i.

I forever wait in this house for a figure that will guide me. I forever wait in this house for a lecture on how to grow. I forever wait in this house under the false pretense that someone will be a caretaker to me as I am to them. In this house, I will try to build a home.

ii.

When Older Sister comes home from college, I am shocked to see her in front of the house. I open the door and see her standing in the night. My feet stumble to reach her as I hesitantly pull my arms around her shoulders and remember what it is like to have her next to me. When I look at her face, I ask Older Sister why she is crying, and she does not answer, only comes inside the house with one suitcase and a collection of tears for me to dry. I watch her sit on the edge of the couch, untie her shoes, and slowly stretch her feet over the sofa cushions.

Older Sister asks me to go to the kitchen and bring her back a glass of water. When I go back to her, she grabs the glass but does not drink it.

“Why don’t you ever call?” Her words are brisk as she places the cup on the ground, her tears dispersing like the droplets of water on the cup’s rim.

“Because you said not to.” I respond fluidly to her and recall the day she said she was too old to remember her family. That day, Older Sister had gathered her things into her arms and had driven off with her friends in the backseat, leaving Mother to cry, leaving Father to pace around the room, and leaving me to help them. But it seems as if Older Sister has forgotten that day. Yet, I vividly remember the dismal absence of her presence blanketing the house.

Older Sister remains quiet on the couch.

“Why are you here?” I ask Older Sister. “Why did you suddenly decide to come back home again? Why did you not call to tell us you were coming? Why were you crying?”

Older Sister finally takes a sip of water and closes her eyes.

“How are mom and the baby?” she asks, ignoring me.

“They are both fine.” I dismiss her question abruptly as she always dismisses mine.

“When will the baby be born?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

She softens her eyes until they close. Her breath becomes light.

She sighs, “I miss this house.”        

When Older Sister says this, I do not believe her. I simply am reminded of a time when I did not have to take care of her. And it seems as if I will always find myself holding her, catching her pretzeled words with my ear, balancing her tears in my hands, and constantly consoling her.

Older Sister soon falls asleep on the couch and forgets to say “good night.” I grab a blanket from my bedroom and slowly entangle Older Sister in it, tucking her feet in at the bottom and folding her hands over the top.

iii.

Mother slides her wedding ring off her ring finger in the morning when she braids her hair in the bathroom mirror. She balances her pregnant stomach on the bathroom countertop and combs through her hair. Sometimes, Mother tenderly places her hands on the underside of her belly. Intricately, she weaves her black strands together. Then, she calls from across the house and asks if she can braid my hair. I always say yes because I know this is the only time she will love me for the day. At this moment, Mother will say I am beautiful, and I will only believe her then. Afterwards, I will ask her how the baby is doing. “Fine,” she will say. “Just fine.”

        But I know it’s not true. At night, she will scream, yell, and beg for her dreams to stop.

I will run to the room and console her. I will ask her what I can do to help her.  Unlike Father, who sleeps soundlessly next to her, I will bend forward to hold her hand in mine.

        “Get this baby out of me,” she will scream. “Get this baby out of me.”

        At that point, I will cry with her because I know of the anxiety she gets for holding the baby inside of her. I understand her fear of caring for something and having that thing solely rely on you.

“Hush. Hush. Hush. It’s alright.” A breathy whisper will escape my mouth and soothe her.

Mother’s quick-paced breathing will soften and soon it will become a faint collapse of air in her throat.

I will later sleep in bed on the right of her and curl my body around hers, careful to avoid the curve of her stomach.

Throughout the night, to the left of us, Father will not stir the sheets as he sleeps silently.

iv.

Father waits by the windowsill in the morning. He sits quietly, surrounded by a ream of newspaper from thirty years ago, “the good old days.” Opaque pen ink is scribbled on the bed of newspaper laid out before him. His eyes scan the printed words, following the curves and stiffness of each letter. His under eye bags are a discolored purple grey—spoiled grapes—and his eyes are drooping brown on his face.

He has not talked to me for weeks now, I think. I didn’t think he wanted to anyway.

I shuffle towards him in the kitchen. He is unappalled by my presence as usual. I will give him something to eat because I know he has not eaten anything yet.

He accepts the offering of food by rolling the sleeves of his blue and white pinstripe shirt. He eats, eyes still on the daily news, and finishes by ruffling his hair and popping the collar of his shirt up.

I will not see him until later today after work when he unravels his tie from his neck and throws it carelessly on the floor for me to pick up.

v.

At night, I wait for the bathtub to fill with cold water. This is the only time of day I will be alone.

This is the only time of day I will care for myself. I slip my clothes off my shoulders and slowly dip my big toe on the right foot in. Freezing. The only temperature the water is in this house. One by one, I dip my legs in antarctic waters until my entire body is submerged below the surface of the bathtub. I rub a bar of rose soap on my skin and let the bubbles rise as I sink deeper and deeper underwater.

I imagine one year ago. A fond memory of Older Sister, Mother, and Father laughing all around me before the peace was disrupted by Older Sister leaving, Mother announcing her pregnancy, and Father enveloped in work and ink.

vi.

When Baby Sister is born, I hold her in my arms and imagine that she is only cloud sky; delicate, pure, newborn substance. When she is sleeping, I cake her skin in baby powder—bleached vanilla— and pretend she is an angel that was sent to me. Her nascense remains abundant, skin riddled in marvelous pink undertone. One by one, I fiddle with her toes and press them into my cheeks, trying to birth dimples in my skin.

I linger over the thought of how Baby Sister was made to bring the family together—peace offering—but her value was soon diminished by everyone. She was supposed to be a proposed olive branch that would seamlessly mesh the family together, but clearly, it did not work.

I remember how Father in the early stages of Mother’s pregnancy, when he still loved her, would graze the side of her growing stomach and smile. I remember when Mother would glisten, blush raspberry, twirl her black braid over her pale fingers, and shortly drop the braid on the side of her breast. I remember how Older Sister would laugh at their love. I remember how I would wish to feel as loved as Baby Sister was in Mother’s stomach.

I am awoken from thought by Baby Sister’s laugh. She is gripping the hem of my long sleeved shirt and tugging it. I stand with Baby Sister and kiss her small, round head. Soon, I am followed by the rest of my family. Father slips into the nursery room and stands behind me, overcast shadow. Mother sulks into the room and lingers next to Baby Sister and me. Older Sister watches from the door, but then huddles around Baby Sister and me.

And I realize now I will have to care for Baby Sister endlessly. I understand now I will care for Older Sister’s tears, feed Father, nurture Mother’s nightmares, and build Baby Sister.

Immediately, as if my body knew before my mind, I drop Baby Sister on the floor.

Father looks palely at her plump body resting on the floorboards. Older Sister silently bends downwards to touch her, and Mother shrieks.

Oh heavens forgive me! Cleanse my soul for I am wicked; depravity employs my body like million vermin feeding on its lone prey; hypocrisy dwells inside me and I slumber upon the mattress of the devil's cradle. She was my muse -- pure as the driven snow, innocent as the unborn child, but I have tainted her -- tainted her with these spiteful deeds; my unlawful act. Her purity begins to melt like the ice caps of the northern mountain; her innocence fade like the morning dew. Lay all the blame on me as I rest this deviant heart in peace.

The pigeon flutters its wings. Its red eyes stare at me, metal body shines in the sun. It’s the only type of bird on this planet. The bird flies off, and it squawks like a monster. I’ve gotten sick of it - the same damn recorded sound that comes out of every pigeon. I asked my mom why they’re like robots…she said they weren’t. She said they were real. If they’re real, then I’m sure not.

The water isn’t water; it chokes you. If you look it at closely, it’s orange, and there’s dust and chemicals and lots of other crap swimming in it. They say it’s water, but it sure isn’t. Real water doesn’t choke you.

And life sure doesn’t feel real – it feels like a dessert in which I’ve gone crazy. They hide everything; I remember my first day on 7q, a group of moving hazmat suits were painting the ground green. They told me it was grass. They painted the walls gray and it told me it was stone; it wasn’t. It crumpled from my glove, and pieces broke off like sand. So did the grass.

Mom comes into my room- she says I need to get some sleep, she says it’s been a hard day. I don’t tell her that every day has been a hard day on this planet. She’s cried enough without that.

But she kisses me and I say goodnight. The sound of pressure bursts through my ears as she takes out my old oxygen tank and puts in a new one.

And I go to sleep with only one thought in my head; will tomorrow be a blazer?

The next day comes, and surely it’s a blazer. That’s what we call the days when it’s so scorching outside that the ground starts to blaze. Those are the days when the sun orbits too close to 7q. It’s gotten so close it’s started to burn other planets. That’s why they crushed our homes on Earth and told us it would be much better here. And that’s how the whole world found themselves stranded on planet 7q.

It’s all fake, the civilization they’ve tried to build up on this planet. It’s all robots and lies and painting over the truth. Paint the ground and call it grass as much as you want, but you can’t paint over that orange sky. The sky gives it away.

I go outside. The sky is a stark orange, and it has been, ever since I first looked up and noticed there wasn’t a single cloud. It’s all absolute dryland, like Tatooine. Except this world is real.

The small stubs on my shoes hit the ground, and with each step, the stubs sink into the sand. It’s like walking in snow, but it isn’t like walking in snow. You get real snow if you have real water.

“Nice weather we have here today, huh?” Eric, the local gardener says. He’s an old man, and he spends his last days on his porch, looking at nothing. His chin has grown bushy, and his thick, wiry hair makes him look like a sailor.

“Let’s bring out the deckchairs then.”

I smirk; that’s a joke we Martians have. The joke’s not funny, but in an isolated wasteland like 7q, we laugh, cause it’s the only choice we have.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Just, just… far.”

And he leaves it at that. Eric knows that I’ve taken this path every day for the last 419 days, but yet he asks. I’m glad he does.

I trudge over to the hill, 9.u, and don’t give it a second thought like I first did when I came here. Why does everything have a number? Why’s it so fake? I never heard an answer.

And so I climb.

My boots stick into the side of the hill, and I make my way up the slope of 9.u, when the fierce winds pick up. Just ‘cause it’s a blazer doesn’t mean it’s calm.

I can feel the sand falling down and the rest of my body follows. I slip.

Shit.

My face comes inches away from the dusty ground, the only support from my elbows, dug deep in the soil. I mutter something too unchained for words, and slowly, as I get up, the red cloud forms around me. Mom will be mad – the dust has a way of forming on suits and never washing out.

I slip down 9.u and head back home. The sun is in full blaze, the 14th orbit of every month, and it hits 7q like a storm. I wish it was a storm.

But my boots keep hitting the ground and my body keeps moving, and before I know it, I’m covered in sweat.

When I first came, it was the only real water I knew. Salty, but still water. And it was truly something; the boy with the real water. But now it’s the same old crap we have to drink that I sweat. Filmy, orange silt squeezing out from my pores. Like it or not, everyone becomes part of planet 7q at some point.

Slowly night comes, and we watch our planet’s moon, 7Q, twirl around the planet like a horse on a carousel. No one really cares but the guys in the hazmat suits.

I go to my room. Sometimes I do that; I just sit there, stupid, and try to forget all of it. It’s like meditation, cause after a while it helps.

Mom’s shoes tap slightly on the ground, and I hear her coming to my room. I climb in the chamber.
She comes into my room, says I need to get some sleep, says it’s been a hard day. She takes out the oxygen tank and puts in a new one.

“Good night” I say.

“Good night” she says.

As she rounds the corner past my room I can hear her burst into tears, trying with every bit she has to keep it silent, but she can’t. No one can on 7q.

And I go to sleep with only one thought in my head; if tomorrow will be another blazer. And if I’ll still be in this horrible dream that is planet 7q.

Earth if you’re reading this, please bring us back home.

“Run!” I screamed at Annie, as the sound of an explosion boomed from behind us. “Into the bunker!” Annie tripped on some broken glass, cutting up her arms and legs. There was no time to clean her up, as the enemy fighter planes were just overhead. “Get up!” I bawled, with tears streaming down my face. This is the end, I thought, she’s going to die.

    After that day, I’ll never be the same again; I’ll be happy and carefree. Although it doesn’t seem that way, it’s true. It all started when I was filled with stress about the weekend homework load, and all I could think of was how it was finally Friday. Although I had the furrow in my brow due to the dreading thought of how much homework I’d be doing tomorrow, that was tomorrow’s problem. I had the rest of the afternoon to be, or pretend to be, stress free. My friend Lily had originally invited me to go to the new movie theater with her tonight, but she had to cancel because she caught the flu. With the wind whipping against my bare hands as I hiked up my driveway, and the feel of the cold on my cheeks, a heated movie theater wasn’t sounding too bad. “Hey dad!” I said happily, as I ran inside, throwing my heavy backpack on the floor with a thump. “Can you drive me to the movies tonight?”

    “I thought Lily cancelled,” he replied, as he embraced me in a warm hug, messing up my dirty blond hair.

    “Yeah, she did, but I was hoping I could still go by myself.”

    “Ok, I guess so, but be careful. I’d come with you, but I have to coach your brother’s basketball practice.” He made a face. “Don’t you wish you got to calm down fifteen little boys with basketballs?”

    “Totally!” I laughed, and for the first time that day, I wasn’t stressed. I love my dad, as he always makes me feel better, being humorous, caring, or understanding whenever I need it. As I looked into his eyes, I wished I could stay with him forever, never leaving the safe and happy place I call home.

    It was time to leave, and I was racing out of the house, my coat flapping against my arm, as we were already running ten minutes late. Shaking from the cold, I jumped into the car, and zipped up my jacket. My brother, never bothering to talk to those around him, was sitting next to me, playing a game on his phone. After about fifteen minutes, I looked out the window to see blinking lights, spelling out the name of the movie theater, “Magical Adventure.” That’s an interesting name for a movie theater, I thought to myself, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. “Bye dad, bye TJ!” I shouted to them, giving them each a quick hug before I raced into the theater, trying not to fall on the slippery ice beneath me.

“Have fun! Text me when the movie’s over!” my dad yelled back.

“Bye Autumn,” my brother mumbled, not even bothering to look up, because in his mind, his video game must’ve been more important than me.

I pushed open the door, stepped inside, and was immediately taken aback by the reactions of other people in the theater. It was packed, and each person had a different facial expression. Some looked horrified, or scared, while others looked joyful and amazed. One thing they all had in common, however, was that they were all stunned and speechless. I guess this place shows really good movies, I considered. I scanned the list of movies, and finally chose one about World War II, because like my dad, I enjoy historical fiction. I paid for my ticket, and stepped into the theater. As the movie started, and I dug into my popcorn, the unbelievable happened.

***************************************

I looked around and saw the inside of a small cottage, with an old-fashioned stove, a wooden table, and a fireplace burning with logs. A girl walked into the room, and yelled “Come on, Linda, we’re going to be late for school!” I turned around, utterly confused. Who is she, where am I, and who’s Linda?

“Linda, why are you standing there like that, looking like I have three heads? We have to leave! Put on your sweater!” She handed me the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, as it looked like it was from the 1940s.

“Umm, excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you, and who’s Linda?”

“Linda, you’re acting really strange today,” she answered, and then she said really slowly, talking to me as if I was three years old, “I’m your sister, and you are Linda.”

I had no idea what was happening, or why she was saying my name was Linda. “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken. My name is Autumn Winston, and I live in Boston, Massachusetts” I replied.

“No, you live here, at 47 Pine Ln in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, where we’ve lived for six years.” She was clearly annoyed at me, acting as if my ignorance was an act, and I was just messing with her. “Whatever. Just put on your sweater, and meet me outside when you’re ready.” I still had no idea what was happening, but I decided to go along with it for the time being. I buttoned the sweater, and grabbed a backpack off the floor that had “Linda Johnson” scribbled on it in pen, and headed out the door. On our walk, I took in my surroundings, and across the street from us, I spotted a woman and man who I’d seen enter the movie theater with me earlier that morning. I waved, hoping to catch their attention. When they saw me, they rushed over, and said with puzzled and worried looks on their faces, “Hey, weren’t you in the row across from us in the movie theater?”

“Yeah, I saw you guys before the movie started!” I replied. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“I have no clue,” said the man. “All of a sudden, we appeared on the side of the road, right across from that restaurant.”

“Yeah, I appeared in this house with a girl who’s calling me her sister, even though I don’t have any sisters. She said we’re in Pearl Harbor.” I responded.

The woman looked at me with a look of shock on her face as she said, “But the theater is in Boston! We’re over 5,000 miles away!”

When “my sister” realized I was talking to some strangers, she scolded, “Linda, keep walking, you’re holding us up!” She led me into a small building, with a sign above that read, “Pearl Harbor Elementary School.” This was odd, since I was in middle school, not elementary school, but I didn’t argue as she lead me down the creaky wooden floors into a small classroom, in which a teacher stood at the front, writing the date on the chalkboard. “December 5, 1941!” I shrieked. “But it’s January 5, 2018!”

“Quiet!” Snarled the teacher, who continued to write the lesson plan on the chalkboard.

“Sit down, Linda, and why are you acting so strange today?” the girl sighed.

As the day continued, I just got more confused. We were being taught about World War II, and who was winning certain battles. When I raised my hand to inform the teacher that the Allies had already won the Battle of the Atlantic, she looked at me like I was crazy, and “my sister,” who I learned was named Annie, slapped me. I tried to understand what was happening as the day went on, and it was during lunch, as I was munching on sour carrot sticks, when I realized why the name of the movie theater was called “Magical Adventure.”

I thought about trying to explain my situation to Annie, but decided against it. I would just end up confusing her more. As lunch ended, and we headed back inside, I thought about how I wished life at home could be this peaceful.

Two days later, I awoke with a start. Boom! The sound of an explosion burst in my ears as I jumped out of bed, shaking with fear. “Annie! Annie! What was that?”

“Linda! Are you okay?” She asked, and I looked into my sister’s eyes, and although she was trying to sound calm, she was shaking like a leaf.

“What is happening? What-” I was cut off by the sound of another explosion, this one scarily closer than the one before it. It was then that Timothy, our six-year-old brother, started crying and screaming. As Annie rushed over to comfort him, our mother barreled into the room, and said frantically,

“Children, they’re attacking! Japan is attacking Pearl Harbor!”

“What? Why? What have we done to them?” Annie shrieked.

Pearl Harbor, I thought. December 7, 1941, two days after December 5, 1941. The attacks of Pearl Harbor were starting, and I’m in the middle of them.

As I looked up with a look of horror and recognition across my face, mother gave us more information. “Your father was called in, he’s working with the army right now. I need to stay here and collect all our valuables, so they don’t get stolen,” she cried, with tears staining her blouse. “But I need you, Linda, to bring Annie and Timothy to the Davidson’s house, because we don’t have a bunker, and they said they have a one large enough to fit all of you.”

“Ok,” Annie sobbed, as she wrapped her arms around our mother, “I’ll take care of them.” I looked back at the house I had started to call home, as Annie shuffled us out the door, and thought about how much I wished I could go back to my real home.

Broken buildings and the injured all blurred past me as Timothy, Annie, and I raced through the town, making our way to safety. As we ran, I thought about how much I yearned to go back to my life in the 21st century. As I think back upon it, it seemed ridiculous that just hours ago I was stressing my day away, all because of a math test. Now, my worries were about losing the people I love. Right now, if I discovered that I failed a test, I wouldn’t care at all, because in the long run, one test doesn’t matter. What does matter is being happy, and being safe, and in order to do that, I needed to forget homework and find a way to help Annie get us to the bunker.

“Annie! Annie!” Someone was shouting at us from across the street.

“Mrs. Mullens!” Annie shouted back. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh Annie, I’m so sorry, but I just overheard one of the army generals talking about the casualties, and he said your father was shot when he was trying to fight the incoming Japanese, and your mother was hit with a bomb explosion, and she isn’t going to make it…” Mrs. Mullens stuttered. As I looked at Annie’s face, I realized that I’ve never actually witnessed true devastation. Her mouth hung open, and tears flowed from her eyes. I embraced her in a hug, trying my best to comfort her, but I knew that no matter what I did, I wasn’t going to bring our parents back.

“Come on, Annie! We have to keep moving!” I pulled on her arm, but she was so heartbroken that I practically had to drag her along. Ten minutes later, she shook herself out of her daze, and started leading us in the direction of the bunker. We broke into a sprint, and I forced my exhausted, sore legs to propel me forward as it came into view. We were only feet away from the bunker when the sound of an explosion went off, so close that I thought my ear exploded as well. The sound made Annie stumble, and she hit the ground hard, landing on broken shards of glass. She didn’t move.

“ANNIE!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I didn’t know what to do; I had to save her. Now it was up to me to get her and Timothy to the bunker. I pulled Annie to her feet, and dragged her, with Timothy close behind, inside. A bomb went off, only feet away, but since we were in the shelter, we were safe. It was just then that Annie awoke, and when she looked around to see the walls of the bunker, along with Timothy and me, she smiled. It was then that I knew we were truly safe.

***************************************

My head was pounding, and when I looked up, instead of seeing the stone walls of the protective bunker, I saw bits of popcorn, red soda cups, and the giant screen of the movie theater. I was back. I looked around at the faces of the other people in the room, and tried to comprehend what just happened. I was just in World War II, I thought, and now I’m in a movie theater, over 5,000 miles away, about seventy years later. With my legs shaking uncontrollably, I stood up, and walked out of the theater to my dad’s car. It all made sense now. The mixed expressions of the other viewers, the theater name, everything.

“Hey Autumn! How was the movie?” my dad asked me, smiling from the car window.

I paused for a second, tried to figure out who Autumn was, and then realized that was my name. “Let me just say, I’ll never forget it.”

“That’s great!” my Dad replied, clearly oblivious to my stunned facial expression, “Sorry to ruin the good mood, but how’s the homework load this weekend? Do you have a lot? Are you stressed about it?” As he was conversing, I climbed into the front seat of the car.

“No, I’m not stressed, why would I be? It’s just homework.” My dad looked at me with his jaw hanging open, and it was after I saw his expression of disbelief that I processed what I had just said. For the first time in years, I said homework wasn’t a big deal. But when I thought back on it, I realized it never was. War is something to stress about, not homework.

Now that I experienced it first hand, I finally understand that. To some people, things are a big deal, but to others, they’re petty. If I had told Annie that yesterday I was freaking out about a science project, she would’ve thought I was crazy, because her worries are that her brother might die of starvation. But to me, the project was a big deal.

Life is about perspective. People view things in different lights. You just have to choose which light to view it in.

Uncomfortably, I sat on the park bench, staring at the grocery store sign across the street. I studied its dark, colorless patterns, just like everything else in the world.

A couple walked by me, madly in love with one another.

I could only imagine how vibrant the world must look to them.

Bright marigold sunsets swallowing lapis blue skies.

Crimson roses covering emerald green grass.

Mom and Dad tried to describe the beauty of a painted world. From then on,

I wished to find my soulmate.

To see the eye candy of a rainbow-washed society.

I put my head on my lap and glimpsed into the achromatic, gloomy streets.

A few blocks down was a midnight black taxi.

As it came closer, I made eye contact with the passenger.

Their light grey eyes were suddenly consumed by a strange hue.

They stood out in the darkness surrounding them.

Different than anything I had ever seen.

They were blue.

There once was a small cottage. In it lived two men, a father and a son. This was a normal household in most aspects, except for one thing. The son was cursed with a death sentence. When he reached the ripe old age of thirty, he would perish immediately. Knowing this, the father was very bitter and complained all day and night, cursing the fates that had brought this upon his son. Despite this curse, the son was very bright and cheery, not for once letting his fate stop him. The father and his son had a slightly strained relationship, the curse always the elephant in the room. They lived like this for many years, until eventually, the son reached twenty-nine. Knowing that he did not have much time left, he decided to try something new. “Father,” he said one day, “do you ever want to leave home and try something new?” The father looked at his son, surprised.“Why would you do that? Life here is fine as it is. No use in changing. What if something goes wrong?” The son shrugged, but he didn’t say anything.
Whenever the son brought the topic up again, the father would reply with more or less the same. The son would shrug again, and the cycle would start again. This continued for some time until finally, the son made up his mind.
“That’s it, Dad! I cannot take any more of this. While we have contentment, I want to search for euphoria. I shall leave and return.” His father looked at him. “You only have months before you die. Would you really want to spend them in a dangerous and reckless pursuit of stupidity?” The son mulled over that for some time, then said quietly, “Yes, I think I would.”
He packed up his bags and left.
At home, with the absence of his son, the father began to grow more and more lonely. Still, he was stubborn. “I refuse to go find after him! Why would you go search for bliss, when we had a perfectly content life here?” He insisted on staying home. “Surely he will come home soon, and it will all be okay. He repeated these words over and over in his head, like a mantra. However, no matter how many times he repeated it, how badly he wanted it to be true, he still felt a slight sense of discontentment if he thought hard enough.
This went on for many months, until one day, a message arrived from his son. Father, he wrote, I do not have much time left, and I beg you to come visit me once. Seeing this note, the father’s eyes teared up not wanting to imagine his death. Then, he made the first impulsive decision of his life. He decided to go find his son.
He spent three days traveling, grumbling the whole time. Twice, he almost turned back. However, each time the doubts crept into his head, he reminded himself that this was for his son. He persisted and finally reached the location that his son had sent him. It was a nondescript house, similar to their own house. He knocked on the door, suddenly feeling a little uncertain. Would he still recognize his son? A stronger doubt slithered its way into his head. Would his son still recognize him? Still, he stood in front of the door, preparing himself for whatever happened.
All this was forgotten as his son opened the door, his face happier than it had ever been. “Father, I am so glad you came! You do not know how much you missed out.” He began to speak excitedly, spouting tale after tale of his adventures. Meanwhile, the father stared at his son in shock. When had he ever seen his son so happy? He thought back to their time together, trying to remember, but came up empty-handed. Sure, his son had been content, but never happy. Finally, the son stopped, his face still red with excitement. “Well,” he asked, “what did you do while I was gone?”
He tried to think of something to say but could think of nothing. Suddenly, the father felt an unexplainable rush of jealousy. Listening to his son’s adventures, his life at the cottage had paled in comparison. Hearing his son beginning to pursue his dreams, he began to unlock a box of his own. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. “Son, will you take me along on one of your adventures?”
As the pair left, the father felt a rush of excitement he had never felt before. He told himself it was childish, but he began to imagine what life would be like if he were to just let himself go. For the first time in a while, he smiled. His son smiled back. They walked like this in companionable silence for a while. Then the son turned to his father. “I know I do not have much time left. No matter what happens in the future, I just want you to know. These past months were the best of my life. I would not have spent them any other way. However, I have one last wish before I face death. I just wished that you could find this type of happiness too.”
A week later, he died. The father sat by him as he breathed his last breath, tears in his eyes. Despite their many differences, he had never doubted the love they shared. Now, staring at his son’s limp body, he realized that in his many years of life, he had never done anything of worth. He had always tried to take the easier path, never taking risks. His son had managed to find more happiness in his thirty years then he had in his entire life. He contemplated this, and then came to a deeper truth.
It had never been about much time a person had. It had always been about how you took it, and how you spent it. Thinking about this, the father made a silent vow to himself. That no matter how he spent his years, he would live his life to his fullest.

Element
In medieval times, there were elemental powers scattered throughout the kingdom. There were lot of elements, but the main 4 emperor elements were fire,earth,water,and air. For several decades the four elements kept peace. Then, one day, a lesser element, chaos, challenged water to a duel. Water loss, and chaos was labeled one of the emperor elements. This angered water’s friend, ice, to stepping up to chaos and challenging him to a duel like chaos had did to air. But fire, being the main enemy of water, stepped in, and challenged ice to duel on the uninhabited island of aether. Air warned ice not to accept fire’s challenge, but ice was so full of hatred that he accepted fire’s challenge. Both of the elements sailed to aether, and began to fight as soon as they saw each other. Fire was strong, but ice overthrew him. Their battle changed the climate of the island, causing one side to be ice, and the other to be fire. Chaos sailed to aether, and found fire frozen in a ice block. Chaos unfroze fire and the two swore to kill ice, whatever it took. Meanwhile, Ice, Water, and Air found a town far from chaos and fire territory, found a home, and found a job in earth territory.

20 years later

Fire woke with a start. What a horrible dream! Being frozen by Ice again. No, that would never happen, he thought to himself. Fire looked around and noticed that his room was covered in what appeared to be red sand. He leaned in for a closer look, and shot back as a huge,red spike nearly clove him in two! The door to his room burst open. “ look who’s up.” Chaos strode into the room, or rather floated. He floated on sheets of pure chaos. Even though he resembled a human, a red and black smoky substance poured off him in storms, covering his face, except his eyes, which glowed with the color of vein blood. His voice was metallic. His hands were covering something that looked like a doll. “ what do you make of this?” Chaos said. He tossed the doll like object to fire. It landed in his lap. Fire looked at it closely. It was a doll, one he recognized. “ String from moss side village. Black pine from the mountains. Stained with water from..” Fire paused “ Kyros.” He threw the doll back to Chaos. He sat down. “ you understand what I’m getting at, right? This is the village that Ice, Water, and Air are hiding in.”
Fire smiled wickedly, “ I see. We gather our troops and go through the portal strait to kyros. It’s the fastest-” “No” Chaos interrupted, “ if we take that path, it’s certain that earth himself will ambush us, and I don’t want to draw the attention of everybody. I have a path way better than yours. And I assure you, they won’t see it coming.” Chaos’s laughter sounded like a saw on rocks, echoing throughout the entire kingdom.

Water summoned water into the big iron pot, and set it on the burning hot stove. He she insisted on doing the cooking by herself, even with the town treating the three of them like kings. The day they arrived, they were given a mansion and a job protecting the town from enemies and natural disasters, like droughts (she is the best at dealing with those). With herself and air being emperors, she was used to it. Water poured some rice in the pot. As she stirred, she couldn’t help but notice the movement in the corner of her eye. “Come sit at the table,guys. Dinner is ready.” Ice and Air sat down at the table. They both had there elemental powers pouring out of them. Ice’s body kept crumbling and reforming like an iceberg. Air kept blowing the silverware off the table. Every time he picked it up, the air would pick up again and blow them off. Air sighed. He formed a mini dust devil, and played with it, spinning it on his finger. “I’m bored.” he said, “someone hasn’t attacked in weeks!” Ice let off a blast of cold air, “ I know, but it’s just the way life is.” They all sat down and ate. Water turned to air, “ Did you see the strange lights last night?” “ Yeah, happened just outside the village. I feel like I have seen someone who has a power to create a glow as red as that, but I don’t know who.” Ice shifted uncomfortably, “ I don’t want to spook anyone, but I feel like we’re going to be attack by someone soon.” As if on cue, the house exploded.

Ice woke to a horrid laugh. He felt a huge amount of heat radiating around him. His eyes stung from smoke. He looked up and saw 2 people that brought a shiver to his body. Standing in front of him was Chaos and Fire, both looking down on him. Fire looked just as ice had remembered. A captain's cloak made of fire. A body made of smoke, and a face with a twisted sneer. His voice was dark and smokey. “ hello, ice. What happened to the person that froze me on aether 20 years ago?!” he kicked Ice into a wall. His head swam with pain as fire let loose volley after volley of punches. Ice dropped to the floor. He could see nothing but red. He coughed violently, and realized that he was coughing up blood. Fire loomed over him with a sword made of solid flames, ready to chop Ice’s head off. But before he could, a new voice said, “ stop.” Chaos put his hand on Fire’s shoulder, “ let me take him on. He did challenged me 20 years ago, after all.” “And you can fight us, instead!” said water and air. They charged at fire with the most mean look on their faces, and engaged fire in a fight. Chaos looked at them as they fought, “ aww, I wanted know one to interfere, but no matter.” He turned back toward Ice, “ I will enjoy killing you, Ice.”

Ice saw to options, run or fight. 20 years ago, he would have run like the wind, but he was stronger thanks to the strong raiders that invaded the town from time to time. He yelled and charged at chaos. Chaos chuckled, and sent a volley of blood red chaos sand spikes at Ice. The spikes sliced through Ice like a cheese grater. Chaos laughed, but it died in his throat as Ice reformed from the ice pieces that he had cut up. Chaos growled in anger and charged him, causing the ground to blister and boil. Ice knew what was going to happen next. He shouted “ duck and cover!”, hoping his friends got the message, and dove behind a building just as the ground blisters exploded, causing a shock wave that leveled the entire village. Ice stood up, and was kick into the air. Chaos laughed, “ I wanted to do this ever since you froze fire! Good bye, ice!!” Then a huge spike shout out of the ground and skewered Ice in mid air.

Ice found the elements confusing. From the day he was born, he sparred with his friend,Air, and every time he lost. “ things that aren’t solid in real life,” explained air, “ like air, water and fire, can’t be hit. We can’t because our bodies are made of those elements. But things like rubber, metal, and chaos need a source of power. For example, the reason chaos can’t be beat is that his source of power is the world. So if there comes a day you fight him, keep that in mind.”

As Ice sat there listening to the maniacal laughter of chaos echo in his brain, he thought about what air had said. “He was right.” Ice thought, “Chaos can’t be beat. But maybe-” He looked up at the sky. The moon shone bright in the star lit sky. “ I have to take this somewhere else. A new battlefield.” ice thought. He looked at the spike. The spike was red with blood. Ice looked at chaos. The spike seemed to be coming out of him, like it was a part of his body. “ THAT’S IT!” ice thought, “ all of chaos’s attacks are a part of him, so if I freeze the spike, I freeze chaos.
Ice grabbed the spike and willed it to freeze. In less than a second, the spike was shattered, and chaos was frozen in a ice block with the most surprised look on his face. Ice looked over at the other battle. Air was bleeding all over. He sat in a corner of a toppled building. Water fought fire all by herself. Fire tried to attack, but kept getting doused by water every time. Ice ran over to air. “ Hey, can you do something for me?” Ice explained his plan. Air breathed in shakely, “ I can try.” Suddenly,from the ice block, there came a explosion that rocked the world. When the smoke cleared, chaos faced ice and air, and roared with anger. Air looked at ice, “ Are you ready?” “yes.” answered ice. Air made a air bubble around ice. Ice looked at chaos, “Air, go help air fight fire.” “okay!” said air. Chaos ran at ice with terrifying speed. When he got close enough to strike, Ice grabbed him and threw him in the sky, aiming for the stars. Ice built a tower out of ice, and followed chaos into the sky.

Ice looked around. The stars were brighter now, and the earth was a huge ball of yarn. Chaos had a nervous look on his face. His eyes shifted around, taking in the new area, “ Where am I? What did you do? How are you flying?!” Ice sighed, “ I can ‘walk’ on the air by freezing it, and in the area on the boundary of earth and space, it’s very cold, but there is still a little amount of air.”
Chaos laughed, “ You can’t beat me, I-” he would have said more, but ice froze his mouth shut. He punched and kicked at chaos. Chaos fought back, but his attacks were getting weaker. Ice’s plan was working. Ice summoned a sword made of ice, and stabbed, cut, and thrust at Chaos. Chaos shot back as a huge wave of energy sliced through the air, making the air steam. “ How can you project your cuts and stabs?! No element can do that!!” Chaos yelled. Ice smiled,” how can nobody do it if I just did?” chaos screamed and floated away on sheats of chaos. He didn’t even have time to look back, Ice’s cut caught him in the head, propelling him toward the moon.
Chaos hit the moon, and the moon exploded in a shower of sparks, shooting ice back to earth, and making him blackout.

Ice woke up to a tearful water dabbing his head with a wet cloth. When water saw that ice was awake, she hugged ice, almost crushing him to death. Air was beside her, beaming like the sun on a summer day. A crowd of villagers cheered, “ All hail Ice, the new emperor!!” Ice was shocked. “ why-” “ we beat up fire real good.” said air, “ then, while we were helping the villagers, we saw chaos fight you in the sky. Everyone saw you throw him into the moon and destroy him. Your a hero!” Ice looked all around. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

On top of the mountain, a figure surveyed the village. “ yes, your a hero. You beat chaos!” it said to itself, “ I look forward to fighting you, ice. And this time, your the one who will lose!!” the figure laughed, and vanish into the shadows.

The end

An interviewer asks a famous singer, “How do you come up with your songs?”

He pauses, considering the question. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his wife spill some of her morning coffee on the carpet, and then sneakily cover it up with magazines. There is a hum in his ears, a melody that goes A minor, F, C, G.

The interviewer repeats the question, but the singer’s mind is elsewhere.

His eyes follow his wife as she bumps into the cameraman, spills her remaining coffee, and rouses their cats, Fish and Chips, from a deep slumber by stepping on their tails. After earning some loud verbal abuse from the two, she turns to look at him, sheepishly, like a child caught in mischief.

He smiles at her. Words run through his mind like lightning, fusing together with the melody in his head.

Love, is what he wants to say. When you’re surrounded by love, the music isn’t hard to hear. But his wife is standing close to him now, and he feels shy. So, he settles on:

“I think it’s my cats that really get me going.”

The girl

Who wakes up

And looks in

The mirror

And sees

Not the sharp jawline

The skinny body

The flat chest  

Of a man,

But the soft face

The curved body

The busty chest

Of a woman.

She can’t escape it

It feels like a weight on her shoulders

She mustn't tell

She can’t tell

All the sports bras

The loose sweaters

The black jeans

The messy hair

The dirty Converse

The lack of makeup

Isn’t self-neglect,

It’s an attempt to break out

Of her feminine shell

But she c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ can.

The school

Is a place

Where he can be

Who he is

The love

And support

Is endless

And those who don’t know

Will learn

And those who don’t care

Too bad.

Everywhere he goes

A trail of happiness

Of love

Of individuality

Follows him

Giving everyone

A chance to be

Themselves.

Although some may be

Invisible

They are still there

Still alive

And kicking

Even he

Is invisible too

He carries the flags

Of pink, white,

And blue

Of green, white

Pink and red

The few

But many

Who stand out

And the ones

Who say

“Not yet”

They are brave

Like the boy

With the flags

A Dancing Bug

“Who are you?” they say.

“Bee.” I reply.

“Like the bug?” they ask.

“Well, yes. The insect.” I correct.

“What do you like to do?” they pry.

“I like to dance.” I say.

“A dancing bug!” they laugh.

They walk away, swinging their hair behind them, never understanding the hurt of their words.

Fake. All fake. All these words. All these phrases, coated in sugar, but filled with salt. They are just words, but they cut deep into my skin, scaring the weak cells, building up over time, to create this barrier, this wall of hurt and pain. A glaze of saltiness covers the dark pupils of my eyes, dripping down the inward curve of my nose, stinging the edge of my cracked lips. I fight it. I fight the tears, just like I fight the words. I try and push them away, to forget that anyone ever said them. But no. My scars stay. I see them cover me, and I can’t forget. I only remember their words ringing in my head: Not good enough. Not smart enough. A dancing bug!

Every day, I step into this lonely world, wondering what I am meant to do, who I am meant to be. I try to find the girl I want to be, but every time I try, the wall of hurt blocks me from passing. How can I be who I was made to be when others don’t accept me for it? How can I live freely when every corner is a trap? A twister of taunts, whisking around me, daring me to fall down. How can I find this girl when am I so familiar with the last stall in the girl’s bathroom, scrawled with graffiti, and filled with the drip drip drip of my tears, hiding from the world before me. Ashamed of who they say I am, who I am supposed to be.

I sit in a plump seat, the steady bump of the road beneath me pounding like a heartbeat. I look out the window, covered in the grime of sticky fingers and sugary breath, past memories of students waiting eagerly to get home. I see the world outside, passing fast, forgotten in a mere second. The scenery, the passersbys, all gone in the blink of an eye, like none of it matters. I realize how small I seem, compared to this giant world around me. I, a mere speck in a room full of dust. A simple star in the vast galaxy, teeming with burning planets and web-like constellations, all more interesting than me:  just a simple star.

The radio blasts, full of cursing and profanity. I would never dream of ever dancing to music like this. Even if I could. The adrenaline of children rushes around me like a dammed river, spewing everywhere, over everything: my ears, my nose, my head. I close my eyes and try to slow the pounding of my brain. So many people, so many words. So many scars.

Bug girl. Boogie bug! Booger bug!

I see their taunting faces, their laughing cheeks. I fight it. I fight the words, the scars. I fight it all.

They’re just words. Words can’t hurt.

But they do.

Finally, finally, the rubber burn against the gravel road signals my heavenly stop. I practically leap off the steps, with calls of “booger bug” swirling behind me.

I watch my feet take step after step up the stony walk, each stride a reassuring sign I have made it through another day. The crackle of the the pebbles send pinches up into my soles. I see the familiar chipped paint of the old wooden door, the hand painted birdhouse, speckled with tiny fingerprints from long ago, when the tips of my young, petite hands were nearly as small as the birdseed itself.

I remember the past with a melancholy smile. How could life have been so simple? So uncomplicated? So nice and inviting? It now seems nearly impossible that once, my naive six-year-old mind didn’t understand that there was meanness out in the world, and that I was right in the middle of it all. Oblivious, but happy.

But happy.

I creek open the rusted hinges of the door, slowly creating an opening of sunlight onto the hardwood floor.

Music fills my ears as I enter my house, the calming sound easing my scarred soul.

“Staring at a stop sign, watching people drive by, T mac on the radio, got so much on your mind, nothing's really going right, looking for a ray of hope.”

I follow the beat of the song, down the narrow hallway, up the winding stairs.

And there I see her.

Long hair flowing, smile wide, shoulders tall and proud.

Her graceful arms waving through the air fluently, but with emotion. Strong legs twist and turn, jete to a pirouette. She dances without a care in the world, without scars breaking her step. The music breaks into a humming refrain, and her eyes flutter open peacefully to notice me standing in the door.

“Bee!” she calls. “How is my favorite little sister today?” The way she wraps her arm around me, calls me by my name, and cares for my answer. I look up into her passionate eyes and the dazzling smile across her face. Flashes of phrases run through my head, swirling and whirling in and out, through my ears. I see their smirking faces and their narrow gaze. But then I see the pearly gleam of my sister’s grin, and the kindness in her eyes.

“You're an overcomer, stay in the fight 'til the final round, you're not going under.”

I make my decision.

“Now that you’re here, everything's okay.” I reply, and I return her grin with one of my own, unable to fight off my sister’s positive vibe. The song begins to play again, and my sister grabs my hand.

“C’mon!” she calls, and she swings our hands over our heads and we turn around back to back. Our eyes sparkle and dance across from each other. For the first time today, I feel my scars begin to heal. I feel them stitch back together, and my mind calm like an ocean after a storm. I hear the words of the song radiate in my head. They push me forward, to twirl my legs and spin my arms. They spiral and circle, and I leap and flip.

“You're an overcomer, you're an overcomer.”

* * * * *

“Who are you?” they say.

I can feel scars forming, already anticipating the hurtful sting. I open my mouth to answer, ready to give in to their icy words.

But I stop. I close my lips and blink my eyes.

Who am I? I ask myself. Who am I really? I am not bug girl, or booger bug, or a boogie bugger. I am not a turtle, afraid of the world, curled up in my shell. I think of my sister, joyful and free, oblivious to the world, not caring about what other people think. “You're an overcomer, stay in the fight 'til the final round, you're not going under.” It’s my decision. I can choose to stay trapped in this scarred cage, or learn to spread my wings and fly. I am bigger than my scars, bigger than these words that once took me over. Scars may leave a mark, but the pain won’t last. It will only last if I make it. If I let it take control. I can overcome all of these bullies and words. I can take my stand. I can say who I am, and be proud of it.

“My name is Bee.” I say. “I really like to dance.”

“Really?” they ask.

“Yes, I guess you could say I’m a dancing bug.”