Chapter 1 – Get that Crow

An orangey tinge fills the land, and puffy, pink clouds slowly tread across the sky. The sweet, rolling hills become hazy with a golden tinge. Sheep graze peacefully in the valley below. A gorgeous sea of trees above, it is quiet here. Nothing to bother me. Flying high above hills and valleys, I slowly and gracefully glide down to the farmland below, no one to be seen.

The shepherd and his dog tend to the sheep; the farm’s cat roams around catching mice and other pesky rodents. As for me, I am a crow. Considered an unwanted pest because my kind eats corn. So what? We have to survive somehow. I’m not going to eat a rotting mouse, that’s just gross. I’ll eat corn, thank you very much. Maybe if times are desperate enough, but for now I’ll stick with what the farm provides.

“Ey, Corn Head! Ged down from there! Yous ain’t allowed to eat dat!”

Oh no, that stupid cat noticed me. Great.

“My name is not ‘Corn Head.’ It is Will for the last time. And I am not eating your corn, Walter.”

“Don’t call me dat. Just ged off da corn,” Walter calls.

“No. I will not leave this corn.”

“Oh, I’m gonna get ‘cha Corn Head,” he sneers.

Oh no. Whoop, there he goes. Well, time to take off.

“Missed me!”

“Oof.” He crashes into the fence.

Stupid cat. Whoa! Up we go. I don’t want to fly into that tree. Oh hey, it’s Nix! Maybe he’ll get this cat off my trail.

“Nix! Excuse me! Hello, Nix!” I yell.

Nix ceases his herding.

“Oh hi, William, I didn’t see you there,” he calls back. “This is about Walter, isn’t it? I’ll take care of him.”

He appears to have read my mind. Oh thank heavens, that’s very helpful. This wears me out quite a bit. I look over my shoulder. Heh heh. Yes, get ‘em, Nix, go, go, go!

“AAAAAAAHH!!!!”

FWOOSH!

“Ugh, ow. Didn’t see that coming,” I mutter.

Aww man, I flew into a bush. I can’t believe I did that again. I almost flew right into the Dark Forest — that could’ve ended badly. I see Nix and Walter walking closer, they seem to be talking. I thought Nix was going to chase Walter away from the farm for good. I guess I thought wrong. They are muttering something about me. Why would they be? Maybe they are talking about my dashing looks. Or maybe they are talking about my amazing tricks. They’re coming closer. Oh, this doesn’t sound good. Nix looks mad, and oh, that wretched cat looks so smug. Oh geez.

“Uhh, hey guys,” I say nervously.

“William, come with me,” Nix growls.

“Eheheh, good luck, bird scum,” Walt hisses into my ear as he stalks away.

Nix and I walk deeper into the forest, as if we weren’t in far enough. Ugh, I bet this is about the corn. Nix gets very defensive about his farmer’s crops. Why? I don’t really know. Whenever he gives me this lecture, he always starts rambling about this thing called money. Money, money, money. When will Nix stop caring about human things and start caring about how hard it is for me to survive in the wild?

“Will, I don’t want to give you this lecture again. I have no idea how many times I have to tell you. Just please STAY AWAY FROM THE CROPS. You never listen. Why don’t you go scavenge or something? I think it would help my farmer stay in business if you left the crops ALONE. He needs money to keep his — ”

I cut Nix off. “Why should I care about all this money nonsense? You always go on about money this, money that. I keep eating his corn so that I can LIVE.” I sneer.

“Excuse me? Look, I care about you, Will, but please care about the man who provides your food. Without the farmer, you would have to look elsewhere, and elsewhere is probably farther away,” Nix explains.

I suddenly have this great idea. When Nix gets frustrated, he doesn’t really pay attention to detail. I could fly off into the woods and he would probably follow me, then I can teach him a lesson, show him how hard life is in the wild. Ah ha, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

“Okay Nix, fine I’ll go elsewhere to find food,” I say with a smug grin. “I’ll go forage in the Dark Forest.”

“William, don’t you dare fly off! I’m not done talking to you,” I fly farther into the woods. “Come back you filthy, flying corn stealer!”

Chapter 2 – Deeper In The Dark Forest

“Hey, you get back here! Don’t you dare run away from me, you bird scum!!” Nix is beginning to fade into the distance. We’ve been running for hours. I wait for him to catch up.

In the distance I hear, “Nix? Where’d ya go bud? Did yous chase dat jerk off? Hellooo?”

While I wait for those two to catch up, I look at my surroundings. The sun has set and leaves of gold, crimson, and auburn litter the ground. A river as dark as obsidian flows throughout the forest; it, too, is covered in golden leaves. A slight chill dances through the air. Twinkling crystals fill the wine colored sky. The trees appear to be in solemn wait, mourning the sun’s short disappearance. I hear leaves crunching — it’s Nix and Walter. They both look scared. Well, who wouldn’t be? Besides the residents of this forest, in fact, I live here. It isn’t too bad here; it really is quite fruitful.

“Where are we?” Walt asks quietly.

“We are in the Dark Forest, my home,” I reply. “Welcome.”

Walter and Nix exchange shocked looks. Nix’s expression immediately hardens.

“Let’s go,” Nix growls. “I want to find a good place to sleep.”

“I can show you a good place to sleep! I can even find some food for you,” I shout.

“No, you’ve helped enough. Come on, Walter.” Nix snarls.

“Well if I can’t help you, then I am going to tag along at least. Who knows? You might need me at some point,” I grumble.

We start to walk, leaves crunching under my feet. Wind ruffles my feathers. I look at Nix: his long, black and white fur flits in the wind. His ears are pricked and alert, his fluffy, black tail stiff. I have a feeling he’s worrying about being stuck in this place. He’s a brave soul, very confident in his actions. He is totally out of it right now.

Nix and I go way back. We’ve known each other for three years so far. I was a tiny chick when I met him, I was still learning how to fly. Later, I was flying with my murder, and something happened. I don’t remember what occurred, but I do remember being knocked down by a dead crow. I was trapped under its wing, both in the air and on the ground. Since I couldn’t move or wriggle out, I squealed and chirped for help. Nix had come and pulled the dead bird off me. He nursed me back to health and brought me back to his farm, and from then on, Nix and I had hung out quite a bit. I love Nix. I really hope he’ll forgive me for snapping at him…

I look over at Walter; his tail is tucked between his legs. His ears are plastered to his head. His striped, orange fur is puffed out. His green eyes are wide, and his pupils are huge. He is definitely not in his zone, jumping at every sound. Occasionally, he gives a small squeak. Walt is not exactly the most confident guy. He tries so very hard to act confident, but I don’t think anyone really buys the act.

I met Walter after I met Nix, we met in the field where the sheep graze. He was cold, wet, and hungry. No signs of living with a human, no collar, no nothing. We took him to the barn, and Nix brought him some food. I don’t really understand why he hates me even though he’s known me for a year. He is truly a good cat at heart, I know that. It’s just hard not to hate him. I guess it must have to do with his predatory instincts or something like that.

We walk farther into the forest in silence. There is a lot of tension in the air, and fear. Fear is emitting from the two farm dwellers, tons of it.

“Guys, what are we doin’ here?” Walter mumbles.

“Looking for a place to sleep. And maybe something to eat,” Nix says.

“Are we stayin’ long? I really hope not, this place is givin’ me the creeps,” Walt enquires.

“I agree, Walt. This place is also creeping me out,” Nix responds. “I don’t think we’ll stay long.”

The trees begin to thin out; silver streams of light slide through the gaps. The light brightens as we walk farther. The shining stars appear to shine brighter as the trees come to a complete stop, as if they are happy to have us among them. I stare in awe at the moon who provides the most mystifying light.

Nix walks to the middle of the clearing and stares at the beautiful painting that is the sky. Walter slowly pads over, staring at the sky as well. This is one of the reasons the forest is fruitful: it is full of life, berries, food, and gorgeous scenery.  Here in this clearing, the obsidian river thins into a creek and flows like silver silk. Stunning.

I stay at the edge of the forest, watching. I fly over to my friends and perch on a nearby rock. We sit together, staring, amazed by this scene.

I’m the first to break the silence. “It’s quite a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yea, it is, ain’t it?” Walter whispers. “Why are we here? Dat’s one thing dat sticks out to me, though. It kind of feels like ‘oh here we go, let’s go run inta da forest and never go back to da farm.’ Is that why we’re here? Are we runnin’ away?”

No one answers. Nix and I exchange a look. I turn away — I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t really feel that bad, but I feel stupid now. I wanted to make Nix pay, but what am I really doing? I’m just leading my friends into danger. Soon, it will be winter, which is in a few days. I need to get them back. I shouldn’t have done this without thinking. This is my fault, and I have to fix it now. Let’s just hope I can get them out before it snows. I don’t really want to say anything yet, I think I’ll just go and suggest that we get some rest. I think we could use it. We have a long way to go.

Chapter 3 – The First Frost

I wake up and stretch my wings. I peer around, and my eyes become wide with shock. The leaves, the grass, everything is edged with sparkling crystals. Cold crystals. The chill is stronger. I fly over to the creek; it’s ice cold. I hop over to my friends. Their whiskers are covered in tiny crystals.

“Guys, wake up.” I nudge Nix’s shoulder. “Come on, you big, sleepy doofus!”

“Huh, waz happenin’?” Unsurprisingly, Walter is the second to wake up. He likes to wake up early.

“Nix won’t wake up,” I complain.

“‘Course dat big ol’ bozo won’t wake up,” grunted Walt.

“Wha?” Nix babbles. His head is in the air, but his eyes are still closed.

“Mornin’ sunshine. William here says yous wouldn’t wake up,” Walter snickers. “Ya look like a giant fluffball.”

It’s true though, his fur is all untidy. Grass bits and leaf litter are stuck in his long coat. His eyes are still closed. He’s not a morning dog.

“I’m hungry, where can we find things to eat?” rasps Nix.

I think about Nix’s question. We’re still in a part of the forest I know, so if I’m correct, there should be some edibles around. I can find nuts, berries, and practically anything for myself, and a good hunting ground for Nix and Walter. Let’s just hope we can at least get a little food. I think the frost has killed most plants, and most prey have hidden.

“Walter, you’re obviously fine with eating mice and rabbits, correct?” I question Walt.

“Ya know it!” Walter agrees.

“Nix, what about you? Would you hunt down, kill, then eat what you just killed?” I ask, addressing Nix this time.

“I suppose, I mean, I kind of have to. I can’t eat fruit or anything like that, I’m a carnivore,” Nix explains.

“Okay, so now that you two have confirmed that, I’ll lead you to a hunting ground. If I can find it,” I respond.

I fly low to the ground. We exit the clearing we had slept in. As we enter the forest, the chill becomes even frostier. I fly around trees and bushes; it gets warmer after a little. We near the hunting ground. Trees begin to thin yet again, but they are not cut short. The growth of bushes has stopped. Crimson, auburn, and gold flutter all around the area, the green grass is completely covered.

Walter takes a deep breath in.

“Smells like most of da prey scattered,” he comments. “I don’t know if we gonna have much luck, but we betta get to it. Whateva’s left is probably not dat big.”

“Walt’s right. I’m not sure if I’ll actually catch anything, due to my lousy hunting skills, but it’s worth a try,” Nix states.

“Okay, so the both of you are set. I’m not going to be staying to hunt, even though I can basically eat everything. I’m going to be foraging. I won’t be too far off. I’ll be at the edge of the hunting grounds, call me if you need anything,” I explain.

“Bye, Will!” Nix and Walt holler as I fly off.

“We will call you if we need anything!” shouts Nix.

I don’t have to fly very far, as I said. Berry bushes and walnut trees begin to appear as the trees become denser. I land close to a wild blueberry bush. I poke around it, scanning for any ripe berries. Most of them are shriveled up, another act of the wicked frost. I find about three good blueberries. I leave the berries in a small nook in a rock. I fly a little farther away from the hunting ground. Soon, I spot a clump of raspberry bushes. A majority of these leaves are as black as death. No plant is safe at the hands of the vile frost. I find only a few berries from the huge clump of bushes, maybe five or six. I bring them back to the rock. I continue my search, looking for nuts this time. I recall seeing a walnut tree before. I fly above the trees and look for the long leaves, long spindly stems, the huge branches, and of course, the clumps of walnuts.

I soon spot the walnut tree—this bears the most food so far. I search the floor for the small, brown nutshells. There are plenty of green fruits, they fill the air with a citrusy smell. Only very few fully matured nuts are on the ground. I pick up two of the large nuts in my beak and fly back to the rock to drop them off. I spread my wings and prepare to take off again when I hear the crunching of leaves under foot.

I turn around to see Nix and Walter. Their pickings are way slimmer than mine. They have only managed to catch a small vole and a boney-looking rabbit.

“Wow, that is way less than I expected!” I exclaim.

“I know, right,” Nix says putting down his vole. “I thought we’d get at least more than two scrawny critters.”

“Well, I told ya, whateva would be left wouldn’t be much.” Walt shrugs.

“Enough talking about our small catch. What’d you get, William?” inquires Nix.

“Yea, what did ya collect?” Walt asks, curious.

I look down at what I have. It’s not much, but it will keep me going for a little while.

“I have three blueberries, six raspberries, and two walnuts. It’s not much, and no offense to you two, but I have way more than you do,” I report.

“Oh, I’m not offended, it is easier to find plants and whatever it is you eat,” Nix agrees.

“I can safely say dat it would be easier to forage,” Walter comments.

“Let’s eat. We don’t have very much time left. The sun is already beginning to set. We’re going to have to find somewhere to sleep soon,” I announce.

Chapter 4 -The Badger

We are now starting to look for shelter. We have finished our puny meals. We walk and walk and walk. My feet begin to hurt. After three hours of walking, I start flying. The sun and moon battle for control of the sky. The moon slowly takes over the sun. The sky slowly begins to darken, from a beautiful, honey orange to a harsh, plum purple. We trot under the painted sky and sturdy, waiting trees. Leaf litter under foot gives off a strange, musty smell. The shining orb in the sky provides us with an enchanting light; it makes the spooky forest seem more magical.

“Hey Nix, come check this out,” I yell over my shoulder.

Nix pads over to me, Walt following. I have found a large hole. I don’t know if we can all fit inside, though.

“Um, I think that’s way too small,” Nix squeezes into the hole. “Walt, try wriggling in next to me.”

Walt doesn’t speak a word, he just attempts to shove himself into the hole. Walt slides in — it’s surprising that he fits. I slide in easily, but it’s a tight fit. I really don’t think this would be a sufficient sleeping place. I bet we look super squished right now. I’m not even on the floor, I’m on top of Walter.

“Dis is weird, man,” Walter hisses.

“Yeah, no kidding, my butt is so squished,” Nix grumbles.

“An’ poor Will isn’t even on da floor,” Walt adds.

“I do not think this is a good spot at all,” I admit.

“Okay, everyone out. This is really uncomfortable,” Nix sniffs.

We all try to scramble out at once, but we get stuck, and even more uncomfortable.

“This is not good at all,” I squeak.

“I can’t move,” Walter sputters.

“Okay, I’m going to get out first, I take up the most room. It’ll be easier when I get out,” Nix claims.

Walter and I wait as Nix scrapes himself out of the hole. It takes him a while, but soon enough, he scrambles out. Walter and I have tons of space to move around. Nix is one big dog. I flit off of Walt and let him crawl out. Then, I strut into the open.

“Well, that didn’t go very well. We should keep looking,” I comment.

No one objects. We continue to search.

***

“Huff puff huff… Can… we… please… stop walkin’…?” Walter breathes.

“Fine, we can stop for a second,” Nix sighs.

We have been following the creek for two hours now. Walter drags himself to the creek and takes huge gulps of ice cold water. Nix sits down and licks his sore paws. I decide to explore the area — I’ve never seen this place before. I hope we don’t get lost; I know most of the forest. I probably know this place in the daytime, but right now I have no idea. I think a nice badger lives somewhere around here; I’m really not sure though. I look around some more. I find an area that seems to elevate like a little hill. Near the base of the hill, there is a cave or hole of some sort.

I flap over to Nix, who is still licking his paws.

“Nix! Nix. I found a big hole or cave, it’s something like that, anyway. Back to my point, I think we could all fit in it,” I squawk.

“Show me.” Nix ceases licking his paws and stands up.

I lead him over to the big, open hole-cave thing. I look up at Nix. He looks shocked. This is the biggest shelter we’ve seen so far.

“Hey Walter, come look at this,” Nix says, eyes still on the opening.

“Why!?” Walter snaps.

“Because you should,” Nix retorts.

“Fine!” Walter shouts.

“Why are you so cranky?” I inquire.

“‘Cause I am, deal wif it,” Walt hisses.

“Just come over here,” Nix snarls, beginning to get frustrated.

Walter drags his paws as he sulks over.

“Look at what William found,” Nix says.

“Why should- oh, whoa,” Walt murmurs.

“I think it’s big enough for all of us!” I exclaim.

Nix pops in first. “There’s room for all of us!” he cries.

I flutter into the hole, then look up at Walter. He gives a small grunt and forces

himself in the hole. We all have plenty of space.

“It smells weird in here,” Walter mumbles.

Nix glares at him.

“But, we can sleep here,” Walt says, frightened.

Nix puts his head down on his paws and falls asleep. Walter turns away from Nix towards me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “This trip has just been so exhaustin’, I really hope we can ged home. I bet Nix does too, don’t ‘cha think?”

“I do, I mean he’s a been a great leader helping us through this trip. I agree, I hope we can get back to the farm,” I reply.

“Winter’s comin’. I can smell it. I don’t think wes gonna make it before it snows. So, I don’t know bud,” Walt whispers.

“Yeah…” I mumble.

“‘Night lil’ bird,” breathes Walter.

“Good night,” I murmur.

***

Rustle, rustle.

I wake up startled. I hear a strange, rustling sound. No one else seems to notice it. The sun isn’t even fully up in the sky yet. Not very much light filters into the hole.

Rustle, crunch.

“Walter. Walter! WALTER! WAKE UP!” I shout.

I end up waking up Nix and Walt. Nix falls back asleep right away.

“What?” Walter murmurs.

“Do you not hear that?” I whisper frantically.

“Hear what?” Walter asks.

Rustle rustle.

“Oh dat, it’s probably Nix. Guy fidgets a lot in his sleep.” Walter looks over at Nix.

I also stare at Nix.

Crunch, snuff.

Nix isn’t moving, he’s as still as a stone.

“Yeah okay, if dat’s not Nix,” Walter turns to face me, eyes wide. “Then who or what is dat?”

The rustling sounds begin to grow louder.

Snuff, grunt.

I feel air blow on my back; Walt seems to have felt it too. A low growl comes from behind us. Walter and I turn around slowly.

A monstrous creature, much bigger than Nix, stands in front of us. It is way taller on its powerful hind legs. Tiny ears, rounded, pointed and alert. Yellowish, deadly fangs, drool dripping from its huge mouth. Its face is scrunched up in a snarl, a white stripe down the middle of its face and small beady eyes.

“GRRROWL!” the creature roars.

Nix is suddenly wide awake. The huge animal lunges towards him. Nix scrambles away from it and hides behind Walter and I. This can’t be the end.

This story is about race. Well, actually, it’s about me, but it’s also about race. You see, race was not a real issue in my house. We never talked about it at the dinner table, and when it would come up on the news, we would simply ignore it. It never came up at school either. I lived with my dad and my sister, so we were a pretty small family unit and mostly had the same conversations about the stock market, politics, and school. Most of the time, my dad wasn’t even home because he had to work. He always had to work because he ran one of the biggest hedge funds in the country. Every time he planned something for the three of us, I would get a call, and he would say, “Honey, I have to work. You understand, right?” It was a bit disappointing, but my sister Blake’s lively personality more than made up for his absence. She’s the best performer at school and has a small acting gig outside of school too. She would regale me with over-exaggerated stories about her day and act out almost every single action.

At school, I was just another white girl, and I was treated normally. This brings me back to race. Sure, we had the occasional conversation about the Civil Rights Movement on Martin Luther King Day, but it’s not like any of us were paying attention. I went to a pretty small school occupied by mostly white people except for one Asian teacher. Everyone knew each other, and we were all friends. There was no need to ask those awkward first-time questions because we had all been at the school since kindergarten.

My life was perfect until my dad told me that I would have to switch schools for high school. He wanted me to have new experiences before college. So I began my freshman year at a local private school named Emerson. I was not too happy that I would have to spend the entire year with my head glued to a desk, trying to catch up.

When I walked in, I took a name tag and was immediately swept up in a large crowd of people. I had never seen such a mix of people. There were black people, Indian people, Latinos, and Chinese. They were all speaking in multiple languages fluently and seemed to be star athletes, judging by their muscles. I was amazed by the bright lobby and the nonstop flow of kids just walking in as if they were stars. There was a big television screen at the far end of the room that displayed a live video feed of all the kids walking into the building. I was so overwhelmed by the school, I ran up the stairs to my homeroom. It was on the fifth floor, next to a shiny row of lockers. I chose one and then entered the room. It was big for my standards and had a nicely sized whiteboard and projector. A tall man walked up to me and shook my hand.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Kravis, and you must be Sara. You can go to the back and introduce yourself.”

Before I could answer, he walked past me and hugged the student behind me. I went to the back of the room and immediately saw that the kids had racially grouped themselves. The white girls were sitting at one corner, and the black girls at another. There was a small group of Chinese kids sitting in the middle and a few Latinas next to them. They all had very exclusive looks on their faces. I naturally walked over to the white girls and sat down.

The girls laughed before one asked me, “What’s your name?” I told them my name was Sara. Another asked, “You are so pretty, what are you?” I told them I was white, but for some reason, they did not believe me. They simply laughed and walked away.

So maybe I lied a bit. I mean, it’s not something I really talk about. My dad is white, I’ve grown up around a completely white family, but there is one dirty little secret that we don’t talk about. When my dad was young, he met a beautiful Tunisian woman on his travels to Paris. They fell in love, and he brought her back to the states. But his family did not approve and forbade him from seeing her again. They would sneak around and have dates for years. She had two children (me and my sister) before she died from a terrible accident. We don’t talk about her because my dad is still embarrassed, and his family acts like it never happened. From time to time, I feel badly that my dad does not recognize my mother and therefore does not see a certain side of me. I’ve only seen one picture of her. So sure, one could say I am black, but I don’t consider myself black. I mean, I hardly interact with them, and their problems have never affected me. I am just not black. Plain and simple.

When I got home, I checked the mail and saw a letter from the Students of Color League. I was infuriated! “I am not black,” I shouted out loud.

My sister, who happened to be in the room, started engaging me. “What do you mean, you are not black?”

“I’m just not, I… no… yuck… no!” I was surprised with my sister’s question.

“You know what, I think you should go because I think it will honestly open your eyes.” My sister was totally being an adult right now.

“Since when do you identify as black?” I had honestly never heard my sister speak like this.

“I’m not saying I identify as black, I’m just saying that I have come to acknowledge that being black is a part of who I am, and I can’t just ignore it.”

My sister was getting really persistent and kind of annoying. But she made a convincing argument, so I went to my room and asked my magic eight ball if I should go. The magic eight ball said yes, so I decided that the next day I would go.

That night, I dug out the picture of my mom and stared at it long and hard. She was really pretty and had some of the most delicate features I had ever seen. She had honey brown skin and big, red lips that seemed to be perfect. Her hair was short and frizzy, kind of like mine. Sure, I look like my dad, but I am almost my mother’s twin when it comes to facial features. Except for my fair skin, it felt like I was looking into a mirror. I took the picture into my room and fell asleep with it resting on my heart. It was a deep yearning to know my mother and a certain part of me.

The next day, I walked into the room where the meeting was held and waited for the other members to come. They were really welcoming and really had an inspiring goal. They wanted to create racial equity and diversity within the school. I thought that was pretty cool, so I decided to stay longer than I had planned. We passed around a beanbag and gave a brief description of our background and why we wanted to join. When it came time for me, I paused before I started speaking.

“Well… I really don’t know what I am, you know? I mean, I was raised by all white people, but my mom was black, so I really don’t know. I came here to learn about myself and experience the real black experience.”

The rest of the kids looked at me as if I had said something wrong. The leader of the club broke the silence and addressed me.

“There is no one black experience. I mean, look around the room. Alicia is half-Vietnamese and was born in St. Lucia. She speaks Vietnamese, French, and English. She can make the best Caribbean roti you will ever taste and the best Vietnamese noodles, too. What about Graciela? Her mom is from Peru, and her dad is African-American. She grew up eating traditional Peruvian food as well as hot dogs from Gray’s Papaya. Look, we all have unique experiences, but we are all equally black. You should be proud of all the different experiences you have had and the ones that you will encounter in the future.”

I was awestruck. I had never met so many different people who were so proud of their many different heritages. We delved into a beginner conversation on the recent events that had been happening throughout the country. Several innocent black men had been shot by the police, and the Black Lives Matter movement was speaking out. They were outraged about the police brutality that had been going on. Many of the kids in the room shared their own personal stories about being wrongfully stopped by the police and racial bias or microaggressions that they had experienced. I felt like the odd one out because I did not have a story, so I just listened intently and tried to form my own opinions. When I got out of the meeting, it was as if a white cloth had been lifted from my face, and I had finally connected with my black side.

When I went home later that day, my dad was surprisingly there. He wanted to take my sister and me out for dinner, and we happily obliged. We went to Ristorante Morini on Madison Avenue near our house. It was as soon as we sat down that I remembered all that I had learned today.

I was so excited, I didn’t even think before I opened my mouth and blurted out, “What do think about the Black Lives Matter movement?”

My dad seemed stunned. He almost choked on his pinot noir. “Well… I… um… I beg your pardon?” He seemed to be totally caught off guard.

“I said, what do you think about the Black Lives Matter?” I was sure he knew what I said, and I waited patiently for an answer.

“I think they are a bunch of crazy, black extremists that resemble the likes of the Black Panther Party that was devised from the hatred of white people. It is an anarchy that wants to destroy the very foundation that this great nation was founded on.”

I was surprised by his harsh response. “But this great nation was founded by men who had slaves, slaves who suffered for over two hundred years.” I thought it was a pretty insightful retort.

“Yes, but does that mean they need to destroy everything that we have done, reverse the progress we made?” His face was getting red, and his palms were getting sweaty.

“But what if that progress was totally against us?” I was getting angry.

“Who is us?” My dad seemed shocked that I had referred to myself and Blake as black.

“I just thought you would be more sensitive to these things considering you have two daughters who are black.” I genuinely thought my dad was more open minded than this.

“I do not have two black daughters. I have two white daughters and I will not have you insult our family by suggesting anything else. I am not black, and no one I identify myself with is black! I want nothing to do with them, and I don’t want to hear another word about this Black Lives Matter nonsense!”

For the rest of the dinner, we sat in silence. I ate a plate of pasta that tasted like disappointment in my father. Disappointment that he is racist and refuses to accept his past and our future.

After the events of dinner with my father, I decided I needed to immerse myself in the league. I started having more in-depth conversations with fellow members and writing my feelings in a small notebook I bought from Papyrus. I wrote down my frustration with my father and his lack of empathy. As I continued writing, it turned into poetry. The poetry let me enter a different world, where I was in control, and I understood exactly who I was. As well as self improvement, I also wrote about current events and all of the opinions the league held on our nation today. I used my poems to inspire young children of color to speak out against the racism of the world and the horrible violence committed against them. The poems healed me, and I was eager to share them with my peers. So one day during a meeting, I got up in front of them and just started reciting lines.

“I feel black in my bones. I feel black in my heart. I feel black in my soul. Why should I be ashamed? Why should I hide? As the black drips off of me like fresh paint, I think about my new color. Does it fit? Is this really how I want to spend the rest of my life? Yes!”  

Some of the other kids were so inspired, that they asked if they could join me in making poetry speaking to the racism in this country. I was delighted and decided to make a project of it. I asked the head of high school if we could present them at a student assembly. I was so proud that I had truly found myself, I wanted to share it with the world. I wanted to get at the forefront of black power and the improvement of the perception of black people. Secretly, I wanted my dad to come and accept me. I thought that if he heard the beautiful art I was making with a pencil, he would change his mind about black people. I knew it was going to be hard to accomplish, but I was ready to climb this very tall mountain. The headmistress was delighted by the idea and jumped at the prospect of talking about politics with the students. My friends and I started practicing most days after school, while trying various types of iced tea at Starbucks and treats from Le Pain Quotidien. It was really fun, and at the same time, I was really getting to know myself and what being black meant to me, which was my first poem. It was really short, but it definitely opened my eyes.

“What does black mean to me? It means hope. It means power. It means never giving up. And most of all, it means me.”

As the weekend approached, I thought it would be fun to throw together a family dinner with my grandparents, aunt, and uncle. I would also invite my friends so we could give them a backstage tour and preview to our upcoming show that we had named Fierce. For the dinner, I hired a chef to come over and cook a simple, yet elegant meal. She made a carrot soup, a beet salad, a pappardelle, crispy French duck breast with mashed potatoes and swiss chard, and a vanilla cake. My family arrived first, baring lavish gifts and wine.

My grandmother glided into the room.“Sara! Oh honey, it’s so good to see you! You look great! How are you?” She had this kind of fake and proper voice that made me want to barf sometimes. It was almost like a mixture of Queen Elizabeth and Kim Kardashian. We hugged, and she presented me with a mink jacket from Dolce and Gabbana. I was not much of a high-end fashion person, but I graciously accepted the gift.

“Thank you so much Grandma Muffin. It’s gorgeous.” I tried to hide my sarcasm.

After some light chatter about flowers and debutante balls, my friends came.

“Hey girl,” said Sam, Jenaveve, and Ebony.

I was so excited that I was going to have some people with real personalities at dinner. My grandparents did not engage my friends one bit. They simply said “Hello,” and stared at them the entire cocktail hour, with their faces hiding behind wine glasses as if they were better than my friends.

When we finally sat down for dinner, the chef brought out drinks first. My grandmother was really chugging down the martinis. My aunt made sure to ask for the most expensive bottle of wine we owned, and when my friends all asked for soda, my aunt looked at them like they had just flashed her.

“Don’t you want something fancier?” my aunt asked Sam.

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m good with a Sprite.”

My aunt would not take no for an answer though. She just kept pushing. “Well, if you don’t know the names, or you can’t pronounce them, I can help you.”

Sam’s face suddenly looked as though a dark cloud was blocking the usually sunny face. “I just wanted soda, ma’am.”

I wanted to stick up for her, but I just couldn’t. My family wields a lot of power in this city. They’re rich, and if they don’t get their way, bad things happen. When my dad was little, he got a B- on a final Spanish exam, so they sent him to the war-stricken Nicaragua where he was forced to take care of a large farm for sixteen hours a day. With the hot sun beating down on him, he got heat stroke and had to be hospitalized, but his parents still made him stay for another month. So if I say anything to my aunt about the blatant racism she displays, I might end up on some war base in Syria, fighting for my life.

As the soup came out, my grandmother ordered even more vodka and started totally interrogating Ebony. “So Ebony, you’re such an exotic girl! Does your name mean something exotic in your country?” My grandmother was speaking very loudly and slowly, as if Ebony was stupid or something.

“Hey Grandma, chill!” I was embarrassed and trying to keep her from going overboard.

“Actually, I’m from New York, and my parents are too. They just liked the name because it sounded pretty.”

I could tell that Ebony was really trying to have a positive attitude. My grandmother, on the other hand, seemed really disappointed. She reached across the table and touched Jenaveve’s hand.

“Excuse me, young lady, do your parents work at our granddaughter’s school?”

“Shut up, Grandma!” I whispered to her and then kicked her leg under the table.

Jenaveve, who was talking to my sister, looked at my grandmother. “My parents do not work at Emerson, but I do know some kids whose parents are teachers.”

My grandmother looked puzzled, so she kept prying. “So how did you get into Emerson?”

Jenaveve looked astonished that anyone would ask that question, but she kept her cool and answered thoughtfully. “I filled out an application and went to an interview like everyone else.” She smiled at my grandmother.

“But how? I mean, was there some connection or assistance that you got? I mean you must have gotten something special.”

Jenaveve looked utterly stunned and quite embarrassed.

“I mean, let’s just be honest.” My grandmother looked around for agreement. “It’s just not possible to have these colored people get into such a prestigious school like Emerson. All they know is violence in the ghetto. It was the same with your mother!” My grandmother pointed to me and my sister. “She acted all sweet, but what she really was, was a gold-digging piece of trash that your father picked up from the street. When he first brought her home, I knew that we could not have that nonsense in the family. So I told him to toss her out, but he would not listen. Soon, she gave birth to you, and he finally got some sense and tossed her out like the trash she was.”

“That’s enough, Grandma!” I said to Grandmother. There were tears streaming down my face.

“Why don’t we get the main course going!” my uncle said, as if he just wanted to forget this whole conversation.

“No!” I said. “I will not stand by and allow you to speak to me like this. Just because you’re rich and white does not mean you can treat everyone else like garbage. You have done nothing in your life but tell everyone else how they should live theirs. The only reason why you’re rich is because your dad made a lot of money in the Gilded Age. You judge people and you don’t even know them. Jenaveve’s parents are amazing civil rights attorneys who argued for gay marriage in the Supreme Court! That’s more than you have ever done. It doesn’t matter if a person is black or if you have more money than they do. What matters is what kind of person you are, and you are a horrible person! You are a racist, homophobic, xenophobic woman whose name is Muffin! Your name is legit Muffin! I am just disappointed in you and all of our family for behaving like this tonight.”

As soon as I had given that speech, I felt lighter. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had finally said what I needed to say to my family. Although I stood up to them, they did not apologize. They simply left. Altogether, they filed out of our penthouse, tight-lipped, not saying a single word. Then, my friends thanked me for the food and left as well.

My father sat in the armchair at the head of the table with a look of disbelief and shock on his face. He looked like he had seen a ghost. When I tried to speak, he simply raised his hand as if to shun me. “Don’t say a damn thing! Just keep your mouth shut, and give me a minute!”

So I stood there, staring at him for a while until he got up. With one swift move, he grabbed my poems from the table and threw them into the fire. I instinctively ran towards the fire, but he grabbed me and threw me on the floor.

“I have never hit a woman, but I might break that streak if you continue to test me! Go upstairs and go to bed now!”

I could not stop crying that night. I stayed up all night watching Grey’s Anatomy and trying to get over the horrors of last night. Fierce was in two days, and my poems were gone.  So I decided to sleep. I was so stressed, I just slept. I slept for two whole days. I was so emotionally drained, I couldn’t move.

When I finally came to, I realized it was the day for my performance. I threw on some random clothes and ran downstairs to grab an apple. I nearly knocked down my sister as I ran out the door. I hopped onto the bus and rode it up to Emerson. It was pretty hard to relax because I had to perform in front of hundreds of people. I started reciting my poems on the bus so that I couldn’t forget them. I honestly wanted to run for the hills, but I knew that I had to do this and that it would pay off in the end. My stomach was flipping up and down so much, that when I got off the bus, I threw up on the side of the street. Through the retching and heaving, I could hear the poems vibrating through my body. A voice inside my head told me that everything was going to be fine. So I took a swig of water, pulled my hair back, and confidently marched into the school. As I walked in, everyone went quiet and let me pass. I calmly walked into the theater and waited to be introduced.

Mr. Kravis introduced Fierce and we walked up onto the stage, slowly but surely. The tech crew had positioned three microphones in the middle of the stage, and we hesitantly walked towards them. We held each other’s hands and gave each other encouraging looks. As we stepped forward, blinding rays of light hit us, and we became the complete center of attention in the theater. When I got up to the microphone, all of my nerves seemed to melt away, and I started reciting.

“They call me white. They call me black. They call me mixed. But what am I? Am I not just a person that deserves recognition for being great? Am I not just a normal girl that deserves to be treated with respect? Am I not just a person that wants to be free from stereotypes and biases? So who am I?”

I finished so strong, that the entire crowd stood up and clapped. They whooped and hollered at me. I was so happy and proud of myself. As I scanned the room, I saw my father in the back. He was smiling and clapping for me. I couldn’t believe it. In that moment, I knew I was going to be okay. I knew that I was going to be able to work everything out with my family because we’re family, and family always comes around.           

“Ouch,” I said as I bumped my head on the corner of my nightstand.

The clock read 6:00 a.m., and the sun was ever so slightly peeking out from the sky. I loved days like this when I woke up early and got to see the sunrise right out my bedroom window. It was summer, the best time of the year: no school, no rules, just my favorite thing in the world: softball.

[Pause.]

Hello world, my name is Autumn, and this is the story of something that happened in my life that changed it forever. I was just a normal teenager, living her life like a normal teenager would do, when all of a sudden, my life changed drastically. I don’t want to give too many spoilers, but let me just say that I never ever would have seen this coming. I live in Los Angeles with my mom, dad, and brother. And this tragedy happened a week after my sixteenth birthday.

[And back to the story.]

Buzzzz, buzzzz, my phone rang. It was my dad.

“Hello… Bailey?”

“Uhm, this is Autumn.”

“Hi Autumn, this is Brad. Can I please speak to your mother?”

“Yeah, is there something wrong… Where’s my dad?”

“Can you please put your mother on the phone?”

His voice sounded angry, but delicate at the same time. Like he just found out a shocking secret that he wasn’t suppose to know. Brad, my dad’s best friend slash colleague. Why would he call me on my dad’s phone asking for my mom? I sat, thinking about what could have possibly happened. They were both supposed to be gone the whole week on a business trip, but Brad would never call me just to ask to talk to my mom. I handed the phone to my mom, and as soon as she heard Brad and the light tone in his voice, she told me to go away.

I walked back to my room, stressed, scared, worried. I tried not to worry about it that much, but the thought in my head kept coming back. I got ready to go hang out at the mall with my best friend because I realized that I couldn’t wrap my head around this all day. Her name was Violet, and we’d been friends since kindergarten… Eleven years, holy cow. She was my other half and always had been. We did everything together, literally everything. Except, well, she got her license before me. Uhhh… I kind of failed my first test, so I was praying I’d be able to pass the next week.

By the time I was out my bedroom door, my mom was off the phone. I was so curious to know what the phone call was all about, but I was certain it’s none of my business. My brother, Noah, finally woke up and something about him seemed off too, but was he ever not off? I didn’t know what was going on with everybody that day but as of that moment, I really didn’t care anymore. I was out the door, ready to forget my horrible morning.

“Hey,” said Violet.

“Hey,” I said in a grouchy way.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing much… It’s no big deal.”

“Come on, It’s no big deal. You only say that when it is a big deal. ”

“Okay… my dad’s best friend called me this morning, and he seemed off. He called just to ask me to put my mother on the phone. It sounded like something serious happened.”

“I think I might know what that’s about. Last night, your mom called my mom. I overheard them talking, and when my mom hung up, she told me that your dad was in a deadly car accident and sent to hospital. I was going to call you, but my mom said that you didn’t know yet, and she told me not to tell you. I’m so sorry, Autumn.”

At first, I couldn’t believe what she had just told me, but I knew that she would never lie to me. Although, something about it didn’t add up in my head. Why wouldn’t my mom or brother tell me something this big? I felt hurt that my mom would tell her “best friend” before she would tell me, but I was even more scared of finding out the truth.

I hopped out of the car and stormed into my house. I slammed the door behind me as hard as I could to make sure my mom and brother heard me coming in.

“MOM!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

No answer. I started running around the house looking for her.

“MOOOOM!” I shouted again.

“Dude, stop yelling,” said my brother. “She’s upstairs.”

I ran upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. She wasn’t in her bed nor in her closet getting dressed. The last noticeable place I looked was the bathroom. I crept in, thinking she would be there and, to my favor, she was. There she was, sitting on the bathroom floor. Her eyes looked watery and red, and she had the most depressed look on her face. I sat down next to her.

“I want to know why Brad called this morning asking for you on dad’s phone,” I blurted out.

“Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, but I didn’t know how.” She started sobbing.

She took a deep breath and continued.

“Last night your dad was in a really bad car accident. They took him to the hospital with broken bones and blood all over his body. They did everything they could to save him, but…”

Her body began trembling and her voice started trailing off. Tears rolled down her face, and I could now see that this rumor was true. I couldn’t believe it. My dad was dead.

I thought about this for a moment and wondered how this could even be true. I just talked to my dad yesterday morning and he seemed fine, but now all of a sudden he was dead. I didn’t really know what to do, how to act, what to say. And then it hit me, and it hit me hard. Tears rushed down my face faster than I had ever known they could. I just kept crying and I couldn’t stop. At that moment I had just realized that I would never be able to see the best man I knew talk or walk or dance ever again. Memories of us going to baseball games together and riding our bikes around town flashed through my head. I remembered when I was little, my dad would always go on bike rides in the morning, and one day I said I wanted to go with him and so he taught me how to ride a bike. And I remember trying out for a competitive softball team and I was so nervous and he told me I could do it and in the end I actually made the team. My dad was basically my best friend. Besides Violet, he was the only other person who always listened to what I had to say and always had my back. He never kept any secrets from me like my mom always does, and he took care of me like a dad should. I never got the chance to even tell him that and now I really hated myself for not doing so.

***

Doors opened and closed, and I could smell the scent of hand sanitizer all around. There were loud sirens in the parking lot and a quiet waiting room filled with frantic people. I did not like that; heck, I didn’t even want to be there. The only reason I even came was to officially say goodbye to my dad before we buried him. There was no point in even trying to talk to him when I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was gone, and he was gone forever.

“The Spencer Family?”

We all stood up and followed her. I hesitated because I was not sure if I was ready to witness what would come. But I guessed I was as ready as I could’ve ever been. We walked down a long, narrow hall. It was very quiet and there weren’t many nurses around. I guessed that was where they put people who didn’t make it, for their family. We stopped at the end of the hall and the nurse turned the knob to a white door. My mom and brother rushed in, but I decided to wait outside for a moment. I took a deep breath in then out, and I followed behind, closing the door after me.

I saw Brad sleeping in the corner, waiting for us to arrive. I turned my head slightly to the right and there he was, laying there as if he was sleeping. My mom and brother huddled around him crying their eyes out. I slowing got closer and closer until I could see his face: his emotionless, pale face. I started breathing faster and faster, heart racing. I could feel water build up in my eyes. I took one more step closer and held up my dad’s hand. I tangled his fingers with mine so that I was holding on and couldn’t let go.

“Autumn,” Brad said.

I turned around and he pulled out something. He handed me a bracelet, one that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was my dad’s; he only ever wore it when he was away from home. It said, “You will never be alone, never.” At that moment I started balling my eyes out but only because I knew that I would be alright.

The king stood atop the crest of the hill. The king, Sentryil, was tired of the matter at hand. Goblins were, more frequently than ever, raiding the old kingdom. His kingdom. He was 578 years old and had been on the old kingdom’s throne for many years. The goblins meant to take it from him, and he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

A dozen spellcasters stood on the ridge next to him. In front of them, 120 elven soldiers were arrayed for battle: 70 infantry, 40 cavalry, and ten archers. Sentryil was worried that they had too few archers, but his second-in-command, Natrelig, had assured him it was enough. Natrelig, who had been organising the troops, ascended the hill and addressed the king.

“Your majesty, the troops are positioned as ordered. Are there any other things we need?”

Sentryil responded, “I still think we need more archers. Archers are the key to an elven victory. Just five more will do.”

“We have enough,” his second-in-command assured him.

“I hope you’re right” replied the king.

Sentryil entered his leaf-green tent. He needed to do one thing before the battle began. He sat at his table and placed his scrying bowl in front of him. He knew it took a lot of effort to see into the future, but he needed to see this.

He spoke to the pure spring water. “Show me my son after the battle.”

The water swirled around and then solidified itself into an image. A young elf was dressed in an inky black robe. His head was lowered as if praying. Satisfied, Sentryil dispelled the image and walked over to his bed. He picked up his sword off the blanket and clipped it to his worg leather belt. He draped a shirt of silver chain over him. Lastly, he put his sheathed hunting knife onto his belt. Then, he walked out of his tent, ready for battle.

The king stood on the ridge once more, looking at the approaching goblin host. His dozen spellcasters were arrayed in a spearhead formation, with him at the tip. Sentryil drew his sword, which had a crescent moon imbedded in it below the tip, almost like a trident.

He pointed it at the goblins and cried, “CHARGE!”

The king’s sword stabbed a goblin through the ribs, staining his sword in black blood. The elven army plowed through the fray, cutting down many of the 250 goblins. The ten archers fired three rounds of deadly shafts into the goblin army. Sentryil hacked and slashed with his crescented sword, but then a goblin bruiser with a mace leapt in front of him.

The goblin wore leather armor the color of beige. He hefted his mace and swung, screaming, “Blood!” Sentryil parried and blocked, and then with one swift, graceful movement, he lopped off the goblin’s hand. The goblin screamed and wailed in pain, and Sentryil thrust his sword through his heart.

The king picked up the mace in his left hand, and caved in a goblin’s skull while stabbing another one with his sword. Around him, his spellcasters lay waste to the goblin ranks with magic blasts of ice, fire, energy, and lightning. One threw a stone inscribed with the symbol beneath a large goblin, and said goblin spontaneously combusted. One of the twelve spellcasters had already fallen to a goblin scimitar, and the rest were plowing through the goblins, but some were being separated from the group. Suddenly, an arrow flew into of the fray and struck the king on the left forearm.

The king uttered a short “OW!” but he staggered onward through the battle. Soon, the goblin commander was visible. He was a 5’8” goblin wearing a muddy, chainmail hauberk, and he carried a serrated shortsword. He also carried a longspear that glistened with a strange light. Sentryil gasped as he recognised the lance. It had come from the fallen city of Gondolin and had many magical abilities, the least of which was that it turned red-hot when it came into contact with goblin blood.

The royal magician’s guard had been largely separated from the king, but three of them still remained by his side. The goblin commander thrust the spear into one of the magicians, leaving him mortally wounded upon the bloodied ground. Then, he and another two goblins slashed at the king. Sentryil stabbed one of them dead, but the other two struck him. The half-elf screamed, but his mind was thinking something else: I really should have worn a shield. Blood trailed from his left forearm and ribs, where the goblins had struck him. Around them, the magicians held off the goblins, but were unable to reach their king.

The lead goblin laughed, “You are weak, and a sorry excuse for a king. I will enjoy purging this kingdom of you.”

Then, without warning, Sentryil struck. He swung his sword, but his wounds made him miss the lead goblin. His sword shattered the lead goblin’s sword, and the momentum carried it through the other goblin’s skull. The lead goblin took advantage of the opening in the king’s defenses and thrust the spear into the king’s heart.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” screamed Sentryil’s son Erevant.

Erevant had picked his weapons up from the armory and was heading to the battle. With him, he had thirty reinforcements: fifteen infantry and fifteen archers. He could see little through the tangled fray, elven cavalry leaping over goblins, archers shooting shafts into the fray, and he rushed to his father as he battled the goblin commander. And he saw his father fall. The king’s crescented sword and flanged mace struck the bloodied ground. As the goblins saw the king fall, they swarmed over his corpse, eager to loot him of his valuables. Erevant rushed the goblins, slashing them off his father’s corpse, and looked at his father’s fallen form. The king’s mail was rent over his heart and on the right side of his ribs. His mace and hunting knife had already been carried off by goblin looters, but his crescented sword was still clutched in his limp grasp.

Erevant picked up his father’s sword and addressed two of his men: “Take the king back to the castle and prepare him for burial.” As they carried of his father’s body, he shouted to the elves, “To me, spellcasters! Soldiers, charge! Avenge our king!” And with that, 110 elven warriors charged as one through the goblin enemies.

The battle was turned with Prince Erevant’s arrival. Twenty minutes later, less than thirty goblins still remained. The spellcasters had expended all their energy protecting the king from the goblin hordes, so they were of little more use in the battle. The goblins were fleeing from the elves’ wrath, but their leader wasn’t.

“Get back here, ya lily-livered, yellow-bellied cowards! We kill elves, not run from them!” he shouted at them.

Suddenly, a voice behind him said, “Well, you’re the one getting killed today.”

The goblin commander turned around to see Erevant standing atop a pile of goblin corpses. Erevant gazed coldly at the goblin who had murdered his father and leapt at him. They exchanged a few blows, stabbing, slashing, parrying, and twirling their weapons. Then, Erevant kicked the goblin in the stomach, knocking him off balance. With that, Erevant brought the crescent of his sword down on the goblin’s hand that held the spear.

There was a sharp KRAK! as the goblin’s hand broke.

“Ghahh!” he screamed as he cradled his shattered wrist.

Erevant picked up the goblin’s spear. He plunged the spear into the goblin’s chest as his father’s sword decapitated the goblin. The goblin’s headless body slumped on the spear, while the head rolled on the bloodstained ground. Erevant pulled the spear from the corpse and walked back to the castle. With his father dead, Everant was now the king of the old kingdom. He had a lot of work to do.

Erevant walked toward the birchbark burial site. All of those who fell in the battle, save for the goblins, were to be buried there. Elf after elf was lowered into the ground in caskets made of assorted wood: oak, alder, elm, but mostly yew, the wood of life and death. Finally, they reached the final elf to be buried that day: King Sentryil.

Erevant had dressed in an inky black, silk robe for the funeral. The king’s hair was bound in a silver circlet, and his sword lay across his chest. Coins, runestones, and jewelry lay beside him. Erevant bowed his head before his father’s grave. He knelt before the coffin and laid a medallion of a crescent moon on his father’s chest. The top was laid over the birch coffin, and was thus lowered into the grave.

With that, the priest recited the final verse of the funeral: “And as we all rise from the earth, we now commend the dead to the earth.”

Erevant began to walk back to the castle, and he looked up to the sky. He wondered, Where is my father now?

King Sentryil sat up with a start. Where was he? It was really bright. What had happened? He remembered the goblin’s spear, the instant of pain, and then everything went dark. He remembered a light in the darkness, and the brief image of the beautiful, moonlit forest. Then, he heard a voice speak to him through the blinding light.

“WELCOME.”

Two figures emerged before him — 9’ tall elves wearing robes of divine craftsmanship. Sentryil immediately recognised them and knelt.

“Corellon Larethian, Frond. I am honored,” spoke Sentryil.

Corellon Larethian was the god of the elves, and Frond had been the first elven king. The legend was that Frond had been raised to godhood by the elf pantheon. The spirits of the fallen kings and heros had been inducted into Frond’s halls if they were deemed worthy.

“It is rare for a hero or king to die in battle in the last life. I welcome you to my halls. You will be able to see into the mortal world, so your son will always have a guiding light,” responded Frond. “You will also fight alongside the gods and heros of this realm. We shall combat the gods of evil and monsters in glorious battle. This life is better than the last.”

“Well then,” replied Sentryil. “Let’s get started.”

THE END  

Chapter One

A fleet of ships slid to a stop along the Ivory Coast. Viking warriors popped out of every hole and poured over the side in canoes that they used to row to the shore. They poured out of the boats and onto the shore and slaughtered the natives that ran toward their ever-twirling spears. “Það er það, menn, að búa til slóð og við munum mylja þessar sorglegt fíflum!”

The Viking army swarmed forward, like so many ants converging on a piece of bread. The grass-skirted natives ran before them, and the giant crossbows on the ships roared out in cacophony.

The war chief of the Igbo-Maszlek people sat in his treehouse. He enjoyed a cup of tea while observing the carnage below. He had known that this invasion would come for months, ever since his canoe scouts in the great seaworthy canoes had reported that superior ships were approaching the barrier islands, the last outpost of his people, before heading to the mainland. His outpost and cities in the barrier islands had been destroyed, and now the Vikings were coming to systematically mow down the Igbo-Maszlek capital. They would destroy all the buildings and kill every last man except for the war chief and the central chief.

A servant came by with a narcotic pipe, and the war chief prepared to take the herbs to see a vision from the Holy One. He descended to the stone temple, the only such stone building in a 1000-mile radius, and waved aside his acolytes at the door. He sat in the center of the heavily carpeted room, and the door was sealed. Narcotic smoke now filled the room, and soon he would see visions induced by the herbs of gods and kings of yore. With a deep breath, he set the incense and descended into the world of mind-altering. He met the bird-headed god Narasho, and Narasho told him to draw his people back. The Viking invaders were equipped with far more advanced Iron Age weapons, whilst his people were still stuck in the Bronze Age, and most of their weapons were made of wood. His people might be exterminated completely today, but they would rise again, be it in a year or a thousand.

He withdrew his people and had them surrender. Only his elite guards, armed with bronze swords, remained fighting. The Vikings’ least trained soldiers mowed down the Igbo-Maszlek elites with ease. Soon, only the war chief remained, and he alone had an iron sword. He fought off the Viking soldiers with ease and settled in for a long fight. It was only when the captain of the invasion force arrived that the Igbo-Maszlek war chief fell. All of his people were completely wiped out and thrown in the river.

The Vikings surged forward, crossing Africa in less than a year. The empire was rapidly expanding, and there was no hope for the European world. England was preparing to fall.

Growing Pains

I see her standing there, waiting outside my window. I know I shouldn’t go running to her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in real life — as opposed to through a series of angry text messages — in weeks.

I look at myself in the mirror. My face, just beginning to age, stares back at me. Is that a gray hair? I sigh and release the strand of hair. When did I get so old? College is already a distant memory, and I’m just living day to day. My job is boring, even though it keeps me steady. I wish I could live without it, but there’s nowhere to go. I thought I would have an important job, making change in the world. Instead, I work a dull, entry-level job. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be mature when all I want to do is run and hide?

I don’t know what I want from Tara now. I don’t know what she could possibly give me, after betraying me like that. After not telling me — her girlfriend of almost a year — that she was married. Was it my fault? I feel like I should’ve been able to guess, but it was her who made the choice to cheat.

How can I face the pain I accidentally caused Joy?

I start heading for the stairs to talk to Tara. Three weeks ago, she would’ve come in herself with her key. Instead, she lied. Now, I’m opening my door, and there she is. I have to stand my ground with this conversation. If she cheated on Joy, then she’ll cheat on me.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell her.

Tara stands in front of me, her long hair waving back and forth like a willow tree. She’s Caucasian, while I’m Japanese. Her body is slender. Her neck is skinny too, in comparison to my fat body. I don’t say it negatively, just as an aspect of my body. Either way, I can’t help envying her, despite my outwardly body positive attitude. She always seemed too perfect. And now I know she’s not, because a perfect person would have never hurt me that way.

“It wasn’t even me. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known because you lied to me,” I say.

She blinks, almost surprised by my brutality. How could I be anything but angry, with what she did to me and Joy? She’s beautiful, at least by standards of society. Of course her flawless exterior that made me so jealous every time I looked at her, would hide a rotten inner core.

“I hate thinking about that day,” I say. That day, of course, being Christmas Eve, when I found out that the beautiful girl I’d fallen for and was dating, was married. I’d gone to her place with a surprise gift, even though she’d told me she was spending it by herself. She’d lied, of course.

“Me too,” she tries to offer up. Tara, playing her mind games, twisting a lock of perfect, hazelnut hair. Like she didn’t know perfectly well about Joy. About her wife. About that ring on her finger, hidden in a pocket every time we kissed. I’m so betrayed, but at the same time, I want to go running back to her. Nobody ever told me that adult life could be so complicated.

“It’s not the same for you!” I snap. “Tara, I loved you. I did. We could’ve been happy together. I still want you,” I confess. She looks so pathetic in the cold, winter air. She’s only wearing a hoodie, and she leans into herself. She stares at the ground, her eyes hollow. I think she’s been crying too.

“Then take me back! I never loved Joy, and now she’s filling for a divorce just because of one mistake.” She tries to reach out for me, but I pull back. I turn to the side. I can’t let her know I want to take her back so much. I try to keep my head up, but I just want to go to her. I want to comfort her. I almost step forward, but I turn it into a step backwards.

“You lied to me, Tara. I can’t accept that.” It’s the first time I’ve talked to her since it happened, and now we’re already getting into a public fight. “I don’t want to be the other woman in your divorce. You can’t come running to me now that you’ve ended things with your wife.” I have to stand my ground, I try to remind myself.

“We got married too early, I’m only twenty-seven. Kat, I’ll do better. I swear.” Now, she’s crying, and I feel bad, but I have to stand my ground.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her. “Please go.”

“I can’t leave you. Then, I’ll be alone. I don’t have anywhere to go — Joy kicked me out of our apartment.”

“You told me she was a roommate, not your wife. Which is why we always, always, always went to my place. Fuck you, Tara. Go back to your parents’ couch.” I am just trying to getting out all of the hurt and the betrayal of the last few weeks, but I never want to hurt Tara.

Because I never like hurting someone I love.

Shouldn’t she feel that too? Shouldn’t she understand how disgusted I feel with myself? Shouldn’t she understand that I feel like I’m the one who ruined their relationship, as opposed to Tara?

The way Joy looked at me, as if it were my fault that her marriage was fractured, hurt. A lot. I mean, I didn’t know. I would never, ever, want to do that to someone, wittingly. Not after my first girlfriend did the same to me.

Am I just terrible at attracting people? Do I want to have people who want to hurt me pretend to love me? Because that’s what it feels like. All I want is someone to love me and to keep me safe.

“I’m sorry.” I want to forgive her. But I know I can’t. “You made a choice,” I tell her and turn back. I slam the door behind me, trying to conceal the tears in my eyes. She tries to stop the door from closing, but I don’t let her. When I get into my apartment, I drop my keys on the bedside table and curl up to sob.

The End

Chapter One: Meditate

Once upon a time, in a world that is neither yours nor mine, there was a young boy who wanted to be a wizard. His name was Salocin, but he had no last name. He was an orphan, for he had no parents. He lived in the orphanage and was not happy there. He had no friends, nor did he have siblings. He was alone and unhappy.

One day, he became determined to escape. He made a plan to leave at midnight on the 20th night of autumn. He was to leave out the window by using his bedsheets. He tied all three of the thin, white sheets together at midnight and then tied them to his redwood bedpost. This is how he made his way out.

He made his way down the bedsheets and found that they were not long enough. He only had about six meters of sheets, and he was on the third floor. The building was quite tall, the third tallest one in the small village of Jaber (pronounced Jja-bahrr). It was at the edge of the forest, which was perfect for Salocin’s plan.

He risked it and jumped. He fell down, down into a brier patch. He got so hurt and covered with scratches, scrapes, stings, and bruises, that he was afraid to proceed into the dark, black, uncanny, and very large forest. For a while, he lay there, considering his options.

Finally, he chose to leave his spot and go into the pitch black woods. The trees were not bending in any helpful way, but this was no trouble for Salocin, for he was a very dextrous child.

He was going to see a wizard, an old master of the arts of magic. He knew of one wizard, and the wizard went by the name of Egraw. Egraw had learned his magic from Colen, who had learned from Hazrah himself, the father of wizardry. Salocin was sure Egraw was in the forest he was escaping into.  

He walked throughout the night and into the day. He had not slept for two days, and one night, he finally reached a tree with a door in the side. By this time, he was famished and unquenched. The tree was very large and very thick. The door was in the shape of a heptagon and was made out of the tree. It looked exceedingly hard to notice, and Salocin was very proud to notice it. The door was so small that only a gnome would have no trouble walking through it. The door had engravings on it that looked like Elven runes, but he had no idea what they said, for he did not speak Elven. And yet… He knocked on the door, expecting Egraw to answer. The door opened quite suddenly after about twenty five seconds of waiting.

A short, old man opened the door. He was short enough to be able to have no trouble getting through the door. Based on the sound, Salocin inferred that the door had not been oiled for many years. He couldn’t help but notice the old man had wings — like that of a bird. They were as white as a dove’s, but had the texture of a bald eagle’s. He was not bald, however. Instead, he had long, white hair that matched his wings in color, but not texture. He had a long, white beard that extended to his chest and down to where his wings started. His clothes looked like those of a commoner, not like the flowing, blue robes that Sealocin had anticipated.

“Who are you, young boy?” asked the man, “Tell me of your name and what you want at old Egraw’s house.”

Salocin did not hesitate to reply. “My name is Salocin, and I would like to learn magic from you! Are you really the great wizard, Egraw?”

“Great? Tell me, child, do they tell stories of me? Am I famous?”

Salocin was confused. He thought that Egraw knew of his fame! He raised an eyebrow. “You know not your fame? You discovered the cure to season fever!”

Egraw was stumped and did not know what to say. He thought of himself as a poor, old hermit who lived in the woods.

“And made the potion of kingship! And told Aria how to make the tree of life grow! And…”

If it was true that all of this had brought him fame, and this kid was like any other, then Egraw could be famous! No, he was famous!

“… decipher the Elven runes! Where did you get your wings?”

Egraw’s heart was palpitating! This is natural for someone who suddenly finds out he is famous. He gave no thought to the question that Salocin had asked him. He was thinking about signing autographs, kissing babies, speaking in public —

“Excuse me, sir, where did you get your wings?”

— And people would go crazy over him… and then it hit him. The young boy was asking him how he got his wings!

“I was born with wings!”

… and he would be more famous than the famous bards…

“Egraw? Will you teach me magic?”

Egraw pondered the situation. Finally, he consented. “Yes, I will teach you magic!” He said this with a smile that could shine brighter than a thousand suns.

Egraw welcomed Salocin into his house. A winding staircase twisted both down and up, and went quite low. This was not surprising because after all, the tree was very tall. Egraw led Salocin down the stairs. Egraw was quite extraordinarily fast for an old man. Finally, they got to a dark, quiet room after twisting stairways in the roots.

“This is where we meditate,” explained Egraw.

“Meditate?” whined Salocin.

“Yes,” Egraw said.

Egraw sat down in the center of the room. His wings disappeared as soon as Salocin sat down.

“You see the power of meditation. The wings were fake. I used an ancient technique to fool you.”

Salocin sat down next to Egraw and held his breath.

He knew that that was how to meditate.

“Do not hold your breath!” warned Egraw.

Salocin stopped holding his breath and asked how to meditate. He received no answer, so he relaxed and stared off into space while he waited for an answer. He lost track of time, for the room was dark. Egraw knew the time well, for he had something similar to perfect pitch, just with time. He knew that they had been there for a full twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds. That is when he left. Salocin did not notice. He only stopped when a bright white cat licked his hand with her foggy white and pink tongue. She was very small, about one foot long and not too chubby.

“What happened?” He questioned, for he was exhausted and famished. The answer he expected was from Egraw, but when he got his answer, he was surprised.

“You were staring off into space for twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds,” stated the cat smugly. It licked its furry paw and cleaned its head with it. It seemed not to care whether or not the boy was goggling at it. “I’m a girl, by the way. You can call me whatever you want, for I have no name. Actually, I see you are a good person. I will tell you my name. I go by Snowflake, Fluffy, Ghost, Cloud, but I prefer Pickles. And don’t call me ‘Hey, you!’ My name isn’t ‘Hey, you!’ Hey is for horses, not people. Or cats for that matter. And don’t call me ‘Cat.’ I belong to the wizard Egraw, and he takes care of me promptly. Oh, have I been rambling on for too long? Let me give you a chance to speak! What is your name, Salocin?”

Salocin was dumbfounded. A talking cat that knew his name! And quite verbose too! He decided to mock the cat.

“My name? Oh, well, first off, my name is not Salocin. Salocins are for horses, not cats! Or humans, for that matter.” Then, he realized that he had been very rude and felt horrible. “I’m sorry for making fun of you,” he apologized. “But I know you know my name.”

“Apology accepted! I wasn’t even hurt in the first place. In fact, you’re right. I should stop being so mystical and be more humble like Egraw.”

Salocin thought that the cat was not that smug after all, having realized her mistakes — a rare and extravagant talent.

“Snowflake, do you know where Egraw is?” asked Salocin.

Snowflake was not so sure. “Upstairs?”

Chapter Two: Illusion

They crept up the twisty, windy stairways. Egraw was making lunch. He was making a pot of beef stew. Salocin knew this because of the smell. He was so starved that he could have drunk that whole pot down. He asked for a large helping and got a very large helping. He gobbled it down in mere seconds and was still hungry. So he ate more and more and more, until he was stuffed. He had only had corn, rice, and other things with little taste at the orphanage.

“Egraw, will you teach me how to make it look like I have wings?” Salocin pleaded.

He got his answer. “I use a technique called wind shifting,” Egraw explained. “I create vibrations in the air that hit you in certain ways. You don’t feel the wind, but you see wings. For example, Cthulhu is behind me,”

This was very true. A towering beast was above them both.

“I can’t see a kah-thoo-loo,” complained Snowflake. “What even is a kah-thoo-loo?”

The wizard laughed his head off. “It only works on the people I want it to work on. And it only works on humans,”

Cthulhu vanished. The wizard took a bow. Salocin clapped loudly.

“It also does not work on people who are meditating,” said Egraw. “Now, it is time for bed.”

Salocin climbed into a bed that looked like the bed he had at the orphanage, save for this one had engravings on it. It looked as if his room was all hollowed out and the bed was part of the tree. It made Salocin respect the wizard’s talent more.

Chapter Three: Light

Salocin woke up the next morning. Light shone through the window. It tickled his neck and his face. Or was it Snowflake’s tongue that tickled his neck and face? It was warm in the tree, and the windows were not made of glass. In fact, there were no windows, just hollowed out holes in the side of the tree. There were engravings everywhere — and not just Elven runes. There were runes that were written in the tongue of man. He started reading them until he noticed a very small, peculiar hole in the wall, which let through a narrow beam of sunlight that followed a path engraved into a tree. The beam of light was slowly, but noticeably, moving down the path and to a hole in the floor. Salocin wanted to get some more sleep, so he tried to fall back asleep.

He awoke once more to light shining in his eyes and found that all of the runes in the room were glowing with light. The small, narrow beam of light had reached the hole and had somehow lit up the whole room. He blocked the narrow beam of light with his hand, and the light crept out of the runes quickly. It looked like the light had been reflected from the tiny hole to all the runes on the wall and into his eyes to wake him up. The wizard was good at detailed work.

Salocin jumped down the stairs, skipping steps as he went. When he got down, he noticed that the whole building was covered with engravings. All of the engravings were glowing with yellow light.

The wizard was preparing breakfast and humming a happy tune. “Happy Light Day, at 9:47:38!” sang Egraw.

Salocin was puzzled. “Why is the light shining in the runes?”

Egraw thought he could teach something to Salocin. “I will tell you why we celebrate Light Day. Once upon a time, there was a spirit of light. His name was Shine. He lived in the sun. Every day, he would make the eight minute and twenty second journey back and forth to bring light to the people on earth. But people had no light during the night. Shine had a friend Bright, and they wanted to give the people of earth light during the night.

“One day, Bright said to Shine, ‘Let us bring the people of earth light during the night!’

“Shine agreed. So Shine became the moon, and Bright became fire. Every year, for one day, they follow the paths of light (if they find any) and grant the person who carved them one wish. I wish for a new hat!”

A bright red hat appeared on Egraw’s head. It had a blue pom-pom on top and shone with light for a few seconds. Salocin sat down and started to meditate to see if the hat was just an illusion. It was not an illusion. Salocin looked up. The glowing light in the “paths of light” were undoing themselves at a moderate pace. He raced up into his room and watched as the last of the light undid itself into the small hole in the ground in his room.

Chapter Four: Water

It was time for lunch. Salocin made his way downstairs for lunch, but the room was changed. The cauldron was in the middle of the room and was boiling by itself.

Salocin investigated. “What’s happening?”

“I am making a potion,” responded Egraw. He was stirring plain water over the fire.

Salocin only saw a pot of water. He meditated to see if this was another illusion — he was getting quite good at meditating. It simply stilled. It stopped boiling.

“Salocin, if you wanted to know anything, what would you want to know? The current location of the best hand-knitted sweater is what I first wanted to know,” proposed Egraw.

Salocin speculated his decision. Finally, all parts of his mind came to a decision. “Where are my parents, and all of my family members?”

“Salocin! You will get your answer! Your family is dead. Time for lunch!” Egraw was just cooking pasta.

“Will you teach me some magic? You said you were making a potion!” Salocin was very confused.

“I was pulling your leg! But I know your parents are dead, for I knew them myself,” confessed Egraw. “They were wonderful people, and they were my students. Not only were they studying magic, but they were blood mages. That means you were born with magic abilities, great magic potential, or have the blood of some sort of magic beast flowing through your veins,” he continued. “Your father’s name was Baelard Coffern, and your mother’s name was Ederna Ractect. They gave their lives to save you. When you were born, there was a prophesy. You were to grow up to kill your family and all people on the planet including yourself, if you were able to first kill your family. They gave their lives for you.” Egraw sniffled as he said this, and Salocin meditated to see if he was lying. “They drowned. In water. All for you.”

Salocin never knew his mother or father, but this raised a question in his mind. “What if I’m a blood mage too? Like, if my parents were blood mages, wouldn’t I be a blood mage too?”

Egraw thought, and spoke. “Yes, you are a blood mage with the blood of a phoenix and the blood of a dragon. And a unicorn. You are good with fire because of the phoenix blood. You will be good at flying because of the dragon blood (and the phoenix blood). You will also be good at seeing things, and you will be able to talk to animals and spirits when you are meditating (a gift from all three, mostly the unicorn and least the phoenix.)”

Salocin was still held by one question, for with each answer, more questions arose. “Are you a blood mage?”

Egraw could not say he was. “No, I am not. But Snowflake is.”

“I thought that Snowflake was a cat!”

“Well, she is not a human, but blood mages in animals have magic beast and wizard blood. She has both human blood and elf blood. She can read the Elven runes.”

“Can I learn Elven?”

Egraw thought that he was not to teach Salocin writing, but only magic. “Snowflake? Will you teach Salocin Elven?”

Snowflake had a crush on Salocin and would do anything for him. “Yes, master. But where should I start? Should I start with the basics? Maybe we could use the uncarved room! Or just use a blackboard. But the uncarved room would be where he could be tested. Yes, he would be tested in the uncarved room. Egraw, stop looking at me like that! Salocin would love to use it! Or maybe you want to use it for some kind of incantation, or spell, or add to the pathways of light! What’s for dinner, pasta? Ravioli? Do I smell a nice sauteed pumpkin filling and tomato sauce? What about the milk! I love milk. Can we have milk! Can we have milk? Good! Can we have more milk? I’ll go milk the cow! Yes! Milk! Milk tastes like nice, cool, or hot milk, depending on how you like it!”

Egraw had already prepared a bowl of milk. “Today, you may have a bowl of milk. Tomorrow, you will begin lessons on Elven. You know quite well that milk is like poison (at least the very mild kind) to cats.”

Chapter Five: Spirits I

“Salocin, what did I tell you about spirits?” Egraw stood over Salocin and smiled brightly.

“If you are nice to the spirits, they will be nice to you,” replied Salocin.

“Good. You may now begin,” offered Egraw.

Salocin meditated in the uncarved room. Nothing happened.

“Oh, I almost forgot the most important part! Carving!” Egraw had done this because he thought it would be fun to let Salocin carve the room.

They started carving. They carved patterns and more patterns, and then, Egraw told Salocin to do the trickiest part. The well of light. He carved a hole in the wall and let the light shine through. Salocin sat in meditation formation. Then, he used a special tool to carve little nooks and niches where the light fell that would make the whole room only light up if he was sitting down. And the room was filled with light when he sat down, and the wizard stepped out. The light started to move around in the small hole, and the patterns of light changed. It stopped, and Salocin started to glow. I will tell you how this worked. The light reflected in the certain patterns until finally it reached Salocin.  It reflected off of him and into the onlookers eyes. The light in the hole moved because the sun was moving in the sky, and the angle at which the light was entering in the hole was changing. This environment was needed for entering the realm of spirits.

It took them about one season to finish the carvings. As you may expect, some things happened in this time. Salocin turned thirteen, and they made sure they completed the ceremony of passing. Snowflake became bigger, now about one half more than her original size. A few other holidays also happened, such as the Fire Festival.

When Salocin finished the carvings, it was time to enter the realm of spirits. He sat down in position. He started to glow. The carvings that were dyed blue had water in them. The black ones had earth in them. Torches lined the walls in small capsules were meant for only letting out small strings of light. And there were lots of holes everywhere to stop the fire from going out. And Salocin sat there meditating, waiting, and remaining patient. In the night, his glow ceased because there was no light from outside, but he maintained meditating. Finally, he opened his eyes. He was no longer in the room he elaborately carved.

Chapter Six: Spirits II

Salocin looked around. He was alone in a green field, rivers running everywhere. It was a clearing in a forest. The sky was blue, and all was peaceful. Then, suddenly, clouds — dark, scary clouds — were coming in from all sides, and a head with five faces appeared in the center. It laughed and laughed and inflicted fear into Salocin’s heart. Then, strong hands picked Salocin up. Salocin fell unconscious

“Hello? Wake up!”

A boy was standing over Salocin with a perplexed look on his face. Salocin knew he was meditating, so illusions would not work on him. But this time, the boy standing over him had wings.

Salocin was curious. “Where am I? Am I in the spirit realm?”

The boy answered eagerly, “Yeah! My name’s Denartolasesgartoyeten!erlreoscoendfaresconder’dkefdert!ieskerdam, but you can call me Denarto for short.”

“Are you a spirit?” Salocin asked.

“Yes, I am a spirit. I saved you from Gretyongertoothesyenten!ertoteryunaweyerdfebezexerty’termeyhemhertyservecesrdyetheyemo, who is an evil cloud spirit. He wanted to kill you. Do you come from the true world? Are you a spirit?”

“I come from the true world, if that’s what you call it, and I am a wizard in training,” replied Salocin to all of the questions that Denarto asked him. “How old are you?”

“I’m 358 years old! I know, I’m very young.”

“I’m only thirteen. How is 358 years old, young?” Then, Salocin remembered that Egraw had told him that spirits are very old. And they live forever unless a good enough wizard teams up with a good enough spirit and they give up parts of their souls. Yeah, it’s very hard.

“Wow! You’re young! Can I come back with you? I’ve always wanted to see the true world!” pleaded Dentarto.

“That’s a thing? You can leave the spirit realm?”

“Probably in the same way you came here. Maybe I should meditate.” Denarto sat down on the grass and meditated without waiting for Salocin’s opinion. He blinked out of existence.

Salocin followed and meditated. It took him a little while longer than Dentarto, but he reached the place where he was meditating. He looked around. Dentarto was standing up straight, but the light was shining through him. Dentarto was not affecting the system.

“Egraw? Egraw! Come look at this!”

Chapter Seven: Wood

Salocin was practicing his meditation when he was rudely disturbed by a chopping noise. Salocin wandered downstairs. Egraw was carving wood.

“Egraw? Do you hear a chopping noise?” asked Salocin.

The chopping noise got louder. Salocin hopped out the door. He perceived a large pile of wood and several tired woodsman chopping down the forest. They all looked stronger than Salocin.

Salocin looked and found that there were stumps in all directions.

Denarto was nowhere to be found. Salocin called his name. He received no answer.

Salocin decided to talk to the men. He went outside. “What are you doing?” He asked them.

“We are cutting down trees for the king,” they answered.

Salocin told Egraw of the choppers.

“This is not good. Salocin, do you love this house?” Egraw asked.

“Yes, it is the only house I love,” replied Salocin.

“Then, I am sorry. We must leave. They will soon cut it down. Follow me.”

Salocin followed Egraw down a pathway into the roots he had never seen before. He thought that he knew every pathway in the tree. Snowflake was trotting at his side. It led to a door. The door was glowing with light, but Salocin meditated and knew it was a pathway of light effect. Egraw tapped the door with his finger in the center. It opened, and behind it, lay a small cave. On the other side of the cave was another door. Egraw entered it and climbed up a spiral stairway.

“This is as new to me as it’s new to you, Salocin,” pitched Snowflake.

Egraw beckoned for them to follow. “Salocin, listen to the dragon inside of you. It will tell you what you need to know that I can no longer teach you. Snowflake will be your humble guide. The phoenix within you will tell you about your parents. The unicorn in you will aid you with your magic. Take care, and you will learn.”

This was the last that Salocin saw of Egraw, at least for now. This is when Egraw started to glow. Salocin was forced to blink at the light, and when he stopped blinking, Egraw had vanished. Snowflake licked his hand and rubbed her head hard on Salocin’s thin leg. Salocin’s bright blue eyes filled with silver tears that ran down his pale face. It was a sad moment.

Salocin and Snowflake continued up the spiral stairway and reached the top. It led to a another door. Snowflake pressed her head against the door and forced it open. Salocin followed. “It was not the house I loved,” Salocin murmured to himself, “but Egraw himself.” That is when Salocin collapsed.

Life is like a movie based on a book: horrible.

My name is Erik. I’m 4279 days and 11 hours and 23 minutes old (at least in World of Warcraft), and 7201 days, six hours, and 54 minutes old otherwise, a purebred 90’s kid who was only in the 90’s for four years, but it still somewhat counts. I live in the deep, dark lair of my parents’ basement, trapped until I find a job.

Unfortunately, my job search has been hopeless since apparently, college degrees and less hostility are required for most of them. They always tell you, “Oh, we won’t hire anyone who yells at our customers for buying Star Wars Episode I on DVD,” or something along those lines, even though it’s only second nature to me. Some people just don’t understand that everybody’s special, and that I deserve to be hired for that. Unlike those corporate stooges who decide to ruin childhoods by rebooting old franchises, trying to make them hip and edgy for those who are, well, how do I put this lightly… unfortunate enough to have been born in the 2000’s and later.

After a while of things like this and trying out three different jobs about a year ago,  I decided that a basement wasn’t so bad, and I’d rather like to be trapped there. Anything I needed, my mother would get for me. That is, until a few weeks ago.

***

My family was what I’d consider perfect. My mom let me do what I wanted. I didn’t have a dad, and yet, I never needed one. Mom always told me he left after a big fight before I was born. So I was always very close to my mother. She’d buy things for me, drive me everywhere, and get me anything I ever needed.

Unfortunately, she’d been acting strange lately. She started forgetting my name; she lost her car keys, and they ended up in the freezer; she got lost a block away from me… so I decided to venture into the outside and find out what was happening with her. We went to the doctor, and after a depressing 40 minutes, the doctor came to me with a depressing look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “But your mother has Alzheimer’s.”

I was just speechless. I’d seen a lot of TV where people would get down on their knees and scream, “Noooooooo!!!” when something as tragic as this happened, but I didn’t feel like that was the appropriate response. I just turned away and sat back down in the waiting area to think. The doctor told me what to do and how to take care of her, but I didn’t listen. I was just thinking about all the things she’d done for me, and how she loved me, and now it was all gone.

She’ll probably forget about me eventually, and I’ll have to take care of her.

I finally snapped out of it when the doctor asked me, “Do you have a job?”

“No, I don’t,” I replied.

The doctor had a somewhat surprised look, but he tried to hide it from me. Most people are surprised when they find out my mother has been working to support both herself and me into her late 60’s even though I’m an adult. I’ve become used to it, though I don’t really care what they think anyway. They don’t live my life!

“I recommend you find a job soon, then,” the doctor remarked. “I don’t think your mother can work in her condition anymore. After all, somebody needs to pay the bills.”

Paying the bills — that frightened me. It seemed so complicated, so many deductions and adding things and expenses. I had no idea what to do. I’d already tried and failed at being a clerk, I got through a month of law school before I dropped out, and apparently, being extremely opinionated doesn’t make you a registered critic. I could never find a job, let alone pay bills. I was stumped on that. Eventually, Mom finally came out of the doctor’s office, and we walked home slowly while I thought about my options. What could I do for her?

The doctor gave me a prescription and told me to get her meds from a pharmacy once a week. I had no idea where a pharmacy was, so I decided first on my list was to get her to a pharmacy. I used my phone to look for some nearby, but all of them had four and a half out of five stars or less. I knew from experience that anything in media under five stars was horrible trash, so, using my best judgement, I found a five-star one, ten towns over in Springfield. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to drive.

“Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Can I borrow your car keys?”

“Who are you, and why do you want them?”  she replied with fear in her eyes.

What could I tell her? She forgot all about me. She was scared of me. I’d never felt like this before; my own mother had forgotten me. Maybe she’d forgotten my name before, but never my entire existence!

I tried to explain to her, “I’m your son!”

But she kept saying she didn’t have a son. Every time, she wouldn’t even let me finish saying anything. She just kept accusing me of being a criminal and a liar. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I slapped her.

At that moment, it was like everything went silent. Every human, animal, and even inanimate object felt like it was watching us in shock and fear. That man just slapped an old lady! Probably his own mother! What a monster! I didn’t even know what I was doing, but all the rage and anger I had been building up since finding out that my mother had Alzheimer’s, and now I had to pay bills and take responsibility for once in my life, and work, and be an adult… It all just came out horribly, and I released it on my own mother. My only family.

“I – I’m sorry, Mom.”

She just looked at me, innocently.

“I remember you now, Erik,” She said. “But you’re not my son.” She sighed.

She walked away. I didn’t know what to say to her or what to do. Should I walk with her? Should I go away for a while? I didn’t know. But I did know I needed to take care of her.

I went to the bus stop and waited for the bus to Springfield to arrive. Maybe she’d forget about this. I mean, if she forgot about me, she could definitely forget about the incident. I could even surprise her with her meds when I got home. The bus finally came, and I got on. After two hours, I was finally in Springfield. I asked around for directions and eventually, after an hour of searching (though 45 minutes of that was eating dinner in a cheap restaurant), I finally found it. I went in and was astonished to see that so many items not related to medicine were in a medicine store!

“I have to come here more often,” I said to myself.

But with Mother on the mind, I tried to ignore the figures of Star Wars characters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle plushies to get to the medicine area.

“Hey, I  need Alzheimer’s meds. Here’s a prescription. I need them now, please!” I told the pharmacist.

“I’m sorry,” the Pharmacist replied. “But you need to put in an order first, sir.”

I started to get angry. “What?!” I said, gritting my teeth. “I spent three hours trying to get here and find your stupid freaking pharmacy, and I can’t even get meds?!”

The pharmacist just looked at me in shock. “Please leave, or I’m calling the cops,” she ordered.

I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I left after that.

***

After delays on the bus ride, I got back at midnight, expecting to see Mom. I needed to apologize to her, but when I got there, she was gone. I looked all around the house for her, but she wasn’t there. Just emptiness. I ran outside only to see her at the end of the road by our house, sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean. I walked over to her. She was staring vacantly into the sky.

“Are you lost, Mom?” I asked.

“No, I just needed to come here and think, sir.” It was horrible! Hearing my only parent, one who had taken care of me for my entire life, refer to me as sir! Like she didn’t know me!

“Listen, Mom, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I was under shock, and I overreacted and hit you. I’ve never had to take care of anyone before, and now, out of the blue, I have to suddenly get a job and become an adult. But I promise I will take good care of you and learn how to support you. I’ll build a resumé, I’ll try every job I can think of, and I’ll make you proud, Mom!” I proudly stated. “But first, can I ask for your forgiveness for all these years of having to take care of me?”

She stared into the ocean, the waves slowly rolling in and out while she thought. I was praying she’d forget the slap, that we could start all over again fresh, that we could have that happy ending.

Then, she spoke. “Of course I forgive you, you’re my son! But why do you want forgiveness? You never did anything.”

I was shocked. I thought it would be great to not deal with that, but I realized that a part of her was gone; part of her life was completely gone! I started to cry. I hugged her lightly, and we stared out into the sky, awaiting the dawn of a new day.

It was a beautiful place, the bookstore.

Some might even call it phenomenal. Inspiring. Life-changing. Hannah wasn’t sure what she expected the first time she saw it. It seemed out of place in the dark alley with just one other shop, an old newsstand that only sold moldy chips and cheap soda. The sun seemed to shine only on the bookstore, lighting up the street with an otherworldly light. Outside the bookshop, a pot of hot chocolate stood bearing the sign “Free. Take Some.” with a pile of paper cups at its side. Books stacked in orderly piles: everything from pocket sized editions of The Odyssey to the latest comics for six and seven-year-olds.

Hannah poured herself a cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. Frothy deliciousness met her tastebuds, an explosion of flavor that made her smile in delight. Hannah walked into the bookshop, still smiling, and breathed in the musty, comforting smell of old and new books. Time seemed to be irrelevant here. Tattered, leather-bound books dating back centuries stood next to the latest novels, crisp and pristine. She headed to the back of the shop where a pile of plush pillows and napping cats lay, and colored light flooded through the stained glass window. Hannah took a few volumes off the shelves and snuggled up with her books and hot chocolate. She felt that everything she loved was in in her hands: adventure, happiness, friends, mystery, animals, battles, daring missions, and magic, all in arm’s reach. Maybe, one day, she would be providing the adventure, happiness, battles, magic and friends for someone else. Maybe, one day, her books would stand on these shelves for a new generation. As she left the shop that day, newly purchased books in tow, she knew she would be back tens, hundreds, thousands of times. It was only a matter of time.

***

Thirty Years Later

The bell over the top of the door jingled softly, announcing the arrival of a shopper. Hannah had been working at the shop for over 20 years, but she didn’t think she would ever get over the shop’s understated beauty and the wonderful, woody smell of books and their history. A small girl entered the bookstore, startling Hannah and extracting her from her thoughts. The girl’s round, bright blue eyes twinkled merrily at the sight of so many books. A mound of brown curls surrounded her head and neck. She scanned the shelves.

“Do you have any books by Hannah McKinley?”

“Yes, dear. They’re over there on the third shelf to the left.” The girl’s face was etched with determination and excitement. Grinning, she pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through it, entranced. Then, she abruptly stopped. Her jaw dropped.

“No way!” she breathed. “You’re Hannah McKinley!” She looked from the photo of the author to the woman who had helped her find her book.

Hannah smiled. “That’s me.” The little girl looked at Hannah with so much wonder, awe, and bewilderment in her eyes, that Hannah felt her heart melt.

“I love your books. They’re just so… so real. They make me feel like I’m the luckiest person on earth, with the best gifts in the world: adventure, happiness, battles, magic, and friends.”

“I know exactly how that feels,” Hannah said.

“Lilly!!! We have to go now, sweetie!”

“I should go,” said the girl. “But I’ll be back.”

“I know you will,” said Hannah. “It’s only a matter of time.”

It was an average Saturday morning. The two brothers, Jamie and James, stared out of their window in the wealthy suburb of Pleasantville, Chicago. They could hear the birds chirping and flying gracefully from tree to tree. They could see their massive lawn and the sprinklers shooting water.

“Jamie,” the older brother at age twelve said, “come on, James, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast.”

Jamie looked old. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and he had a faint caterpillar esque mustache and a small nose. He was rather tall for his age, around 5 10” and very skinny.

James who was Jamie’s complaisant nine year-old brother, replied, “Okay Jamie.”

James was tall like Jamie, but he didn’t look or seem older. He had a very high pitched voice with chubby cheeks, and he was always around his mom. All of the kids at Chicago Academy Private School for Extremely Gifted and Talented Students would make fun of James and call him a “momma’s boy.”

Unlike James, who was often the butt of the jokes among his group of friends, Jamie was incredibly popular. Though he was just in seventh grade, he was invited to most high school parties. Everyone knew Jamie Jenkins at C.A.P.S.E.G.T.S.

The two brothers went downstairs to the kitchen. Both boys look very confused. It was 9:07 a.m. and usually their mom, Julia, was downstairs at 6:15 a.m. on weekdays and 8:00 a.m. on weekends making a suitable meal for the two hungry boys and their father Clyde.

Julia Jenkins was only thirty seven years-old. She had dirty-blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was about average sized. She looked much younger than her age. She was very beautiful. Julia was from a small town in Oklahoma. She never went to college and instead became a housewife when she was just twenty three years-old.

Clyde Jenkins was the son of a wealthy businessman from Chicago. Clyde was fifty seven years-old and he owned part of Coca-Cola as well as a part of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. He worked very hard for his family and was rarely home at night. When he was home he was usually sleeping. His own kids barely knew him.

The boys were slightly disappointed that there was no breakfast, but they were more worried, where was their mom? They ran back up the steps and into their parents room. Usually Clyde got annoyed whenever his kids went into his room, but this was a slight emergency. Jamie pulled the large brass handle and hesitantly opened the door. The boys looked in and saw their father and mother engaging in some strange activity — chess. Not once had either of them seen their parents up playing chess.

“Good morning boys,” Clyde said as he moved a pawn.

Each boy responded, “Hi, Dad.”

“Boys, I just purchased this new chess board from some antique store,” Clyde said in his Chicago businessman accent, “draw.” Clyde said.

Jamie and James looked down at the chess board and saw that sure enough, two kings were left sitting on the board. Suddenly, a bright light from the board shone around their parents.

“What’s happening?” screamed Julia.

Both of them flattened out and were sucked into the chessboard in a matter of seconds. The brothers could hear them screaming in the distance and then they were gone. Silence. At first the boys looked plain confused. They knew not of what had happened, why it had happened or how it had happened.

Then after about three minutes of silence, James said in a sad yet puzzled tone, “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“I have no darn clue.” James said.

“James, we’re going to find where this board was made, how it works, and how we get Mom and Dad back.” Jamie said.

James looked very frightened of the chessboard. He stood close to the door while Jamie moved the two kings off of the board and on to his parents bed along with the rest of the pieces. Then, Jamie picked up the board.

As he picked it up Jamie grunted. The board was unexpectedly heavy considering it wasn’t particularly big in size. It had a very nice finish on the sides where there were two handles carved that looked like dragons. On the top of the chessboard, where the actual game was played, Jamie could see that each square was made of a very fine marble — 32 black and 32 white squares. He turned the chessboard over to see the bottom and on the bottom there was a sticker that read, “Agnes’ Antiques.”

“Bingo,” Jamie said.

“What?” Replied James.

“I found the place that sold this thing to Dad. We should go there and ask the shopkeeper about this thing,” Jamie said in an impatient tone.

“I mean, are you sure? We’re just two kids…alone,” James said.

“James, shut up,” said Jamie, “we are going to this antique store.”

Jamie said, “Put your shoes on.”

“Okay Jamie,” James replied obediently.

James laced up his checkered Vans, a Christmas present from his father. He could not stop thinking about his parents. Would he ever see them again?

Then, James started to cry.

While James was crying, Jamie carefully packed each chess set. He put the pieces in a shoebox of his new Kobe’s. Jamie never threw shoe boxes out because they always could be put to good use for something. He put the chess board in a Trader Joe’s bag. Then he double bagged it, and then he triple bagged it. The board was very heavy and he did not want it to break. This chess board had just taken his parents INSIDE of it and he did not know what else it could or would do. Jamie wasn’t about to be taking chances with something he knew so little about.  

As he walked down the stairs and into the family mudroom, Jamie could see James crying. “James, I know it’s hard, but there is a chance that we CAN get Mom and Dad back. But, only if we learn more about this chess board at the antique store,” Jamie said.

Jamie was really good at comforting James. James felt that Jamie was the only one around his age who could empathize with him.

“Now, make yourself useful and carry the pieces,” Jamie said playfully as he handed him the shoe box.

“Okay,” James said. He stopped crying and took the shoebox from Jamie.

James was the type of kid to cry or get mad and then stop, forget about it and go back to his normal self about three minutes later.

The two brothers walked outside of their large house. A couple rain droplets trickled on each of the boys’ heads.

“Look, James, a squirrel,” Jamie said.

“Where? Where?”James asked and panicked. He was afraid of squirrels ever since one bit him when he was six.

“Made you look,” laughed Jamie.

“That’s not funny,” James said as he punched Jamie on the arm.

Though it didn’t hurt, Jamie started grabbing his arm and said,”oww, James, I’m gonna sue you.”

The brothers walked down a small stone staircase and into their driveway. There were two empty cars sitting outside of the garage, the Land Rover and the Audi. They walked on to the street.

Jamie paused. “Hold up James, I have no idea where Agnes Antiques is, I need to google maps it.” said Jamie.

James placed the chess pieces in the shoebox down extremely carefully. “I found the route, it’s a twenty minute walk. I can get our rain coats from inside,” said James, “I think that it might rain harder as time progresses.”

James ran inside and picked up the two raincoats, Jamie’s was blue and James’ was orange with green polka-dots.

“Thanks James,” Jamie said as he grabbed his raincoat.

Each of the brothers picked up their stuff, James the pieces and Jamie the board. They walked through Pleasantville. On their block there were just large suburban homes. They crossed street after street, and avenue after avenue. The boys got lost for some time, but they found their way back. They eventually ended up in Agnes’ Antiques, though it was not a twenty minute walk.

They entered the shop, and it was quite cramped and dusty with old books on the shelves. There were old plates, coffee mugs, and utensils. Anything old one could find in this store.

“Agnes Antiques, how can I help you boys,” a man said.

James started to back away from the man while Jamie did the talking.

“Hello sir, our father recently purchased this chess board from your store,” Jamie pulled the chess board out and pointed at it, “ it sucked our parents into it, could you tell us a little more about it?”

“Ahh yes,” the man said.

He was average size and looked rather old with spectacles and a white mustache.

“Well this here chessboard has a lot of history,” said the man, “back in the Eleventh Century, this chess board was made for King Richard the IV. He loved chess. He loved playing with this chess board so much that he wouldn’t do anything else. His wife didn’t like this. So, to punish him, she told a sorcerer to cast a spell on Richard. The sorcerer did, he wasn’t too fond of the king either. King Richard was transported into the game. He was playing as white in his last game of chess, so he became the white king in the game. Nobody in the real world knew where he went. However, the sorcerer didn’t just curse the king, he cursed the chessboard. Anyone who played with this board and won or drew was transported into the game to fight in the war between the white knights and the black nights,” the man said.

“Why didn’t you tell my father of this?” Jamie yelled in rage.

“Good question. I did tell him this, however he said that it was complete nonsense. Look what happened,” the man replied.

Jamie was mad and James was scared. How could this man sell this knowing that it could trap people in it’s own world?

“Can we get them back?” asked Jamie.

“The game is complex. To start the war, each team needs an equal number of knights, and right now it seems that there are two spots left to fill on white,” the man said.

“Well,” Jamie said, “We can do this, I’ll play James and he’ll be trying to lose, and you’ll play James and purposely lose to him.”

“Sounds perfectly fine,” said the old man. He was a pretty nice guy and he wanted to help these kids get their parents back, even though the father was so rude to him.

“I have one question though,” said Jamie, “what will happen when the war is over?”

“Nobody knows for sure, but I have a strong belief that every survivor is transported back to the real world. Can you imagine? People have waited a little over 1,000 years to get out of there. You two have the ability to do this,” the man said.

Game one began: Jamie black vs. James white. James, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, was scared of the old man and of the board. Jamie started off by moving his pawns and having James capture them, it was working. Then James got his Rooks, then his Knights, Bishops, Queens, and then Jamie was left to just his King. James had nearly all of his pieces. Then, he took the King with his Rook. Any second now, the game was over and James braced himself for the worst feeling in the world. Nothing happened. He looked around the room in a confused state. Then, suddenly, the light came. It flattened James out to a pancake and sucked him in. Jamie and the man could hear his screams and it gave Jamie goosebumps down his spine.

The man slowly walked over to the table in which they had been playing. It was an old table made of wood and had red decorations around the edges. He sat down and wished Jamie the best of luck. He was even more scared than when he saw James going into the world. Jamie was white and the old man was black. Jamie easily won in about four minutes he used to play for his school chess team. Then, unlike James who waited about thirty seconds to be transported, Jamie was taken right away, flattened out and sucked into the board. The old man covered his eyes and Jamie was gone.

He knew now not to make the mistake of putting this out for sale. Even if he labeled it “cursed chessboard,” people would still buy it. He put the chess board in the back, he took the delicate pieces and smashed them with a nearby hammer. Now nobody could be trapped in the game because the ordinary pieces wouldn’t work. Also, those in the game who survived could get out because the board was still there.                       

END OF PART I

A boy has a birthday and turns thirteen. His parents tell him he needs to grow up and start making smart decisions and that he will be treated more like an adult from now on. He went to summer camp at the YMCA and comes home and the lights are off. When he walks in, a bunch of people pop out from behind the door, out from the back room, and from under the table. They all yell “Surprise!” After he realizes what happened, he asks if he has gifts or food. He finds out he has just one. They go to the back and bring out a big box with his name on it. He walks over and looks at it as if there is something curious about it, so he opens it. He reaches inside and pulls out a fuzzy creature and it turns out to be a small dog, a puppy.

He says, “Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing?” Then he turns to his parents and asks if it’s a boy or a girl and his mother says it’s a boy.

After a few weeks of having his now grown puppy, he has grown accustomed to feeding, walking, and cleaning it. They grow to be companions. That has helped with the little problems that he has had in past because he used to steal from people — pick-pocketing.

But he knows that he needs to be a new boy when his mother says, “You need to grow up.” He knows that means he has to start making smarter decisions so he has more options than stealing.

After he wakes up on a cloudy Sunday he eats two waffles from his toaster and his puppy walks up to his chair. “Oh boy, you wanna go out for a little walk?” he says.

So they go outside and walk a few blocks down to the subway station. They walk down planning on filling his MetroCard, but the boy gets sidetracked by someone who is very unorganized and suddenly he has an urge. It is an urge he hasn’t felt in a while after he got his friend. He looks at his dog, but it isn’t enough. He follows the person a little bit behind and ends up getting on the train not looking at the entire situation he was in.

Meanwhile, up above the station he just left, there is a street vendor with hot dogs and other meats with a smell that you can sense a mile away. The dog quickly perks up looking in that exact direction. He pulls but his leash is tied to the metro station pole. It doesn’t budge, so he turns and starts chewing. But it starts to rip at the biting point so the dog pulls harder and it gets close to breaking so he bites and pulls and at one second it snaps and the jolt mixed with the force of him pulling sends him straight into the legs of people. He quickly turns and goes straight up the stairs and starts barking at the food. He realizes he can’t get any and he gets sidetracked by all the cars, people, and noises. He just runs, luckily not in the road, down the sidewalk past all the new people.

The boy does not get to the person in time so he walks back to the subway where he left. But when he gets back, he is surprised to see the half-chewed up leash and he immediately looks down the whole subway thinking the worst, that the small dog had fallen down in the tracks and couldn’t get up.

But, he gives a sigh of relief to see that there was no sign of a dog in the tracks so he goes to the closest stranger, a man in a black business suit and asks, “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but my dog chewed through his leash not to long ago. Did you happen to see him?”

The man thinks for a second and says, “When I was walking down the right side of the stairs, and a small dog with a small gold coat of fur ran up the stairs.”

***

When he comes back home, his mom is waiting. “Where have you been?” she asks.

“I was out walking the dog,” he says.

His mom asks where the dog was and the boy says he left him out in backyard because he was still using the bathroom. He goes to bed, but he does not sleep at all knowing that the dog could be dead or worse. This is the worst feeling in the world.

First thing in the morning, he wakes up to start the search of his missing dog which meant he goes back to the subway. He sees people. He asks them, “Have you seen my dog? The dog is gold and small.”

“No,” says the people.

He goes home.

“Where is the dog?” says his mom.

“He is in his room,” says the boy.

The boy makes fliers with the dog’s picture on it. He takes them out the next day and puts them on the walls. He put his phone number on the flier.

The boy goes home and waits for someone to call him. No one calls him for a while. He looks for the dog again on the sidewalk and on the street.

The boy goes back home and finds dog hair in his house. He looks at the hair and tries to find where the hair is going. The hair is going down to his basement. He walks downstairs and it smells like dog. He has an unfinished basement. It’s just concrete and there is no furniture, just storage space.

He sees the boiler room and there is another door. He looks in it. His dog is inside of it.

“Jason,” says the boy. He pets his dog. He is embarrassed because he knows he has been telling his mom that he knew where his dog was while the whole time she knew where it was.

Later in the day, his mom says, “Your dog found his way home.”

Sometimes I wonder if I live in a world of shells.

Chapter 1

Where is the soul? How can it be found? What if… it isn’t there?

There are soulless people all around me. Look around and you will find them, too. Like my best friend, Bianca. She’s nice. If you cry, she’ll come over and hug you, and if you get a better grade on a test than her, she’ll still congratulate you. She’s funny, and cracks jokes whenever I’m feeling down. She likes songs, but isn’t the kind of prissy girl who loves makeup and boy bands.

But she doesn’t really understand me if I ask her to define what love means to her, or if I try to explain to her why it would be natural for someone in war to truly want to die for others. She just doesn’t comprehend.

Even if I try talking about these serious matters with my teacher, she doesn’t really understand. These people lack something in them, it seems, something that would enable them to discuss with me what’s really going on in the world, and what life really is about. They just want to talk with me about the latest song that came out, or the importance of knowing what happened on the Lewis and Clark expedition.

Chapter 2

We each have an inner self and an outer self.

I think everyone has an outer self that hides their true thoughts and feelings. At least I do. The outer self protects the soul so that the misty dreams and hopes inside a person can be shielded from reality. My soul contains my deepest thoughts, hopes, memories; it is where I philosophize about the world.

My friends don’t hide their true feelings and thoughts from me. They come and ask me for advice, and we cry and laugh together. But somehow I sense that it’s only their outer self I see.

Bianca’s deepest worry at the moment could be an upcoming test in math. She’s completely hopeless at it. My teacher’s deepest worries could probably be more relevant. Maybe it is war in the Middle East, police shootings, or a loved one dying. But neither of them ever show a hint of their inner self, no matter how close I may be to them. Their thoughts, and worries, and feelings consist of what is related to their lifestyle. They don’t question and organize everyday things that happen in the cycle of life; they just take it for granted. None of them care why someone would want to start shooting someone else, they only want to stop it. People are too obsessed with business and their lifestyles to think about the broader and yet more important subjects in this world.

Chapter 3

2+2=4.

But the more I reveal my true self to them, the more confusing they become.

At lunch today I asked Bianca, “What do you think your soul looks like?”

She laughed and told me she doesn’t believe in that nonsense. Then she hugged me and changed the subject to the math test and asked me to tutor her. I sighed, and began to drill her on percentages. But was math really more important than trying to understand what the soul is at that very moment? It’s as if she doesn’t have a soul, or an inner self. It’s as if she is just a shell.

Chapter 4

The worst feeling is the feeling of being alone.

I am running, chasing Bianca. She is gaining more and more distance on me. “Wait!” I shout.

“No,” she yells back. “Wierdo!”

I feel a sharp pang in my heart and my vision blurs as tears fall fast on the ground.

My room swirls into view as I open my eyes and realize it was all a dream. My eyes are wet, and I am drenched in sweat. A bird chirps outside, and my heart stops beating so fast. But I am still troubled. I remember my conversation with Bianca yesterday. Does she think I’m weird? No, I think, but I am still trembling.

Chapter 5

Different is a crime.

Normally, English prompts are fun and easy, something I can analyze and maybe show some of my inner self in. But this time, it’s hard. I stare at the prompt: Who are you?

It is a good question, but a question that is difficult to answer. I remember what Bianca had said only yesterday. “I wish I could be you. You’re smart and nice and generous, and just plain awesome.” I had thanked her. Should I trust her judgment?

Another memory penetrates my mind. Bianca and I were in a project group with a group of boys. They were playing with cards instead of working.

“Give them to me,” I thundered, holding out my hand. “NOW,” using my best “don’t mess with me” voice, and flipping my hair back sophisticatedly. My eyes flashed as the boys cowered under my unending gaze.

I remember Bianca was so surprised. “Whoa,” she had told me, eyes large like two suns. “I didn’t know you could be so… mad and… mean, but not in a bad way,” she added quickly.

“Yeah, I can be like that.” I told her nonchalantly.

She gave me a startled look. “Weird,” she muttered.

Weird. Bianca thought I was weird. And come to think of it, I’ve seen that startled look before. Like when I fight, but not with fists. With words. I’m mean. Sarcastic. Mockingly polite. No one can get in trouble for saying nice things, because you can say you weren’t being sarcastic.

That look on Bianca’s face. That muttered, “weird.” And when she and I volunteered to help the teacher during lunch, I was quiet. So quiet. I didn’t even smile. I just did what I was told and left.

Bianca asked, “How are you so quiet? You’re never quiet.” I just smiled. That look. The mutter. She didn’t understand. I can be bossy. Or lenient. Or kind. Or horrible. I can be moody and shy. I can be loud and outgoing. I can be brilliant. I can be naive. I can be a perfect little girl. I can be mischievous. It all depends on who I’m with. Is that wrong?

Chapter 6

Is that wrong? What, then, is right?

I act differently among different people. Is that wrong? I don’t want to be mean, I just want to do what has to be done. Is that wrong? I used to be like Bianca when I was little. One personality. One way I’m supposed to act, one way I’m supposed to think, one way people think of me as. But that doesn’t work. People judge me no matter how well I try to shape my outer self.

So I made my outer self a combination of everything, acting differently depending on the situation. Is that wrong? It was fine, but now people are starting to notice, and they say it’s weird. Every time Bianca mutters that cursed word, I feel that sharp pang in my heart like in my dream, as if she is stabbing my heart to pieces. It’s just a matter of how long my heart will last her stabbing knives.

Chapter 7

A perfect world is not perfect.

I’m starving by the time it’s lunch time. Bianca and I grab our lunch boxes and race to our table. Rushing to eat, we both slam down on the bench at the same time with a loud crash. I look over to her. I can tell she is holding back giggles. So am I. I smile. She smiles. Then we are laughing so hard, our stomachs hurt. That sets the rest of the table laughing even though they don’t know what’s so funny.  Recess in summer is usually way too hot. Today is not an exception. Bianca asks me if I want to play tag.

“Nah,” I reply. “Too hot.”

She runs off and I’m left looking at the clouds. I think, Wow, those clouds can teach us a lesson. It looks like they’re still, but they are moving ever so slowly. But soon,  I’m pulled out of my reverie. It’s time to go back in for seventh period. Social Studies Project. We are choosing which image of King Tut to use for a player in our board game.

“Do the cute one!” begs Bianca.

I grin. “Yeah. So then people will want to be him. This needs to be appealing to the boys.”

Bianca whispers, “Especially, Ben.”

The cute cartoon image of King Tut kind of looks like Ben. I giggle. We finish the project. We are the first ones to finish, so we just talk and play.

Going home, I tell my mom how much fun I had at school. I run into my room and look at my wall. It has photos of all my friends from school. I touch Bianca’s face. Then I rip them all down and burst into tears.

Chapter 8

Before I cry, my heart cries.

My mom is trying to comfort me, trying to find out what’s wrong. I’m ignoring her. She says I can tell her.

“It’s okay,” she says. But it’s not. “I’ll understand,” she insists. She won’t. My heart is shattering under those knives. I can feel the blood pulsing, a force. Something is pushing tears to my eyes, drawn from hidden wells. I close my eyes, resisting the force. A sob creeps up my throat and bursts out of my unwilling mouth. I taste the salt of my tears.

“But you were so happy today,” my mom says, confused. “Today was like your perfect day.”

I tell her they talk with me, but it isn’t real.

“Of course it’s real,” Mom reassures me, more puzzled than ever.

“NO,” I sob into her shoulder, half-crying, half-stuttering. “Th-that’s not what I meant. Everyone t-talks about projects with e-everyone!”

I hiccup and fall silent as Mom, bewildered, asks, “What do you want to talk about then, honey?”

There is no way to explain to her that I want to share with my friends my deepest thoughts, my soul, without having to mold myself into someone they would appreciate. I am desperate for another soul who will love who I really am, unconditionally. Someone who I can pour out my heart to.

“Honey?” Mom prompts.

I look out the window. “Clouds,” I tell her. “I want to talk about clouds.” Mom wants me to talk to her about clouds. I run to the bathroom, away from the world that will always hurt me no matter how kind they seem to think they are.

Chapter 9

Tears reveal the hidden wounds.
I huddle on the white tiled bathroom floor, crying uncontrollably. I grab my shirt in clenched fists and pull them towards my face. My face is red, but I am cold. I tuck my knees into my chest. What was wrong with me? I have shaped my outer self into a person whom everyone can like and work with. Yet, Bianca doesn’t like me as a person with many personalities. It is like my shell is cracking, but I don’t know how to rebuild it. I have pretended and acted for so long, I don’t know who I really am.

Which personality should I become? What if I regret my choice? I watch those clouds moving ever so slowly, wondering. I want to show part of my inner self to the world, reflect it in my shell, so that people can see who I am. But will they like it? I wish I could be like the rest of them – soulless, innocent, happy, carefree. I can feel my tears pushing behind my eyelashes, and I give myself up to their power.

I feel Mom lifting me up and carrying me to my bed. My tears stream and pool in my ears as I cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 10

Sometimes the best comforts are wordless.

I do not go to school the next day. Nor the next. Nor the next. Bianca calls me every night, asking how I am feeling. I tell her I am sick and hang up. It is not a lie. I am sick – sick of being misunderstood, sick of pretending, sick of the people who thought they were helping me. I am sick – sick of the world, sick of life, sick of having a soul, sick of wanting others to have a soul. My skin is warm, but I feel cold, as if those wells of my tears have frozen inside me and the cold is spreading to the very edges of my finger tips. But people are trying so hard to make me feel better. I can see the pain in my mom’s eyes as I refuse her comfort. I can hear the worry in Bianca’s voice each time she calls.

My mother comes in the room. She is holding the phone. I pick up. It is Bianca. “Today is Bring-A-Friend-To-Class Day at my dance school,” she tells me. “I know you’re not feeling up to it, but can you come? I think it might help.” She pauses. I am silent. “Please? For our friendship.” I am already lost among the people in this world. If I lose Bianca, I know I will never get up from the bed I am laying in. I hang up. I grab a duffel bag. I put in an apple, a bottle of water, and a dress to wear over my leotard. I slump out the door, my mother looking at me as though I am a ghost of a dead person.

There are girls in the dressing room who are as shocked and nervous and shy as I feel. But my heart lightens slightly at the sight of Bianca’s smile. She is so happy that I came.

I put on the tights and leotard they give me, and follow Bianca to a large, bright dance studio with a mirror covering one whole wall. The instructor is slim and pretty, sparkling brown eyes complimenting her black hair. I listen to the class’ conversations. They are all of different ages, different ethnicities, different strengths, different weaknesses, but they are all unified through this class. I watch in wonder.

The instructor tells me I’m naturally flexible. She wants to see my limits. I do not answer her. We are supposed to be following her, learning the short dance routine she is showing us. I feel a soft hand in mine. I can tell it is Bianca without looking. I try hard. For her. The teacher yells,  “Tendu, arabesque, jete, pirouette. Dance your heart out, my swans, dance!” And suddenly I am.

I think I am flying, flying to heaven. One moment I am tendu-ing, trying my best to point my toes. The next moment I am spreading my arms, lifting my leg, lifting my chest, and a thrill shoots through my heart. Even my heart is soaring in my chest. A smile breaks out on my face, for the first time in ages. And suddenly, I am spinning away from the group, leaping, flying, as they watch, dumbfounded. It is as if some bizzare, joyful spirit has overtaken me as I dance, not knowing the moves, but still dancing all the same.

The feeling of flight shoots through me again, and I feel as though all the stress and worries of the past are draining out of me, replaced by endless joy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the teacher smiling happily at me. It seems like it will never end, but it does. I stand in the middle of the room, trembling with excitement, smiling and eyes sparkling.

Bianca stands open-mouthed with awe. “Wow,” she whispers. “You’re good.”

I am jumping and running and skipping home with Bianca, the instructor’s words echoing in my ears. “You are a natural at ballet. You breathe through the moves. I’m impressed.” In my hand is a note that the teacher wrote to my mother, asking if I could attend the school. Bianca is hugging me so hard I can hardly breathe. But I’m smiling through it all.

Chapter 11

Everyone recognizes beauty in some way. I do through ballet.

Mom is kissing me all over. She and Bianca are thrilled, almost as much as me. She is going out to buy me dance attire right now. Bianca is going home to tell everyone how good I am.

I expect to feel the weight of my sorrows crashing down on me again, but I am no longer frustrated with life. I have found something that I can use to let out my feelings: ballet. I remember my teacher’s big brown eyes as she explained to me how good I was at dancing, how I put my feelings into it. She understood me through dance. I could see it in her eyes. They all did. And now I will be part of their community, too.

I pull the photos of my school friends out of the trash and tape them on my wall again. Then, I add everyone from dance class. Bianca’s picture stands out in the middle. Bianca. She showed me the joys of dancing, although I doubt she truly knew them herself. She had tried to help even when I wasn’t responding to her. I smile, joyful tears filling my eyes. Bianca didn’t understand me. Bianca will never understand me. But Bianca is still my truest friend.

Sometimes I think I live in a world of shells.

But that’s okay.

Front, back. Forward, backward. Those were the only thoughts going through my head as I pushed off each wall and drifted towards another one. I moved my arms and legs to avoid the obstacles in my room: my glass, my pillow, my desk, and a case full of metal fingers.

Oh yeah, I should probably tell you. I’m missing the first two fingers of my right hand. I’ve said it. Let’s get on with the story.

I pushed off my desk and grabbed the case. I pulled it open and grabbed two fingers from the top left, checking the label as I did. Smoke bombs, good. I opened up a plastic case and took out two smoke bombs. I checked my watch and cursed. I pushed towards the door and got out, drifting down as gravity returned to normal. I got into a small cubicle and pressed a button. An instant later, I was standing in a cubicle that looked the exact same, teleported to the race I was going to.

I lined up in front of it and was told to go to my spot.

“Finn? Number 28? Over here.”

I walked over to my spot and noticed someone standing next to me. She was young and looked to be about 12.

I asked her, “Are you sure you can do this race? Is there an age limit?”

“Nope!” she replied. “That’s the beauty of it!”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Ready?” I got into position.

“Set?” I got ready to push off.

“Go!” I shot off the starting plate like a bullet, then jumped clean over the first obstacle. I rolled under the next one and got to the barbed wire. I crawled under it slowly, then pushed up. I looked ahead. Was I in first? I couldn’t see anyone in front of me, but then someone passed me. I looked and saw that it was the little girl who was next to me.

“She is not going to beat me,” I muttered. The rest of the race, we were neck and neck. I would be ahead for one part, then she would pass me. We were almost at the end of the race. I could see the finish. She put on a burst of speed. Time to go for it. I sped up and passed her when she was barely a hundred yards from the finish. I kept going as fast as I could and was there almost instantly. I looked back and saw her right behind me.

“Good job,” I said.

She shook my hand and said, “You too. What’s your name?”

“Finn. Finn Lawliet. Yours?”

“Mykhaila Rubio. See you!” And she went into a teleporter. I decided to walk to where I was going next. I had to be careful, as I was going through a shady neighborhood where there had been murders before.

I forgot to tell you. Our world is broken. We may have teleporters and other high-tech things, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have crime and corruption. The “event” I was going to? A forced one where if you do well, you could be drafted into the military. And if you get there late, you could be sentenced to death.

I was walking through a bad neighborhood where two people were murdered last week, and the government didn’t even care. Their bodies were still there, for all I knew. And then there was this new threat. The government tried to create sentient life, and they created it alright. They made these animals that kind of look like giant spiders with metal legs. They can read your memory and spin a silk cocoon that looks like someone you love to kill you. The only good thing is that if you know that that person isn’t there, then you just kill them. Except they don’t die easily.

“Finn?” I heard. I knew that voice, and I turned around slowly. My sister stood behind me, holding a bloody kitchen knife.

“This guy was following you,” she said, nudging a dead man with blood welling up from his chest. I pulled out a combat knife, and I walked toward her slowly. Then, when I was in arm’s reach, I stabbed her with the point of my knife. She let out a screech, and bright cyan blood spurted out of her abdomen. She stabbed toward me with her knife, and I ducked underneath it and swept her legs out from under her. I prepared to puncture her windpipe.

“You wouldn’t hurt your own sister, would you?”

“You’re not my sister.”

She let out one final screech, then the silk crumpled into a ball, and a spider crawled out and tried to scuttle away. I stopped her with my boot, and then stomped on her head. I heard her neck crack, and a bone poked out of her neck. She started to laugh, then crawled back into the cocoon, blood gurgling out of her neck. God, I was going to have nightmares. I mean, who stabs their own sister? It was just so messed up, and that’s why so many people die facing these things. Most of them can’t bring themselves to hurt their wife, or child, or parents. I had to get moving. The government would be coming soon to get me for the military. I pulled my knife out and wiped it on her shirt. I slid it into the sheath and shuddered as a few drops of blood splattered onto my shirt. I just stabbed my sister. No! It wasn’t my sister! I can’t think like that. I’ll end up going crazy. My sister is still alive somewhere,and I have to find her. I can’t let what happened to my mother happen to her. I should probably tell you, even though it’s a bad memory. Here it is.

It was the middle of the night when I heard the scream. I sat bolt upright in bed and ran to the door, my sister beside me. In my mother’s room, my father was about to stab my mother. But my father was running up behind us from his office. The man who looked like my father brought the knife down. Blood splattered everywhere. My vision turned red, and I couldn’t think clearly. I ran at the man and kicked him in the head. I heard something get crushed, like paper, and he fell to the floor. He got back up, his head at a funny angle. He grinned lopsidedly, his jaw crumpled up. I grabbed the knife from where he had dropped it and stabbed him in the head. His brains started to spill out, along with spurts of cyan blood. He started to shrivel up, and out of the shriveled ball came a huge spider with shiny legs. I kicked the spider to make sure he was dead. He didn’t respond, so I grabbed him and pulled him towards the window. One of his legs shot out and sliced the two first fingers of my right hand off. I yelled and threw him out the window, then sank to the floor cradling my hand.

There. I told you. Let’s get back to the story now. So, I was crouching in the middle of an alley, a dead crumpled girl and man lying by my feet. I stood up. Time to go. I ran at a wall and jumped off, grabbing a fire escape. I climbed up and jumped, grabbing the roof with my hands. I pulled myself up and ran across it. When I was about three rooftops away, I went down the fire escape.

“Hey you! Stop right there!” I turned around slowly and raised my hands slowly. Two uniformed officers were pointing tasers at me.

“You’re Finn Lawliet?”

“Yes,” I grumbled. “Can we do this some other time? ‘I’m kind of busy right –”

“You placed first in the race, and she placed second?” He pointed to Mykhaila, who I hadn’t noticed before. She was in handcuffs.

“You know, you’re not supposed to put her in handcuffs.”

“She resisted.”

3… I thought. 2… 1… “Just let me get some –” I shot a smoke bomb at the floor. Under the cover of smoke, I ran at the officers, hit them both in the temple, and grabbed their keys. I tried to fit a key in the handcuffs lock. “Wrong one. Typical,” I muttered. It took me three tries to get the right key.

“Thanks,” she said. “But, could you use the right key first?”

I rolled my eyes for the second time that day, knowing that it wouldn’t be the last.

“Come on,” I said.

“Where are we going?”

“The military will be back to try to get us again. Do you want to get caught?”

“I guess not…”

I didn’t wait around to argue anymore. I dropped the keys and the handcuffs, and walked off to the nearest teleporter station. I put in a set of coordinates that would take me and Mykhaila, who was next to me, to somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The teleporter said it didn’t recognize the coordinates as the location of another teleporter, so I clicked the box with “Not found” on it twice, an exploit that I knew. I was teleported to a pod on an island somewhere in the Arctic, at a resistance location known only to a few people.

I said at the wall, “Finn Lawliet, and guest.” The door slid open, and I walked out into a room full of people lounging on chairs or couches.

“Who’s that?” one of the people said, a woman sitting on the back of a sofa. “You know that you can’t just bring new people without aski –”

“Whatever. We’re here because we’re rule breakers, not keepers.”

“Fine. He’s in the back.”

“He’s always in the back,” I replied.

I told Mykhaila, “Come with me,” and walked to the back room. When I got close, I could hear pings and electronic beeps coming from behind the door. I pushed it open and leaned against a wall.

“What’d you do to deserve boss position?” I said to the man playing pinball against the left wall.

“Hmm, lets see. I founded this group, I fought off the dictator of this country, and I kept the resistance alive. Who’s the girl?”

“She can tell you herself, I think.”

“I’m Mykhaila Rubio,” she blurted out.

“And? What do you do? Achievements? Age?”

“I’m twelve years old, I placed second in the annual drafting race, and I’m an assassin.”

“Did she beat you?” the boss asked.

“Of course not,” I snapped back. “You know I’m the fastest one here.”

“You. Mykhaila and Finn. Fight.”

“What?!” we both said.  

“She claims she’s an assassin. I’m testing her.”

“Fine,” I said, mumbling under my breath and rolling my eyes again. Third time. I settled into a combat stance, and got ready.

“Go!” I jumped up and shot out a smoke bomb. I’d have to replenish those soon. I clung to a pipe on the ceiling and scanned for Mykhaila. I saw a shadow below me moving, and I knew it was her. The boss wouldn’t be stupid enough to be moving. I opened a skylight and waited. I was about to do the most clichéd move in history. I jumped down, kicked her up into the sky, and jumped up beside her. I was about to kick her down, when something hit me in the back. I landed crouching and waited for the rest of the smoke to leave through the skylight. I saw Mykhaila, along with a crumpled dummy lying on the ground.

“Is that –”

“Yes. One of them attacked my brother as me, and I kept the silk. It works well for that type of thing.”

“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” yelled the boss.

“You’re good,” he said to Mykhaila, “So I have a job for the two of you. Assassinate him. The dictator. Our ruler. Whatever you want to call him. ”

“Consider it done.”

Saturday

I hate going to the beach!  All I want to do this summer is hang out with my friends, play video games on my laptop, and watch TV! But do my parents care? NO!! They just come up to me and say, “Jenny, even though we know you hate the beach, we are going there today because we want to torture you.”

Okay, maybe they didn’t say that last part. People think that when you’re an only child your parents give you everything and let you go anywhere you want to go, but that is totally not true. When you are an only child, your parents are totally overprotective, and they bring you wherever they go because “you are their only child and they want you to protect you.” So, here I am crawling around in the sand because I dropped my iPod when my dad snuck up on me and told me to “put the iPod away and come play in the water, because when he was twelve, his parents never took him to the beach so I should be grateful.”

Well I would be grateful if you would just leave me alone, thank you very much. I wish I had a little brother or a sister, because I could boss them around and my parents would get off my back. When I was little, I asked my parents for a sibling but, instead, they got me a puppy. Not that I’m complaining about that. Sky is amazing. So, anyway, now I have to go in the water with my parents.

Sunday

Oh my god, I thought that the beach was the worst thing my parents could make me do. But no, they found a worse thing. Going to the neighborhood family festival. Every year, a bunch of people set up games and some bouncy houses and a bunch of snack booths. Sounds fun right? WRONG! You know why it is so boring? Because it is set up by parents! So all the snacks are fruit, the games are lame, and the bouncy castles are for babies!

Oh, here comes Daisy. My best friend. People would NEVER guess that we were best friends EVER EVER EVER! Oh great, she’s running over here waving at me. I wave back but WAY less happily. Oh, she’s stopping to talk to some random people about how great this is. I guess I have time to tell you about her.

She is really really happy, and I mean happiness overload. Her favorite color is pink, while mine is black, and (yes, I know that is technically a shade). She has a younger sister, and her parents are not over-protective. They let her go wherever she wants as long as she’s not in trouble, which she never is (which is another difference between us).

Oh shoot, she’s talking to me. I wasn’t paying attention, so I just nod.

“So, anyway, I’m so excited that you’re coming to my beach party! I know you don’t like the beach, but I’m sure you’ll have fun!”

“Uh huh,” I say, still not paying attention.

“Ok! Let’s go to the bouncy castle!”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you just said that you would.”

I did? Oh, that’s probably what I nodded to when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, right,” I say. “I thought you said let’s not go to the bouncy castle.”

“Great! Bouncy castle here we come!” Daisy says.

Yippee. I get to go bounce around on an inflatable princess castle. Did I mention it’s pink? I should probably tell my parents were I’m going. Wait, actually, I won’t because they’ll see that I can handle my self alone. Uh-oh, here they come. They don’t look very happy.

Tuesday

Yesterday, I went to Daisy’s birthday party and, for some reason, people find it offensive if you bring a journal to their party and write about how boring it is. Also, I’m grounded for a completely terrible reason. I didn’t tell my parents that I was going to the bouncy castle with Daisy. I mean, I just wanted to get away from them for a little while. Is that so wrong? According to my parental dictators, it is! So now I can’t play on my laptop, hang out with my friend, or watch TV. Also I’m not allowed to leave the house unless I tell my parents where I’m going. Sadly, I was allowed to go to Daisy’s party, even though I told my parents I didn’t deserve to go. They said that since I already said I was going, I had to go. So all I did at the party (which was three hours long!) was sit in the sand and do nothing. IT WAS SO SO SO BORING! Please don’t tell Daisy I said that, it’ll hurt her feelings.

Wednesday

So today I’m going to talk to my parents about not having to tell them everywhere I go. I go into my parent’s room. They’re watching TV. Mom is in matching blue PJs. They pause the TV and Dad says, “What’s up?”

I say, “Mom, Dad? Do you think you could give me a little more independence?”

Dad rubs his eyes, “What do you mean, honey?”

“I mean, maybe being able to go out with friends without having to tell you who I’m going with or where I’m going everytime.”

“Well, sweetie, how would we get in touch with you if you get hurt?” Mom says.

I smile and raise my eyebrows. “I could get a cell phone?”

“Jenny, right now you’re grounded. Do you really think you deserve a cell phone? And I beli — ” I cut Dad off.

“Think about the reason I got grounded. If I had a cell phone I could have texted you guys!” I’m whining.

Mom and Dad’s faces darken.

“Jenny, I don’t think you’re old or responsible enough for a cell phone,” Mom says.

“Right. Cell phones are very expensive,” Dad chimes in. “What if we buy you one and then you lose it or break it?”

“Sorry, sweetie. you’re just not ready,” says Mom.

“Ahhh! You guys are being so dumb and unreasonable!”

Ok, so maybe I didn’t say that but I definitely thought it! Ugh parents can be SO ANNOYING!

Anyway, I gotta go cool down.  

Thursday

“Are you even listening to me?” asks Daisy.

We’re sitting in Daisy’s bedroom.

“Nope not at all,” I say.

“I said that you were acting really moody at my birthday party.”

“I’m sorry, but you know I don’t like the beach and I didn’t know anyone besides you

there.”

“Well it hasn’t been only that moment. You’ve been really moody and not paying attention lately.”

“Give me an example,” I say.

“Well, at the family festival, you weren’t paying attention because you didn’t know that we were going to a bouncy castle.”

“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t want to bounce around on an inflatable princess castle!”

“Well then, you should have paid attention. You know, I don’t like it when you don’t pay attention to me! I mean, it’s not like I do anything that annoys you.”

“Yes you do!” I yell.

“What do I do that annoys you so much?!”

“You’re way too perky!”

“Yeah, well you’re way moody and I’m getting tired of it!”

“Well I’ll leave then!”

“Please do!”

“Fine!”

I slam the door of her way too pink and perky room and stomp out of her way to happy house.

So you’re probably wondering by now why the heck me and Daisy are best friends. Well, the short answer is she was the only one who talked to me when I moved here three years ago. So basically, I walked into my third grade classroom for the first time. The schedule was up on the board and the first thing it said was free time. This may surprise you but I’m a huge neat freak. So I thought the first thing I would do was organize my cubby and desk. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where either of those things where because apparently instead of putting our names on our desks, cubbies, and other stuff Ms. Wyatt (who by the way was the best teacher of all time) assigned each student a color. And since I had come in the middle of the year I didn’t know my color yet. Then this little girl wearing all pink and a huge smile (can you guess who it was?) comes up to me and says:

“Hi, I’m Daisy. What’s your name?”

“Jenny,” I said.

“Do you know your color yet?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Oh, well I’m your welcome buddy, so I know!”

“What is it?” I asked.

“You got so lucky almost every girl in the class wanted this color but you got it!!”

Oh no I thought that can’t be good because most nine year old girl’s favorite color is …

“Pink!”

“Great,” I said.

“We’re gonna be best friends forever!” said Daisy

So I agreed to be her best friend because no one else would talk to me. Now, I don’t have any friends. When I get home I go to my room to play on my laptop but then I realize I can’t do that because I’m grounded for a completely stupid, terrible reason! Ugh.

So I do what any rational twelve-year-old girl would do at this moment. I scream into my pillow. Then, when that doesn’t work, I throw it across the room. It hits a picture of me and Daisy skiing. I don’t pick it up. Sky comes in, because she heard all the noise, climbs up on my bed, and starts to lick my face. Then she curls up into a little ball. She’s so cute. She’s a three-year-old golden labrador retriever and she’s really energetic. I start to cry and I burry my face in Sky’s fur.

I hate my life.

When my mom gets home (my dad is on a business trip to Asia), she sees the pillow and the picture and me asleep with my head on Sky. She wakes me up and says:

“Honey what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Jenny, something is obviously wrong,” she says.

“Fine, me and Daisy had a fight.”

“Daisy and I,” she says under her breath.

Did I mention she’s an English teacher at our town college?

“Mom,” I say in a stern voice.

“Fine. Continue,” she says.

“I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. She got mad at me and started saying how I’m moody and don’t pay attention and then she said that she never did anything that annoys me and I yelled at her saying she was too perky. Then, I stomped out of her house.”

“Well, sweetie, were you being moody and not paying attention?”

“No! Mabye. Yes,” I say.

“Well then you can’t blame her,” says Mom.

“But she knows that’s who I am,” I say.

“Well, honey, it can be annoying. And I should know. I’m your mother.”

“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll go to her house and apologize to her.”

“That’s a great idea sweetie!”

“Okay, bye Mom.”

“I’m ordering pizza. I’ll call you when it gets here.”

“Okay Mom.”

“Bye, Jenny.”

Mom walks down the hall. I’m going to take a nap until the pizza gets here. I hope she ordered Sicilian, it’s my favorite. Daisy’s too.

Friday

I’m walking over to Daisy’s house to apologize. I hope she forgives me.

I walk up to the door and knock. I see Daisy in her bedroom window. Her mom comes out.

“Oh, hi Jenny!”

“Hi Ms. Ackerman. Can I talk to Daisy?”

“Um… Daisy isn’t here” she says looking over her shoulder.

“Oh well tell her I want to talk to her,” I say, sadly.

“I will,” she says.

I start to walk away and, after a couple seconds, I turn around to make sure Daisy’s mom isn’t looking then I start to run. When I get home, Mom is also home because she has off on Fridays. She sees that I’m crying.

“What’s wrong, Jenny?” she asks, kind of panicked because I never cry in front of people.

“I went to Daisy’s house to apologize and I saw Daisy in her bedroom window but when her mom came to the door she said that Daisy wasn’t home!” I sobbed.

“Oh sweetie I’m so sorry that’s terrible! Do you want me to talk to Daisy’s mom and tell her that you just wanted to apologize.”

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“I’ll talk to her. Oh and Jenny? That was a very mature thing you did. Your grounding is over.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Mom smiles back me. I go up to my room and play Minecraft.

Saturday

Tomorrow’s my birthday and I have a plan. Since it’s my thirteenth birthday, I’m going to ask my parents for a phone. I have a plan and it’s foolproof! You’ll see what it is tomorrow. When my mom got home from talking to Daisy’s mom yesterday, I asked her how it went and she said it went fine. I still don’t think that Daisy forgives me. I asked my mom if Daisy was coming to my party and she said that she didn’t know and that we’ll see tomorrow. Anyway I’m so excited for tomorrow. I’ll officially be a teenager and have a reason to be moody. I’m probably just gonna play on my laptop all day today.

Sunday

It’s my birthday today and my plan is in action. I’ll go downstairs and my parents will be at the table and they’ll have made pancakes. Then they’ll yell happy birthday. Then they’ll ask me what I want for my birthday and I’ll say a phone! It’s foolproof! They can’t say no since it’s my thirteenth birthday! I’m going downstairs now. I peek around the corner of the stair case. Okay, good. There are pancakes on the table with a “13” candle on top. So far, so good. I walk into the kitchen.

“SURPRISE!” My parents yell. I act surprised even though I’m not.

“Oh my gosh!” I say in my best surprised voice.

“Sit down honey,” says Mom. I sit down and as expected they ask me what I want.

“Well,” I say pretending to think, “it would be great if I could have a phone.”

My parents look at each other smiling.

“We thought you would say that,” says Dad. They take out an iPhone case.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim. Then I open it and there is an iPhone 5s!

“Thank you thank you thank you!” I say excitedly.

“You’re welcome,” says Dad. “There are some rules, though.”

“Ok what?” I say skeptically.

“Here’s a sheet of paper with the rules,” says Dad handing me a sheet of paper. It reads:

1. No texting until your homework is done.
2. If Mom or Dad texts you, you must answer within two minutes or they will call the cops.
3. You must ask permission to buy any game.
4. No social media.
5. If you break or lose this phone, there will be no new one.
6. No giving random people your number.
7. You must tell Mom and Dad your password.
8. No prank calling.
9. Most important rule: do not give any boy your number!

I would complain about these rules but I don’t want to lose my phone.

“Let’s go get ready for the party,” Mom says.

We are in our backyard for my party. It’s really sunny and nice out. I’m really bored. My cousins are running around playing tag. The grownups are talking about politics. Boring.

I wish Daisy was here. She used to be the only person I would really talk to at my parties. Usually at my birthday parties it’s me, my parents, Daisy, some of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, some of my parents  friends kids, and my grandparents. But I don’t think Daisy is going to come even though mom said the talk with Daisy’s mom went well. I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Daisy!

“Hi Jenny,” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” we say at the same time.

“Let me go first,” she says.

“Okay,” I say.

“I’m sorry I told my mom to say I wasn’t home and that I called you moody,” she said, sadly.

“Okay, my turn,” I say. “I’m sorry I called you too perky and that I wasn’t paying attention to you. I am moody, so I forgive you.”

“I forgive you too,” she says, happily.

“I’m going to think about how moody I am and maybe try to be a little bit less moody. I said try. No promises!” I say to Daisy.

“Great. And I’ll try to be less perky,” Daisy says.

“No don’t, I kind of like it,” I admit.

“And I kind of like how you’re moody. I guess we kind of balance each other out!”

“Okay. Oh, and guess what? I got a phone!” I say excitedly.

“Really? What kind?” asks Daisy, even more excitedly.

“An iPhone 5s!” I say.

“Oh my god that’s awesome what’s your number?” she asks

“(212) 566-7653” I say. She taps it into her phone.

“What’s yours?” I say.

“(212) 356-3579,” she says.

“Oh, the cake is coming. Let’s go!” I say

“Okay!” she says. Then we run and get some chocolate cake with vanilla frosting that my mom made just for me.

So, right now, I guess I don’t hate my life.

There is a world of good and evil, light and dark, heros and villains. The two contradict each other. Almost everyday there is a fierce battle between the two forces. The two have only one thing in common: an enemy. In this world, anti-heroes think that they are in charge because they believe they obtain both light and dark energy. This world is loaded with cities, towns, and villages just like on Earth. Eighty-nine percent of people in the world have powers or can obtain powers; the rest are humans.

When a child is born, his or her powers are tested to see if it will be useful for good, evil, or both. The children are blood tested to find out their power and their power level. This process is tested by human scientist under the anti-hero’s organization, A.H.. The humans test the power of the children when they are born to see if they are qualified to become a savage for evil or a variant for the good. In percentage, the numbers to become a savage or a variant are 70%-100%.

One day the hero with the name of Yuri was helping other heroes defeat a giant jackal that had entered the city Hatake. Yuri was one of the strongest heroes. Yuri had a light shade of brown skin, he usually wore a sweater and jeans, and his hair was black and spiky. Yuri also had a tattoo of a black line starting from above his eyebrow, in the middle, and ran down to his jaw. It was on both sides of his face, a sign of extreme power. People called Yuri the “Thunder Dragon” because he had the power to transform into a dragon and he had the power of lightning. The dragon was yellow with plenty of bone spikes emerging from his skin and black streaks near the spikes. The dragon had hard metal-like skin and it was smooth, too. But his bones were hard as diamonds and rough as bedrock. The dragon’s figure was aerodynamic giving him the ability to move as fast and graceful as a jet.

The jackal was intelligent with extreme power, and he went by the name Chaos. Chaos was decimating the city of Hatake. Yuri met a new female hero that day named Natsuko. Natsuko had smooth, dark skin and black hair. She had a mark of extreme power too, like Yuri does. It was a tattoo of a black line running from her cheek bones, not too far below from her eyes, and it ran through her nose to her other cheek bone. Right away, Yuri fell in love. Natsuko was then targeted by the jackal in the fight and the jackal attempted to slash Natsuko, but right before it happened Yuri used his powers to save her. With his hands, he and Natsuko gave birth to a child. They named him Zero.

After Natsuko gave birth, the child was sent to a baby nursery in the hospital’s basement.

Meanwhile, Natsuko rested in her bed. Then large thumps started to rush through the ground. The sounds were coming from right outside of the city. The sounds were getting closer and closer as the humans and superhumans stood in suspense. Yuri then transformed into a dragon flying up, gaining altitude, to see what was going on. “EVERYBODY GET DOWN!” Yuri shouted making his voice bounce off of the buildings, creating an echo so everyone in the city could hear him. Everyone listened to his command as a blast of light was shot out towards Yuri. Yuri dodged it with ease but the beam still continued to seek its destruction and blew up the city’s police precinct.

At that moment the city turned into chaos. Buildings on fire, broken down, smoke emerging from each and every corner. Humans, superhumans in agony, injured, bruised, broken. Yuri needed more help. The savages were sent out as back-up for Yuri from the villains, knowing he was the strongest person in the city at that moment. So then the Heroes decided to do the same, and they sent out their variants as back up. The human government sent jet fighters and choppers to attack after the superhumans did. A huge battle was about to begin but they couldn’t figure out what yet. The warriors waited patiently until the huge dust clouds and smoke died down so they could see what they were facing. Yuri impatiently flew into the smoke and used his wings to reveal his enemy. It was the demon king, Darton. Darton appeared with his ace: The Poison Dragon, Felong. Felong was purple and scaley. He had black drool emerging from his mouth that stuck to his lips as he opened his mouth to let out a roar. His roar made the drool splatter all over parts of the city. It was acid and it killed many people and decimated buildings.

“We are here for your child, Yuri!” exclaimed Darton.

“But why? For what reason?!” Yuri responded.

“He has a strong evil aura. And we would like to have his power.”

“Impossible! He is the son of two great heroes. That’s not even logical.”

“Trust me. Just hand the boy over and there will be no trouble.”

“Never! He’s my son. What makes you think I would just hand him over?”

“I predicted that you might say that. So if I can’t have him, no one can!” Darton informed Yuri.

At that moment Yuri was drowned in anger, and the power of the Thunder Dragon started to consume him. His eyes changed to a neon yellow merging and mixing with a neon orange color. His pupils then thinned out and stretched out like he had eyes of a snake. Then his vertebrae started to mutate then bony spikes started to emerge slowly out of his back, stretching his skin and piercing through the flesh, causing blood to splatter all over his skin. His teeth then started to convert into long, sharp, acute fangs. Then the cells and molecules in his fingers began to unite creating three fingers with frightening claws. His skin was then forced off by the yellow, metallic-like armor. His scapula was then stretched out from his back and it stretched out the new yellow skin on Yuri’s body, creating wings. Yuri’s body then expanded, and he transformed into the famous Thunder Dragon.

Felong and Darton were ready to fight. Yuri zoomed in towards Felong and covered himself in a coating armor of electricity and then tackled him. Felong’s wings became paralyzed as Yuri continued to attack and slammed him into the ground. Natsuko awoke from her sleep and looked out the window and saw the fight taking place. She was a bit scared but she didn’t care — she needed to help Yuri. Feeling better, she used her teleportation powers to place herself in the fight. She appeared right in front of Darton.

“Crap,” Darton solemnly stated.

Natsuko used her super strength and gave him an extreme punch and broke off his horn. Darton then used his size and strength to pick up a lamp-post and swatted Natsuko. She was already weak from giving birth so when she was whacked, she coughed up almost pints of blood.

“Natsuko!” Yuri cried in fear.

Yuri stopped wrestling with Felong and slashed his face, leaving him a giant scar with three claw marks. Yuri started to create a gust with his wings to take flight and to try and finish off Felong. He let out a huge blast of electricity, released from his mouth, and it was shot at his face.

Yuri escaped and dashed over to where Natsuko was.

The spikes, skin, fangs, claws, yellow skin, and neon eyes started to relax, and he turned back into his normal human form. He tried to help Natsuko get up and protect her from the demons. Then Darton ordered his demons to attack the two and they were left with scars, bruises, burns, and scrapes. Then Darton started to charge up a black beam of powerful dark energy with his hands and aimed it at Yuri and Natsuko. He released it towards them. Their bodies disappeared.

Hundreds of heroes appeared in fighting stances with death in their eyes ready to help their friends. Some flew, some on the ground. They tried to help the two but it was too late. Natsuko and Yuri were killed. And baby Zero was next.

“Those two tried to defy me, they are now dead! What are you going to do about it?” Darton informed the Heroes. “Whoever wants to end up like them, try to fight me!” Darton continued.

“We need to avenge them! Who’s with me!” a young hero with the name of Akiko cried.

“Yeah!” a group of heroes responded with hope.

“If that’s how you want to die, then okay. I will destroy your entire city then!” the Demon said with confidence.

At first, the villains didn’t care, but they decided to join in the fight along with the heroes. They did this for two reasons. They started to sense the boy’s power. Also they didn’t want their home to be destroyed. Villains and Heroes stood side-by-side to protect Zero. A fierce battle then started. Demons versus Superhumans. It went on forever, but then the superhumans won. They chased off the demons. There were already thousands of Heroes and Villains, but then the human government appeared with tens of thousands men, and hundreds of thousands of anti-heroes arrived under the A.H. organization.

The demons got scared and fled towards south to their base.

“This isn’t worth it anymore!” Darton exclaimed.

Everyone wanted to celebrate their success but they couldn’t — two great heroes had died and they felt really bad that they were too late. Even villains were upset. Some of them admired Yuri’s power and how he could control it so perfectly and turn into a fearsome beast like a dragon. And they respected and feared Natsuko’s extreme strength.

It was a sad but new start for a new beginning.

End of Part I

Epilogue

13 years later.

There was a crash of blue lightning flashing down the blocks of the city, with fiery blasts following it. The flames melted metals and heating cement as they sped down the block. The lightning created heated craters as it dashed through the city. The two seemed to be chased by something. It was the Police.

Part 1

Chapter 1

“That girl has been missing for seven years, Jordan,” the Chief Officer sighs, removing his glasses and setting down the notes I’d written on his desk. “There’s no way you could’ve found her.”

“For the last time, Chief Warren, she was there. She looked just like the girl in the picture.” I argue, hastily pulling out a crumpled picture of the girl from my bag.

The Chief reaches over his desk and rips the picture from my hands, looking down at it. “Except now she’s seven years older,” he mutters. “Why do you care so much about her now?”

“Please, you have to understand! She was there in the Glengarry Forest! I saw her, I swear!” I exclaim. I will not give up on this girl and her family.

“Listen here, Eva Jordan. Glengarry Forest is on the other side of the United Kingdom. If you remember correctly, that girl disappeared in the New Forest. I’m not going to send you and my officers on some sort of pretend mission. The girl is dead, Officer, and you have to understand that,” The Chief says in a menacing tone. “No four-year-old girl can survive in the woods alone for seven years. Just forget about her.”

As I walk out of his office, I say with grim determination, “Just you wait, Warren. I will find Delilah Johnson.”

I leave the Paddington Green Police Station in a rush of excitement. The Chief had finally agreed to let Benjamin give me Delilah’s case file for the billionth time. I kind of lied to him, saying I’d only look at it and make sure I couldn’t have actually seen Delilah Johnson.  I’ve done this investigation countless times, ever since she disappeared. But now I’m prepared and I know I won’t fail again. London’s icy winds howl and bite my cheeks, but I keep walking, even though I almost slip on the snowy floor. I pull my scarf over my nose and notice that the Christmas decorations are finally being put up. My mind is racing, thinking of all the crazy possibilities of what could have happened to the girl. I finally stop at Madam Puddifoot’s Cafe. I walk in and shake the snow from my boots and my hat. Old-fashioned Christmas carols pour out of the small radio, and multi-colored lights decorate the walls. The cafe smells of eggnog and Christmas trees. I walk up to the line and wait my turn. Finally, the people in front of me get their drinks and go to sit down. `

“Hello Eva,” Chloe, the cashier lady, smiles. “Same thing as usual?”

“Uh, yes please,” I answer.

“Are you okay, dear?” Chloe asks. “You seem… different.”

“I’m just really excited,” I whisper. I choose my words carefully for what I’m about to say next. “I’m working on… I’m working on a… a case.”

At this, Chloe laughs. “Oh, okay… That will be two pounds, please.”

“Here you go,” I say, handing her the money.

“Your coffee will be ready in a minute,” Chloe assures.

I sit down at a small table near the window and quickly open my black bag full of papers and pictures relating to the missing girl. I’m setting the evidence on the table when my name is called.

“Eva Jordan, regular coffee!”

I stuff the papers in my bag and haul it over my shoulder as I pick up my coffee. Chief Warren has said to keep this a secret and to not let anyone know what I am working on. He’s a weird guy. I set my coffee down on my small table and sit down again. I take all the files and images out of my bag again. One picture shows a small girl, four years old, with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. I open my laptop and start looking through all the pictures and videos I have of her.

I flip open the missing girl’s case file. Delilah was born on April 18th, 2006. She disappeared July 19th, 2009 in New Forest, England, at three years of age. She’d be ten years old now. She was wearing a pink knit sweater with cupcakes and blue pants. She was 37 inches tall and 32.6 pounds. Her hair color was dark brown. Her eyes were also dark brown. She lived in Surrey with her family.

I write down things in my notebook as I read articles, watch videos, look at pictures, and hear interviews. I write things like what color shirt she had been wearing the day she left, the exact address of where she was in New Forest that day, and what her personality was like. Then, I go to the more recent media.

Last week, I’d gone camping in the Glengarry Forest, Scotland, with my father, my sister, and my nephew. I had gotten up early to take a walk and to take pictures of the dawn, forcing my feet through the deep snow. I was already deep into the forest when I heard a branch snap above me. I turned around quickly and took a picture, thinking it would be some sort of interesting animal, but what I saw almost made me scream. It was not an animal, but a girl. She had wild curly hair with what seemed a new pair of blue pajamas with little clouds and stars. I could tell she was scared, but I managed to take a video of her as she leaped into another tree. She disappeared as quietly as she had arrived. Only when I got back to our tent and looked through the pictures did I realize that I may had just seen Delilah Johnson.

Chapter 2

The sun had already set a few hours ago when I decide to go home. I walk to my car, falling a few times on the snow. I’m so distracted that I almost get run over by a car as I cross the street. So Delilah disappeared in New Forest. New Forest is at the very south corner of England. But I also supposedly saw Delilah in Glengarry Forest, which is in the north of Scotland. It doesn’t add up. What little girl can cross two countries alone, without anyone noticing her?

I finally find my yellow Volkswagen through the blinding snow and quickly climb in. I decide to wait a while until the snow clears up a bit. Driving in the snow is hard, but driving in the night as well is harder. I’m turning the radio on when a face pops up through the window. I recognize her face immediately.

“There you are! Hi, Eva! Hi!” exclaims Morgan Anderson, wiping the fog and snow off my window.

I sigh. Morgan is also a police officer, and sometimes, I just can’t stand her. “Not now, Morgan, I’m busy.”

“No, Benjamin told me that you’re working on something! Is it on that Della girl? I can help, you know!”

“Her name is Delilah,” I mutter through clenched teeth. Why does this girl have to come now, of all times? And why on earth did Benjamin tell her about my mission to find Delilah? That’s classified information! “And no, you can’t help me. So just leave me alone, thank you.”

“I want to help! Really!” Morgan calls, jumping up and down. “Let me in! Or else I won’t leave, and I’ll keep screaming at you through this window.”

I sigh even louder. What is it with Morgan? I unlock the door. “Get in,” I mumble, banging my head against the driving wheel. Why did I let Morgan in again?

“So what’s first, Officer Jordan?” she laughs, clapping her hands in excitement.

I look at her like, Are you serious? “First, please just calm down,” I beg.

“Okay, done.”

“Second, leave me alone.”

“What? But we’re partners in crime now!” Morgan argues.

“No, we are not.” I explain, taking a deep breath and wondering how long I’ll be able to stand this girl. Morgan is probably the most carefree officer I know. “All you’re doing is helping me in this mission, okay?”

“Fine, but that still makes me your partner in crime.”

I ignore her comment. “We’re going to my office. We’re buying tickets for a plane to Scotland, and we’re going to Glengarry forest, and we’re going to find that girl.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I start the engine and drive back to Paddington Green. We cross the lobby, ride the elevator, and walk into my office, number 713. I immediately go over to the huge chart I have of Delilah on the wall, removing the old sheet on top of it. The chart is made up of pictures, clips from articles, maps, and more. I turn to Morgan and see her sitting on my chair with her feet on my desk.

“Morgan!” I hiss. “Get your feet off my desk!”

Morgan jumps up. “Jeez!”

“So look. Delilah was three when she disappeared, right?” I begin, pointing to the last picture her parents were able to get of her.

“Right,” Morgan says, walking up to the chart and sweeping her eyes over it with curiosity.

“That happened July 19th, 2009. Seven years ago.”

“Mm-hm,” Morgan nods. “But how is it possible that she’s still alive? Where’s your evidence?”

I detach three pictures from the wall and give them to her. “See the picture on the left? That’s in Liverpool, September, 27th, 2011. A man was hiking and was able to capture a picture of Delilah. She’s running through the woods. See her? She’s by that beech tree.”

“Okay… ” Morgan says, squinting at the picture. “But there are a lot of ten year old girls with curly brown hair in the U.K.… “

“Exactly. But how many ten-year-old girls with curly brown hair have disappeared in the last decade?” I observe. “The picture in the middle was taken in New Galloway, during the year 2014. That’s Delilah there. She’s sitting on that rock.”

“Mm,” Morgan replies.

“And the last picture was taken by your ‘partner in crime’ last week, when she was camping. Delilah’s in that tree, wearing the blue pajamas. She’s in the middle tree.”

“Wow,” Morgan says. “So we’re actually going to Scotland?”

“Yup,” I answer, sitting down on my desk and turning my laptop on.

“Does the Chief know?”

“No. Don’t tell anyone. The Chief would never let us go.” I tell her seriously, as I buy our tickets for Scotland. I print the tickets out and give two to Morgan. “One of those is your ticket for the train, and the other is for the airport. We’re taking Heathrow Express from Paddington Station. You better be there by 4:00 AM sharp.”

“Thank you,” Morgan gushes, looking down at her blue ticket. Her bright green eyes, framed by a pair of big brown glasses, gleam with excitement.

“And here… ” I say, giving her another ticket, “is your ticket for Inverness. We depart from Heathrow Airport and arrive at Inverness Airport. British Airways. The plane leaves at 6:00 AM, and we board the plane at Gate 45.”

“Heathrow Express from Paddington Station. Be there at 4:00 am sharp. Heathrow to Inverness at 6:00 AM. British Airways. Gate 45,” Morgan repeats. “Okay, got it.”

Chapter 3

The birds aren’t even singing when I wake up. It’s all dark and silent, except when the occasional car comes down the street. I wonder what I’m doing up so early. I suddenly remember: I’m going to find Delilah Johnson! I’m going to Scotland with Morgan Anderson!

I fly out of bed and flip the lights on in my bedroom. I make the bed as quickly as possible. I’m so excited that everything seems to go by in a blur. I pull on a pair of dark blue jeans, thick, grey socks, and a blue and white striped shirt, and then dash into the kitchen. I quickly make myself a piece of toast with orange marmalade, a cup of coffee, and a Ziploc bag of fruit. I decide that I’m going to take my breakfast and eat it on the way to the airport. I zip up my faded green parka and put my boots on. I pack my hat, my scarf, and my gloves in my backpack, grab my suitcase and my breakfast, and I’m off.

I run down the street, trying to catch a taxi. The streets are dark, lit only by moonlight and a few lampposts here and there. I can barely see through the snow that threatens to blind me. After a few minutes, a taxicab driver sees me and pulls up. The driver gets out of his car and helps me stuff my suitcase into the trunk.

“Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you,” I repeat, closing the door as I get in the back seat. “I’ve been waiting forever in all that snow, oh my God.”

The driver, a plump guy in his fifties, nods. “My pleasure, missy. Name’s Tom. Where you headed?”

I look out the window. “Paddington Station, sir.”

We ride through my city, watching all the Christmas decorations that are being put up. From a distance, I see Paddington station, already alive and bustling with people. I pull my thick, dark brown hair into a quick bun and put my grey-white hat on.

“So, where you headed this early?” Tom asks a few minutes later, pulling up next to the station.

“I’m on my way to Scotland,” I answer merrily, handing him eleven pounds as he helps me with my suitcase.

Tom gets in his taxi. “Good luck, missy,” he calls.

I wave at him as I roll my suitcase into Paddington Station. I bump into a few people here and there as I look for Morgan. I look down at my watch. It reads 3:26 AM. I swear, if Morgan isn’t here on time, I’ll… I’ll do something to her. Something bad.

After waiting ten minutes, I decide to call her. My phone rings about seven times before she answers.

“Hello?” Morgan yawns.
“Morgan!” I say loudly. “Where are you?”

“Umm… “ Morgan mumbles. “Ummm… “

I can’t believe her. “Morgan! Wake up! Where are you?”

The phone is silent for a few seconds. “I’m in London.”

“Yes, I know, Morgan, but where exactly?”

“I’m outside my house. Trying to get a stupid taxicab.”

I sigh loudly. “You have exactly twenty two minutes! Hurry up!”

“Okay, okay.”

I hang up. I knew I should’ve just picked Morgan up and brought her with me. Now she’s gonna miss her train. I pace the station, thinking of ways I could fix this. If she misses her train, she can just buy tickets for a later one… but then she’d miss the plane. She has a car, so she can also drive to Scotland… A few minutes later, my phone rings. It’s Morgan.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hi, Eva. I’m in a taxi now, like five minutes away,” Morgan mutters. I can hear the sleepiness in her voice.

“Okay. The train leaves in about fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

I walk over to the schedule for the Heathrow Express. It’s delayed, arriving in twenty minutes. I silently pray that Morgan will make it. The station isn’t as busy as usual, since it’s only 3:43 in the morning. But still, people push past me and yell at each other and all the usual business. I sit down on a bench by the entrance so I can see Morgan when she walks in. I take out my Goblet of Fire book while I wait for Morgan. You’re never too old for Harry Potter. All of a sudden, my phone rings again. I reach into my backpack and pull it out. It’s Morgan. Again.

“Morgan? Are you here?” I ask.

“Yup. Where are you?” Morgan says.

“I’m here, right by the entrance.”

“No, you’re not.”

My stomach suddenly drops to my feet as I realize something. “Morgan — where are you?”

“Um… King’s Cross,” Morgan begins. “Why?”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. “Morgan! Morgan! It’s Paddington Station! Paddington!”

The phone is silent for a long stretch of minutes. “Oh. Whoops.”  

I start breathing heavily. “Are you kidding me? What are we supposed to do now?” I practically yell. My watch reads 3:52 AM. “Okay. Morgan, pay attention.”

“Okay.”

“King’s Cross is like eleven minutes away by cab, right?”

“Yeah.”

I look over at the wall. There’s a bus that connects Paddington Station to King’s Cross. It leaves in two minutes. “Listen, Morgan, the train is delayed by five minutes. We have thirteen minutes left. Is there a bus schedule around you?”

Morgan pauses before saying, “Yeah, why?”

“Can you see the bus that will bring you to Paddington Station?”

“Yes.”

“It leaves at 3:55 AM,” I inform, looking at the schedule anxiously. “Think you’ll make it?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make it!” Morgan cheers excitedly. “Of course I’ll make it!”

“Then, go!”

“Okay! Bye!” Morgan exclaims.

Chapter 4

I sit down on the bench again, hoping and praying that Morgan will make it. I’m too anxious to keep reading my book, or to do anything else, really, other than think about all the worst things that could happen. What if Morgan’s bus crashes? Or what if she got on the wrong bus? What if she misses her stop? I decide to call her to make sure.

“Hello?” Morgan says. “Eva?”

“Yeah, hi Morgan. What bus are you on?”

“I’m on 167T, I think,”

I give a long sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

I hear Morgan ask someone something. Then, she tells me, “The driver says we’ll be there at 4:05.”

“That means you’ll make it just when the train arrives,” I gasp, not knowing whether I should be relieved or worried about this.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in Scotland faster than you can say ‘Delilah,’ okay?”

“Delilah.”

“Aren’t you funny?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” I answer.

“Bye,” Morgan says.

A few minutes later, I see a redhead wearing a grey beanie, a red pea coat, and brown boots, dragging a suitcase splattered with paint behind her. I jump up, grab my suitcase and my backpack, and run after her.

“Morgan!” I call, running after her.

“Eva?” she says, turning around to look at me. “Hi, Eva!”

“Yes, hi,” I pant. Then, I look down at my watch, which now says 4:05. “Come on, quick!”

I drag Morgan behind me, through crowds of people, past restaurants, maps, and more. We finally arrive at the station, where the conductor is getting the last few people on board. I yelp and bound up the stairs to the train, and Morgan leaps in after me. We put our suitcases in the overhead compartments and just as the train pulls out of the station, we find two seats near the window and sit down.

I sigh, relieved that through all this mess, we made it. I look up at the white ceiling, so grateful that we’re on this train, already on our way to the airport.

“One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” I tell Morgan.

Morgan tugs on her brown Ray-Bans. “Sorry about that,” she says, then laughs. “Honestly, I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to my shoulders.”

I suddenly snap my head forward and look at Morgan. “Did you remember your tickets?”

“Oh, um…” Morgan mumbles, rummaging through her backpack. She then pulls out two tickets, a blue one and a white one. “Here you are! Ha, suckers! I found you!”

“Thank goodness,” I whisper to myself and look down the aisle. The train is well lit, with two columns of plush blue chairs that run down each side. To my surprise, the train is pretty full. I can hear a baby wailing a few rows ahead. I reach into my bag and take out my packed breakfast. My coffee’s still hot, since I put it in my best thermos this morning before I ran out. I take the top of the thermos off to let it cool down a bit. I’m biting into my deliciously still warm, crunchy, orange marmalade toast when I notice Morgan looking at it with longing.

“What?” I ask, with a mouth full of bread and marmalade.

“I’m really hungry…”

“Didn’t you eat breakfast this morning?”

“I didn’t have time,” Morgan says.

I stop to think about it for a second. Then, I rip half of the toast off and hand a piece of it to her.

“Thank you so much, Eva!” Morgan cheers, carefully handling her bread and looking down at it as if it were gold.

“Don’ werry ‘bowit,” I blurt, my mouth stuffed with my delicious toast. Then, I notice the conductor is coming down the aisle, collecting the tickets. “Morgan, get your ticket out.”

“Which one?” Morgan asks.

“The blue one,” I tell her, taking mine out of my jacket’s pocket.

“Oh, okay.”

The conductor finally reaches us. She has a badge that reads “Conductor Lilith King.”

“Hi, ladies,” she says, reaching for both of our tickets. “Where you goin’?”

I hastily wipe my mouth with my napkin. “To Scotland.”

“Beautiful place, Scotland,” the conductor smiles, punching some holes in our tickets with a small metal contraption. I forget its name. “I was born there, you know.”

“Cool,” Morgan nods, finishing her toast. My toast.

The conductor bids us good luck and moves on to the next pair of chairs. I decide to share my Ziploc bag full of fruit with Morgan. The train speeds past tall buildings, stores, houses, cars, and restaurants. Morgan braids her silky red hair as I finish my last strawberry. The snow outside has started to calm down, and only a few snowflakes swirl to the floor now and then. The Heathrow Express then zooms into a dark tunnel and emerges at the airport before coming to a halt.

“Thank you for boarding the Heathrow Express. Please gather all your belongings before exiting. Please be careful when exiting the train, and watch your step. I wish you all safe travels, and have a good day,” Lilith the conductor instructs through the megaphone.

I haul my bag over my shoulders and put the lid on my coffee thermos, which didn’t manage to cool down at all. I reach into the compartment above our seats and pull Morgan’s paint-splattered suitcase and my indigo one out. I give Morgan her suitcase, then double check the chairs to make sure we didn’t leave anything.

We wait until most of the people have exited the train, and then we cross the aisle to the doors, where the conductor is standing.

“Thank you,” Morgan nods towards her.

The conductor smiles. “My pleasure, miss.”

I wave goodbye as we step off the train, facing the huge Heathrow Terminal 5 in front of us. The white marble floor seems to stretch out for miles. The ceiling is made up of large, white, graceful arches, and the walls are made of glass, which allows a clear view of the planes taking off. The airport is full of people. I mean full of people. People sitting in cafes, people waiting in lines, people running about trying to catch planes. Restaurants and shops are also everywhere. There’s a Starbucks, a Pret A Manger, a Gordon Ramsay restaurant, and more. There’s also a Chanel, a Rolling Luggage, a Ted Baker, a Mulberry, and a Hamleys. I sweep my eyes over it all, trying to look at everything at once.

“Look! A Hamleys!” Morgan tugs on my arm. “Can we please go look? Please? I need a Christmas gift for my cousin!”

I look at my watch, which says 4:21. “Fine. But we have only like an hour and a half left.”

“Yay!” Morgan exclaims, skipping ahead of me with her suitcase bobbing behind her.

We enter Hamleys, a big red toy store. It’s the biggest toy store in England. Displays in the middle of the floor are packed with Barbies, Legos, stuffed animals, clothes, action figures, masks, and more. Morgan seems like she belongs in this store with her red coat, her peculiar but colorful jewelry, and her iconic, paint-splattered suitcase.

She zooms throughout the store, stopping here and there to admire different clothes and toys. Once in awhile, she comes to me, showing me the toys she likes and asks whether she should get them. I look around the store as well, getting ideas at what some of my younger relatives would like. Then, Morgan goes to the cashier, where she pays for a bag full of toys. I wait for her outside. Sometimes, too many things and colors at once can give me a headache. Morgan skips her way toward me, through the racks and displays of toys. Then, I notice something catches her eye, and she starts walking to the side of the store. I lose her among the blurs of toys and clothes.

“Morgan?” I call, stepping closer to the shop.

After a few minutes of silence, Morgan answers. “Eva. Eva, come quick. You need to see this.”

I walk briskly towards her, almost crashing into a stack of Barbies. I finally find Morgan, crouching over a rack of toddler clothes. “What is it?” I ask bitterly. “You almost scared me.”

“No, look,” Morgan points to the rack. Hanging there are some pairs of blue pajamas. “Look closely.”

I suddenly notice the pattern on the pajamas, and my eyes widen. Blue pajamas with little clouds and stars. “Oh my God,” I whisper, covering my mouth in surprise. Because I know who owned a pair of pajamas like these. I know who was wearing these the day she disappeared.  

Morgan looks at me and nods slowly, biting her bottom lip. “Delilah Johnson was here.”

End of Part 1

Chapter 1: Soul

I know who he is.
He does not know me.
Here’s what’s important:
I believe I can read his soul.

***

“Do I know you?” my friend said.
“No, you don’t. You never did.”
Now, she remembered me. There were tears in her eyes. “But don’t you know me?” she asked. “Don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do. I’d know you from a thousand miles.”
She thought I was going mad. Or that maybe I was sick. But I wasn’t. I was just fine.

***

They told me I never stopped reading.
And it was true. I never did. I was always reading.
I read books.
I also read souls.
But I could not read my own.

***

I used to sit during recess. Used to read a book. And I used to watch. I watched the other kids running around and laughing, playing tag. And I noticed things. Noticed that the prissy fourth-grader near the fence admired another girl in her class, and that she wanted to befriend her. It wasn’t working. I could see that. Noticed that the girl across the yard was friends with some of the boys. That was unusual. Talked with them. There was one boy who hated her. I could see the hate in his eyes. No one else could. They all thought she was a bit of a tomboy. I thought she was like a rosebush. Hard thorns encasing a sweet flower. But no one else saw. I never talked to any of them. I still knew.
Outside, I think I was normal. I talked and laughed and chased my friends. I teased the other kids. Made new friends. They all told me I was calm.

“You’re so calm,” they would say. “How are you so calm?”

“I’m not,” I would reply.

They insisted I was anyway. I don’t think it mattered what I said. All the teachers had different opinions of me. Some told my mom I was too shy.

“Kai doesn’t participate enough. She’s too quiet,” they told her.

I wasn’t shy at all. I just didn’t think the questions were worth answering. The teachers didn’t realize that. I have a lot of friends. Every single one of them tells people they know me inside and out. My soul isn’t inside out. It’s hidden. Only I can find it. I laughed inside when they said things like that.

It all started with a book. As usual.

The book was called Friends, and it consisted of quotes from kids of all ages. As I read those quotes, I felt a rush of understanding. Like I knew what each kid was thinking as they wrote it. I did.

One boy, age four, said, “Having a friend is better than having a brother sometimes.” I knew he had a recent fight with his brother. He wasn’t mad at him or anything. He was just drawing conclusions. Adults don’t take four-year-olds seriously. They don’t get that there’s actual reasoning behind their statements. Later on, I found I could do the same thing with people.

I first saw him when I was reading. He was resting briefly beside me after doing some fierce running.

Another girl, who later turned out to be the tomboy, said, “Hey Rowan.”

He didn’t answer. It was then that I knew he hated her. By denying the return of a simple greeting, he had inadvertently shown his dislike of her. He only stuck with her because the rest of the boys did. That stuff was common among them. I believe he was actually somewhat more insightful than the others. I had a mild interest in him because of that. He wasn’t good enough to read souls though. Like mine.

Once, I wanted to test him, see how good he was at controlling his emotions and figuring out those of others.

I said, “ You don’t like that girl, do you?” I pointed at the same one he had refused to greet.

He looked at me suspiciously. “That’s none of your business.” Case closed.

He didn’t know. My head was like a battlefield. Part of me wished other people could understand me, that I was a person, and that I had a soul too. I wasn’t just the calm girl reading books on the sideline. The other part liked being anonymous. Liked being able to read other’s emotions and render them incapable of reading mine.

Reading souls is like being able to discern personality at a glance. Normally, people know each other for years and can’t figure it out. I could do it at a glance. Sometimes, it scared me. And people claimed I was normal. Sure.

Chapter 2: She Came Again

There used to be a girl I knew. Her name was Camryn. She was from Thailand and had the most gorgeous hair, down to her waist. It was black, silky, and she paid absolutely no attention to it. What she did pay attention to was soccer. She would put up her locks in a bun and play, day in, day out. She played after school, during recess, everywhere. The only time she stopped was to one: criticize me, and two: upbraid me for reading. Again.

Despite that major difference, we were still friends. Last year, she moved and changed schools. Never saw her again. That is, until now. I was walking home. My house is a bit far for walking, but I liked the view and the scenery, so I walked. I decided to clear-cut through the park, and I stopped next to a tree to watch a group of kids playing soccer. Camryn was one of them, of course. I felt a little jolt in my heart; I had imagined her for so long that to actually see her was a bit of a shock. I still wasn’t particularly surprised or anything. It was only when I realized she was on the verge of tears that I felt something other than calm. That something was concern. She ran past me, holding the object of her worries. The soccer ball. It was encased in some sort of wire, and apparently, no one had managed to get it off. She ran past me, distraught. I grabbed her arm. She turned.

“Do I know you?” my friend said.

“No, you don’t. You never did.”

Now, she remembered me. There were tears in her eyes. “But don’t you know me?” she asked. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do. I’d know you from a thousand miles.”

She thought I was going mad. Or that maybe I was sick. But I wasn’t. I was just fine.

“Kai,” she said, confusion in her voice, but at the same time, relief. Hesitating and unsure, she changed the subject to her object of woe. “Can you pull this off? Please? We have a game and the other team will kill us because it’s our turn to bring the ball!”

I took the ball and examined it. I sat down and pulled off the wire, bit by bit. It was rather difficult, and my hands were scratched, but I just handed the ball to her and hid my hands behind me. Camryn hugged me then.

“Good luck!” I called. I did not know if she heard. I had a feeling she did. Usually, those feelings were right.

I walked home. I had a headache. Or maybe a heartache. I couldn’t tell. But I did lie down on my bed. My parents were not yet home from work. For now, I could rest. Rest and think. Think. That was my last thought before I fell asleep.

I was crying on the shore, my reflection distorted by the waves below. Each of my tears turned into smooth, white pebbles. They piled up around me until I could not find my way out. I was clawing helplessly against the growing sculpture when I felt a shadow over me. I looked up and a lock of hair, gorgeous, black hair, fell to the floor. I heard a piercing scream.

“Don’t hurt her! She’s my friend!” I called in vain. The wall was getting higher and higher. I cried out as the stones began to choke me. I woke up. Something was underneath me. It was a smooth, white stone. I trembled, and the strength left my body.

***

They told me I was sick afterwards.

I did not go to school.
I knew that nightmare.
It
was the same one
That I had
After that day
On the river
When I watched the little girl
Scream
Fall in the water
And she nearly drowned.
And the same nightmare
I had after every time I cried.
I stopped crying then.
I didn’t want to cry
Ever again.
So I didn’t.

***

I was trusted with secrets by my friends: hopes, dreams, fears. I think it reassured them that I could take it without fuss, that I could comfort them with perfect confidence and not seem equally worried.

***

It was easier then.
But not so easy.

Chapter 3: Run

I walked up to the park the following week, and I watched my sporty friend Camryn practice. She was good, I had to admit. I walked up every week after that too, at least twice. Most of the time, she never noticed me, but that was fine. Seeing her was all I expected. I always sat at a distance so as not to disturb the players, and sometimes, I brought a book to keep me company. It was almost peaceful there. Sometimes, some of the neighborhood kids would watch too; they were not very nice and yelled insults at the players when they made mistakes. This led to more creative and elaborate schemes, such as yelling while riding by on a bicycle, threatening to steal the ball, and running in front of the players in the middle of the game. Obviously, it wasn’t so peaceful anymore, but Camryn was fine, and all was well. That is, until the stones.

***

They threw stones at them
Smooth, white stones
And they laughed
When one girl
Hit hard in the face
Fell to the ground
My friend is angry now
Very angry
And she yells
And screams
And curses
Those wretches
When they aim
A rock
A big one
At her
I jump in front of her
They were surprised
And I was more
Surprised
To find myself
In mid air
And crashing senseless
To the ground.
I am surrounded
Stoned
Like a criminal
I was just trying
To be a good friend
My stomach is bleeding
I cannot breathe
And my shoulder
Seems broken
After the fall.
Camryn
She is crying now
Though I am silent.
I’m sorry
I didn’t mean to upset her
I’m sorry.
They are gone now
I hear someone say
Camryn
is running to me now
She is turning me over
And examining me
Oblivious to my blood
Sinking into her clothing.
I missed you
I manage to gasp out
I cling to her
Before the world goes black
And I see nothing.
But I feel her arms around me.
Chapter 4: When All is Quiet

It hurts
And I don’t want it
Make it stop
Stop
It hurts
Please stop
Please
Please.
Someone is holding me
Stroking my back
Soothingly
I want Camryn
I want to see
If she is alright
Camryn
I am calling her
I am kicking
I don’t want to be here
I want to find Camryn
But she is here
She is with me
She is holding me
In her lap.
Camryn.
Cry
She says
It’s alright
It’s okay
To cry now
Just cry.
I can’t cry anymore.
I shut my eyes
And the tears come
But they are there
In my eyes
Like stones
I don’t know how to cry
I can’t even cry
Stone tears.
I want to close my eyes
Shut my ears
It’s too loud
Even
When all is quiet.
Shhh
She holds a finger
To my lips
I try to turn away
I kick
Trying to escape
That noise
Resounding
It is my heart
And that scares me.
She holds me
I am too weak
To struggle
I have no strength
No more
Than an infant.
I can’t be strong anymore
I forgot
I can only be weak
Weak and helpless.
And I collapse and close my eyes.
A nurse comes in
She lifts up my shirt
My shoulder is sore
It is bandaged
And hard to move.
I look down
And my stomach
Is scarred
Purple streaks
Mixed with blood.
The nurse
She is wrapping
The white
The long
Bandages
Around
My waist.
It hurts
I try
To pull away
But I can’t
And I am shaking
So hard
I can’t breathe.

There is a mask around my mouth.
It’s an oxygen mask
And it forces the air
Into my lungs
And I am winded
As if
I ran
A thousand miles.
When the nurse
Goes out
Camryn
Takes off
The oxygen mask
Breathe
She says
I feel like I’m drowning
Like that little girl
That little girl
Falling in the river.

But she has pulled me out
And I breathe.
She cannot understand me
And she never will
But she
Can read my soul.
And then
I know
I am not alone.
Before
I was calm
And I could not cry
Not even
Stone tears.
I cry now
And my tears are not stone
They flow
in accordance
With my soul.
And Camryn holds me through it all.
We are silent
But we are one
And I am whole.
I am exhausted
And I fall
Into a restless
Sleep.
I cried
My heart out
But there is no nightmare
There is no stone.
Only quiet.
I stayed with her at the hospital that night.
In the morning
I looked out the window
and at the river
and my last thought was
It’s beautiful.
As I looked up
I seemed to see myself
walking again
along the shore.
And I whispered
I whispered it again
and said it once more
I know now
I know
that I’m not alone.