turning on the electrical lighting in a room. Today she can barely remember what it was like before. From then on she was no longer a young girl with a friend walking down the street. She was the girl who cried on the main street that day.

Chapter Three: Warhood and The Cherry Dress

The remainder of the day passed by slowly. Donna was scolded for being late to the meeting. Before she would have blushed, slouched her shoulders, and trudged guiltily into her place in line for being so late. Today, Donna arrived at the meeting numb with tears and dragging. The useless girl barely showed a sign of consciousness. She didn’t look at the Piccole Italiane instructors when they were speaking to her. Her feet carried her from place to place. Alessia approached Donna asking gently where she had been, but Donna only sighed and wandered off. She silently refused to sing when they sung Giovinezza. She stood there amongst her smiling piers as they sung with their high-pitched voices. Donna remained silent.

“Hail, people of heroes,

Hail, immortal Fatherland,

Your sons were born again

With the faith and the Ideal.

Your warriors’ valour,

Your pioneers’ virtue,

Alighieri’s vision,

Today shines in every heart.”

The sound of the opening verse flooded through her ears. There was an influx of bitterness that arose within her.

Many years ago, a group of men came together to write the lyrics to this song. They thought it would be the best representation of their fascist Italy, a song to define an empire. When Donna first learnt the lyrics, the words were bold and strong, both poetic and to the point, but most of all, the words seemed right. She could remember how her courage would be reborn as she heard this song. Now there was something sickening and plasticky about it, like the smell that emerges from a factory. She winced. 

“Youth, Youth,

Spring of beauty,

In the hardship of life

Your song rings and goes!

And for Benito Mussolini,

And for our beautiful Fatherland,”

Suddenly, she began to remember things from the past she had not noticed or thought odd before. The same year Donna joined the Piccole Italiane division, Mussolini had travelled from city to city across the country to give speeches. He began in Rome. 

Her mother barely left the house, but on this particular day, Donna watched her as she swung a string of pearls around her neck and  slipped into her yellow dress limited to special occasions.

“Is Papa coming back today, Mama?” Donna asked. Her mother shot her a glance.

“No.” Her words were cold as they struck Donna across her face. She flinched. “Now go and get into that new dress I got you, the one with cherries painted on the fabric.”

“Are we going out for lunch? Is that why we are getting dressed up?”

“No.”

“Are we meeting Papa somewhere?” 

“No, there is no Papa. Now go get dressed. I do not like questioners. It’s forbidden for a child to talk up to her elders in such a matter.”

“But where are we going?”

“In the Italian borders,

Italians have been remade

Mussolini has remade them

For tomorrow’s war,

For labour’s glory,

For peace and for the laurel,

For the shame of those

Who repudiated our Fatherland”

Remade. Repudiated. Tomorrow’s war is now.

Donna and her mother left the house and entered out in public, a place her mother had not stepped into for the longest time. The cherry dress was new and exciting. It was too tight for comfort, but fit her well considering it was secondhand. It was new for Donna, but the world had seen it many times.

They met Alessia and her parents on the corner. Alessia and Donna walked in front as the adults trailed behind. Everybody was out on the streets and people they barely new tilted their hats at the young girls and bid them how do you do. Young Donna must have presumed  that all the people on the streets, including herself and her mother, were making their way to a party of sorts.

“The poets and the artisans,

The lords and the countrymen,

With an Italian’s pride

Swear fealty to Mussolini

No poor neighbourhood exists

That doesn’t send its hordes

That doesn’t unfurl the flags

Of redeeming Fascism”

Thousands of Italians gathered together, jostled into each other. Above them a facade stretched itself out. Donna remember the eager moments she spent admiring everyone’s outfits. They were chained down in patterned skirts, coloured headbands, straw hats, ties, ribbons, and smiles. Donna beamed at the notion that, from up above, the crowd would look like a multicoloured fruit. Then all of a sudden the crowd fell silent. All those yapping mouths hushed to listen. A man dressed in a fleece suit stepped into view through a shallow balcony smoothed onto the facade. One yapping mouth poured it’s words onto the crowd. Donna could hear the words, but she could not understand. 

“Do you know what he is saying?” she leaned in and whispered this question into Alessia’s ears.

“Shh,” she hissed, “I am trying to listen!”

Moments later the crowd erupted. Thousands of voices hurrahing. It was like an explosion. Hats catapulted into the air and couples leaned over and kissed each other. To her side, Alessia was jumping up and down, clapping her hands and sputtering indistinct words of joy. Donna’s mother grabbed her shoulders and kissed her right on the nose. 

“What has happened, Mama?” Donna couldn’t help smiling. “Is Papa coming home?”

“No, bambina, we are at war!” her mother triumphed. She leaned down and kissed Donna again. It was as if they had already won.

After most of the crowd had left to go off to bars for a drink, Alessia suggested that they search the ground for coins. Donna knew she should be getting home, but with her new cherry dress, she wanted to stay outside longer. As they were searching the ground they found a small boy a few years younger than them sprawled out on the ground. His sock was red, drenched with blood that poured from his ankle like water. He had been trampled in the excitement of the coming war. They knew this boy. He lived in their neighborhood. They often saw him at the toy store, but never at church. As Donna thought back on it now, she could not recall seeing him for a while now. He had vanished over the last few months. She was forbidden to talk to him because he had darker features. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, he had it all.  He must have been completely swallowed up by the crowd this time. Or maybe he vanished for a different reason. As the Italians were being remade one by one in the hands of Il Duce, that boy must have been neglected. 

The group stopped singing. The girls’ singing voices ended. The meeting was dismissed and all the girls set off in different directions. Alessia searched the crowd of friends, enemies, and girls for Donna. She glanced down a small alleyway to find her friend crouched down in a gutter, legs pulled towards her chest and eyes forced into her knees. Her shoulders bounced as if she was laughing silently. For the second time that day, Donna cried.

Chapter Four: The Silhouette Wife

Donna was relieved to finally be in bed. Her heart was filled with sour chagrin. She felt betrayed, as though all those smiling people had lied to her. And so had the cherry dress. She wrapped herself in her bedsheets and curled into a ball in the corner of her bed. She felt sick. After a few moments of silence and painful thoughts, the door opened to her room. Donna peered out from behind the blanket to see a yellow glow projected on the floor of her room from the hall. Her mother’s silhouette as she stood in the doorway drew a clear outline of her mother’s figure on the floorboards.

“Are you asleep, Donna?”

“No,” her sickly daughter responded

“You didn’t help with the laundry today. You knew you were supposed to do it today.”

“I know.”

“Well, how do you expect to become a good wife if you decide not to do the laundry whenever you don’t feel like it.” These words were not unfamiliar to Donna.

“What if I don’t want to become a wife?” she spat.

“Well I am afraid, Donna Roma, that you have no choice. A woman’s job is to keep a house, not a seat in Parliament. Do you want to end up on the streets?” Before Donna could answer, the door shut abruptly. Darkness fell back onto the room the same way a thick polluted fog would, the kind of fog you get trapped in and you cannot breath in or find a way out.

A few words about Donna’s mother, Ines Roma:

She was beautiful and lively with rich blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. She grew up in a respectable middle class family and was brought up in the countryside. She spent her days playing with the other children in the village, climbing fences, drinking spoiled water from wells, and chasing each other across fields of long untamed grass. At nineteen, her father took many day trips to the neighboring villages and farms. At nineteen years old, Ines was dozing in the field behind her house when her father was returning from one of his trips. She was dragged indoors. Before her twentieth birthday, she was married to the wealthy man, Giovanni Roma, who happened to be vacationing in the next village at the time. His father was fast friends with hers and thus a wedding was in order. She went with him back to Rome where his family lived in a grand house made of slabs of marble and chandeliers of shining crystal. During the economic crash of 1929, the Roma family lost all its money and honour. They were forced to live in an overcrowded tenement. After a few years of this meager lifestyle, Giovanni was embarrassed to show his face in the streets and could not bear to look at his wife and newly born baby girl. One morning, he left before the light of day as usual for his newly acquired job as an assistant shoemaker. Ines waited for him at the house. She waited as hours and hours clicked by. When her husband did not return that night, Ines knew that he would never come back to them. In the last few days he was living with her, she neglected him. He stayed curled up in a mound of bedsheets as Donna is now doing and served no purpose. She only gave him small scraps of food, the rest she gave to the baby. She was not a very good wife to him the last few days before he left.

Chapter Five: The Break-ins

First she began with the toy store, then the houses.

The decisions Donna would make in the next few moments of life would change the course of history forever. Wrapped in her bedsheets, she contemplated in the dark. At first it began as a sudden impulse where Donna found herself half awake and half in a dream. She went over the idea multiple times in her head. At first, she laughed at the ridiculous notion. Then she began envisioning herself doing it; that is when it became real. She tossed and turned in bed. She wrenched at her mind and clenched the bedsheets in her fists. She couldn’t shake the concept of her sneaking away at night and breaking into the toy store from her head. It was so daring. It was so exhilarating. But most of all, it was so unlike her. 

How could she be sure of anything anymore? She pushed herself from the bed. Donna threw on her robe made of purple fabric with yellow stitching. She positioned it onto her back and tied the belt. It fit like a glove. War was no longer just soldiers that line up in the street; war meant lives both lost and living. It meant the life of Alessia, the spritely girl living a few houses down. It meant the life of Signor Di Napoli, the man now probably fast asleep in Naples. It meant the life of her mother. It meant the life of her father, wherever it he is now. It meant the life of the little Jewish boy with the bloody ankle. It meant the absence of toys in her neighborhood.

She thrust open her window. A brown sac swung over her shoulder, she carefully sat on the sill. She turned around and shoved her toes down the gap between the open window and the wood plank she was sitting on. She gathered air into her lungs and pushed her legs out into the dry night air. She gave herself little time for reluctance and she slid herself out the window! Donna felt her newly exposed body hover in midair. As she felt the air spin around her, she swatted her arms and caught hold of a brick that was slightly jutting out of the wall. Taken aback with amazement, she stayed clinging to the wall a while longer. Eventually, she succeeded in crawling down the wall like a spider. Her feet dropped onto the cobblestones and she rubbed her hands together to get all the chalk from the brick of them. She blew into her hands to warm them and she ventured off into the darkness. The darkness was comforting. The constellations watched Donna as she moved about the city. The darkness was going to let one girl shine.

Most nights, the people in Rome are forced to flee into a bomb shelter. But tonight was much more gentle. It humbled her. It was as if the war was put on pause for her most beautiful action.

The walk to the store was enjoyable. Donna smiled for the stars that blessed her eyes. She smiled for the cool breeze that stroked her hair. She smiled for her warmth all bundled up in her robe. She smiled in hot anticipation.

The store itself was tedious. She approached the boarded up door and latched handle to size up the amount of force it would take to break the plywood. After attempting to do just that for several minutes, she had tried several different tactics: pulling, punching and wrenching. She slid her hand behind the plywood until her palm touched the cold refreshing glass. She used the small muscles located in her fingers to tap on the door and she heard the hinges squeak weakly as the door pushed open. The girl lowered herself to the ground and slithered under the plywood. She sucked in her stomach so she could fit.  Using the sleeve of her robe, Donna wiped beads of sweat that came trickling down the side of her face. Her breathing grew heavy. Her sense of feverishness heightened. The air in her lungs thickened until it was dense enough to cut with a knife. She kept reminding herself to quicken her pace; she pushed herself to be faster. Her stomach still glued to the floor, she pulled herself deeper into the toy store. Faster. She arrived at her first pile of toys. Faster. Then she worked her way into the second. Faster. She worked tirelessly for half an hour until she could marvel at her filled brown sac. In it lay dolls that opened and closed their eyes depending on how you held them, toy vehicles, some with real tiny engines, wind-up toys in the shape of mice drumming away at very festive looking drums. Donna had even climbed up onto the top of a low shelf and untied a red old fashioned toy airplane from the ceiling and a green and red kite along with it. You can only imagine the trouble Donna had fitting the bag underneath the plywood. But it would all be worth it.

She escaped back into the night like a common criminal, the sac like a boulder she herself had laid across her back. She gazed upwards to watch the sky as it slowly began to shift and become lighter. She wished fervently that no one would see her and she ducked away into the shadows of buildings. Unlike a common criminal, Donna was not quite done. If she were to stop now her whole plan would be failed.

She encircled the first house several times before seeing the open window leading into a boy’s nursery. The window felt as though it was left open especially for her to climb into. She hoisted herself in and was now standing gingerly in the middle of a small boy’s room. From the thermometer left on the bedside table and the medicine bottle that rested in all its plumpness on top of the bureau, Donna could deduce that this boy was ill. Donna removed the multicoloured kite from the sac and slipped it in next to him beneath the bed sheet. She searched the room for a pen and paper. Once she had found some she wrote:

When you get better, go out to the beach and fly this kite.

Sincerely,

Donna paused for a second. She brought the tip of the pen to her lips. 

The boy’s eyes blinked open. Donna began shuffling towards the window afraid that the boy would scream in terror and attract the attention of his parents into the room. After a few silent moments of staring at each other, she noticed that the boy wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see her.

“Are you La Befana?” he inquired. La Befana is the friendly witch that brings children toys in Italian Culture.

“No.”

“Then why did you give me this kite?”

Donna was about to hiss and tell the boy off for asking too many questions, but instead she shrugged her shoulders

“What is your name then, if you aren’t La Befana?”

Donna shrugged her shoulders again.

“Are you the bogeyman then, come to take me away?!” 

“No!”

“Are you death herself come to fetch my corpse away? Am I dead?!” For a young boy he had quite a vivid, but dark imagination.

“No.”

Quickly Donna scribbled her name on the paper:

The Toygiver.

It seemed to fit her.

“What is that paper?”

“It is far too late for a boy your age to be up.” Donna sighed. “Now get comfortable in bed and I will sing to you if you like.”

“Alright.” The boy nestled in bed with his new kite; he was grinning ear to ear. Donna pulled a stool by his bed, sat, and sang until her mouth was dry and the boy had slipped into a blissful sleep. She left his room through the window, not forgetting to leave a note on the table. She visited ten other houses that night. The sky was red like a pitted cherry when she stumbled back to her house. Her mother was waiting outside, shivering in her robe both of chill and anxiety. 

“Where have you been, Donna?” her mother cried out when her daughter came into view. “I was about to have a heart attack!”

“You were?” Donna said gently.

Before her mother could answer, she was engulfed in a warm hug. Donna went over her new name over and over again in her mind. The Toygiver. The Toygiver. Toygiver. Donna would continue to do this nighttime ritual for years to come. She did it all the way until the end. The end of the war. The Toygiver. The Toygiver. Toygiver.

Chapter One

“Grande iced coffee with almond milk, two pumps of caramel, and one and a half pumps of hazelnut. Thank you.”

“Decaf?”

“No,” I shuttered. It was too early to have decaffeinated coffee. I needed to have coffee. Last night had gone too late and too long. God, last night was awful and now I was tired, annoyed, and majorly hungover. Coffee would help with that. Maya always said I drank too much coffee. Everyone always said I was addicted, but I was really trying to stop drinking so much caffeine. It’s just, what else am I supposed to do? At this point in the argument, Maya would say I could sleep, then I would laugh, she would roll her eyes, and I would leave with full intentions of going to Denny’s, getting on line, smiling at Ralph and getting my drink. They always had it ready and ice cold. But of course today of all days, there was a new barista. Molly, I read. Next time I would make sure I got a barista that knew what they were doing. 

“Anything else, um, what’s your name?” Molly asked.

“Lexi and, um, yes.” Then I looked at the clock and then at Molly. This was her first day and I could tell. She looked like a deer in headlights, staring down each customer like they were her enemy. No, I didn’t have time for Molly to under or overcook my bun and I didn’t need to be any later than I already was. 

“I mean no,” I told Molly just as she was about to add more to my order. “I’m good,” I said as I gave her my rewards card. She took it like it was a space rock from Mars. She looked it up and down trying to figure out what this strange object was. 

“Never mind I’ll just pay with cash.” I took back my rewards card and gave her exact change in case she didn’t know how to open the cash register. 

“Thank you,” she said. For a moment I thought she was going to come out from behind the cash register and hug me, but she just stared. I smiled and went to go get my coffee.

“Nice name,” Molly shouted. The bribery was strong in this one. 

Now all I had to do was run to the open call and hope and pray I would get the role. Fortunately, when I checked my phone I saw that the open call was only five minutes away. Unfortunately, I only had two. I ran all the way there and was still late. When I went inside, the director handed me a packet and told me to sit down. I knew as soon as I saw the character description that I wasn’t even going to try. Shame, the girl at first seemed good. It said her name was Ashley and she was twenty one. That was fine and good. The only problem was that Ashley was struggling with an addiction to alcohol. I had never had an addiction. I didn’t want to offend anyone by portraying someone wrong. I stood up and walked over to the director. I was two steps away before I realized I was without my Denny’s cup. I needed something to get me through this. I ran back to my chair, grabbed my cup, and went back over. 

“Hello sir.” I smiled. I knew I could do this I talked to directors all the time. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about my role.”

“Call me Carl.” Carl. Of course his name was Carl. “Yes, Ashley. She’s a beautiful character.” I took another sip of my coffee. The taste swam around in my mouth making me feel the heat of a Costa Rican sun or feel the drum of a lost island. The smell was enough to make you happy, but the taste was amazing.

“Yes but it’s just-” Suddenly a wave of caramel splashed the top of my mouth. Something was off. I took another sip searching for the hazelnut that would always balance of the slightly salty caramel, but I couldn’t find even a trace of it. I took another sip and another, but the caramel once again overwhelmed my taste buds. It must have showed on my face because Carl was staring at me like I was a freak.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know if I can play her.” I tried to recover.

At this point, if I messed up, the ice and coolness of my drink would calm me down, but instead the coffee seemed to grow hotter. 

“Listen, I understand that she seems like someone completely different, but just see if you can find some similarities. I’m sorry—are you okay?” No, I wasn’t. My mouth was just flooded with a nutty taste. Oh my god, is that nutmeg? Who mixes up hazelnut and nutmeg? This was the most disgusting coffee I had ever had and apparently it showed.

“I’m sorry. It’s just my barista messed up my order and it’s literally disgusting and it isn’t ice cold and just blegh.” When I looked up at Carl, he was laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just, it seems like you have a bit of an addiction of your own.” How dare he. How dare this man insult me like this. It wasn’t my fault Molly messed up my order and it wasn’t my fault Carl was being rude. 

“I’m usually like this it’s just something was off and I didn’t know what it was. It turns out my barista used nutmeg instead of hazelnut and I’m just having a bad day.”

“So I see you’re a coffee snob—” My jaw dropped. “—and a little bit of a drama queen.”

“I am not a coffee snob.” My face was getting red and my jaw was practically hitting the floor. “And I am not a drama queen. I just like to be in control of what goes into my mouth. If it’s trash, I don’t like it, which is probably why I don’t like this character!” As soon as I said that, I wanted to take it back. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I just meant-”

“Ms. Brown,” said Carl, “I think you should leave.”

“No, sir, please.” I took another sip of my coffee, knowing and dreading what would happen next.

“Out.” Carl smiled and reached out a hand for my Denny’s cup. “And close the door on your way out.” I bit my lip to stop the tears and slowly walked out the door. I almost left that audition feeling sad until I heard Carl spitting out my drink exclaiming how disgusting and gross it was. Maybe it was the complete over dosage of caramel. Maybe it was the absence of hazelnut and the nutmeg sinking into every delicious coffee bean. Maybe it was even the coffee itself. Maybe Molly had messed it up like she had this entire day and this entire audition. But all of those seemed fine compared to the giant flem god that I spat in my coffee. Who was a drama queen now?

Chapter Two

“How did it go?” asked Maya. She was making coffee, decaf no doubt. 

“Not well,” I told her. “The director was just awful and my coffee was just awful. There was this horrible barista, Molly. She mixed up hazelnut and nutmeg. Like who does that?” I fell onto the couch, sinking into the fluffy Target pillows.

“Well,” Maya said as she jumped onto the couch next to me. “Maybe it wasn’t all Molly’s fault.”

“Yeah maybe I actually just told her nutmeg instead of hazelnut.” I rolled my eyes. I would never mess up my order. 

“Well yeah,” Maya said, “I mean I do it all the time.” I rolled my eyes, but then Maya smiled and I had to forgive her.

“I redecorated the apartment.” I looked around. Maya tended to do this very frequently. This week’s (possibly day’s) theme was blue. She had added blue beach paintings, which she was making when I left, to the walls. Then she had gotten a new rug for the living room and some new vases and accessories for around the house. Yeah, it looked good, but I wish she could just stick with something. I told her I really liked the peach one she did three weeks ago, but she said it was too princessy. I took a peak in her room and saw she had completely redone her room to. It was slowly closing in on itself with the layers and layers of paint she would use to cover the last stage of herself. The Maya she was showing today was vintage Maya. She was wearing old Levi’s overalls and an old MTV tee that she no doubt got from a thrift store or yard sale. This ensemble was accompanied by her old ass Converse and a ripped up Newsies cap. Maya would change into a different person every week, throwing away her life before this new style. Sometimes I would like Maya and sometimes I would hate her. I didn’t like emo Maya. I really didn’t like preppy Maya. Sometimes she would ask me what my favorite Maya was and then I would say, “My favorite Maya is just Maya.” Then she would laugh, even though it wasn’t a joke. But today vintage Maya would just be out of it and cool. I was fine with that, but I wished I could spend my time with the Maya I knew when I moved in with her. But who knows maybe that was another version of Maya that I didn’t know. To go with this new Maya, she had painted her room a brown-ish mustard. Her record player and typewriter were out and she was using her orange sheets and she had switched out her Chanel poster for a display of her records. Maya was starting over once again, creating herself again. Soon she would drop all her preppy friends and she would start hanging out with hipsters at coffee shops. 

“So do you like it?” She seemed kind of eager to hear what I had to say.

I wanted to say, “you should just keep it normal and stop changing it,” but instead I said, 

“I love it. Definitely your best form yet.”

“Well,” she said. Then she smiled and I realized I was looking at the same Maya. Her toothy grin made me so happy so I went with it. 

“Yes.” I tried to replicate her smile but I just came out looking like a bunny.

“Maybe we could redo your room.” She flung open my room before I could stop her. I would go into detail describing my room, but it’s pretty basic. It’s all white, but not in a cute way. It looks like an asylum except for the occasional splotch of coffee spill. I still loved it, but Maya, well, Maya thought it could be improved. 

“I mean.” Maya paused. Even Maya, who comes up with new room designs every week, couldn’t think of a way to salvage my room. “We could-”

“We could close the door of my room and never open it again,” I suggested, but before I could execute my plan, Maya stepped into my room. I couldn’t leave her to her own devices in there so I followed her in. I was truly beyond the point of no return.

“Well we can start by getting you some new sheets.” Oh brother this was going to be awful, but, hey, I was in Maya’s hands now. When I looked back at Maya she was spacing out.

“Maya,” I said. Nothing. “Maya!” I basically screamed. Suddenly Maya’s face lit up. “What?” I asked.

“I know what we’re doing for your room.”

“What?” If she made my room like a six year old’s I was going to kill her.

“Coffee,” she said smiling.

“What?” 

“Oh my god, stop saying what. Your room is going to be brown, white, and green, like a Denny’s cup. Also we’re going to have cute coffee art and a desk and finally your room isn’t going to look like you live in a mental institution.” 

“Great. You do that.” I went to go get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch and, you guessed it, coffee. 

“Come on,” Maya begged.

“No,” I said. I had no intention of letting Maya touch my room.

“Why not?”

“Because.” 

“Because what?”

“Fine. Do it.”

“No.”

“This is why. Once you do it once, you’re just gonna do it over and over and over until I’ll have no room because the paint is going to kill me with it’s fumes.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Fine, go. Go make over my room.”

“Eeeee!” Maya squealed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I was going to regret this, but before I could tell her to stop, she was out the door. I slipped into my room and opened my computer. I opened up my Gmail and waited. I stared at the screen, waiting for an email, an open call, an audition, something. I needed to start pulling my weight or else, well, or else Maya might not want to house me anymore. No, that couldn’t happen. It wasn’t Friday, but I started the send anyway. First, I would need coffee. I walked out to the kitchen, bringing my cereal with me. I mixed it and sipped it and I suddenly knew everything was going to be okay. I started the first email and finished the second, third, and sixth. I sent the third and the second, but held on to the sixth. I wanted to see what Maya thought. Then I waited… and waited… and waited. And then an email popped up. I clicked on it and it was from Carl. It read: 

Dear Lexi,

Although you were a bit rude I want to give you another chance. I feel you can really embody this character. Come tomorrow at nine. Sharp.

Chapter Three

I’ll skip the pleasantries and just say this show was amazing. Except for one day. One day, I was walking back from a particularly bad rehearsal and Maya told me to sit down.

“I have a surprise,” she said. She seemed a bit too happy. “Come with me.”

“Ok,” I said. She led me to my room. 

“Now open.” My jaw dropped. My room was white with a band of brown around it. In the middle of my new room was a huge circle with the Denny’s logo on it and that logo ended up morphing into my head board. Around my room was more disgusting green and coffee art. If you couldn’t tell, I hated it. 

“What did you do to my room?” I screamed.

“Nothing, I just made it better.” Maya seemed hurt, but I didn’t care.

“That was my room and now I’m literally living in a coffee cup.”

“Yeah, that was the idea.”

“Well, I hate it.”

“I was just trying to help.” Maya started to cry.

“Wow, Maya,” I said sarcastically, “and I thought with so many different personalities you weren’t able to even have feelings.” At this point I was crying too. But not sad crying, angry crying.

“I just wanted to help you.”

“Well Maya, you didn’t.”

“What is wrong with you? I thought we were friends. Friends do things like this with each other.”

“Really? I don’t know, Maya. Are we friends? Or am I friends with Preppy Maya, Hippie Maya, Mean Girl Maya, or, god forbid, Emo Maya? There are just so many of you I don’t know. Are we friends?”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“You don’t know who I am? Try figuring yourself out first.” 

“Don’t go there, Lex.”

“Oh, I’ll go there Maya.” Now I was mad. “You don’t know who you are. You always say you change your look for fashion, but that’s not true. The truth is you keep changing because you think one day someone might actually like you. But guess what Maya? If you just keep never truly opening up, no one can love you. No one.”

“Out,” Maya mustered through tears. So I did. I packed up my stuff and left for a cheap motel. The next day, I was still in shock, but I still went to Denny’s and got my coffee.

Molly gave me the cup and said, “I made it specially for you.”

When I opened the lid, I saw something I’ll never forget. A huge fly was swimming around in my foam. Before I could think, I texted the food and drink health department and demanded for Molly to be fired. Then I sent a picture of my drink.

I left for my last rehearsal. At the end we all hugged and high-fived and said we couldn’t wait for Sunday. It was Friday and I couldn’t wait.

I went home, well, I went to my motel and I texted Maya. I said I was sorry. She left me on read. I pulled an all nighter sipping the gross motel coffee from the lobby. When I went outside the next day, I saw something. I didn’t believe it. I saw an abandoned building that used to house the Denny’s coffee shop. I went up to the window still seeing the painted walls of green, white, and brown. The chairs were turned up just like they were yesterday only now the doors would never open. I touched the brass door handles and pulled slightly. The door opened until a chain stopped it. The opening was just big enough to slip inside. I did. Then I smelled the coffee. I looked outside to the world I used to be in and then to myself inside a now abandoned coffee shop. My hair was messy and my eyes were cakey from putting on too much concealer.

I still remembered that fateful day when I went to get my coffee and met Molly. That day I thought I was mad at her, but I didn’t know about how much she could really destroy. As I walked around this haunted house, I saw a flyer. I walked over to it, examining the bold red letters that spelled “D-A-N-G-E-R.” Right below it, it read “dangerous health conditions.” Then my eyes got fuzzy and I heard the drop of a single tear on the ground. This was my fault. 

“So.” I turned around and saw Molly in the doorway. “Was it worth it getting me fired?”

“No,” I said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, here.” She handed me a coffee cup.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Crush it,” she said. So I did. 

“Done.” She looked at the cup. It was completely destroyed, the green band now bent.

“Now say ‘I’m sorry’,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I told the cup. It stayed the same. Destroyed. “Nothing happened,” I told her.

“Exactly.” She slipped through the door and didn’t look back. I walked sluggishly back to the motel, making each step slower than the last. When I finally got there, I went up the stairs, not even stopping to think to myself how hard it was. When I opened my door, I saw that Maya had texted me back. She said it wasn’t OK. I lay on my bed thinking of Ralph and Molly and even Denny. They were all out of work and were probably struggling. Especially Molly. I thought about what she said. Even though I knew she was right, I still wrote each and every person I hurt an apology email. No one wrote back. I closed my eyes and thought of everything and finally I slept. I slept and slept not being woken up by coffee or Maya or anything. I slept through the opening lines of alcoholic Ashley. I slept through Carl screaming and asking anyone if they knew where I was. I slept through eighteen text messages from Maya telling me to wake up. I slept through Denny’s getting sold to Starbucks. And the Sunday I had wished and dreamed about for my whole life came and went.

Introduction

Hello. I’m the narrator and I only have the one paragraph for the introduction so let me get some things straight. First of all, this is totally made up and you should not try this at home. Second of all, I really don’t have anything else to say except get ready for lots of humorous and crazy things to happen so let’s hope you didn’t skip this.

Chapter One: Inky Depths 

Hey it’s the narrator again and I’m back to tell you the story. So, this story begins at the home of an artist name Jeff Jones who had this pen and was drawing. He was always drawing horror and he loved horror and this new pen he just got was special and Jeff did not know that. So he drew a portal sucking a house into this world, then he felt this tight pull on him and he saw a portal. He quickly wrote a message that said:

Free me from the portal.

The pen is the mightiest weapon you have.

It creates anything you need to use.

Use it well.

-Your dad,

       Jeff

Later that day, Bobby came home from school to find ink everywhere and a message covered in ink. He was able to make it out and it read:

Free   from portal the   is the mightiest weapon you         creates 

Anything     need us t we l

-Your   ad

       Jef

Bobby decided to recreate the drawing that he saw that was ripped and then it happened. He saw an inky black portal open and it sucked him in.

Chapter Two: Inky World

When Bobby woke up, he saw he was in a cage and in front of him were two knights. Then one said, “Second one today, guess we better feed him to the ink hound”. Bobby knew this was not good so he drew on the wall a tommy gun and then he started to pull on the wall. After that, he got his tommy gun and he knew this was his only hope. He saw bright lights and on the floor were the two knights. The cage had broken open and then he saw the knights melt into ink and then everything went black…

When he woke up, he was on the floor, and looking down at him was a monster that looked like he had taken a bath in ink and never wiped it off. The monster had one eye and you could tell the other eye was submerged in ink. He had a creepy smile and spoke in a raspy voice “these inky depths, they are evil and you can’t get out. Beware of the wolf known as Billy he makes sure that no one escapes. He has two accomplices. One’s a spider and one’s a lion. Neither are… oh no I have said too much, run!”

As Bobby ran away, he heard a scream and ripping and chewing. Bobby ran and ran till he saw someone in front of him that looked like a man from Jeff’s drawings. So Bobby ran more and more until he couldn’t even stand up so he drew a car. As he drove the world around him got darker. Then he fell and the world around him changed. 

Chapter Three: Wolves, Spiders, and Lions

When Bobby hit the ground, he was tired. So he ate his favorite food: tofu and pea soup. As he ate, Bobby felt so refreshed that he could fight. Then he heard a howling and a wolf came with a lion and a spider next to it. Bobby walked back and then he felt the cold stone hit his back. Bobby knew this was the end and then he tried to draw a line, but he was so scared that it was not even straight. So he closed his eyes and let the monsters eat him.

He felt the cold drool of the wolf on him. The ground rumbled and broke open. Then everyone fell through. He drew in the air hoping a trampoline would come out and then it went black…

Bobby woke up seeing the ink rising and then Bobby saw a door. He ran towards it just in time to get inside before the ink covered everything around it. Everything was submerged in ink and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his dad covered in ink. Before they could talk the ceiling cracked and little by little ink started to flood in.

As Bobby and Jeff ran for their lives, Bobby felt a sharp pain in his arm and he saw the wolf had bitten him. He ran and the wolf ran after him and then the ink broke through the ceiling and killed the wolf. As Bobby ran, the ink started to catch up to him and then he felt his heart stop pumping and his blood started to leak out from his body and then…

Chapter Four: Dead Or Alive

Hey, it’s the narrator again and I have to tell you that this next chapter is really weird and you should definitely not read it. But then this won’t make sense. You know what just ignore me.  

When Bobby woke up he was still dead but he was also alive, probably because he drew a heart on himself (yes, this worked for some dumb reason).  And he had lost his dad again. Then he saw foot steps, so he followed them. He followed them for hours until he found a place covered in ink. He did what his gut feeling had told him to do: draw a portal.

He felt himself getting pulled on, and then everything went black.

Chapter Five: New Ink City

When Bobby came out, he saw a huge building with big letters on it that said: “get yourself inked.” Then, Bobby realized that someone or something must have escaped the ink world. Then it hit him, literally and figuratively. His dad’s creations must have gotten out and one of his dads creations knocked him out which was the fourth time he got knocked out. When he woke up, he was in a cage with pipes that was starting to pump ink into it. He drew a huge cork and plugged the pipes knowing that he had enough time to draw a key and unlock it. Then one of the corks burst and then the other one. He was starting to drown so he worked more quickly and then he opened the cage. He fell down and knew he was gonna die but no one was there, then the door burst open.

He saw a guard there who then fell down.

There was a man who said, “The legendary Bobby Jones, the man who started this and has to end this.”

Bobby was confused and asked, “One, who are you? Two, where is my dad?”

The man replied by saying, “One I’m a rebel. Two, your dad died 4 years ago. You and your dad disappeared 10 years ago. He came back in 6 years then died; you came back now so help us.” 

“No!” Bobby yelled.

“Ugh,” said the guy. Then Bobby got knocked out again.

When Bobby woke up, he was surrounded by many people and they were all screaming questions at him. So he drew a minigun and held it up to them and said, “Listen up you guys. You have no weapons or ammo so let me make you some guns with infinite ammo. Trust me: if one of you betrays me then the last thing you will hear is bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang. And trust me, you don’t want it to end that way. So who’s with me?”

Everyone looked at each other for a little bit and then started chanting and bringing whatever they could to help create weapons for them. Some asked for swords others asked for guns and some asked for helicopters which was weird, but Bobby had seen weirder. After many hours of creating weapons everyone was ready.

Chapter Six: Blood And Ink

The army of men and women charged towards inky people, all with swords and guns. As Bobby and his army charged, many people fell dead from swords, but so did the ink people. Then, everyone heard a rumble. 

Bobby ran while yelling, “Take cover!” but it was too late. Everyone was turned into ink so Bobby took his minigun and shot until it looked like the floor was ink. Then no one was left; just him. He went to confront the leader and then he heard a rumble and the ground broke.

He woke up in the ink world again with many portals around him. He knew only one would lead to where he needed to go. So he looked at them until he found one that mentally spoke to him and he went in it and woke up in his house and his father was talking to him and saying, “Shh, shh. Everything is alright”.

“What happened with the ink?” 

“I will tell you later” said Bobby’s dad and then Bobby went to sleep. 

Chapter Seven: Clean Up

When Bobby woke up his dad said, “Many of the ink things got out; it’s time we erase our work because they are evil.”

“But why can’t we just draw something to do it for us,” asked Bobby, “because that’s just making things worse than they already are and right now they are worse than the Devil himself.”

“Ok,” said Bobby’s dad.

When they got outside, the first thing they saw was an inky black killer clown and Bobby drew an eraser and waved it at the killer clown until it was nothing but a drop of ink and then it was nothing. As Bobby and his dad, Jeff, walked, a monster came down and ripped the pen in half and Bobby and Jeff had no more weapons

Chapter Eight: Just Flesh

With only fists and their surroundings, Jeff and Bobby were outnumbered by many ink things. Then Jeff realized something: these were his creations so all he had to do was get rid of himself. So he went up to the creatures and yelled “take me and kill me!”

The leader which was the lion from the ink world said, “We will keep you, but not kill you.” And they took him away.

As Bobby ran, he could not keep up with the monsters that took him away and slowly he stopped. He looked up and saw this monster running away to the White House (yes, Bobby lives in Washington D.C.) and he knew they would keep him hostage. So he ran towards them, fighting the will to give up until he finally got to the White House where he could confront the monsters that were still alive from the destruction of the ink world.

Chapter Nine: Ink to Flesh

Finally, when Bobby got to the White House it was more of a black house and the American flag was just a black flag. It really looked like you took the white house and dumped a bucket of ink on it. Nonetheless, Bobby went in. As he walked, the men guarding it stepped away cautiously as they knew the pens powers, but did not know that the pen was broken. 

After he got to the oval office, where his father was being held captive, the Lion sat there and looked out the window and said, “This place is amazing, full of color and no way to get out. All you have to worry about is dying, but not in my world”. Then the Lion turned around and attacked Bobby.

As Bobby got bitten by the Lion he yelled, “Wait, wait, wait!” And the Lion stopped. Bobby said, “If you give me one of your teeth, I won’t stop you at ALL”. The Lion was mentaly blinded by having the whole world so the Lion gladly ripped off one of his teeth and handed to Bobby. As he ran away to take over the world Bobby ran to his dad.

When Bobby got to his dad, his dad did not look at Bobby and said, “Kill me, Bobby.”

And Bobby said,“No, I refuse.”

Quickly, Jeff grabbed the Lion toothed and said, “I love you Bobby,” and thrust it into his chest and all the ink melted away and then the white house was white again. He then took the Lion tooth and walked away.

Chapter Ten: Fist Fight

As Bobby walked out of the white house, he saw a six monsters: a dragon, the Lion, a stick figure, a skeleton, a vampire, and a cowboy. As all the monsters ran at him, he picked up a sharp piece of concrete and ran at the them. He cut the cowboy from the chest up. Then he took another piece and threw it at the dragon and hit him directly in the face, falling down and exploding into ink. Then he took the stick figure and stabbed the vampire in the mouth,and the vampire fell down dead. The stick figure was also dead. Then he took the skeleton and stuffed it down the Lion’s mouth then the Lion fell limp.

Then all the monsters melted away, except for the Lion who charged at Bobby screaming, “You killed everything I had!”

Bobby replied yelling, “I had to kill my only family member.” And then he stabbed the Lion with the lion tooth he had in his pocket and got up and walked away.

Epilogue

As Bobby walked home, he was covered in ink and wished he could talk to someone about what just happened with his father dying. When he got home, he opened the door, but the door just fell down. So he went in the living room, which was the room were he got sucked into the portal. The room was the same, but as he explored, everything was covered with ink so he started to clean. 

When he went to clean the bathroom, he saw himself. If anything, he looked like an ink person, so he just kept cleaning and told himself that he would take a shower soon. After he had cleaned the house and taken a shower, he got his dad’s body and put it in a coffin that had his most important drawing on it. The drawing was Bobby fighting a dragon. Then he closed the inky black coffin and walked out of his dad’s room into the living room to watch some TV.

The End?

Editor’s Note: Content Warning for Drug Use

As the luck in the packs does not change, Michael sits in his chair trying to stay enthused so that his chat does not know how much that measly eighty two rated card affected his bank account. The packs begin to get slightly better, and then go right back down in their regular slope. Michael decides that he has had enough for today. He ends his stream with no warning to his thirteen fans, leaving them confused as to why they got only seven and a half hours of streaming today.

Opening the fridge to the repulsive stench of spoiled milk and half-eaten canned tomato soup, he asks himself if he should just quit streaming and get what his family calls “a real job.” With half a Campbell’s soup in hand, he walks over to his monitor to see if there are any job openings nearby. The only available positions near him seem to be quite tragic: a cashier at the rundown Sunoco gas station or a waiter at Bertucci’s thirteen miles away. Both pay the same, $7.25 an hour, the Texas minimum wage. The long bike ride is worse than the cigarette smell that the gas station has, leaving Michael with only the interview left to complete. Calling it a night, Michael falls asleep to the three am Houston traffic.

The next day, with his best sweatshirt on, Michael walks into the gas station looking for a job. After the interview, Michael is confident that he has secured the job and decides that he deserves to treat himself for going out to the gas station instead of wasting away in his room playing FIFA on camera until he is ready to punch a hole in his wall. He buys himself a box of Pop-Tarts and a beer, the treat he deserves after this successful day. On his walk back home, he notices a bar and decides to go in. After all, he deserves it.

The next morning, he wakes up with a severe headache and a voice message on his phone. He opens the message. It’s the manager of the gas station. He didn’t get the job. The taste in his mouth turns bitter with rage. He needs that job. He grudgingly unlocks his computer and begins to stream. As a starting point he puts in $100 into today’s packs, the remnants of what’s left over in his bank account. Finally, after an hour and a half of no luck, he gets a walkout. As he walks across the stream, he hears a noise coming from his computer. Someone had donated two dollars. Not much, but it’s a start. Pack after pack, his luck seems to be shifting, getting slightly better and better players every time. After another forty five minutes, he gets the flash of light, indicating a good pack. Crossing his fingers, Michael watches as an icon walks out of the pack and does that little animated celebration everyone was waiting for. Maradona. Michael watches his stream go crazy, numbers rising from thirteen to twenty to thirty six viewers. Someone donates $15. Slowly but surely, Michael is making his money back. For the first time in his FIFA career, which is also his only ever career, Michael has gone positive at the end of the stream, actually gaining three dollars.

As Michael contemplates what to do tomorrow on his next stream, he begins to smell smoke. He wanders around, searching for the source of the scent, until he eventually stumbles into the kitchen where he notices that the oven is still on. In the oven are Michael’s, now charred, attempt at cookies that he was going to treat himself with. Panicking, Michael throws the cookies out of the oven and tries to put the fire out. The severity of the situation does not occur to Michael until he hears a knock on his door. He sprints out to open it, and one of his neighbors is there with a fire extinguisher.

After an alarming ten minutes, his neighbor finally leaves him alone with just a very dark patch left on his floor. Only now noticing that the fire alarms are going off, Michael uses the anger that is pent up inside of him and uses a crowbar to knock the fire alarm out. With some peace and quiet now flowing through the house, Michael walks toward his bed. Looking down at his bed, Michael begins to bawl. Tears rolling down his cheeks, his shoulders tremble.

The next morning, Michael walks down the street looking for any money making opportunity, even asking kids running a lemonade stand if they need a hand. As he walks past the CVS, he decides that clearly this won’t work. On the walk back to his house, he decides to take a shortcut, leading him through the back alleys of Houston.

A man stands in the middle of the alley on the way to Michael’s flat, almost as if he is another roadblock in Michael’s life. Michael contemplates what to do, whether to speak to him or not. Deciding that he has hit rock bottom, Michael decides to just say hi to the strange man. 

“Hello,” Michael says politely to the stranger.

The man looks up at him and gives him a size up. He looks up and down, as if surveying if Michael is a threat.

“Hey, I have something you want,” he replies with a hoarse voice.

Michael begins to wonder what it is that he has. Money? A job opening? Some luck?

“And what is it that I want?” Michael asks, genuinely curious, but also a little nervous for what he is going to hear.

“Heroin,” he replies.

The word bounces around in Michael’s mind as if it is a skipping stone going across a pond. Michael’s immediate reaction is obviously to reject it and walk away, but the more he thinks about it, the more the idea seems to be a good one.

“I don’t have money on me,” Michael finally responds to the stranger.

Hoping that that might be the end of it, he begins to walk away.

“Don’t worry, first dose is always free,” the stranger responds, knowing that this first dose would lead to another and another and another.

“Sure, why not?” Michael responds, somewhat knowing that he shouldn’t be doing it anyway. “How do I take it? Do I like snort it or something?”

“No, I have a spare syringe for you. Don’t worry about it,” the stranger responds, reaching into his back pocket. “I guess this will scare you if you’re an anti-vaxxer.”

“Just give me the damn syringe,” Michael responds, just wanting to get it over with.

He grabs the syringe, already filled with a dose, and looks for his radial artery. Being a med school drop-out, he knows how to get an artery to bulge out. He cuts the circulation going into his right arm and then injects the grimy syringe into his bloodstream. 

There is not much immediate pain, just like a normal vaccine or blood test, and Michael does not feel any different with heroin as without.

Thirty minutes later, and a calm passes over Michael. It is as if his troubles in life just disappear, and all of a sudden he is just peaceful. Unfortunately for Michael, this only lasts for about 45 minutes. Now Michael is back to normal, except for one thing. He has this strange cramp in his jaw. Not much to worry about. It should leave in a day or two, Michael says to himself. 

A day passes by, and Michael has gone to see the stranger another time to get another dose, this one not quite as cheap. The jaw cramp has yet to leave, but that isn’t too much of a problem. Instead he now has these continuous muscle cramps that come and go but are mostly just annoying. He ignores the symptoms, not wanting to realize what he knows they are. The days pass by, and he continues to make a few dollars here and there on stream, mostly looking forward to when he could afford his next dosage.

A week later, he finally could afford a small dosage. This starts to become routine, meet up with the man, whose name turns out to be Theo, get the dose, go home, and enjoy.

“Hey, Theo,” Michael says as he walks closer to joy.

“Michael,” Theo responds, not looking up.

He is wearing an OffWhite sweatshirt and Fear of God jeans. Theo is a dealer, and because of that, lives quite fruitfully off of the money he makes, just with the bad part of being constantly scared of getting caught.

“So, can I have it,” Michael asks, handing over the $50.

That is all that he has made over the last week and was going to pay for a bit of his rent.

“Sure, whatever you want,” Theo hands it over, once again, in quite an unclean syringe.

Michael thinks about just wiping it down, but that seems like a lot of effort for such a small benefit.

“Thank you, man. I’ll see you soon.”

Michael walks away, trying not to let the excitement show, so Theo doesn’t think he is a complete junkie.

 As the days roll by, Michael seems to be getting more headaches and is having trouble swallowing. And a month later, he goes to see Theo again, this time for a bigger dose. 

As Michael walks towards Theo, he takes the money out of his back pocket, $150, the most he ever made off of streaming. Theo is there waiting. Michael is becoming his best customer, and he could see that that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Michael is about to hand the money over when his muscles suddenly stiffen and he loses consciousness. Michael falls to the ground and begins to convulse. White foam comes out of his mouth, and his eyes roll back in his head. Theo panics and sprints away with the money. He leaves a syringe next to Michael.

Weeks go by, and a stench begins to come from the alley behind Alonzo’s Pizzaria. Finally, a customer decides to go and see what is producing this horrid odor. It is a surprise indeed. The flies buzzing in and out of the man’s nose and mouth is enough for a scream to crawl out of the former customer’s mouth. He is glued to his spot, looking at a man sprawled across the asphalt with open eyes, but no pupils.

As police come onto the scene and bring the body back for an autopsy, it is clear that he has died because of untreated tetanus. As the police swarm the scene like the bugs across Michael’s body, they find something. A single shattered syringe.

Hi, I’m Skylark Lalak. I live in Cleveland and really want to find my mother. When I was three years old, my mother ran away. This I remember because, if I want to remember something, I can remember it. It is kind of sad to think that she would run away. Now that I am sixteen, I would like to know more about where my mother is and find her. I also would like to know more about why she ran away.

I have a sister named Maya, who has Leukemia. Leukemia is a type of cancer. I am worried if I leave I will never see her again. My dad wants to help my sister but they don’t realize how much it is impacting my life. 

The thing is I have to take care of my sister because my father works till 8pm every night. The main thing that I have to do is make dinner and clean the dishes. Luckily, I can go to school. My sister can’t go to school because then she will get even more sick, considering all the germs. It is really hard to make friends at a time like this, but luckily I have a friend named Chloe. Chloe is a nice, caring person who helps me with my sister by checking on my sister while I do my homework. If only my dad would take some time off of work for my sister. Last night I was telling my dad how I felt about all of this. He said it was so we could pay for everything. 

Back to trying to find my mother. I decided that tonight I would ask my dad about my mom and why we never speak of her. First I needed to go to school, check on my sister, do homework, then wait for my dad. My dad gets home around 8:30 pm and sits down on the couch and I notice something is wrong so I call 911. I notice that my dad is limping and his foot is swelling. We go to the ambulance and after some tests, they find out my dad has a broken foot. He will not tell me how he broke it. Uh oh. I need an adult I can trust. Now I really need my mom. I can only trust my mom and the doctors. I just talked with the doctors and they say they will call whenever something happens. So I’m off. But I need to tell my dad and ask him a few questions.

I go up to my dad and ask, “Dad can you tell me anything about Mom?”

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask, trying to beg him.

“Because,” he answers. 

“You sure?” I try one last time.

There is silence then finally, “Fine, just ask her yourself,” he says as he goes on my phone and dials a number. I go in my room and answer the phone.

“Hi Mom,” I say.

“Hi,” she says. It feels great to hear her voice. It has been a long time since I heard her voice. It makes me feel sad and happy at the same time. Her voice is kind of soft like the harmony of angels.

“Where are you mom? No one will tell me anything. And why did you run away from dad, Maya and I?” I feel bad that people don’t tell me anything.

“I will give you a hint and tell you the rest when you come and find me. Here is your hint… I am at the hottest continent in the world. The country I am in is called something that has a few Os in it,” she answers. I think that this is a very strange answer. Now after I finish this call I have to solve the riddle.

“Mom, if you don’t know, dad has a broken foot and Maya has Leukemia,” I say in grief because it is sad to say that my whole family is falling apart.

“Sadly I know that these things are happening right now. I know these things because your father calls everyday. Gotta go ,bye,” she says.

“Bye,” I say and hang up. I think I just need to figure out that riddle and then I will tell my dad that I am going to wherever the riddle takes me. I head over to my desk and figure out the riddle. I have always been great at riddles and I love them. This is how I figured it out…

First, you figure out what the hottest continent: Africa (if you don’t know look it up.)

Second, you know that a few means around three, and there are three o’s so…

The answer is Morocco.

So now I need to tell my dad.

“Hey Dad,” I say as I head over to the couch.

“Hi honey,” he says.

He looks tired so I tell him, “Dad, let me tell you something. Then you’ll try to sleep.”

“Ok, what do you want?” he says.

“Can I go to Morocco to save Mom?” I ask, crossing my fingers.

“No,” he answers.

“Dad, why not? I am helping Maya, you and myself. Please.”

“But you may get hurt,” he says.

“Dad, I won’t get hurt. Can you stop being overprotective?”

“I don’t want everyone in this family to be hurt.”

“Then let me go. I will always be hurt without my mom. Just so you know the doctors are taking care of Maya.”

“Go, but try not to get hurt.”

“Sure.” Yes, I am going to Morocco and saving my mom. Now I need to get a ticket. I look at my phone, and I see that there is a flight tomorrow at 2 pm to Morocco. When I turned sixteen, my dad gave me a wallet that had a credit card. I will go then. I am lucky that it is the weekend tomorrow. Wait for one second. Tomorrow is Chloe’s birthday. I will ask if we can do something for her birthday in the morning before noon.

A few minutes later…

Yes! She replied and said that I could come over now and have a birthday sleepover. I told her I’d be there in a little bit. So, off I am to the bookstore to get Chloe a book. I decided to grab something Harry Potter. I am now trying to find the Ravenclaw notebook. Our favorite house. We like Ravenclaw because they are smart and so are we. Found it. Now I pay and we are off to Chloe’s 17th birthday party. She is a few months older than me. 

I get there and I give the present to Chloe and say, “Are you looking forward to being seventeen? I am sorry that I could not be here for your actual party.”

“It is fine, I know how much you want your mom and your family to be safe at home,” she says, and we start the sleepover. To sum it all up, we ate pizza and popcorn, she loved my present, we watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and we played Just Dance. Now the party is done. I am surprised that I had a good time. Like, I have to go home to grab my stuff and head to the airport, forgetting my passport. Don’t worry about that.

A few hours later…

I am on the plane to Morocco. It is a long plane ride so I will watch some movies. I also will listen to Grace Vanderwaal. She is my favorite singer. I’ve been on a plane many times before. The plane has 3 rows. 

15 hours and 25 minutes later…  

It was a long plane ride, but finally I am here, in Morocco. Now let me call my mom.

“Hey mom I figured out that you meant Morocco and I am in Morocco right now. Where are you?” I tell her.

“Good job,” she said. “You did it. Come outside.” I go outside and see that there is a limo. The guy asks me if I have any luggage and I realize that I forgot my luggage. I go inside and get my luggage and go back to the car. I’ll listen to more Grace Vanderwaal. When we get to wherever we should get to. I see a house with a backyard that seems like it is close to a lion territory. I walk  in and see the person I’ve wanted to see basically my whole life,

“Mom,” I say as I run up to her.

“Finally, I can see you and talk to you in person. Sit on the couch and I will tell you what you want to know,” she says. “What would you like to know?”

“I have many questions. First question, Why do you leave Maya, Dad, and I?”

“Ok, the answer to that is one night I got an email that the lions need some help to stay alive, and since I love animals, I thought that I could maybe help.”

“Ok, next question, why do you never call me or Maya?” I ask.

“Because your dad wants us to surprise your sister on her birthday. So can you please stay here for a little while? You will have to be homeschooled, sorry. I didn’t call you because we wanted you to want to come here.”

“I guess,” I said. I was unable to answer this question because I would like to be with my mom, but also want to be with my other family and friends. So I guess that I will be hanging out around lions for a month or two.

Epilogue 

It has been a couple of months and I am on my way to my sister to surprise her. For some reason, we are heading to the house instead of the hospital. Does this mean what I think it means? It does! My sister overcame leukemia!! I am so happy and excited. My life is finally normal. My sister is a normal kid, who can do normal things. My mom is back. And my dad has his foot back. That is all the time I have, bye.