Based off the song lyrics of; “Mountain At My Gates” by Foals

“I see a mountain at my gates.

I see it more and more each day.

What I give it takes away,

Whether I go or when I stay.”

I sit on my front porch staring at the mountain that looms in front. Growing up in this home it has never left. I have been alone as long as I can remember. All that I can remember from my younger days is a vague figure walking off our porch. Everyday I wait for them to come back; to remember they left me. Deep down I know they won’t.

If I can’t help it, my mind wanders to what life would be like without the mountain. If the mountain just disappeared. When I do I feel free, like a weight was lifted off my back. I try not to think like that because I know the mountain will never move. It will always be there.

“I see a mountain in my way,

It’s looming larger by the day,

I see a darkness in my fate.”

The day something happens in my life seems farther and farther away. The long, dark shadow of the mountain hangs over me, like the clouds on a rainy day. Leaving me sitting there hoping for a brighter day, with nothing to grasp. No control. Here sitting on my porch, waiting for something that I know won’t happen, to happen. My future seems repetitive and gloomy.

The shiny glint given off the tip of the mountain blinds me, yet I cannot pry my eyes off of it. The coniferous trees running up and down it provide its nightmare-ish nature that it imposes upon me. The look that it could pounce on me at any moment. Without warning, it could strike. Now, each day I get a bigger impression that this is how my life is and will always be.

“Oh gimme some time,

Show me a foot hole

From which I can climb.”

Tonight's a night in which I don’t sleep, I lay thinking with my eyes open. Tonight seems different. I feel something new bubbling inside of me. A defiance of my life. A push to find something. I quickly try to push out this feeling. It’s stupid. I have to accept my life as it is. It won’t change. I feel the fight that has been bottled up all of these years burst to the top. I jump out of bed and run.

Blindly I run with no destination. I burst through my gates and towards the mountain. After running about half a mile I collapse. I lay there for a long time. Asking myself what came over me. How did I get here? I finally look up to see the mountain hanging over me.

Now is my time. I imagine all of the amazing things that are over this mountain. I push myself up and start to climb. Starting up the mountain is easy. Though there is gravel and loose rocks, I traverse rather easily. I look up to see how much farther there is to go. I wish I didn’t as the terrain gets much steeper as I go. “There will be no stopping.” I tell myself. I force my body on into the night.

Morning has come. At some point I must have collapsed during the night. I am now surrounded  by pine trees. The trees cast an eerie shadow over me. They almost seem as if they are forming a path for me. I decide to follow the one direction I know. Up.

After several hours of treacherous climbing I step in something. My foot is stuck in it. Mud. I turn to the left and see a stream. I sprint over and drink as much as I can. The cool spring water soothing my throat. The stream is running downwards so I follow it up the mountain stopping to drink every so often. A ledge comes up in front of me. I turn to the right and see what I have to face. An almost vertical cliff made of gravel.

Facing this is the last thing I need. I can almost smell the peak now. I am ¾ of the way there. I have one last challenge. Here it is. I place my foot on the gravel. I slip. I need a plan. I reach for a tree on my right. Since the terrain is so steep, the tree grows on a slant allowing me to step on it with ease. The trees form a makeshift staircase forme as I make my way up the side. All this time looking up on the mountain, it is almost my time to look down on it. It is my time to conquer MY mountain.

After I’m past the steep part, I can see the peak about 50 feet above me. The stretch in front of me is almost nothing. All I have to do place my feet in the right places and I’m there. After ten minutes of climbing I reach a ledge that if I climb onto I can reach the peak easily. I grab it and pull myself up. I’m now three step away from the peak. 3 steps. 2 steps. 1 step. I reach out with my left hand and touch the peak. Pride courses through my body. I did it! I’ve conquered the mountain. I take one last look at the speck that was my house. I imagine the gates still burst wide open and my sheets still tangled. I decide it is time to look at the other side.

I gasp. The other side is filled with specks. Specks in the shapes of houses. Hundreds of them. I wonder if there are more people. Maybe more people like me. I can’t hold back anymore and start to run down the mountain. The terrain is much easier on this side and I can move quickly. I will soon be there.

The sound of music hits my ears and I know I belong here. Everyone here has there own mountain. And now I know that this is my home.

“Oh, when I come to climb,

show the mountain so far behind.”

He sat comfortably on his futon, patiently gazing at his wristwatch, waiting until the moment it would stop ticking.

The watch was his most treasured possession, a gift from his tenth birthday. “Use it wisely, son,” they’d told him, “this is all the time you have in this world.” He had.

The watch gave him confidence. Death was never an obstacle, and so he had never been afraid. Never had he had to worry about infections or carcinogens or poisons because he knew exactly when his death would happen. At 17, he joined a slightly questionable traveling circus, mostly because he wanted to see the world. He saw beautiful landscapes but came to realize that many people (interestingly, usually the more well-off) came to watch the circus hoping something would go wrong.

In his teenage years, there were many times when he would doubt his gift. Why did he have this watch? Who had the power to know when he would die? How? Were there other people in the world in a similar situation? Was he allowed to reveal his secret to the world? He never got any answers, but decided that keeping his gift as a secret would be in his best interests. He imagined horror stories of being dissected in a lab in order to mass produce similar watches for more people and decided that the cost of potential exploitation was not one he was willing to pay.

Eventually, he realized that while he had an amazing advantage no one else had that allowed him to pull death-defying stunts absolutely care-free, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life on the move. At 23, he rented a suit and went for a job interview in a growing firm in a city of opportunities. Much to his surprise, he was offered the job despite his paltry resume. He had only listed his high school diploma and that he used to make a living sticking his head in the mouth of a lion. “You seem like a knowledgeable young man who’s willing to go all the way,” they’d told him.

At 25, he performed the heroic feat of running into a burning building to save a woman trapped inside. Subsequently, he and this woman got to know each other well. She was beautiful, lovely, with an incredible wit, and was climbing the corporate ladder of a big firm. She was many great things but not a dangerous or strange character. At 27, he married her.

At 32, he left his job. He started a new company with the help of one of his childhood best friends and his wife. They had been skeptical as it was a big risk, but they’d always seen his boldness and risk-taking payoff (of course, they didn’t know that death wasn’t an obstacle, but being bankrupt was), so they reluctantly went through with it. At 34, the company made its first million.

Soon, his life became full of mundane but extraordinary things, like living in a big house with three kids and a dog. That’s not to say he wasn’t living life to the fullest, he was, he just realized that climbing mountains and swimming through oceans wasn’t interesting if he was alone. He became the “cool dad” of the neighborhood; his children’s friends would come over and listen to his stories with fascination.

This did not diminish him as a person. He was happy being more of a family man. Still, on family vacations, he took pleasure in being the only one daring enough to go cliff diving or touch the bottom of an icy lake. Nobody could ever quite understand where his complete lack of fear came from and many thought it odd when he jumped at opportunities like cliff diving even in his fifties. Whenever asked, he would just say that he believed life is short and he wanted to live it to the fullest.

He was extremely grateful for the watch. The watch gave him fearlessness and invincibility. Although someone else would probably have used this knowledge to live a life of extremes, without the watch his unexciting life wouldn’t have been nearly as great. His valor led him to his wife and let him see the world.

And today, at the age of 63, he looked at his watch as it reached its final seconds. He had made his peace with dying years ago. It was a deadline (he always loved that pun). Although at the beginning of his life, there was many a time when he questioned and feared this final due date on everything he would ever do, he now embraced it. He found it empowering. The security in knowing the exact pressure of time had given him a reason to get out of bed every morning and live his days as best as he could. The finiteness of life forced him to appreciate every sunrise that he woke up every day. He was thankful the lifestyle the watch had given him.

Over the past few months, he had planned for his death, selling things he knew no one that mattered to him cared about and donating the proceeds to close family and friends and even various charities, ensuring his legacy as a kind human being. He spent his last day saying goodbye to everyone.  

Five.

He’d shaken hands with his business partner, the man he had trusted the most for the longest time. Four. He’d hugged all his kids tightly. They thought it was odd as they were quite old now, but he didn’t care. Three. His dog came up the him and licked his hand. Two. He had kissed his wife one last time. One. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever came next.

And then, nothing. Not oblivion, just absolutely nothing. His first realization was that he could still feel his dog licking his hand. Then, he realized, the watch had stopped ticking. He was still very much alive.

For the first time in his life, he was afraid.

Again and again I walk into Language Arts I sit in that seat that we both sat in that first day, and I wonder what happened to our friendship, then I remember… I happened. I still remember that first day when I was waiting for someone to sit next to me. Then you sat down right in the chair on the left. That chair that now is empty. You’re afraid of me, and that’s something that I can’t bear think about. I just hope that by telling you the truth maybe one day you’ll dare to fill that empty chair next to me. Oh Emmi, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet anyone like you. I don’t think that I even really want to. I just want to see you smile at me again. Please read this thoroughly. I really hope that you’ll sit on that empty chair next to me. But you’ve got to understand first.

I guess I’ll start from the very beginning. On that very first day of our Junior year. I’ve been to 4 different schools and I haven’t really had any friends. I saw all those small huddles of friends looming in the halls. The girls were talking in hushed voices about various topics. The boys were all huddled around a big, strong boy who had a soccer ball that was signed by Lionel Messi. People ignored me and didn’t really pay attention to me as I walked to the lockers. I had my locker number memorized and it didn’t take me a long time to find it. I’m the kind of person who didn’t have anything better to memorize than their locker number. I was right next to one of the “popular” kids who had been surrounded by a swarm of girls admiring her makeup. She came and opened her locker briskly and quickly, grabbed a pad of makeup and an applying brush before giving me a look that made it clear that we were not going to be friends. Then she slammed her locker door shut and walked right back to her friends. She looked like a model walking down a runway and I couldn’t help staring for a split second before turning back to my locker. I got out everything I would need for Language Arts, shoved my backpack inside my locker and decided to be the first one in class.

I walked in and looked around, taking everything in. There were posters all over the walls, definitions of what was a good grade and what wasn’t, and examples of people’s stories. Of course you already know all this. After all, you have been going to Brooklyn High since 9th grade. I don’t know whether or not you had ever been in this classroom before, but either way… I’m telling you the story from my perspective. I guess I just want you to understand why I did what I did. I don’t know if that will ever happen, but maybe you could try. I went over and pretended to be super interested in viewing myself in the mirror on the wall. I pretended to be eyeing my lips and nose but really all I was thinking about was making friends. I’ve never had a friend before and I was thinking that maybe I could pick up a few friends in my Junior year.

I waited until about 5 people walked into the room until I took the seat at the table in the middle to the right. In our seat. Though it wasn’t our seat yet. I waited for someone to sit next to me. All the popular girls sat in either the back or the front. The boys mainly sat in the corners where their talking wouldn’t be TOO obvious.

The bell rang signaling for class to start and I was still sitting on my own. I was beginning to lose hope that I would find any friends at this new school, until the door opened for the last time. That was when you walked in. I was hopeful. Maybe you would sit next to me. Maybe I would finally have a friend. Or maybe you would sit next to Jancer. That would really have been devastating for me.

But no, you walked right in, plopped your backpack onto the ground. It was purple with a black peace-sign on it. You opened it up and pulled out a pencil. Suddenly you flipped around and extended your hand, “Hi, I’m Emmi, what’s your name?” The way you said that made my stomach start doing backflips. I finally felt like someone wanted to be my friend. Before I had watched people meet and become best friends. I’d spent my entire recess watching three girls link arms and try and walked synchronized. Now maybe I had a chance to do all that. But it all depended on what I said now. On how I reacted. In any other situation I would have turned right back around and faced the teacher.

But now I forced my lips into a smile and slipped my hand into yours, “I’m Aspen,” I said nervously. I was worried that the teacher would yell at me and that you would accuse me of getting you in trouble.

On the contrary you smiled even bigger, if that was possible, and said, “Oh, Aspen. That’s such a pretty name. It sounds like a superhero name. My name sounds like a 5 year old’s name,” you said, oblivious that the teacher was right there staring us down. I guess that I expected the teacher to say something rude and make us sit apart. And there would go my ONE chance at friendship. I stuttered, not being able to get any words out.

tI still remember that moment. About as clearly as one can remember. I was happy to be talking to someone, devastated that the teacher was going to ruin my only friendship. But those are only feelings. I don’t actually remember what everything looked like around us when we had that conversation. I never bothered looking away from you eyes. Your green eyes. They went so well with your fiery red hair. It seemed like you were perfect. You were wearing round golden hoops and torn jeans. Your face was covered in freckles. I remember thinking how pretty you were. How nice you seemed. How confident you were in the world. I miss all of that now that I don’t get to feel it. Now that I don’t deserve it anymore. I understand why you didn’t have any friends before me. But then I didn’t. You seemed like a privilege to talk to let alone befriend. You made me feel lucky. Anyways, back to that moment.

“No,” I said shaking my head happily yet nervously, “Your name is-” but I was cut off by the teacher. I could see that you didn’t mind this. You expected me to finish. I felt so bad. You kept on looking at me but I just whirled around to face front. You poked me and I ignored you. As for what the teacher said… same old speech teachers give every time someone is loud and they’re not supposed to be. You might waited until about 5 people walked into the room until I took the seat at the table in the middle to the right. In our seat. Though it wasn’t our seat yet. I waited for someone to sit next to me. All the popular girls sat in either the back or the front. The boys mainly sat in the corners where their talking wouldn’t be TOO obvious. That left all the nerdy girls in the middle. A brunette with huge glasses and a face full of acne sat with her friend at the table next to me. Her friend had really blonde hair and a gloomy look on her face. Now I know that they were Lou and Arie. But back then they were just the two girls who seemed to know the answers to everything. Class didn’t even need to start. I could just see them talking over what new molecules had been discovered and what their theories are on proving that there were infinitely many prime numbers. The bell rang signaling for class to start and I was still sitting on my own. I was beginning to lose hope that I would find any friends at this new school, until the door opened for the last time. That was when you walked in. I was hopeful. Maybe you would sit next to me. Maybe I would finally have a friend. Or maybe you would sit next to Jancer. That would really have been devastating for me.

But no, you walked right in, plopped your backpack onto the ground. It was purple with a black peace-sign on it. You opened it up and pulled out a pencil. Suddenly you flipped around and extended your hand, “Hi, I’m Emmi, what’s your name?” The way you said that made my stomach start doing backflips. I finally felt like someone wanted to be my friend. Before I had watched people meet and become best friends. I’d spent my entire recess watching three girls link arms and try and walked synchronized. Now maybe I had a chance to do all that. But it all depended on what I said now. On how I reacted. In any other situation I would have turned right back around and faced the teacher.

But now I forced my lips into a smile and slipped my hand into yours, “I’m Aspen,” I said nervously. I was worried that the teacher would yell at me and that you would accuse me of getting you in trouble.

On the contrary you smiled even bigger, if that was possible, and said, “Oh, Aspen. That’s such a pretty name. It sounds like a superhero name. My name sounds like a 5 year old’s name,” you said, oblivious that the teacher was right there staring us down. I guess that I expected the teacher to say something rude and make us sit apart. And there would go my ONE chance at friendship. I stuttered, not being able to get any words out.

I still remember that moment. About as clearly as one can remember. I was happy to be talking to someone, devastated that the teacher was going to ruin my only friendship. But those are only feelings. I don’t actually remember what everything looked like around us when we had that conversation. I never bothered looking away from you eyes. Your green eyes. They went so well with your fiery red hair. It seemed like you were perfect. You were wearing round golden hoops and torn jeans. Your face was covered in freckles. I remember thinking how pretty you were. How nice you seemed. How confident you were in the world. I miss all of that now that I don’t get to feel it. Now that I don’t deserve it anymore. I understand why you didn’t have any friends before me. But then I didn’t. You seemed like a privilege to talk to let alone befriend. You made me feel lucky. Anyways, back to that moment.

“No,” I said shaking my head happily yet nervously, “Your name is-” but I was cut off by the teacher. I could see that you didn’t mind this. You expected me to finish. I felt so bad. You kept on looking at me but I just whirled around to face front. You poked me and I ignored you. You might have noticed that I looked a little shocked. That wasn’t because I thought she was harsh or anything, but well… let me explain. All my other schools had been girl-only boarding schools. The teachers there could be pretty darn harsh when they wanted to be. So the harshness wasn’t the problem. I knew that it was going to be like that. But not ever in my whole life have I been called out for misbehaving by the teacher. No offense, but I had reason to guess that you weren’t quite as new to this as I was. You seemed like the girl who did well in every class, however not without being loud half the time. Sorry if I offended you.

When the bell rang the teacher (Mrs. Congh) was in the middle of a sentence. Nobody seemed to care that she was in the middle of explaining the difference between voice and style in your writing. People just got up and grabbed everything that was theirs and immediately started talking. A little rude if you ask me. I was just about to say something to you when I realized that you were already up and ready to go to your next class. However you didn’t leave. You just stood there, waiting for me to gather my stuff up. We walked toward the door together and you held the door for me. I don’t know if you thought it was that important when you put your foot in front of the door so that no fingers of mine were squashed in the small space. But no for me, well, nobody had ever shown be that much respect. Usually I was the last one out of the class because I had been lingering behind so that I could talk to that teacher. This time I was out kind of in-between, and even though it was obvious that you didn’t have many friends if any, I was now one of the kids that had a friend to walk to my next class with, a friend to hold my door, and maybe even a friend that I could lock arms with as we walked through the hall to gym or to lunch.

We were walking in silence, even though it wasn’t really silent considering all the people making an excessive amount of noise around us, until you said, “If you are planning on surviving high school here, then you are going to have to bring your whole backpack to class. Otherwise TRUST me, there is NO way that you are going to get to ANY of your classes on time. What class do you have next?” I remember you asking that, and I remember being happy that someone was talking to me. Even when I was sitting next to you in class I had my doubts that you actually wanted to be my friend, even after you actually talked to me, well, I have my own reasons to believe that you had no interest whatsoever in being my friend. Anyways.

“Oh, uh,” I muttered trying to check my schedule that I hadn’t had enough time to memorize, “Math… with, uh, Mr. Lasm,” I said nervously.

“COOL! Me too. Anyways, you are going to need your whole backpack, especially for math. Lasm asks for an insane amount of stuff. C’mon, let’s hurry.”

My phone rang, barely audible over the laughter of the couple three booths down. I jabbed at the green answer button and snapped, “Yes? What do you need?” A nearby server shot me an admonishing look. I swallowed my anger down and added, “Boss.”

With that, she decided to ignore my petulance and set out to finish what she started. “Psykick, Doombringer was sighted in your general vicinity just an hour before. Stay alert, even during your date.”

She hung up. I sat there staring down at the screen of my phone. Alone.

My knuckles went white around the edge of the phone. My sight tunneled in onto my phone and I bit back my anger, choking on it. The cry of I’m being stood up, again! burned going down. A hot coil of shame curled around my guts, tightening with every breath. This shouldn't be any different, even if my date was Jack.

The only name he had for me was Matilda, his best friend, as he told me once. Matilda, the genius college girl and not Psykick, the apprentice to the greatest superhero in the city. That's the only side of me he really knows.

A red apron fluttered as someone stopped next to me, “Excuse me, miss, your order?”

I took my time, settling the Matilda personality back into place. I raked my eyes up and down the disheveled server, finally arching a brow at the neon orange hair. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take that order,” I said. “ Maybe choose a more put together disguise next time, alright?”

“You’re too perceptive for your own good Mat.” The server — it had to be Jack — sat down across from me, pulling the apron off to set to the side.

I just shrugged at his comment, a rather sharp smile on my face as I let the rage go. There was no point in staying mad at him when he was the only good thing left in my life. “You’re late.” I pointed out.

“Traffic was terrible,” he said as he smoothed his hair down.

“Liar.”

The conversation died as we each sized the other one up, the standard procedure used after meeting someone from the internet. Correcting assumptions and the like. Perhaps not so much for Jack, as he’d probably seen at least a couple pictures with my face in them. But for me…

“Jack, would it have killed you to add a selfie to your account? Could have saved me the trouble.”

He just gave me an irritated glare, “Don’t you know that you’re supposed to avoid putting a lot of personal information on the internet?”

“I don’t see what the problem is, I mean, you have a pretty nice face.” Bingo, a blush. Plus it looks like he’s completely forgotten about his tirade about internet safety. He cleared his throat and dived into our last debate that we ended up pausing this morning.

We danced around words like “date” and “girlfriend” and “boyfriend”, and instead stick with familiar arguments. Before I had always won them, with my clever use of words, but in person, Jack was far more persuasive. He used charming smiles and a soothing voice in a pretty good attempt to win me over to his side. But I’ve heard his arguments before, and refuted every one of them.

A real server came over with food to break up our latest debate about whether or not the villains of the city should be contained in their own prison or just have special cells.

“How bad was the traffic, Jack. For real this time, I have classes I need to get to soon, and if there’s a couple of blown up banks I have to leave soon.”

“Eh, it really wasn’t that bad,” he said, pausing to steal a fry from me, “I’m sure that there won’t be anything newsworthy happening here.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked. He stopped moving, fry hovering midair as he processed this question. For the first time during this whole date, I found myself completely focused on him. An innocent question about a rather flippant response and this, this was the reaction?

I started paying more attention, noting his sloppy response that was trying too hard to be casual. I kept the conversation rolling, throwing questions about his college life at him and noting the tension that faded from him. From then on his stilted responses seemed to be less like his personality and more like self-editing. Carefully dribbling out small drops of personal information.

Jack was paranoid about exposing his personal life. I pushed around the remaining food in my plate, slowly tapping my finger against the side of my face as I considered the similarities between the two of us. Jack pointed out that the server was making her way over to us, checkbook clutched in her hands.

My phone lit up with a text soon after he mentioned that. Perfect. “Say, Jack. How about you give me your phone number before we leave?”

He pulled out his phone, as well as his wallet. “For being late,” he told me.

I check the text message first. Just the boss updating me about Doombringer. I flipped over his phone, ready to lock his phone up when my eyes caught on the small engraving at the top of the phone. As I looked closer, the Doombringer’s jagged D came into focus.

“Is something wrong Mat?”

I relaxed my hold on his phone and claimed that I couldn’t figure out his passcode. As he unlocked his phone, I texted Boss about the engraving. Her response was immediate and was four words long. Don’t jump to conclusions.

I tapped my way into his contacts as he chatted with the server. The anger from earlier turned into unease, sinking into my bones. I don’t doubt that Jack was Doombringer. No one else can make that kind of claim about the city’s safety. Not even the boss and I. We just showed up to put out the fires.

“Hey, let’s walk together.” I said, not able to let Jack slip away into the crowd, never to be seen again. Not without a picture of his face.

We just ended up cutting through an alley to get to the bus stop. Like any good alley in this city, it’s completely deserted, crumbling bricks serving as the only reminder of the bloody battles that took place.

I can remember the last time we fought Doombringer, my first battle. It was just a few weeks ago, and he’s been in prison since. But I could still taste the blood in my mouth. It tasted like victory, my blood singing with delight as I landed blow after blow, forcing Doombringer to ditch his broken limb enhancers and run into Boss.

I couldn’t recall any of his bitter threats, only the anger and resentfulness as his voice warped with static. I sat in the alley, chest heaving to get all the air it can. Forcing my own dark delight down.

With Doombringer, there was nothing to feel but anger. To think that he is the same person as Jack, the one person in my life that can still bring smiles to my face. My stomach twists and I can taste bile in the back of my throat. And it hurts, just a little, to breath.

What have I done to deserve this?

“We can meet up next week, but hopefully elsewhere. Maybe closer to your home this time.”

We stopped moving then, and Jack was looking at me, waiting. Most likely for an invitation to join me on the ride home. I would have given that invitation to Jack in a heartbeat, but now? Not without blackmail.

“Let’s get a photo first before we start talking about other dates.” I beckoned him towards the wall. When he got close enough I slid my arms around his, pinning them to his side, camera ready.

“Planning on flying home using your limb enhancers, Doombringer?” I said through my clenched grimacing face.

He froze, his eyes wide open with shock.

Click went the camera.

A snap of my fingers had him pinned against the wall, a thick band of sparks around his chest.

“I'm surprised,” I told him, “I thought the mask over your face when you were in jail was for health reasons. You seem perfectly fine to me.”

The shocked, almost broken look on his face vanished when he laughed, and I could almost hear the crackle of static echoing in the alley. “You can't pin that lie on me! Your police officers couldn't figure out how to take it off and made up a lie to save their public image. Imagine them saying they couldn’t even pry a mask off of the face of the most hated criminal in this city, even with the technological support of billionaires!”

“I wouldn’t say you’re the most hated here. Maybe the seventh, so don’t get cocky.”

“Still flirting even when you’re threatening to break every bone in my body.”

“Only if you lie to me. Tell me, how much of Jack is real?” I let the band crackle, just in case he was planning on lying.

“If you break my bones,” he wheezed, “you’ll have a hard time explaining how.”

I laughed back, nearly loud enough to penetrate the foreboding silence of the alley. “I have a whole list of excuses. But that’s not what I’m here for.” I stuck my phone in his face, our conversations open and shining in his face. “What did Doombringer want with a random college girl anyways?”

“Why did Psykick want a boyfriend?”

“Touché.”

I waited, keeping half of an eye on the alley entrances, and the other half on Doombringer. I tightened the band just a bit more when he didn’t say anything.

“Why do people,” he choked out, “seek another’s company?”

I kept my voice flat. “So you were lonely.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

I only hummed in response, turning on the GPS on my phone and pinging Boss. “Well, as charming and cute I find you, I’m afraid you still have a kill count, sooooo…” I loosened my hold around his chest to shove him off the ground.

“Back to prison I go.” He gave me a mournful look, probably attempting to beg with his eyes.

“Stop being ridiculous Jack. We both know you can walk out of that prison whenever you want to. Those ‘special cells’ do nothing.”

“Especially since I don’t have a supernatural power.” He smirked down at me, his mask crawling out of his hair and over his face. His next words were surrounded by that static you associate with Doombringer. “I’m just a guy with some cool toys.”

His mask apparently made its appearance just on time, as Boss was stalking down the alley with a group of cops following her. I thought briefly about what I would say next. Briefly.

“Call me. Later.” Then I stood back, letting him fall to his knees and the police swarm him.

“Sure thing, dahling,” he called back, before vanishing into a police car.

Boss just stood next to me, dressed up in her suit, before she asked, “Do I even want to know?”

I just showed her my phone, this time opened to Jack’s face, and smiled. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

There are two types of new kids.

There’s the wholesome, studious type. Their dad got a new job that pulled him out of his boring nine-to-fiver, and they’ve moved to better their lives. The son was left end on his school’s soccer team, the daughter ran weekly bakesales to benefit the homeless. They fall into a group quickly; if someone asks if you know the new kid, you smile and nod, because they’re nice. They represent some pure, good ideal of what the world is that seems so far removed from where you are.

The second kind is endlessly more interesting. Rumors fly that they’re here because they were expelled from their last school for one reason or the other. She probably has a tattoo in some unspeakable place, he smokes and rides a motorcycle. When someone asks if you know them, you answer yes, because everyone knows of them before the first week is out. They’re on the opposite end of the spectrum from the first type of newbie: they represent something dangerous, something far away that you aspire to, but don’t dare actually step over the line towards.

Yesterday, I was the first kind of newbie. Today, I’m going to be the second. 

I get to school an hour before classes start. I decided a few weeks ago that I’ll need to do this for at least a week, maybe two if I want to make an impact. It’s a simple fact of high school that parking spaces are sacred symbols of popularity, and I’ve got the spot right on the fence. There’s no way I’m keeping it unless I keep showing up here early. At least, until it’s unequivocally mine. 

So far, mine is the only car in the parking lot. Honestly, this is at least mildly surprising; I was sure that there would be one or two terrified sophomores, driving to school for the first time and overeager. Maybe this is just what this school’s like. 

I desperately wanted to go out over the past few weeks, if for no reason other than to scope out the social scene. It felt horribly desperate to be sitting at home every night, watching the drudges of summer TV with my mom. Back home, I could have biked over to Ally’s house, or called Raj to find out where the night’s party was, or texted Big to get him to take me to a movie. I could have even gone and sat in Molly’s Diner, if it came to that. 

But, I knew that the best way to become the person I wanted to be was to create an air of mystery. Groundbreaking girls didn’t quietly drift into the party scene, meekly walking up to a park bench full of teenagers and introducing themselves. Groundbreaking girls made a bold statement. So, that was what I was going to do. 

We were in fourth grade when I met my first groundbreaking girl. Her name was Whitney, and she had already kissed a boy. And not just in some kindergarten marriage; no, she had a boyfriend. He was in sixth grade, went to the middle school a few miles away, and was hopelessly in love with her. Whitney was the one who gave Big his nickname; before, he was just Anthony. When she heard that, Whitney scrunched up her nose and shook her head. It was then that he was rechristened Big, and before long, few among us could dream of calling him anything else. Even as Big (previously a, well, big kid who had hit puberty early) slowed down his growth, grew into his baby fat, and began playing baseball, he was still Big. 

I shake thoughts of Whitney and Big and everyone else left in Hamilton out of my head. It’s no use to think of them now. I need to look ahead. 

I pull down my sun visor to check that my hair is in place. A few nights earlier, bored and nervous, I watched a dozen Youtube videos on how to achieve a perfect, effortless ponytail. The old me would have gone with loose curls if I was trying to impress. But, the whole point of a new Sadie is that I’m not trying to impress. The new Sadie doesn’t care what any of these people think. The new Sadie doesn’t have time for anything beyond a simple ponytail thrown up in thirty seconds on the way out the door. Never mind that this took me twenty minutes this morning, and another three hours last night.

Back in Hamilton, I know exactly what I would have been doing today. I’d wake up in my own bed, in my bedroom with a view of the lake I learned to swim in. I’d put on black Keds and a flowered dress, my hair loose and straight like I always wear it. I would picked up Ally, and then we’d drive to Big’s house. He would keep us waiting an extra five minutes before ambling out, more laid back than I could ever imagine being. We would pull into school twenty minutes before the bell rang, sliding easily into a parking spot a few rows back that everyone would immediately acknowledge as ours. Then we’d laugh and compare schedules, whispering back and forth about how much everyone had changed in a few short months, until the bell rang, and we walked inside. 

I close my eyes and breathe in and out steadily. Two hundred miles away, Ally’s probably packing her lunch. She got her license a few weeks ago, as she actually needs it now. I don’t know when she’d leave. I don’t know if she’s going to pick up Big, or if there are other people she’s going to give a ride to. For the first time in my entire life, it’s the first day of school in Hamilton, Pennsylvania and I have no idea what any of my friends are doing. 

I’m distracted by another car pulling into the lot, finally. Sadie the student council secretary wants to get out of the car, wander around and hope that whoever’s in the other car takes it upon themselves to come make introductions. But, the cool, apathetic Sadie knows that that is more enthusiastic than any sane person should be, much less a groundbreaking girl. I turn on my engine; in my experience, the cool kids always have their cars on, surely doing damage to their batteries and the environment. The new Sadie doesn’t need to care much about the ozone layer. 

It’s been years since I last saw her, but I still wonder if Whitney is the type of person to keep her car running in the parking lot. Her family moved again in sixth grade; to Philadelphia or Dallas or Phoenix, I can’t remember. She left the way she arrived, ensuring that no one would forget about her anytime soon. The going-away party was a foreign idea in a world in which people either knew each other for a lifetime or simply drifted away into oblivion. Whitney’s party was frenetic and exciting, the place to be for all the eleven year olds in Hamilton. After an hour, the insociable sixth grade version of myself was trying to slip out the door quietly when Whitney grabbed my arm. Pulling me into a tight hug, she whispered in my ear, “Keep them on their toes, Sadie.” I laughed, brushing her off and wishing her good luck. I walked home, another normal day.

My going-away party was significantly less noteworthy. My friends and I sat at our favorite diner, a place with decade-old salt and pepper shakers and grease stains on the menus. I sat at the head of the table, Ally on one side and Big on the other, and the group of us talked. We asked after old friends who had gone off to college, reminisced about our shared childhood memories, and laughed at the antics of our classmates the night before. We didn’t talk about the future, only about the past and the moment we existed in, in the confines of the diner where one waitress had worked for as long as any of us could remember. It was one of the happiest nights of my life, yet also one of the most normal. 

However, none of them are here. I hadn’t been to the diner since, haven’t spoken to most of the people who had been there that night in weeks. The old Sadie may have spent the last night in Hamilton stuck in the past, refusing to recognize the mere existence of a future. The new Sadie will only look forwards. 

More time has passed than I expected. There are other cars beside me, now. Shiny students mingle by the doors, hugging old friends and bouncing in the unexpectedly frigid air of late August. According to my watch, I have seven and a half minutes until my first class. Just enough time. 

I reach into my purse, and pull out the black sunglasses I spent days fretting over. Were they too aloof, to obviously the choice of someone trying too hard? Eventually, I settled on situating them atop my head, to be pulled down if I feel the urge. I pull the sun visor down to check myself one last time. You only get one first impression. I slide open my door, and pull myself out.

Perfectionist I am, I’ve practiced these moments endlessly in my bedroom, in my head, in my dreams. After pulling myself out, I swing my car door shut behind me, looking around the parking lot in a manner I hope appears lazy, not calculated. I reach up to smooth my hair, then walk confidently across the parking lot to the soundtrack of a John Hughes movie that beats in my head from memory. I pull my paper schedule out of the top of my bag, to give my hands and my eyes something to do beyond wander. I pretend to study it intently, even though I memorized it and the map of the school as soon as it arrived in the mail. This is where my plan becomes less certain; I can’t study the schedule too long, lest I look confused and lost. If I look up, however, I need somewhere to center my gaze. As I’d hoped, a third option presents itself. 

“Hi there!” A girl with a tight, blonde ponytail and rosy cheeks skips up to me. She’s wearing a horrendous red t-shirt with “WELCOME TO LINCOLN!” written on it in ugly green lettering. It’s unclear if the Christmas theme was intentional. 

“My name’s Whitney,” she says, thrusting her hand into the air between us. “I’m part of the official welcoming team for Lincoln High School, are you new here?”

A smile grows on my face. I hope it’s cool and friendly and aloof and intelligent and nice and attractive and everything else that is supposed to make someone groundbreaking. I hope this Whitney will go back to her friends and tell them all about the new, other-worldly, groundbreaking manic-pixie-dream girl. 

I take her hand, shaking it firmly in the way my dad taught me when I was eight. “Hi Whitney, I’m Sadie. It’s nice to meet you.”

The tiny blossom of hope couldn't quite be stomped to its death by the immense feeling of sadness and reluctance I felt on the way to the office. Maybe I could find something useful that could actually help me. Although my mind was conflicted, I stopped to appreciate the soft pastel blue that was spread all over the sky and the fresh, sweet air that my lungs had yearned for. I didn't think much of the usual colloquial protocol of parking and entering the building, yet I still noticed the soft, down to earth colors that enforced the strong feeling of safety, “Take a left,” I said to myself, turning and walking down a hall, last room on the right.

“Hello, Ms...Delacruz?” A blonde, petite woman greeted my sight. Gesturing to a chair, she said warmly, “Welcome, feel free to take a seat and a small box of those macarons to your right,” She pointed, and I eagerly walked over to the small counter where a silver box about the size of my hand stood. “I heard that vanilla was your favorite flavor?” I nodded, not bothering to question how she had known.

Realizing that she was waiting for me to finish eating, I sat down and swallowed the last bits of the delicious macarons. “So,” She started, “What brings you here?”
She nods, “Go on,”

“I...um, he and I just, well, I guess…” I sighed, “We really lack in the communication department.”

“Aha,” She says, tapping her leg with her index finger, her left leg is crossed over her knee, and her red pointed heel is pointing at me. “What do you think might’ve caused that?”

I shrug, “I-I don’t know, we both love each other a lot, but we just can’t... talk. Like, it wasn’t like this before we realized how we felt about each other, we were really close friends, and kind of just wanted to make it something more when we both agreed that we could make it work, but now, I’m not really sure. He doesn’t want me to meet his friends, and he doesn’t seem to make an effort to include me in things that, if the roles were reversed, I would gladly let him come along.”

She was scribbling fiercely now, and I felt a bit sick to my stomach, what did this all mean? “Is he…timid?”

“Yeah,” I said, “And I’m just, really depressed. I don’t know how to describe it, but I just feel like he doesn’t seem to like me that much anymore, and a lot of things happened over the past couple weeks, so I’m really struggling to cope with what’s happened and this current situation. It’s all incredibly stressful. I just don’t think he’s really as devoted to this relationship as me.”

I felt tears form, “I just really want to cry, because there’s been so many people that I could’ve been better off without, but I just can’t bear the thought of being alone. So many people have left me just for being me and there’s too many hectic things and thoughts are just swirling in my head, I just want to break down and cry so much that when I’m done, there won’t be any tears left to let out.”

She stood up, “Did you ever think that it’s your weakness?” She walked around, looking out the window, “To be afraid to look or be alone?” She played with the pen, looking at me, she asked, “Why is it so bad to be alone? Why do you hate it?”

Trying to find an answer, I said, “I guess i’m more reliant on my reputation and how good it looks. I’m always making new friends and keeping up a facade of who I’m not, and then truly acting like myself around the people I know and trust.” My shoes looked like a very good spot to concentrate on, “I just don’t know what to do.”

She smiled, “Are you afraid of cutting it off?”

“What?” I must’ve looked baffled, “Why would I cut it off?”

“Because he doesn’t talk to you,” She said so bluntly that I winced. “Why would you even want someone like that?”

“What the hell?”

“You know it’s your fault that your friends left you,” She broke the pen in half, clenching her fist tightly, then loosening to let the pieces fall to the floor, their soft clutters breaking me out of my trance. Her smile slowly grew as the walls around me turn red and the chair I was sitting on suddenly felt hot. “You’re on fire, honey.”

I jumped up, panic lodging itself permanently in my throat, and I struggled to breath as the smoke went into my nose and I coughed violently, feeling my eyes tear up. “What is this?” I managed to gasp out, my lungs feeling like they shrunk to the size of a walnut, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not here to help, sweetheart,” The lady purred, “I’m the worst thing,” She flicked my forehead, “That your inferior little mind could come up with.”

I backed up, nearly tripping over the burned rug, “Yeah?” I said nervously, “And what could that possibly be?”

“I’m not someone who’s going to ruin you for your life,” She laughed, “I’m the thoughts that roam in your head and poison every minute of it.” She walked closer, her eyes turning red, “Why so irrational now, hm?” I was ready to run.

where is the door?

“Don’t think about running. You’re trapped.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, tugging my shirt up to my nose.

“Ask yourself,” She replied, her finger trailing the wooden desk, curiously unburned. “It’s not like I wanted to move here, you brought this onto yourself.”

And in the midst of the terror, I realized that she was right. “It is my fault,” She whispered, “Why do I always do everything wrong?”

“Hmm,” She chuckled, “Yes, why do you have to mess up so much? It’s probably the only thing you’re good at,” She heaved herself up and watched me with her feline eyes, “Such a pitiful thing,” She murmured, “You used to be so strong, now all you are is the frail, weak teenager I once dwelled in.”  She smiled at me wickedly, “Remember that one time when you lost your two best friends? Remember when they pushed you away, because it was all your fault?” She taunted, “Aww, are you crying now?” She said viciously, her voice sounding distorted and otherworldly, “Humans are so fragile.”

“Stop,” I said weakly, tears falling down my ash streaked face.

She pointed at me, “And here it is, the evidence. You sensitive little thing, there’s a reason why the two people you trusted most decided to leave you behind for the better. They were God’s angels compared to you and all you did was drag them down.”

“No,” I said dully, “I helped them fly at one point.”

“Making them more sociable isn’t lifting someone up,” She replied impassively, “But I suppose you can feed yourself lies if it really helps you get through the day.” She flashed an evil grin. “Hey ever wonder why people were staring at you in the train station?” She gave me a thoughtful look and pretended to think, “Or what about the question you asked the other day? They probably thought you were so dumb.”

I couldn’t see her face over the fire surrounding me very well, “Well, you see, two of my ‘best friends’ leaving me isn’t really a loss, to be honest,” She sat up, looking interested, “It’s a gain if all they do is jump to conclusions and constantly piss you off.” I looked at the lady straight in the eye, part of her face was beginning to burn, but the rest of her was spotless.

Is she going to burn to pieces if I keep contradicting whatever she has to say?

“Oh, but dearie, why did you even bother with them in the first place?” She chuckled.

I shrugged, “Sometimes people lead you on, and you don't see who they really are until it's too late,” I leaned against the chair, pretending that there wasn't fire around me, ready to consume the doubt that still lingered. “It’s really just how good you are at reading people and trying to find out their intentions.”

The flame inside her eyes flickered to a stop for a moment, and for the quickest second I thought I saw a murderous glint reflect in the dark of her pitch black pupils. “You stupid girl,” she said furiously, “Are you blind?” In a moment of mere seconds, her pupils were gone, with nothing but the white, bloodshot sclera left behind. Her eyes dripped blood and a chain appeared and wrapped itself around her neck. She stood over me. “You only have yourself to blame for everything,” She said lowly, and an inexplicable wave of fear rushed over me, the slow, dull feeling of chills went down my spine, and despite lacking her pupils, I knew she could see me, she was staring straight at me, angry for not accepting the unnecessary thoughts she had forced on to me. “Because of that, your own reality is becoming non-existent, and soon, you will be too.”

I was frozen in place. She was right. Was this reality? Or was this entire thing… inside my mind? “No way,” I breathed, clutching my head in the sweaty, shaking palms of my hands, a low groan passed through me, and I struggled to inhale. My throat seemed to sew itself together and any way of breathing regularly evaded me.

She has shown mercy today.

But there I sat, letting the tears flow down my cheeks as the demon laughed and taunted me, attacking the thoughts in my mind. My ability to stay grounded was gone, and the slow spreading of a horrifying numbness took over for what seemed like eternity.

Tap, tap, tap, she was coming closer, and a long, cold finger slid under my chin and the sharp nail pressed into my skin as she tilted my chin up. Slowly, I brought myself to meet the eyes of a demon who took her victims by the mind until she drove them insane. Masterfully disguised as a blonde, petite and innocent looking woman, she had just destroyed all the walls I’d been trying to let down.

She laughed softly, her eyes so bloodshot they may as well have been red, “One last thing, my dear,

I don't suggest trying to fight back the only thing that can fuck you over this bad.”

“There is no other emotion than seriousness,” I read from the ripped, red poster plastered on the crumbling brick walls. The same shiny sign was hanging in my bedroom, my Sister’s bedroom, my Mother’s bedroom, and my Father’s bedroom.

I crouch down on the soft, dirt ground and read a single word written in fiercely bold, black lettering “WHY?” The same “ugly” word surrounded and formed the broken down rebellion. I disrange this thought quickly from my mind and out of pure anxiety look up at the huge gray watch towers circling our roads. The lights and cameras beaming down showing well aware there was someone watching down on you… angels my Father insisted. I snap my thin, beige band against my skin so a little red welt blossoms up. Reciting our daily chant, I sing quietly to myself, “Seriousness is our way. Seriousness is okay. Seriousness is the perfect pace and a perfect, perfect face. We our a perfectly, serious community directed by a perfectly, serious leader.”

My mind drifts back to my first ever meeting with Alastair Azazel, the leader of our community. I was five at the time when they decided to do something  about my “quality.” They seemed to ignore it up until then.

I had walked down to the Leader’s Office passing the Community Center and Meeting Area. I did not take the big, gray bus that day, and my Mother was holding my hand firmly until she stopped short at the paved sidewalk. Green grass littering the sides. She told me to go to the desk where the woman would kindly help me. The nice brunette had lead me up towards the top where my view was filled with a clear, glass room overlooking absolutely everything and everyone. I thought I even spied my house on J Ave. Alastor had greeted me with a simple hello, bending his head forward in a nodding gesture so his brownie ringlets (identical to mine) tipped forward. I responded back, a slight babyish tone to my child voice. He had seen my light eyes wandering up and down the walls, hunting curiously for anything opting to catch my attention. Grunting, he squatted down next to me. Grabbing me by my weak hands, he had gripped me forward, my own small, brown curls had fallen over my face as a tear fell loosely from the wet corner of my left eye. He had wiped it away with his rough finger tip. His nail slicing into my soft skin just ever so slightly. He studied my face expression and sighed earnestly. “James,  remember the only emotion is seriousness.” My grin had faded instantly as I rearranged myself into a tight lipped pout, face still and doll like. I think I saw a hint of smile in his lips when he saw me like that. He thought he had won my feelings or something...that was a wrong thought to think.

He had placed his meaty hands on me, cupping the round shape of my face. His facial features were the only thing I could see. His breath still lined with breakfast, the only thing I could smell and feel as he blew whooshes of warm air onto me. “James Jefferson, son…” he stopped so I could still hear the ring of the s-tone in his curved mouth. “I think of all of you as my children, and sometimes children have to be punished. Has your mother ever punished you James?” My mind flashed back to the straight black whip hanging in the kitchen. I nodded silently barely lifting my heavy feeling head. “Well, it is mandatory to do. Do you understand?” I nodded my head again, his hands still not dropping from my face. “Now, you my child have misbehaved. It’s not your fault. I know you can’t stop it from overtaking you.” My eyes had widened. “You have the unbearable curse of curiosity and it needs to be broken.” I nodded one last time.

My eyes drift down to my beige band on my wrist. The same band I have used to stop my curiosity for 12 years. Except now, it’s bigger, larger, and wider. I still can barely feel the pain as it pings me. I guess my curiosity is just too strong now.

I quicken my pace through Rebellion Alley. I hated the people there. How they put all this on themselves. Then still have not even enough pride to resist grabbing your ankles, hands, bags, or whatever they can put their grimy hands and dirt-filled fingernails on. They were always begging and screeching for food in their annoying, whiney voices. They knew you were not allowed to give.

My beige shoes feel like they're about to give up on me as I walk sloppily, sagging my shoulders into J Ave. We’re the first brown house out of the four, and I thankfully give into the door.

Carefully I creep into the house trying to avoid my agonizing slow parents. I walk up the stairs to my room and find Jenny in hers, blonde waves covering her face except for her eyebrows who poke through angrily scrunched together.

“Hey, Jenny.”

“Hey, James. I thought you were going to Cleo’s.”

“I am after homework if Mother Jane let’s me.”

“She will. She always does. And James it was a joke. ”

“Jenny,” I raise my features at her calmly. “You can’t say that. We shouldn’t let them find out.” We frown at each other both thinking the same thought. Her huge, light blue eyes wander back down to her small laptop after searching for any hint of disappointment on me, and she types furiously.

After one hour and thirty minutes according to the ticks on my metal gray clock of my daily routine, I am done. I slip out of my room and manage to get out of the house, crossing the pasty cement I walk along the aisles. Passing all the Aves., until I reach the third one, C Ave. I walk three down and reach Cleo’s house, knocking politely on the large wooden door. I hear faint footsteps inside and my vision is filled with Mrs. Caroline (and trust me there’s a lot to see). Her huge chocolate-colored curls hang just above her shoulders, cream colored skin dull, and mutinous, her pitiless, dark eyes searching my face. She crosses her arms so it gives her the appearance of cruelty, but I just barge on ahead.

“Hello, Mrs. Caroline. May I hang out with Cleo today?” She sighs, raises her bushy brunette eyebrows and tightens her crossed arms. I try again. “Sorry for my poor use of grammar Mrs. Caroline,” I repeat robotically. I don’t even have to activate my brain anymore. I've said this so many times. Too many times. “May I rephrase?”

“Yes, you may James.” I nod my head.

“May I please borrow your son Cleo's time for constructive freetime?”

“Yes, of course James,” she walked off then called aimlessly back to me, “Send my condolences to your Mother for me.”

“Yes, of course Mrs. Caroline.”

“Thank you James.” I step off the small raised platform and wait patiently for Cleo. I see him call to his Mother then rush out the door before he has time to be scolded for something. He meets me. Raising his fiery eyebrows and sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth. I follow him through the yard to our little place by Z Ave. Finally we sit cross legged, staring at each other.

“Cle…”

“James, dude. I did something today.” I eye him down, his beige clothing stuck from the glow of his sweat. The same ugly outfits we wear everyday from age zero to 18. Cleo and I at 17, we were stuck with the color.

“Yeah…” I say. He glances back at me, nervously biting his small, pink stained lips.

“I went to The Library today.”        

“That’s fine Cleo it’s mandatory to go to the library everyday. I actually think Jenny was on her way out with her friends, Sadie, and Janice...”

“Janice Jenkins? Boy, she’s a homely one.” I nod and and let a soft chuckle come out. Cleo looks up towards the towers watchfully then gives a slight thumb. “And Nah James… I went to The Library today.” My eyebrows raise past my hairline, so they're practically invisible. Cleo is curling his lip back and narrowing his eyes sheepishly. The look he gives me when he doesn't know how I’ll respond.

“You didn’t Cleo, you’ll be in so much trouble if they find out, if anyone finds out. I mean we're already in a load of trouble if they find the truth about the three of us...Darn’t Cleo.” He continues to make a face, but even then I think I see a hint of smile hidden in his lips, breaking against his shiny teeth. I point at him. “Don’t smile. You know we're not suppose to. We shouldn't even know how to smile”

“James they’ve been lying...don’t you wanna know what’s actually, truly going on here?” He groans, spacing his words out slowly for an over dramatic Cleo affect. I sigh, breath in and exhale, nodding my head shamefully.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, first of all there are like,  uh… people like Jenny, you, and me.”

“That’s that’s… interesting, people with thoughts of there own, you mean?’

“Yeah bro. And the drink, the drink that hasn’t been working since we’ve been five, that’s to hide the emotions we feel. The emotions that help control our personal thoughts.” Pure, startling shock blows through my mind in a straight, devastating line.

“The gummy?”

“The gummy, just changes your eyes from light to dark on your 18th birthday. And yanno I never wanted my eyes dark, I just feel like it kinda gives people the old complexion and...”

“What about jobs? Are there more than only five categories of jobs?”

“Yeah… but don't you think dark eyes give people oldy faces?”

“CLEO!”

“Fine… there is more jobs, more opportunities. There’s different life they haven’t been telling us.” I nod knowing what he’s thinking, what I’m thinking and probably Jenny too. “Jamie we have to get out, you know you want too, you know you’ve wanted to.” His voice turns stone cold serious, the Cleo that I am afraid of is talking now. Dread fills every inch of my body.

“But, what if we can’t.”

“But, Jamie what if we can.”

“I don’t know Cleo. Were already in a bunch of trouble if anyone knows about us.”

“Once in awhile James Jefferson you gotta pick the risk.”

The whole bus ride to school my legs bounces up and down, anxiously. All through class I can’t stop thinking. My mind is like a confusing road of different possibilities I never knew I had, let alone reach. Pinched face Patty Pam’s obvious job is Food, but mine isn’t. Light-eyed Sally Sue’s is Justice, but mine isn’t. Brown-haired Mason Middleton’s is Kids, but mine isn’t. Straight-haired Willa Williams is Landscape, but mine isn’t. And large-lipped Levi Lovejoy’s is Health, but mine sure isn’t. I don’t fit here. I never have, always wanted something more. I have to leave, leave with my sister and my friend.

I arrive at the meeting, people in bland colors are lined in horizontal rows… Until I spot my sister’s long, pleated skirt.

“Jenny!” She looks back at me and smiles with her big eyes, keeping a deviating straight line on her face. Cleo’s next to her, there hands brimming close. He see’s me, and lifts his head barely, whispering in my left ear.

“I knew you’d come, I knew you always would.” I feel his grin against the side of my face, then it vanishes brushing away. I walk silently on, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Cleo barely snaps his fingers, and we’re already leaving. I notice faintly that their hands are clasped, knotting each other together. We walk sideways, weaving through the lines, freezing when eyes are on us. An anxious swirl unravels in my stomach, lighting my insides on fire.

I see his dark eyes traveling on me, like he knew that this was going to happen. I almost see a smirk loosen in his face, and then he is shouting.

We’re so close. I can feel my joints practically yelling at me to run harder, stronger. Cleo and Jenny are in front of me, wind blowing back there warm colored hair. I kinda grin. I can feel my own hair rifling behind me. In one fluid motion, we’re two feet from the wall. In one stride, my legs double, a bullet hits me in the lower part of my right shin. I can feel the trickle of red making it’s way down my leg. My blood is pounding in my ears...I’m at the wall. A bullet glides across my back, plunging in deep enough. It’s lodged in there. Clear sweat sweeps down my neck.

Cleo and Jenny are over, grabbing at my glowing, moist hands. My clean cut nails slash into them, but they keep on pulling. I roll over, another bullet hits me square in the chest. They keep yanking at me, tears slide effortlessly down my crushed face. I hit hard ground and sag up against the wall, knocking the breath out of me. Blood oozes down in thick red streaks staining my beige clothing. I feel a twinge of satisfaction. I’m on the safe side of the wall. My view is filled with grass valley's, flowers, and so much light. My eyes can barely open from the wetness of my tears and the coldness of my darkening blood stuck in my eyelashes, yet I still see more than I’ve ever seen before. Jenny squats down next to me her golden ringlets falling thickly over her face, blue eyes soft and big. She kisses me on my cheek and wipes the blood from my chin. “Thank you big brother,” she whispers as tears roll down her face being chased by another and another. Cleo peers his face close to mine, his fiery orange curls brimming with sunlight,

“Love you bro, forever best friends,” he says. And like they planned this, they say four words in unison, four words that make the world go round.

“We’ll make you proud.”

“Go,” I say, nodding my head forward. They lock hands, smile at each other and run chasing the sky like wind, time, and space are on their side. I slump against the wall, smiling softly. My thoughts scatter and my mind turns silent finally thinking one thing at last. At least, I died with freedom in my reach where curiosity is allowed, colors are life, and people are who they wish to be. Everything goes pitch, starry black as I slowly, ever so slowly, slip out of consciousness with my first ever free grin plastered devastatingly on my sunlit tinted face.

Graham Cronin

ADVENTURES IN TUMBLEWEED

1890

I was on the train to Tumbleweed, a new town, away from my wife.  A part of me was relieved not to have to eat her cooking for a while. I guess you could say I was here on a business trip, I was here to hunt down my best friend. I was here to collect his bounty of 10,000 dollars. I could hear the people in front of me talking. There was a man and his daughter, a woman and a priest. Finally the train stopped. I had only 38 dollars, it would have to do. I saw a ”vacancy” sign in front of the saloon. I asked the bartender about the room. He smelled of cheap booze and cigarettes, I was home. The bartender showed me the upstairs where there were four rooms, mine was the one on the very end. The next morning I realized I had to make some money; the rent on this place was not cheap. Downstairs I could hear an Irish voice, saying “Watch where you're pointing that thing Shaky!” A gunshot noise clouded the entire room. I ran downstairs, “DAMN IT, SHAKY!” The bartender was shot in the arm by a drunk irishman, great. The irishman was passed out on a table. I walked to the counter asking the bartender for some whiskey but I guess he wasn't in the mood. I had a job to do, but it could wait, how was I going to enjoy the beauty of this quaint little town. First things first, I had to make some money. Maybe the sheriff had some jobs. The sheriff’s office was poorly built, the windows were cracked and the door squeaked as I walked in. “Is there anything I can help you with sheriff?” “Well sure I guess. There's some rustlers in the hills and a drunk in the saloon.” “How about we go take down those rustlers in the hills?”  The sheriff snickered and said, “Ok.” We mounted our horses and rode off.  We were heading for Buffalo Hills. “This town is always being attacked by Roncho Poncho and Little Billy’s boys.”

“Who are we going after now?”

“Little Billy’s boys, Roncho Poncho mainly operates in Mexico, occasionally he comes over here.”

Buffalo Hills was mainly canyons, a perfect place to be ambushed. There was a little town and it looked abandoned.

“What happened, did anyone used to live here?” I asked

“Long time ago ever since they started building that railroad people moved out of Tumbleweed.  We don't get any visitors.  That's why I was surprised to see you.”

We searched the houses, nobody was there. Suddenly my ears were pierced by a deafening scream. Up on top of the canyon there were men with rifles. They had a girl with them.

“You should leave, there ain't nothin’ for you here.” they called down.

“We ain't goin’ nowhere.  You broke the law, I’ll see you hanged,” the sheriff yelled.

They took one shot at the sheriff and he started running away. He ran like nothing I’d ever seen before. We mounted our horses and rode back into town. This is how the law works, huh? I figured if the law wasn't going to help I had to rely on outlaws.  I suddenly remembered that Shaky fellow from the saloon. He was probably in the prison by now and all I had to do was break him out. I bought some lockpicks, and a bandana from the general store. I picked up a rock on my way to the sheriff’s office. As soon as I walked in, I threw the rock at the sheriff’s head before he could ask what I was doing there. Shaky was fast asleep and  I saw the keys in the sheriff’s pocket. I had to drag Shakey's unconscious body to my apartment. I tried slapping him and pouring a bucket of water on his head. Then finally the bartender downstairs said there was 50 percent off on all drinks and Shaky shot up like a bullet. I grabbed him while he was still sober.

“Shaky I’m looking for a man named Little Billy, heard of him?”

“Yes lad but he's no man to just go messing with, believe me, we're gonna need money, a lot of money.”

“How much?”

“Roughly 3,000 dollars.”

“3,000 dollars? Where do we get that kind of money?” I asked.

“The Tumbleweed Bank, I’m planning a heist and if you help me, I’ll help you with that fellow Little Billy.”

“Fine I’ll help you.”

“Great, we'll meet outside the bank in the morning.  Get some good night sleep,” Shaky said.

The next morning I found Shaky outside the saloon.

“Ya ready to do this thing?”

“I guess.  Explain to me how this helps me?”

“You help me get the money and I help you find Little Billy.”

Shaky had a rifle in one hand and dynamite in the other. We walked around to the side of the bank. Shaky planted the dynamite on the wall of the bank. We ran into a nearby gulch. Shaky had his rifle pointed at the dynamite.

“On the count of ten, ONE TWO TEN.”

He pulled the trigger nearly deafening me.

“Let's go!” Shaky shouted.

We ran into the gaping hole.  There were three safes, there were also three chests, luckily Shaky knew how to crack safes.

“Cover me while I work on this one lad.”

The area was flooded with civilians with guns and the sheriff, the marshal, and a couple of deputies. I fired a warning shot into the crowd, and they backed off.

“We’re screwed Shaky!”

“Not yet we aren't.”

Shaky got the first safe open and was working on the second one. I grabbed all the money from the first safe, there was at least 1,000 dollars in this safe. I took one shot at the people outside I realized I had hit the sheriff, the same sheriff I had helped. Shaky got the second safe open this one had 5,000 dollars in it. I heard a voice in the crowd of people

“The sheriff is down,  he’s dead.”

“Shaky are you almost done with that damn safe!?”

“All in good time my boy.”

“Are you insane!?”

“Quite possibly.”

The chests looked like I could kick them open. As I kicked it I realized it wasn't even locked.

“Shaky the chests aren’t locked!”

“What!”

“The chests they aren’t locked.”

“Well open ’em and grab everything you can.”

Each of the chests had 300 dollars. I grabbed the 900 dollars and put it on the horses plus 6,000 dollars from the safes. Shaky got the third safe open.

“What? This can't be, it's impossible.”

“What is it Shaky?”

“Its empty!” he said.

“Let’s go Shaky, we have enough.”

Shaky was frozen, I pulled him onto the horse and we rode off.

We rode to the outskirts of Buffalo Hill.

“This looks like a nice place to set up camp.” Shaky said.

We set up a tent and a campfire. We could see Tumbleweed in the distance.

“Well, we’re wanted men Shaky.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

He showed me a pardon letter he had stored in his pocket.

“We, my friend, are free men.”

I rested easy knowing that we would not be wanted for much longer.

In the morning we started riding back to Tumbleweed to hand in our pardon letter. The town looked the same as when I arrived a few days back, like nothing had happened. Shaky went to go turn in the pardon letter. I went back to the saloon got some whiskey and went back to my room.

The next morning, I found a note on the door It said “Dear stranger Little Billy will be in the woods this morning for some hunting I heard a man downstairs talking about how he was hunting a sasquatch.  He said that in the woods “lies a hairy devil.”

He said that he would pay 1,000 dollars to anyone who caught Bigfoot.  Now I’m not the kind of person who believes in these kind of things. But I thought I could find something that looked like a sasquatch, heck, he might think that a cow looks like a sasquatch, plus it give me a chance to find Little Billy and make a little money on the side, so I agreed to go with him.

“You go hunting for mythical creatures a lot?” I asked.

“What do you mean mythical?”

“Well creatures that have not been found.”

“That's not what mythical means, I will find a sasquatch.”

“Sorry if I offended you, I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Ah, its ok.”

“What's your name mister?” I asked

“John Doe.”

“Very funny, what's your real name.”

“John Doe.”

“Seriously, that's your real name?”

“Yep, that's the name my mother gave me.”

I must say there's nothing more peaceful than looking for a creature that doesn't exist. I could hear the leaves rustling.  I saw a human like shape in the trees. It was probably another hunter in the woods. We rode past a deer.  The deer was dead, not only dead but it looked like it had been ripped apart.  This was very strange, but John didn't seem to mind. I saw a man in the distance.  He looked like he could be Little Billy, as he got closer, I got a better look at him. It was Little Billy and his right arm was injured.

“Please, you gotta help me.” Little Billy said.

“Bill is that you?”

“You, it can't be you. You're dead.”

“Thanks to you, you left me to die.”

“Look, we can work things out when we get back to town, but right now we need to get out of here.”

“You ain't going nowhere Bill.”

“Please man, we gotta get out of here.”

I drew my gun and aimed it at Little Billy’s head.

“This is the end of the line for you, old friend.”

I pulled the trigger. There was a loud pop, it seemed louder than any other time I had shot my gun.  I felt hollow, like there was a hole in my gut. Then I saw a shape in the woods.  It was a sasquatch. John didn't even see it, he was too busy looking at Bill’s dead body.

“Come on John, let's go back.”

When we got back to town, I bought a train ticket back home.

THE END

“Oh my god! Drive David. He’s got a gun,” she shouted frantically. He stepped on the gas, and the car immediately thrusted forward. Gunshots left Selena’s ears ringing in pain. When the gunman was out of sight, the car continued to speed towards the end of the street which seemed to go on forever. When the road diverged ahead and they had to turn, it seemed as if the car was going too fast to make a turn either way. That’s when Selena looked next to her to see David’s head laying limply backwards over the head rest. She lost all sense of consciousness throughout her body. After what seemed like an eternity she reached her foot over to the driers side and slammed on the breaks bringing the car to an abrupt halt. 

“911, hello? I need help. My husbands been shot. We’re on Woodland Dr. I think he’s in shock.” She cried.

“Okay, we have an ambulance on the way. Do you see him breathing?” Asked the operator.

“His chest is raising up and down but his neck is bleeding profusely. Someone help me, I need help!” She Shrieked.

“Maam, I need you to remain calm. We can’t control this situation until the ambulance arrives, but we can prevent it from worsening. I need you to find something to stop the bleeding. Without moving his body, I need you to apply pressure to the trauma.”

Tearing off her t-shirt leaving her dressed in only her bra, she pressed it against her husbands neck. She couldn't understand why this had happened to them. Why now? She realized her hands were shaking. The blood was still pouring out from the gunshot wound, and rolling down the small of her arms. She could feel the warmth of the blood tickling her palms. As the ambulance arrived, Selena felt a bit of relief as there were now professionals there who knew what was going on. 

When the professionals arrived, they acted as if it was their job to ignore questions and focus solely on keeping the victim alive. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Sel asked the team of paramedics. 

“He’s still breathing, and he has a pulse. Both are good signs, however, we need to monitor his pulse closely as it continues to rise and fall,” quickly answered one of the paramedics as he closed the door of the ambulance and told Selena to follow them to Bricksburrow Hospital, about 10 miles away.

David fell in and out of consciousness in the ambulance, fainting each time he looked down to see blood covered bandages smothering his neck. The sirens terminated as the ambulance halted at the hospital entrance. David was immediately removed from the ambulance, and was being rolled towards the emergency room. Sel was trying to keep up but was covered from head to toe in her husband’s blood. At the hospital the doctors were assessing her husband’s state to determine whether to send him immediately to the E.R., or to remove the bullet and stitch up the neck. 

Once again, David was being moved from the hospital room. Sel got up to follow the nurses in the middle of all the chaos.

“I’m sorry maamm, you’ll have to wait here. He needs heart surgery, the bullet grazed his heart,” said a nurse.

Falling weakly onto her knees she covered her face with her bloody palms smudging her makeup to reveal her age. She made her way back to the waiting room, she felt like she was someone else trapped in her own body. Her body was trembling in fear for her husband’s life. An older woman in the waiting room saw how distressed she was, sat down next to her, and put her hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” She offered empathetically.

“It’s my husband…”she winced, “he was shot and now he’s in surgery.”

“I’m going to tell you something hun,” she said as she walked Selena to a chair next to hers.

“It was about four years ago I was in your current position,” the lady she had just met started. “I was sitting on a hospital bed next to my husband covering my face to hide the overwhelming fear and pain that had taken over my body within seconds of the new of our doctor. I tried to hold it together best I could. I wanted to be the strong one for both of us after all I wasn't the one who’d been summoned to a possible death from cancer after fighting through hell to stay alive. I never lost hope though and when they told me he had a 50/50 chance of surviving, that was the day he told me he couldn't undergo the treatments anymore.”

“I remember him telling me in exactly these words, ““I want you to know how much I love you, I want to be with you until the day I die, but these treatments are taking the life from me faster than the disease itself.”’ Now when he spoke these words to me I know it was selfish of me but for me his death was not an option, if it were up to me he'd fight until he was cancer free and I’d be next to him fighting with him. I researched his cancer type and found out there was one more option we hadn't yet explored. I brought it to his attention and he agreed to at least talk to the doctors about it and stay optimistic.”

       “The next visit we went to, he told them he was done with the treatments. He brought up the surgery I told him about and they said that it was a possible procedure for the type of bone cancer he had however, they do not like to operate on people his age due to possible health conditions. I remember when they said this my husband was quick to respond, “”What health conditions, I’m dying.”” The doctor said that they would consider the procedure after checking his vitals, and medical records. When the doctors agreed they explained first. They would make an incision in his arm where the cancers were located and remove some of the bone in his arm before the cancer had a chance to spread. They told us that even after the surgery they could not be positive that the cancer wouldn't spread.My husband said he wanted to go through with it so thats what we did. 

“The day of his surgery I was just like you were today. I was a wreck sitting on the ground not caring who was watching me cry. I was praying for my husband’s life, I promised myself I would never give up. A while after he was released from surgery the surgeons gave us the news that it looked as if the cancer cells had all been removed however, he would have to come back a week later to make sure. My husband kept asking me why we hadn't done the surgery in the first place. The doctors never told us about it because of his age. He has been cancer free for three years and today we are here because he ate some of my cooking and got food poisoning.” She laughed. “I want you to know there is always hope, don't give up trying. Your husband will fight but he needs you to fight with him. Be strong. If you want, you can sleep and I’ll wake you up if a doctor comes in asking for you.” The older lady offered. Selena smiled and whispered, “thank you,” as she leaned her head up against the wall, “for everything.”

Sel opened her eyes screaming, “help me, he’s been shot, help.” The lady who’d told her the story was sitting next to her trying to calm her down. “You’re okay, he’s gotten help honey.” Sel came to the realization that she was no longer in potential danger but was wondering when someone was going to tell her about her husband. He’d been in surgery for about four hours before they came and told her that he was in a room for recovery. The surgeon asked, “would you like to see your husband now?” Without answering she stood up following the surgeon, she quickly turned around and told the old lady thank you realizing that she hadn't needed to stay, her husband sitting next to her. He had probably came back during the time Sel was asleep. 

There he sat five feet away from her. “David I love you,” she whispered with a drop of salt at the crease in her lips. When he didn't answer her Sel looked to the surgeon. He said, “he is still under from the surgery, he will be up in around an hour.” “He’s okay though right?” Asked Selena. “Yes, the surgery went well, however there was spinal damage from the surgery and your husband will no longer have full function of his legs, i’m sorry,” empathized the doctor. 

Sel was lost, confused. She sat there wondering what to make of the situation that was instantly thrown her way.  

No doubt their lives would be different from now on however, Sel decided her feelings for Dave would never change. As life goes on things are bound to change. There is no such thing as long term consistency though many people would like to believe so. Sel heard David shuffle in the sheets of the hospital bed.

        "My legs," he said, "I can't move them."

        Sel looked at her husband unsure how to inform him that he would never move them again. That kind of news could change even the strongest person. It was something that would take time to get used to and all Sel wanted him to know was that he wasn't going to go through any of it alone. 

         The Doc came in and Dave knew something was wrong. Actually he knew something was wrong the moment he couldn't feel his legs. He was trying to convince himself it was still an effect of the drugs in his system. 

         "The surgery was a little rough Dave, you will be alright however, your spinal cord was injured in the process. This means that you will have no movement below your hips. I am so sorry. Im going to give you a moment with your wife." Said the doctor leaving the room ashamed of his work. 

          David began to cry, Sel sat next to him on the bed holding onto his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered. Dave replied, "I'm so sorry." Sel looked at him with tears in her eyes trying to be strong for both of them. What did he have to be sorry for? It could have happened to anyone. It's crazy how dramatically things can change within a matter of seconds, in half a blink of an eye. 

           The shooting was investigated but, there was no evidence left at the crime scene so there was nothing the detectives could use as a lead. The couple didn't get a look at the shooter either as they had a mask covering their face and besides that it was late at night so they couldn't see much anyway. 

          Despite the shooting it made Sel and Dave even closer. Though they weren't able to have children of their own, they adopted two children, two little girls. They taught their childen not to take what you have or time for granted as both are gifts which can be taken quickly away. 

Beckett Stowe didn’t make facial expressions. His face was always kept in a neat, neutral position. We nicknamed it “The Beckett Face,” because no matter what he was feeling - sad, mad, angry - his face was the same. One time I saw him cough, and his face hardly moved at all. Imagine a mouth, opening as if to stretch the jaw, and then close back together as if nothing happened. That was what it looked like. If there was not the distinct coughing sound, I would have thought he was trying to yawn, to no avail.

I sometimes wondered if he didn’t feel anything, or if he just didn’t outwardly show it. For some people, not feeling anything is the usual, so that when they finally do feel something, it is exciting, new, and exhilarating. That was what I thought about Beckett.

I came to know Beckett through the skatepark. It was an indoor place, big, with only two windows and a garage door kept open at all times. The place used to be an auto body shop. There were ramps, rails, bowls… you name it, this skatepark had it. Every day, I would see Beckett across the way, working on tricks with his inscrutable face on. He was talented, and he, among everybody else, knew that he was going to become pro someday. But when he was not on his board, his poker face would make him look like a stuck up loner.

Then one day it happened. I was working on ground tricks, in a flat section of pavement nobody really used. The park was almost deserted; I could count the number of people there on my one hand. Annoyed that I couldn’t stick any of the tricks I was working on, I started staring into space at the broken drinking fountain in the corner. The occasional skater--the high school kid with the cliched dragon tattoo on his forearm and his buddy who came to the park stoned every day-- would take me out of my trance for a couple seconds, but it was none other than Beckett himself that made me really snap out of it.

He and his friends were playing tag, on their boards of course. It intrigued me. Watching them have fun, with each other, made me realize how lonely I was. I came to the park by myself every day because I didn’t have one friend that wanted to spend time at a sketchy, run-down park. Beckett and his friends raced around the park, hiding in corners and then scooting away as fast as possible when anybody came near them. It was funny to watch them, their arms moving fast as their leg rapidly reached out to push off of the hard concrete. It also looked fun; everybody’s face was smiling, eyes crinkled up in delight.

Everybody except for Beckett, that is. His face was in a deadpan, as it always was. He whipped around corners, always keeping a couple paces ahead of those that were ‘it.’ His kick turns were smooth, his transitions effortless. As an outsider, somebody that was clearly not involved, it seemed that he was winning this game. If it was even possible to win at the game of tag on skateboards. He had this aura about him, also. He knew that he was doing fine, that there was no way he was going to be tagged. The way he skated from side to corner and back again around the park, he looked relaxed, fluid, in control.

Some other skaters didn’t look as unclenched as he did. There was a skater directly to my left who was trying to drop in for the first time. I found out later that his name was Kyle. He stood, at the top of the ramp, eyeing the tight angle of it reluctantly. He went to the bottom of the steep incline, to the side, in the back, all to eye it up. I could tell that he was very scared. It seemed like, for him, to know every inch of the ramp would make it less scary. So there he was, staring at that one ramp, for an upwards of twenty minutes. His frightened, anxious persona seemed to roll off of him in waves.

He stood on the back wheels and tail end of his board at the top of the ramp, his left foot floating in the air indecisively. Upon first glance, I decided that he probably wasn’t going to end up going through with it. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, Kyle slammed his left, front foot down. The front wheels of his board slammed to meet the ground in the way that he did not expect.

Even though that’s typical of a drop-in, Kyle obviously didn’t know that. He let out a sound that had to be a cross between a yelp and a squeal as he sped off down ramps, his board wobbling slightly because of his speed. I started to feel a twitch of excitement inside of me. Somehow, I knew that he and Beckett were going to intersect with each other. I started to come out of my daze, instead focusing on scene in front of me.

Beckett, in his own zone, had only just started to turn around the corner of a small bowl when Kyle hit him, full on. I’m not sure who I felt worse for: Kyle, who was scared shitless at this point, or Beckett, who got hit so hard the entire skatepark stopped to see what had happened. Beckett didn’t have time to react before Kyle’s board ran into his and both boys went catapulting away. Beckett was facing Kyle, his hands sandwiched between their bodies. I watched as he didn’t even have time to pull his arms out and under him before he crashed. Kyle had his hands out, his right arm straight towards the floor. I cringed. Kyle landed, his right arm touching the ground first. His arm bent under his weight. He rolled a couple times and crashed into the hard pavement. Beckett was not as lucky. His hands weren’t underneath him, and there was nothing to cushion the fall.

If I was spacing out before, I definitely wasn’t now. With the loud cracking sound following Beckett’s body being thrown to the ground, shivers traveled up my back. If there was a sound that I associated with this new, haunting noise, it would be the sound of somebody cracking their fingers.

In Beckett’s case, it wasn’t his fingers. The point of impact affected the most was his back. The moment seemed to pause, my whole conscious zooming in to the sound of bone hitting pavement loud enough to silence a crying baby.

Nobody moved. Even the kids in the corner wearing goth clothing and listening to rock music stopped everything, leaving the park silent. I was leaning forward, watching the scene with heightened senses. The boy that I was having fun watching was now on the ground, maybe even dead. The only sound was the soft scratch of Kyle and Beckett’s boards lurching away.

After Kyle’s fall, he was laying there, eyes up toward the ceiling, as if he could not believe that he had just crashed. His right arm was bent oddly, but looking at him, he didn’t look in too much pain. It was Beckett that looked bad. He too was looking upwards, but for a different reason. I hadn’t seen him move at all since the initial fall right on his back. Even for his usual, neutral expression, there was a slight grimace of pain. I could see him calculating if it would be worth it to try to stand or not. It seemed unreal to me that the skillful skater I had just been watching dominate the park was now on the ground.

Kyle staggered awkwardly to his knees, then his feet. He put his hands in hair, and I saw him mouth many profanities while assessing the state Beckett was in. If everybody wasn’t so horrified with what had just happened, specifically the noise, it would almost be funny watching him not know what to do. He contemplated the situation, before reaching out his tentative, wavering left arm to Beckett.

There was a second where I thought Beckett wanted to kill him, but he then grabbed Kyle’s open hand and pulled himself up. The two of them stood there, and I was sure that one of them was going to start throwing fists for knocking the other over.

Then Beckett smiled. The instant I saw it, I knew it was genuine. His eyes scrunched up, and all of this teeth showed, even the ones in the back. The sound of him laughing, really laughing, broke the silence in the skatepark. I didn’t understand why he was happy after the fall, and don’t know still to this day. That was the one time I saw Beckett Stowe grin, and I haven’t seem him smile since.