You don’t realize how much you enjoy the thing that makes you happy.  This could be  talking to your friends, watching sports, rooting for your favorite team, maybe even dancing.  Well, dancing is my thing.  Dancing made me feel free to do what I wanted.  It was a way to escape from all of the negative things in the world. I was 17 and already had a full scholarship to college.  Everything was perfect.  Until, I lost everything.

I grew up in an average size household.  It was me and my little brother, Samuel, my mother, and father. My mother worked at a local Starbucks and my father couldn’t seem to keep a job for a month, constantly changing jobs and getting fired again.  This troubled my brother and I, but we decided to live with it.  I loved to dance.  I loved it so much that I begged my parents to get me ballet slippers.  After more than 3 years of wishing and begging, my mother gave me a pink rectangular box on Christmas morning.  “This is for you, I know how much you’ve wanted these.” She said.  I tore the wrapping away lightning fast as if it was a box of candy.  Underneath the wrapping there staring at me were a pair of ballet slippers.  “Thank you mom!” I exclaimed.  “There is a ballet school just across the street, you start lessons on Tuesday.” She responded.  After that morning I was never the same.  Starting at 6 years old, going across the street every week, and even staying after class to practice.  After 2 years, I won my first competition.  Winning that trophy felt like everything that I ever wanted was coming true.  And that was true, well at least for the next 9 years.  I kept going to ballet school and went up in the ranks.  Constantly winning and awarded for my achievements.  In 7th grade, I overheard my parents yelling at each other over my ballet training.  That afternoon my parents gathered my brother Samuel and I together in the living room.  “OOH, you’re in trouble!” Samuel squealed. “Why would mom and dad gather BOTH of us if I was in trouble, you idiot!” I exclaimed.  We make it to the living room, only to find mom crying on the couch.  “Sit down guys,” Dad said, “Your mother and I have not been getting along lately and therefore, we are getting a divorce.”  A look of shock went across my face.  Later that night Samuel asked, “What does divorce mean?” “It means Mom and Dad are not going to be married anymore and going to move away from each other,” I explained.  After I said this, Samuel started to tear up, in return I started to cry.  That was one of the worst nights of my life.

The next week there were numerous boxes piled up around the house as my father prepared to leave. “Will we ever see you again?” Samuel asked, still teary eyed “I’ll see you on the weekends, at least” my dad explained.  As the moving truck came into the driveway, I saw mom upstairs in the bedroom ripping pictures of her and dad.  I decided to leave her alone knowing she would probably just yell and me to go away.  So I kept my mouth shut, good thing I did.  Later that night mom ordered Chinese take out and went straight to bed when she finished here noodles.  “What’s wrong with mommy?” Samuel asked. “She is still sad about dad leaving and is very mad at dad,” I said.  Hopefully I was right.

It has been about 3 years since dad left. It isn’t the same without him, luckily I’m seeing him this weekend in his brand new apartment.  I rummage through my room packing for my dad's when Samuel comes into the room. “What if daddy doesn’t recognize us?” “Well, we’ve been away for 3 years he probably still knows and remembers us,” I respond, trying to think positively.  The weekend finally came after a hard week at school, today was the first visit with my dad since the divorce.  I was 17 now and drove my brother and I over to the apartment.  I walked up to the doorstep to the apartment door and rang the doorbell.  A familiar voice answered in return. “Hello kids!” Dad shouted in excitement “I’ve been waiting for you to come!”  I entered the apartment with my brother tagging along, still scared to see what the rooms looked like. The living room was cozy with a couch and TV set up, a kitchen off to the left and 3 bedrooms across the hallway.  “Well, this is it, welcome home.” Dad exclaimed. I ran over to the couch and started to sit down.  The couch was firm, like firmer than a brick.  This was not like home,  I ran over to my bedroom.  There was no decorations or anything in the room.  It was just beige with a window, and a bed that looked like it was from the 1930s.  This was still not like home. In utter aggravation of everything that had happened in the past 3 years, I sprinted out of the house not looking back.  I ran straight to my car in a mad dash to get out of that house.  I pulled out of the parking garage and headed back to my mom’s house.  I was so mad and angry at life at that moment.  I got onto the highway and all I could think about was my parents.  My parents divorce. The ballet slippers.  All of these things piled up in front of me.  I wasn’t paying attention to the road ahead of me.  Because of this.  I found myself in a horrible scenario.  I was going 90 on the freeway, the car in front of me going 65. Everything was happening so fast until I found myself flipped over in my car, not being able to feel my leg and the sounds of sirens all around me as I closed my eyes. And blacked out.

I woke up in a hospital room, a pain like no other hit me first.  It felt like a thousand needles poking through my skin.  I saw that I had an IV in my arm flowing fluid into my bloodstream.  I looked around and saw my brother, mother, and father.  I was so happy to see my parents together again.  “How are you doing Samantha?” mother asked.  “My entire body aches,” I responded.  “At least you’re alive.” Dad says in a cheerful yet serious tone.  I looked around the room.  There was a side table next my bed, flower bouquets littered the table, as well as balloons saying “Get Better!, or Get Well Soon, and We Miss You.” A doctor walks into the room.  “Hello Samantha, I see you have woken, how do you feel?” She said, farley quickly as if reciting off of a document. “My leg hurts a lot and I’m a little light headed,” I said.  “That is usual for this type of injury,” she responded. “How bad is it, is there a cut or anything,” I asked curiously.  “I was just about to tell you and your parents the options,” she said with a nervous tone, “I am afraid that your leg will not survive, with all of the pressure you put on it, you crushed the nerves and broke your bone in 3 ways.” she said, “Because of this we will need to amputate your leg.”  The pressure in the room increased as soon as she said this.  It was like a storm was brewing inside of the room.  “How much will this cost?” mother asked, impatiently.  “$30,000 dollars,” the doctor replied.  A look of worry went across my mother’s face.  “Okay,” she said, “We can do that.”  After waiting 2 days for the surgery for the amputation a crew of nurses and doctors came into my room.  “Now, what I’m going to ask you to do Samantha is to just breathe,” the doctor said, her voice so calming.  Except I haven’t even thought about breathing in a very long time.  The mask goes over my face and I breath slowly, a thing I hadn’t done in over 3 years.  The sleeping medicine wipes me out in 2 seconds, as I drift off to sleep, I think about my parents and what it will be like to wake up and find that I am missing part of my leg.

I wake up almost instantly.  According to my mother it has been 5 hours since I went down.  Instantly the pain from my leg is gone as I look down.  I see that my leg is gone, just a little nub of skin, where my knee should have been.  I instantly began to cry.  “It’s okay dear,” my mother says, trying to comfort me.  I begin to get out of the bed when I see a pair of crutches in the corner.  Well, there goes my career, my scholarship to college, my dancing.  I get out of bed and hobble over to the crutches and regain balance.  “Can I go?” I ask, pleading to leave the hospital.  “Yes, yes you can,” my dad says, with a smirk on his face.  The following weeks were hard, full of falls and therapy.  Eventually, I get the hang of the crutches and start doing regular stuff.  One morning my mother tells me to sit on the couch, right next to her.  Something we haven’t done in a while.  “I have something to tell you,” she says.  “Yes, mother,” I respond.  “Being with the surgery, your father and I, despite our divorce, are unable to afford more ballet for you,” she says.  After the words came out of her mouth, yet again I hated everything that had happened in the last 3 years.  I hated my leg, I hated my parents, I hated LIFE.  That night, yet again I was going to run away.  This time on foot.  I brought my sweatshirt, a few pairs of clothes, a flashlight, and finally 3 dollars.  I walked down the upstairs stairs as quietly as I could.  Trying not to wake the others.  I opened the front door wide enough so that I could fit through.  Then, I started to sprint, (yet, still using the crutches).  I ended up stopping in front of a Macy’s downtown.  I was now a 17 year old, on the street.  I needed to drown my worries away,  I had found a “doctor approved” article stating that drinking is a good way to try and avoid the world.  Obviously this was fake, well myself did not think  once about it.  I headed to the first bar I saw.  I was 17 yet I looked like I was 22.  6 ft in height and “old” enough looking to get a drink for my $3 that I had brought with me.  After that one drink, I started begging for money on the street.  Instead of saving the money for good things, I kept buying drink after drink, ending up in a lot of debt.  This repeated for weeks.  Constantly moving spots around downtown to avoid getting arrested for squatting.  Things finally started to go my way one afternoon.  A girl, a little younger than I was was screaming as she was being dragged away from a ballet school, near from where I was sitting.  She was screaming at the top of her lungs.  It felt like a mega phone was right next to my ear screaming at me for leaving home and running away again.  Her dad seemed to dragging her away. “You won’t be needing these anymore!” he shouts.  Throwing what seemed to be some sort of shoes into the trash nearby.  She passed by me as if I didn’t exist.  Then the trash can seemed to be “calling me” toward it.  I walked toward the can and looked inside.  What I found astounded me.  They were ballet slippers.  They looked like they would fit me.  After this discovery I started to run, well, more like hobble back toward my ballet school across town.  Grabbing the ballet slippers in the process of course.  An idea just had popped into my head, and I didn’t know whether it was a good one or not, but, it was worth a shot.

It took me 2 days to get to my ballet school.  I open the door to the school and instantly see my teacher Ms. Schultz.  “Samantha?, Is that you?” she asked curiously.  Mesmerized by my reappearance.  “Yes, it is me,” I responded.  Instantly Ms. Schultz ran up to me and gave me a hug.  I hugged back.  Thrilled to be back.  “What happened to your leg?” she asks.  “I got in a car crash, the leg got badly damaged and it had to amputated,” I said.  “So what are you here for?” she asks curiously.  In that moment I told Ms. Schultz my plan.  All week I practiced how to dance with just one leg, I stayed in the ballet school and practiced constantly, just like I always had.  I asked Ms. Schultz to tell my parents nothing except that the ballet school was having a recital and she would like them to come.  I practiced for 2 weeks until the recital came, on a friday night.  I peeked out behind the curtain to see thousands of people as well as my parents.  I took the ballet slippers and put one on, leaving the other one in the box.  “You ready?” Ms. Schultz asks. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond.  I hopped over onto the stage just as the curtain was being lifted.  This was it, this was the moment of my life.  The lights went dark, until a spotlight appeared on me.  As I expected the crowd gasped.  1) because of the missing leg and 2) because Samantha Benet had return.  The music began to play and I began to dance.  I remembered this may be my one, last, dance.  The music stops and I look into the audience.  A standing ovation for what I did.  I motioned for Ms. Schultz to come on stage.   I went backstage grabbing my other ballet shoe.  “I would like to thank Ms Schultz for helping me, and in honor of this, I give her my ballet shoe,” I say.  I look at Ms. Schultz, she’s crying.  The next week I got a letter from Joffrey Dance College.  The letter stated that I still had a scholarship and a bonus was a full ride.  I was so excited.  I turned and looked at my mother.  She was so happy, and so was I.  My final statement is: when life gets you down and you hate the thing that makes you happy.  Stand Up, and get back in the fight.  

No home away from home

“Last piece is mine!”
“You had the last piece last time!”
“So what? I’m two years older than you. Bigger cubs, bigger plates.” It’s fun having lots of brothers and sisters, but sometimes you have to fight over food. My dad is a good hunter, but even a tiger sometimes has a hard time hunting all the food to feed a large family. My big, loud, pesky family.
“Boys, that’s enough eating! Get out there and play. Let your mom and the girls finish eating the antelope.” said Dad. One nice thing about living in a jungle is that you have lots of friends to play with.
“Tag, you're it!”
“Benzel, no I’m not, you didn't even touch me!”
“I did touch you, Eli!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“You’re so annoying!”
“Whatever! Let’s play a different game.”
“Well, when you're the oldest cub, you get to choose the games. Let’s play hide n’ seek.”
“Eli, you count so you can practice your counting.”
“One tail, two tails, three tails, many tails… I hope I’ll be ready for school in the fall.” Pant, pant, I need to catch my breath. I’ve never been in this clearing before. Dad and I should come hunting here. You can see for miles! Uh oh, where is everyone? Oh well, they’ll catch up with me. Oldest is fastest. Plus I like to be alone for once. Hey, what’s that? It’s sure moving fast! I’ve never seen an animal that fast. I wonder if I can hunt this by myself… Dad would really be proud of me! There’s a bunch of animals inside of that thing. Funny! They’re all standing on their back legs. Never seen that before! What’s up with all those sticks and vines they’re holding? Boom! I’m so sleepy…

Ouch! My head! What’s up with this low roof? In our cave I can stretch all I want and not get hurt. Why is this thing so dark and bouncy? I’m hurting at both ends! I can’t get out! “Roar!” I can’t get out, I can’t see anything, might as well take a nap. “Stop messing with me! You know I don’t like to wake up like this!” Ohh! It’s those animals with the sticks! I have to admit my brothers were really not that pesky… good thing all that moving and shaking is all over. Oh? I can walk out of here? This is a small jungle! Hey! There’s a tiger in that corner that is the same size as me! “Hi, I’m Benzel, where am I?”
“Hi, I’m Grundy, and this is your new home.”
“My new home? I want to go to my home!”
“Sorry kid, you are here now.”
“Grundy, when did you get here?”
“I got here a few moons ago. Maybe like 17 or so.”
“Grundy, do you think I will ever get back to my family?”
“I don't know”...

I might as well look for some food. Ummm… this is not bad. Although Dad’s meat was better, and I didn't really mind sharing with everybody. Not really. “Hey Benzel, there’s more over here.”
“Thanks Grundy, So tell me more about this place.”
“This is the African Wildlife Research Center.”
“So what do they do?”
“Uh, research.”
“What’s research?”
“It’s figuring out things about us.”
“What are those animals standing on their hind legs?”
“They’re animals that walk on their hind legs. They control everything. They’re called humans”
Grundy yawns, “I’m getting tired, Benzel.”
“OK let’s go to the cave to get some rest.”

I’m so tired and I don’t know how I woke up. Wait? Who’s talking? I think it's those humans Grundy was talking about.
“Grundy! Grundy! Wake up! It's those humans that you were talking about. I think they were talking about doing, I don't know some tests, we have to do something...and fast I don't have a good feeling about these humans and their tests.”
“Shh, go back to sleep Benzel. It was probably just a dream.”
“No Grundy this was NOT a dream. We have to do something”
Zzzzz.
“Well Grundy’s asleep, so I might as well do something.” As I walked towards the door, I could hear footsteps coming closer and closer... And then it happened--the door swung open and this human came to me with white clothes and a thing covering his mouth…
“Hurry! hurry! Get the tiger…”
I was sitting there confused why... they picked me up and took me into this room, put me on a table, and got a small pointy thing and stuck it in my leg. Then I felt weird, like I was sleeping but awake still. They were talking and poking me with the pointy thing… I fell asleep and don’t... remember...anything…

I woke up lying right next to Grundy, my leg hurting.
“GRUNDY WAKE UP!!!”
“What, what happened?”
“Grundy, they took me and tested me and you didn’t believe me!”
“I’m so sorry Benzel that I didn’t believe you.”
“We have to do something!”

“Sir, we got the tests last night. The small tiger was awake, but the big one was not.”
“Good, good, now release him.”
“And Sir, what about the other one?”
“The other one stays a little longer. Do you know where to release the small one?”
“Yes, at the exact same place you found him, or else he will die.”

I was eating breakfast and then out of nowhere came the human who captured me. He had a box. He quickly ran towards me and picked me up and put me in the box.
“Grundy, help me!” I yelled, but no one answered. I saw Grundy through a hole in the box on the ground… Bye Grundy... I said softly as the human took me through the door. As we walked by the window, Grundy waved a slow, sad wave…

I wondered where the human was taking me. Home, or to some other place? I really hope it’s home. The human put me in the fast thing with round things on it. VROOM, VROOM… The thing shook and started moving. I looked through the hole and saw a field. The ride was not fun. It was weird. I was trying to imagine going back to my family, but kept thinking about my new friend, Grundy.

I was laying in the box when the thing stopped moving. I stood up and looked out the hole. Someone picked up the box! And it opened! I ran out toward my dad’s hunting field. I ran and ran and ran through the clearing, until I got to the edge of the jungle. With a quick glimpse behind me, I realized that nobody was following me. So I’m free. I’m really free. And I’m going home! Home to my big, loud, pesky family! I’ve been away from them for seven moons and I miss them something terrible. And even though I’m hungry, I will be sure to share even the last piece…

Falling. Everything is falling. Small white snowflakes are falling from the sky. Tears are falling, rolling down my face, leaving wet trails on my skin in their wake. My world is falling. Though the ground beneath my bottom is cold and hard and solid, and I feel the rough texture of bricks behind my back, I am falling.

Some people say that there’s a point in your life where you’re so low, you can’t get any lower. That there’s a place way-way down there that’s rock bottom, and once you hit it, the only way to go is up.

I know better. There isn’t a solid floor beneath to keep you from falling. Just a deep, dark, bottomless pit.

I don’t have anything to hold onto anymore. So I’m just falling. Down, down, down.

I always considered myself to be just about the luckiest person in the worlds. First off, I lived in Aurora. And everyone knew there wasn’t a better place to be than Aurora. It was a utopia. And not the kind that turned corrupt. It was a real-life, honest-to-goodness utopia, and I was lucky enough to live in it. Perfect government, no poverty, world peace, great environment. All that, and more. I had a great education, loving parents, the sweetest little sister imaginable, and good friends. My life was great. My life was awesome. My life was pretty much perfect.

Until the Burning, that is.

But let’s go back a bit further. To the day when Sybill Talon went from crazy to completely, undoubtedly insane.

We were at a Meeting of the Council when it happened. Many families, including my own, had been drawn to the Meeting also, as Meetings were matters of great importance. It was all pretty boring, as usual. Until Sybill Talon walked up to the stage. The chamber got all quiet, the kind of quiet that’s scary and makes you feel like something’s off. Well, something was off that day, and it was Sybill Talon’s mind. My parents told me to respect her, how she’s an accomplished “seer” and all that. Honestly, I thought it was a bunch of nonsense. Well, when Sybill Talon got up on that stage and started yammering on and on about how the world is gonna end, and we all gotta run and hide, because there’s gonna be a big fire and a betrayal and yada-yada, my opinion about the state that lady’s sanity spread like wildfire, and everyone else knew that Sybill Talon and her crazy ideas were completely insane.

The thing is, she was right. We were the ones who were wrong. And we paid for it.

The air was heavy. Oh so heavy. Heat pressed against me on all sides. When I inhaled, smoke filled my nose and mouth. I didn’t get up from bed. Didn’t want to acknowledge, to believe, that this nightmare was true. I just lay there, my heart pounding, a sickening feeling rising from my stomach to my throat.

Then, a scream pierced the the air. A human scream, filled with terror and pain. It sliced through the fog clouding my mind like a knife. And then I knew.

I threw my warm, fuzzy blanket on the floor. The blanket that was lovingly tucked around me every night. That I always fell asleep under, knowing that the next morning, it would still be there, and I would still be there, and everything would be fine.

I blindly ran out of my room, down the stairs, through the hallway, out the door. I barely acknowledged the chaos around me. The fires, the people, the crumbled buildings. I ran, I ran, I ran. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. And then I walked. I walked until I could barely move my feet. And then I crawled, slowly dragging myself away from the horror behind me, in front of me, around me.

At one point, I must have lost consciousness, because when I opened my eyes, someone was shaking me, talking at me, meaningless words coming out of their mouth. They may have been angry. They may have been scared. They may have been kind. It doesn’t matter now. Nothing does.

The person motioned to a crowd of people ahead. They picked me up. I didn’t resist. They carried me to the crowd, shoving and pushing people aside as they went. On the other side of all the people was a sort of small, circular, turquoise doorway, with a swirling mass of darkness and light inside of it. This was a portal. I was being set inside of it.

There was a sound like rushing water, an odd tingling sensation, and a flash of light. Then I was face down on the ground looking at a cold concrete sidewalk. I sat up with my back to a brick building, and looked around.

I’m on a street corner. People walk past me, and cars spew exhaust and spray slush as they zoom by. Little half-melted piles of snow line the street.

I’m mad at everyone, at everything. How can people just keep going about their life, as if nothing has happened? How can time continue, moving onwards like it always does? The anger makes me want to jump up, to yell, to scream. But I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, the tight knot of helplessness and misery lodged in my throat will come out.

I hug my knees to my chest, and bury my face in my hands, letting my exhaustion take over, my heavy eyelids close. I can no longer cry my fears out into a warm embrace. I can no longer wipe my runny nose on a soft sleeve. I am alone. Alone.

My parents are on either side of me. We hold hands as we gaze out at the ocean, it's surface smooth as glass. The night is calm and quiet, and I feel peaceful and content. The sky begins to lighten as a bit of sunlight peeks out from behind the water. Dark blue is  streaked with pink, purple, and orange as the sun rises higher into the sky, and the black waters below turn golden. The beauty of it all is overwhelming. I feel that I, too am rising higher and higher into the sky, soaring up and up and up. My father squeezes my hand. “Every night, the sun sets, dropping down below the horizon. And yet, every morning, it rises up into the sky again, just as beautiful and bright as it was before.” My mother puts her arm around me as she speaks. “And so must you. You must rise up, and live your life. We will be with you always.” After those last words leave her lips, they begin to fade, blending in with the bright colors of the sky, which also slowly disappear, leaving behind only the bright, golden sun.

I abruptly open my eyes, my mother’s last words still echoing in my head. The sun shines brightly in my face. I stand up, and a small piece of paper falls from my lap. Money. I pick it up, and walk down the street, where a crowd of people are filing into a bus. I climb up the steps, hand the driver the money, and walk down the packed aisle. There are no empty seats, so I hold onto a metal pole. The bus starts moving, jostling me up and down, back and forth. I tighten my grip on the pole. I have no idea what I am doing, where I am going. Honestly, I don’t really care. As long as it is forwards.

EPILOGUE

Twenty young children watch a teacher draw on a blackboard with their bright, curious eyes. All orphans. Their homes are destroyed. Their families are gone. They are sitting in a classroom, learning how to spell, how to count, how to read. They are learning what they need to know to grow up and do big things, and they are learning that out of their dark past can emerge a shining future, and that they hold their fate in their own hands.

The only proof they need is the woman in front of them, who was once just like them.

Near the end of grade three, I got into a car accident. My brother was driving drunk from a party. I barely survived, but he was killed instantly. The car caught on fire. The only thing I remember doing is running as fast as I could, drowning in tears, and all I felt was pain. I ended up getting an ugly scar on my neck.

I started to distance myself from even my closest friends. They didn't like how I had changed, so they decided to not talk to me anymore. My parents would say, “Susie, you should start making some more friends.” The thing is, nobody wanted to talk to me anymore.

It was the first day of grade four when I got called “ugly”. I would smile and apologize, but it always felt like a sharpened knife piercing through my heart. The bullying continued for a while, until depression finally found me and locked me in its chains.

In grade five, depression pulled me into a void of never ending darkness. I would see light gleaming from a distance, but the light would grow dimmer and dimmer no matter how fast I ran. I would see less and less of it each day, until it disappeared completely.

I would try to find my way out, but the darkness would lead to more darkness. Not even my family could drag me out of the little world I had created for myself.

The bullying didn't get any better either. I couldn't even survive a day at school without someone shoving me and calling me names. Although I should've, I never told anyone the situation I was in, not even my parents.

I began to stay up late and often forgot to do homework. I started to eat less, growing skinnier and skinnier each day. I didn't shower for a week, and I felt horrible.

Middle school was starting soon and I didn't want anyone to see what a monster I had become. I wanted to start over, to live a new life, so I put on a mask. I pretended to be normal, even though I wasn't. I was trying so hard to be myself that I didn't even recognize that part of me anymore. I felt like I was looking in a mirror and what looked right back at me was a stranger.

Everyone was kind to me, but nobody wanted to be my friend. I was freaking out, thinking of possibilities of what I did wrong. It wasn't as bad as bullying, but I felt invisible. People would walk past me like I wasn't even there in the first place.

I didn't understand why I was like this. I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts. Whenever I tried to come back up to breathe, another wave comes crashing down on me. The more I struggled, the heavier and tighter the chain wrapped around me became. My thoughts were like a tangled piece of yarn, and I didn't know how to untangle them. My head started to throb in pain from thinking too much, and all I wanted to do is curl up into a little ball and disappear.

It was in grade seven when I started to feel a little bit better. I felt like people actually acknowledged my existence, and some people even wanted to be friends with me. Depression disappeared little by little, until it was almost unnoticeable.

The years flew by, and high school came around the corner. I was a bit scared, but I was mostly excited. I thought I was going to be fine. But I was wrong.

The first day of grade nine, a bully from elementary school saw me. My heart sank so quickly, I thought that it wasn't even in my body anymore. On my way to class, I got bombarded by spitballs and laughter.

My friend asked what was going on. I lied, saying that it was a joke from elementary school.

Depression soon found me once again. It was like an old friend that I hated coming back to me. I felt like I was sinking slowly in my emotions like quicksand, and I didn't know what to do. Every insult, every name, turned into a chain, slowly adding on and growing heavier and heavier each second.

I blamed my brother for all this. If only he wasn't drunk that night, everything would've been normal. I also blamed myself for it, for letting my brother’s death affect me.

Everyday, I would hear depression speaking to me. “You're not good enough.” “You’ll never make it.” “You're a disgrace.” “They all hate you.” “Stop trying.” And I agreed. I was becoming more and more negative, I couldn't find the urge to do what I like to do. The voice kept on coming back, haunting me. “What's the use of going to school today?” “There's no point in doing this.” I was helpless. I hated how depression was changing me. I wasn't afraid of death anymore. I was afraid of living.

After grade ten ended, my parents finally decided to tell me something. That my brother and I were adopted. A rush of feelings went from my brain to my heart. I felt shocked. Part of me didn't want to believe it. The other part felt betrayed and mad. I locked myself in my room, and didn't come out for days.

I was at the lowest point in my entire life. I felt small, cold, and sad. I didn't text my friends at all, and they started to become worried about me. Insomnia swept me up in its arms, and I ate as little as possible. I became so skinny that my rib cage started to show.

Despite everything, I was still living. I didn’t know why I was.

I was in such a horrible state. I thought: This is wrong. I shouldn't do this to myself. This is not what I wanted at all.

My parents were horrified when they saw me come out of my room for what seemed like years. They cooked a meal for me, and after a week, I gained back some pounds and was looking much better.

Even though I felt better, I still thought that I wasn't good enough for this world. I didn’t feel like I had anything to live for anymore.

It was on a snowy day in my junior year when I snuck out of school with a noose and a suicide note in my backpack. I walked for three miles, and finally reached a forest. I went in. Wrapped the rope around a strong tree. Placed the note beside me. Prepared for the worst.

But something stopped me from continuing. Someone was running from a distance, shouting something, but I didn’t know what. They sounded desperate. Pleading.

It was Nick. My first friend who ditched me in third grade. I felt his warm body embrace me.

“Don’t go, Susie. I still love you.”

At that moment, there was a spark. Not much, but it was something.

Even though depression was stopping me from being happy, I still kept on going. Even though I got pushed and shoved everyday, I still kept on going. I didn't let anything stop me.

After all this time, I was just a caterpillar. Trapped in a reality only I could see and experience. I had finally learned how to pop that bubble around me and grow my wings.

I realized that I had so much more to live for than I thought I did. Maybe it was because of Nick. Maybe it was because of my friends. Maybe it was because of my parents that adopted me, or even my bullies from school.

No matter who it was, I knew I had someone to live for.

Something to live for.

Pieces of the Puzzle

Fern woke,  covered in a cold sweat. She knew something had woken her, but she just didn’t know if it was a noise or a dream. Suddenly she heard someone coming rapidly up the stairs. She got ready to fight. Just then her co-worker, Addison, burst through the door.

“Crap, Addison!  You scared the living daylights out of me!” She leaned back in her bed with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I have urgent news!”

“By all means, what could possibly be the matter at this hour in the morning?”

“There was a murder at the Wintersond Palace!”

*******

The castle, which was seven stories tall,  was positioned on top of a mountain to keep away enemies. Below it was a roaring waterfall, 200 feet high.  They walked up the narrow bridge to the castle; the only way in and out. As they walked to the castle, the summer breeze ruffled their hair. Fern knocked at the heavy wooden doors and Mr. Green opened them.

“Detective King! Just in time! My witness is in the main sitting area. Please come in and sit down. I will bring you a cup of tea,” said Mr. Green, the owner of the castle. He motioned for them to come in.

“Thank you, Mr. Green. Please call me Fern. May I ask who was murdered?”

“Mr. James Wilson was killed. He was a successful businessman and my business partner.

“Thank you, Mr. Green. I shall take some sugar in my tea.”  Mr. Green pointed them in the direction of the main sitting room and headed off to the kitchen. Fern and Addison proceeded to the main sitting room.

“I want to know everything about the witness and the victim: history, family and weaknesses,” Fern said under her breath. “I need to know who was awake when the murder took place. I want to know all of the secret passageways in the castle - every single one.”

The duo reached the main lobby and found a middle-aged man sitting in a chair. He was still in his pajamas. He had slippers on that seemed to be on the wrong feet. Very interesting, Fern thought. She wrote the date and information into her notebook. She took a chair opposite the witness, with Addison right by her side.

“Good morning Mr…?”

“Clark. Henry Clark.”

“Good morning, Mr. Clark.  I hear that you witnessed the murder of Mr. James Willson.  Can you tell me what you saw?”

“Yes.  I saw him stumbling around a corner in the hallway. He appeared to have been pushed. He fell to the floor with a thud.”

“Where did he fall? On his back or front? Down some stairs?”

Mr. Clark thought for a second, then he said, “He stumbled forward, then stopped, turned around and fell backwards onto the stone floor.”

“What is your relation to the castle? Why are you here?”

“I am a waiter. I serve food to Mr. Green and his guests.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Fern pondered this information.  She wondered if someone had hit Mr. Willson on the back of the head.  Unfortunately, evidence may have been tainted due to the fact that he fell backwards. She wasn’t sure she trusted him, he didn’t sound too convincing. She wrote the information down in her notebook.  She stood up and Addison followed suit.  When they had walked halfway down the hall, she told Addison that she wanted to inspect the body.

“I want to know what the murder weapon is and if we can locate it.”

Addison nodded and the two of them went to find Mr. Green, who was in the kitchen talking to the head chef. Fern knocked at the kitchen door and the two of them abruptly stopped talking.  Strange, thought Fern. Very strange indeed.  Fern pushed the door further open and saw Mr. Green sitting in a chair beside a table while the head chef finished washing dishes.

“Excuse me, I’d like to ask you a few questions.  Have you moved the body yet? I’d like to inspect the body, please. Did you find the murder weapon?”

“We didn’t touch the body but there was no weapon at the scene, so no… we don’t know what was used to murder poor James.”

“Can you please show me to the body? I’d like to inspect it.”

“Of course! Right this way.” Fern and Addison followed Mr. Green down the winding halls. They walked for about five minutes until they came to the body. Fern put on some rubber gloves and handed a pair to Addison.  The body was lying in a pool of blood. It looked like the wound was in his neck. As Mr. Clark had said, he was lying on his back. Fern got down on her knees and flipped the body over to inspect the wound. It was definitely made by a large knife. She had seen this type of cut before.  

She worked quickly, gathering evidence. She photographed the scene and the body. There was also a shoeprint in the blood. When she got up, Addison had found some evidence as well.

She motioned to Addison to finish his work and stood.  Mr. Green was standing by a window, looking out over the horizon.  

“What kind of business was Mr. Willson in?”

“He was a merchant. He bought and sold items to foreign countries.”

“Were you also in that line of business?”

“Yes, we did many transactions together.”

“Fern, I have gathered the evidence. Would you like to leave now and go back to our lab?” Addison questioned.

“Yes, we should get going, but we will be back,” Fern promised Mr. Green.  

“Will you stay for a cup of tea? I promised you one earlier and would love your company,” Mr. Green said, in a pleading tone.

“Alright. Just one cup,” Fern said. The trio walked back to the kitchen. The head chef was there, prepping food for the evening meal.

“May I make some suggestions on the type of tea?  We have nothing but the finest.” Both Fern and Addison agreed.  Mr. Green said Fern should have the winter mint and Addison should have their homemade, peppermint candy.  Fern and Addison were both pleased with their selections.  Mr. Green went to tell the chef to prepare their tea. When they were finished, Fern and Addison stood up to leave. Addison gasped in pain and held his side. He stumbled forward and fell to the floor.

“Call the doctor!” Mr. Green shouted and they heard the chef run from the kitchen.

“Addison! Addison, can you hear me?!” Fern cried. She had never seen anything like this. Was he allergic to anything in the tea? Addison groaned and clutched his side.  The doctor rushed in moments later with a stretcher; the chef at his side. Fern helped Mr. Green and the doctor lift Addison onto the stretcher and rushed out of the kitchen. The cook and Fern stood alone in the kitchen.

“What is your name,” Fern asked the chef.

“My name is Hazle Wood. I have been cooking here for 10 years, and I have fallen in love with this place,” she said with a warm smile.

“How long have you known Mr. Green?”  

“We used to do business together, but I fell in love with cooking, so I decided to to work for him. You are staying, aren’t you? Since your friend is in a terrible condition?”

“Yes, thank you, Hazle. Do you have any spare clothes I could borrow?”

“Of course!  We have plenty. I will show you to your room.” The two of them talked all of the way to Fern’s room, bonding right away. When they got to the room, she set her supplies on the table, then went immediately to the hospital wing. She saw Mr. Green coming out and asked him if Addison was alright.

“He is unconscious right now, but he will be awake tomorrow. That was a close call. Is he allergic to anything?”

“No, not that I know of.  I’ve never asked.” This troubled her that she didn’t know if he was allergic to anything. She should have known this, and decided that she should ask him about it when  he woke up.

She went back to her room to review what she and  Addison had found at the crime scene. She dumped all of the contents out of  her bag and onto a table. There was a vial of Mr. Willson’s blood and the photographs. The pictures were of a piece of chipped floor and his finger. The picture of his finger seemed to be his ring finger, and the ring was missing. That’s what probably caused the crack in the floor, but where is the ring? thought Fern.  She didn’t see a ring at the scene and Addison probably didn’t either, that’s why he took a picture of it.  She studied the evidence thoroughly, putting Mr. Willson’s sample of blood into a tester to see if he had been poisoned. The results turned out negative;  he wasn’t poisoned.

I am so tired,  she thought. I will just take a little nap and sleep on the matter. She lied down on the soft mattress and fell sound asleep.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Fern bolted upright in her bed,  automatically getting into a fighting position. Then she remembered where she was. She looked at the intruder to find that it was Mr. Green.

“Oh heaven above, are you deaf? Addison is up!! Get up!” Fern threw on a robe and ran off in the direction of the hospital wing. They ran the whole way there and burst through the open door  to find Addison lying on his back, awake.

“Addison! Don’t do that again! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Sorry, I must have had an allergic reaction to something in that tea.” Addison sat more upright in his bed. “Did you look through the evidence?”

“Of course,” Fern replied with a wink. Addison replied with the same gesture. That was their secret code to say I’ll talk to you later. Both of them knew she would be back later that evening.

“I am actually really tired. I think I’ll get some sleep.” Fern knew he wanted to be left alone until later that day.

Mr. Green nodded and escorted Fern out of the room.

“I am going to go talk with Hazle.” She went off to find the chef who was in the kitchen washing dishes.

“Good afternoon, Hazle!” Fern said. The chef jumped and turned around.

“My God Fern, you scared me! What are you doing here?”

“I was just stopped into say hi.” She went to sit down at the coffee table and motioned for the cook to do the same.

“Ah, I guess I can take a break from washing. Do you want  coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Fern sat down and looked up to see the chef putting something on her finger. Must be a wedding ring, thought Fern. Hazle returned moments later with two coffees. As she set them down, Fern caught a glimpse of of Hazle’s ring - it was gold and had a circular diamond in the middle. Hmmm, I wonder if that is Mr. Willson’s ring… She wasn’t wearing it before. Fern wondered. I have to get a look at it, but how? Fern thought she could walk Hazle back to her room, come back and take it when she fell asleep.

Later that evening, Fern and Hazletalked for almost two hours and then went to the library. Bythe time they were finished, they were bothexhausted from reading. Fern proceeded in escorting Hazle to her room. Shewaited outside for an hour, and then went inside. Fern seized the ring and went back to where she had left the finger. It was a perfect match! She ran to the hospital wing to go tell Addison. When she got there, he was still asleep. Not wanting to wake him up, she stepped out onto the balcony. She looked over the mountains and stared at the moon. It was in the shape of a curved knife. Just then Fern had memories bombarding her thoughts. The night of the murder, Hazle was washing a large knife. Her hands were red. The ring on her finger. The missing ring on Mr. Willson’s hand. How nice she was to Fern. The shoeprint- it couldn’t have been the witness because it was the right foot. The poisoned tea. Oh God, it’s, it’s…  Fern quickly wrote what she just discovered in her notebook. She had found the murderer.

“Hello, Fern.” Fern whipped around to find Hazle standing behind her. She had a large culinary knife in her hand.

“It was you,”  Fern said. “But why?”

“Mr. Willson decided to leave me high and dry for another girl. We loved each other and he just left. But it doesn’t matter because Mr. Green and I got our revenge.” But while Hazle was ranting on, Fern was taking notes in her notebook. Hazle didn’t even notice.

“Why Mr. Green? He was Mr. Clark’s business partner,” Fern asked. She wanted to get as much information as possible.

“He and Mr. Clark were in the mafia together; but Mr. Clark wanted out and we didn’t want him talking.” By now, Fern had written everything in her notebook.

“It’s too bad you have to die. You seemed like a good person.” Just then Hazle lunged at Fern with wild eyes. Fern dodged the knife, and ran toward the door.  

“Addison!” Fern screamed as Hazle yanked her backwards. Fern sought to struggle, but Hazle grabbed her with immense strength. Her Iron grasp locked Fern in place.  Hazle’s back was against the railing, the knife to Fern’s throat. The warm breeze playing with their hair as they stood, covered in cold sweat.

“Now, It’s time for you to die, Fern King” Hazle said with a smirk. Just then Addison shuffled out.

“Say goodbye to your friend,” Hazle said with an evil grin.

“Say goodbye to the both of us,” Fern replied with a laugh. Then Fern threw herself, with Hazle, over the railing. As she plunged to the waters below, Fern threw her notebook over the railing to Addison. It landed safely on the balcony.

******

A week later, Addison was better. Mr. Green was arrested for the murder of Mr. Willson with the help of Ferns notebook. They ended up finding Hazel’s body, but Fern was never found.

Addison decided to keep working as a detective under Fern’s business. One day, when Addison was coming home from a long, stressful day at work, he went into his apartment and found the door unlocked. He pulled out his gun and slowly went inside. He saw someone sitting on the couch.

“W-Who's there?” Addison said with less confidence then he hoped.

“You didn’t really  think I was dead, did you?”

“Fern? Is that you?” Addison said in utter disbelief.

“Miss me?”

My funeral lies in a beautiful, spacious chapel. Hanging from the ceiling are rows of chandeliers, with a luminescent glow against the dark, starless night. Poppies and daisies are placed around the room, grouped in bouquets. Scented candles fill the empty spaces on every surface. Plastered on the wall is an array of floral letters that spell out my name. A collage of my pictures through the years is draped across the cream wall. My best pictures are situated on a circular wooden table, to the far left. It is amazing how easy it is to spot the point where my genuine smile became tight and forced.

A faint sob rises above the muffled voices. I turn around to see Mom and Dad standing in the front row, their shoulders slumped. I take a deep breath and smile sadly. As I walk slowly across the room, I feel the tears well up immediately. Mom’s kind and gentle face is replaced by a shattered look. Dad is shaking his head slightly, letting the tears roll down his eyes. They are both holding each other, silently mourning.

A single tear falls down my own cheek as I close the gap in between us. I shut my eyes and embrace them hard.

I keep my arms wrapped tight around them for what seems like forever.

The huge door of the chapel creaks open noisily, catching my attention. Mia walks in, carrying a bouquet of roses. She is wearing a beautiful black dress, with decorated seams. Her chestnut hair is curled, and situated in a complicated up-do, complete with a dark fascinator hat. Her arms are hunched forward, and her head is slightly casted downward.

I cannot see her face.

Out of habit, I sprint towards her, squeezing her hard. I can almost feel her warmth against my body. Ages go by before I finally let go. A lump forms in my throat when she does not hug me back.

I swallow hard. I know I cannot be seen. I know I am not there. Yet, it stings much harder than I anticipated.

Mia starts walking, her feet slowly dragging behind her. She is heading for my casket. My casket. 

I stop in my tracks. My heart immediately starts racing. I can’t do it.

I can’t bring myself to look at what I’ve become. Who would want to? I have been a constant disappointment. Not just for the people who cared about me, but for myself.

I let out a desperate sigh. I shake my head, and follow Mia before I can stop myself.

As we come to a stop, I feel ready. No. I will never be ready.

I blink back tears before looking at the lifeless body in my ivory casket. Her hands are clasping flowers of her own. Bright pink lilies. Quite a contrast to the white lace dress that delicately frame her body. Her motionless face is unnaturally pale. Her thin lips are blue.

They are lying when they say she looks as if she is just sleeping. It does not look like that at all.

Not even close.

I can’t help myself. I start sobbing. My sobs are loud. They are annoying and obnoxious. They almost sound like the desperate pleas of a young child, who has wandered too far at the local market. Unwanted worry builds until they are in the arms of their own.

For once in my life, I am glad that I cannot be heard. I am so caught up in myself that I almost forget Mia sniffling softly beside me.

My heart stops as I finally get a glimpse of her. Her eyes no longer sparkle.

I have never seen Mia cry. I have never even seen her frown. She has always been the one to lighten the mood in any situation. She always stood by me in my times of need, and not once did she give up on me.

Her beautiful face is now swollen, stained with tears. Mia should not be like this. My parents should not be sullen either. In fact, no one should be weeping. Not for me. They should be rejoicing. I was only a complication, a burden. I was a problem that needed to be solved.

Nevertheless, something doesn’t seem right.

My breathing suddenly becomes shallow.

I almost don’t notice the crowd beginning to swell. One by one, people start to gather inside the chapel. I never imagined this many people to come to my funeral. I was popular at school, but of course, for all the wrong reasons.

For a long time, I kept my head held high, ignoring the comments, and fighting back the tears. I couldn’t tell anyone, not to anybody. It was not fair to my friends, my parents, or any adult for that matter. They already had too much problems of their own to deal with. I put my feelings inside a bottle and closed it firmly, locking it away. Unfortunately, after ten months since it started, the bottle cracked, spilling everything. Every day, another small remark hurt me a little more than the previous day. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was just too much.

The service has finally started, and the minister is speaking. Eulogies are made, by my mother, by my father, by anyone who cared. I have waited so long for this moment. But everything is slowly dimming down to a blur. All I hear are the sound of faint voices that grow weaker, and eventually, every sniffle, low chatter, and shuffling are all drowned out. My head is pounding, and I can’t think straight. All night, something was nagging in the back of my head, constantly interrupting my thoughts.

A loud bang brings me back to reality. My mom is knocking on the bathroom door, but nothing seems to process.

I barely hear her ask, “Are you okay in there?”

I stare at the five Oxy pills in my hand. They are small. It would be so easy. Painless. Fast.

But it is simply impossible to leave this all behind. I can’t explain it. It just is.

I take a deep breath, and throw them away.

Tuesday, September 20th, 2017

The day had started out plain and boring, as usual. The main difference was that it was sunny, and it’s never sunny here. Everyone was being followed around by their shadows, which is a rare sight. Also, my mom’s car wasn’t in the garage, even though she’s always around when I’m home. I was a little freaked out to be honest, and it wasn’t like I’d never been home alone before. It was just that everyday of my life had been the same for 17 years and suddenly it was different.

As I was watching TV, I saw a shadow right next to my window. I didn’t think much of it because it was a sunny day, but then I noticed what looked like a piece of paper glistening underneath the shadow. Out of curiosity, I got up and looked at the paper, which turned out to be a picture of nothing but blackness. Initially, it was really confusing, but after flipping it over and reading, “I’m here to stay Mikey,” I assumed that it was just my dad trying to scare me. The thought didn’t cross my mind again, at least that day.

Wednesday, September 21st, 2017

It was the next day, and yet again I had no source of comfort. Everything was different and I think I was actually starting to get a sunburn. When my best friend Maggie and I were walking to my car I asked her if she thought all of this change was a bit odd and unsettling to her, but she said it was a nice break from the normalness of our lives. I turned around for a second to brush the brown hair out of my face, and then she was gone. Usually, Maggie and I drive home together, but apparently she had other plans.  

Maggie leaving me threw me for a loop, but I continued to walk to my car. I was keeping a look out for Maggie hoping maybe she just went to the bathroom, but instead I found a shadow that seemed a bit out of place. All of its features stuck out to me and it was  very defined. Though I barely saw it for two seconds because it disappeared as quickly as I noticed it. The one thing that didn’t disappear was the picture. I assumed it would be the same one as the day before, but this one showed a single blue eye with what looked like the frame of a pair of glasses around it. This whole “shadow thing” was starting to get a little weird to me, but I still didn’t mention it to anyone.

Saturday, September 24th, 2017

It had been a few days since I had last seen the shadow and most of my life had gone back to its usual, boring self. Maggie and I were having a sleepover, like we always do the last Saturday of the month. Now, for some reason, when Maggie went upstairs to go pay for the pizza a wave of paranoia hit me and I swear I saw the shadow again. I tried to tell myself that it was either Maggie or her parents , but then I saw the picture again, this time of beautiful blonde locks.

I decided I had had enough. I finally confided everything into Maggie. When the first word came out of my mouth I was instantly filled with regret. I had known Maggie for a long time, but I had no idea how she would react to the words that were about to enter her brain.

When I was finished, silence. All she did was sit there with this a look on her face that made her seem like she just found out some awful news. I didn’t think things could get any worse but then I heard it. Laughing. Now I knew that my feelings of regret were justified. I thought she would tell me that she was there for me and that I was just imagining things, but no, I was wrong.

Monday, September 26th, 2017

This time, I saw it during school. I was walking to my biology class with tons of people around me and still I was the only one who noticed the shadow and the picture that it left behind.

This picture was by far the most revealing. The pictured pieced all of the features together, but was missing one part, just enough so that I couldn’t put my finger on the shadow’s identity. Knowing all of this information about my stalker really freaked me out, but it also comforted me in the fact that I might be able to recognize him.

Wednesday, September 28th, 2017

Having not seen the shadow in a few days was starting to get to me. I didn’t know what was happening. Was he going to reveal himself? Was he going to attack me? I had so many unanswered questions, and it was really messing with my head.

In the middle of my American History class, the teacher got a call that I was needed in the counselor’s office. The call confused me quite a bit, but I still went down to his office anyway.

When I entered the room the counselor, Mr. Espia, was facing the wall with a lime green notebook in his hand. The room smelled musty, like it hadn’t been occupied in years and the cobwebs lining the walls confirmed this, but the room seemed too organized to have been abandoned. Despite the two of us being in the room, it was dead silent, to the point where you could hear someone coming from a mile away.

It seemed like an eternity had gone by before he gave me any acknowledgement. Once he finally did, it definitely wasn’t the hello I was expecting.

“I’ve seen a lot of interesting things from you lately.”

As he turned around and started inching towards me, it hit me. The blue eyes, the blonde hair, the glasses, everything matched the pictures. I had seen Mr. Espia around school before and seen the resemblance, but I never thought much of it. I never knew someone who was supposed to help you could hurt you.

I reached for the doorknob, but he beat me to it.  The feel of his frigid fingers on mine forced a scream out of me, “Get away from me!”

He creepily smiled, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. I just want you to love me.” I didn’t think the atmosphere could get more tense, and then I felt his sharp nails digging into my skin as he pulled me into him. I smelled his sour breath on my face and then I saw his chapped lips making their way toward mine.

Kicking and screaming, I struggled to become free of his grasp. While fighting as hard as I could I felt him pulling me harder and harder against him until finally the anger in me took control, “Get off me and get out of my life!”

After a second of silence passed he gently set me down, but then his hand forcefully grabbed ahold of mine as he began mechanically saying, “Don’t you love me? Aren’t I always on your mind? I promise to love you if you promise to love me back. I know this seems soon, but I just can’t take my eyes off you. You are everything I’ve ever wanted and more. Just say you love me and everything will be okay, I promise.”

I had probably been in his office for an hour when the final bell of the school day rang.

I got up to leave, but that’s not what he had in mind.

“Not so fast. You can’t leave yet you haven’t confessed your undying love for me yet. You are not leaving until you do.”

“I don’t love you, I’m leaving and there is nothing you can do about it!”

Saying that was about the stupidest thing I could’ve done. The second it came out of my mouth he grabbed me by the waist and practically threw me into the wall. I must’ve blacked out for a decent chunk of time because next thing I knew I was stripped of everything except for the clothes on my back and the door had been barricaded.

When I 100% grasped the situation I promised myself one thing. I had to remain silent. I could not tell him what he wanted to hear. I had to stay strong.

The silence between us seemed to last a lifetime, for it was now 10 at night. While I was sitting there, I started to do some evaluation of the situation. I tried persistently to tell myself that my mom, Maggie and the authorities were on their way to find me. To convince myself that I was going to be okay. My mind was filled with these thoughts when I finally tried to get some sleep.

Thursday, September 29th, 2017

As my eyes slowly blinked open to the morning light I, once again, realized where I was and what was happening. I glanced around and saw that he was still sleeping like a baby. Quietly, I crept over to the phone that was sitting on the round table in the corner, and dialed 911; I confided in the lady on the other end, explaining to her that I had been trapped in a counselor’s office at Slokine High School. When I was finished she assured me that I would be okay.

After the phone call, I returned to my spot, in the corner of the room, and I saw him finally open his eyes. When he glanced over at me, seeing I was already up, he strutted his stuff all the way over to me and just sat down. Yet again, he took my hand and tried to take my life away.

“You know, last night was just so great, because I loved having the chance to spend all that time with you. And I didn’t think this was possible, but you look even more beautiful when you are sleeping. I, Dave Espia, am so in love with you, and I hope everyday of our lives is like the day we had yesterday, so pure and wholesome.”

Shocked and scared. That is what I was after the first time I heard his full name and the billionth time I heard his plans. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded. And for the first time in my life I longed to hear the familiar sound of a siren, and see flashing lights. But instead, what I was given was the whole plan for my future and the person who wanted to be the one I spent it with.

Weeeeeooooo Weeeeeoooooo Weeeeoooooo!

My ears perked, my body froze, and I didn’t register anything. The next thing I knew I was watching as he drove out of my life. All of a sudden the anguish in my life was gone, but I knew my life would never be the same.

Monday, October 17th, 2017

By now I’ve, for the most part, gone back to my normal life. Now, walking through the halls my name isn’t the only thing that I hear, but occasionally I do hear a few remarks. Also, from time to time I do get a little scared of my own shadow.

Tuesday, October 18th, 2017

Ring! Ring! Ring!

I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the caller ID: unknown. Despite everything I was taught when I was a kid, I answer the phone.

“Hello, who is this?”

“You know who.”

Light filtered through the canopy, casting shadows on the ground of the jungle planet. The planet itself sat in the outer reaches of an uncharted system, its surface covered in green plants. Animals foraged for food in the lush forest that covered the entire planet, then suddenly stopped and stared briefly at the ship streaking through the atmosphere, then returned to their tasks, as if nothing had happened.  

                                        ----------

I awoke in the battered shell of the escape capsule. My head spun as I stood up, and I quickly sat down again. The air reeked of burnt plastic, and as I looked at the scorched panels of the pod, I quickly realized why. All I remember is heading through an uncharted system, and suddenly all the alarms were all flashing, and I found myself speeding towards a green planet. Then everything went black as the heat from the atmosphere turned the protective shield red.

After awhile, I decided to try to get up again. My head still spun, but not as much as it had before. I staggered out of the pod and collapsed on the soft ground outside. The warm, green, moss-like stuff felt so nice compared to the pod. As I lay there, I drifted off to sleep.

The footsteps were what woke me up. They were not quiet footsteps but loud, crushing footsteps that rattled the branches, sending twigs and leaves down on my head. I scrambled up to my feet, ripping up thin vines that had been growing over my legs. The brush shivered as the footsteps grew closer, and vines receded up the trees that they were growing on. With the thick green curtain removed, I could clearly see what was heading towards me. The four legged beast had a thick, green leathery skin. Its back was ridged with black spikes running down its spine and its head had small, beady eyes. I stood motionless as the great beast lumbered past, crushing the fast-growing tendrils as it walked. Small birds and animals scurried out of the way of its massive feet, and fallen branches snapped at every footstep. A shrill cry of a less fortunate animal pierced the air, and I was glad that I was behind this tree  I stood motionless until I could no longer see the beast. The footprints it left were already being covered over by vines creeping over the planet floor.

I walked back to the pod and dragged the emergency pack out from under the crushed control panel. If it hadn’t been destroyed, I could have sent out a distress signal and put up a beacon, but now the only way to get off this planet was to find my ship. The side of the pod was charred, but a faint outline of what was written on it still remained. The word Equinox was written on the side of the pack and was also what had been written on the pod. Equinox. The name of my ship, or at least the ship I was given. I set down the emergency pack on the soft ground beside the pod and started laying the contents out around me. Most of it was rations and clean water, but there was also a small water filtration unit. Terracorp had also included a medipac and a progressive knife, which could cut through pretty much anything. I gathered it all together and started to pack up.  

I set out after I had eaten a little bit of a ration pack.  A column of smoke had been rising up from what I assumed was my ship, but it had stopped now. I looked back at the pod, then stepped out towards the unknown. What an exciting day it has been, but tomorrow would be far worse.

The sky glowed a fiery orange as the setting suns crossed the horizon, and I could see less and less the farther I walked. The progressive knife was clipped to my belt for easy access when I needed to cut through vines. The change in the landscape was gradual but the ground was no longer soft and mossy, but rocky and unforgiving. My legs ached from all of the walking, and I collapsed next to a small bush covered in faintly glowing bulbs. All of the plant life here was different from every terrestrial plant that had been spread through the galaxy, and yet it was vaguely familiar. I drifted off to sleep thinking of nothing.

                                        ----------

The bright light of the double suns beat down on me, no longer blocked by the  sheltering canopy. I got up, my legs stiff from yesterday's trek. All of the walking reminded me of cadet training back at Proxima Centauri. I guess this is why they had us walk so much. I ate some more food. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I got to my feet and kept heading towards where I saw the smoke.

The walk had gradually been becoming an upwards climb and when I looked back, I could see above the tops of the trees I had been under. Small birds were flying from one tree to another, eating the smaller berries that hung from some. I turned around and kept walking, the pack growing heavier on my back. I saw a small patch of moss off to the side of the rocks, and I took off my bag and collapsed onto it, eager to have a break. As my knee hit the moss, I heard a crunching sound as the ground gave way under me.

I fell into a high-ceilinged cavern and slammed into the pool of clear blue water, sending up clouds of bubbles. I swam up to the surface and over to the side. As I clung to the wall, I inspected the bioluminescent fungi that were illuminating the room. The walls were slick with water. It was really humid in here.  I swam to the other side of the cavern, and through a smaller passageway out into another cave. The cool water was refreshing, and it soothed my sore legs. The ceiling of the passageway gradually sloped down, and eventually I took in a deep breath and dove below the surface. The water stung my eyes, but I kept them open. The bottom was lined with a thin grass-like plant, and it rippled with the current, swaying back and forth. I swam forwards, but the passageway still showed no sign of ending. I swam more frantically, my lungs burning. I looked up, and saw a dim light. I swam upwards, my head just missing the edge of the tunnel. My back scraped against the rough rock, cutting through my shirt and leaving a gash in my back. Blood seeped from the wound and down into the bottom of the pool, but I didn’t care.

I clung to the side, taking in deep gulps of air. Large bubbles surfaced, a stream of them coming from the center of the pool. I looked down, but the water went so deep that I could not see the bottom. Suddenly, something brushed my leg, and a shiver went down my spine. A dark shape spiraled in the water under me, it's serpentine body longer than a shuttle. My body froze up, paralyzed in fear. I hated eels. It swam closer, and I dove back into the narrow tunnel, hoping it couldn’t follow me there. I swam to the narrowest part and turned around. Its greyish, slimy body passed by the opening, and as quickly as it had came, it was gone. I pulled out the progressive knife, the blue edges of the blade glowing softly in the water, and tentatively swam towards the opening.

Just then, the eel’s massive head rammed into the opening, jaw snapping. The front of its head barely fit into the tunnel. Startled, I lashed out with the progressive knife, swinging it in a wild arc, cutting a shallow gash in the eel’s snout. Green blood seeped from the wound, and the eel thrashed, its head stuck in the tunnel mouth. I slashed again, the knife easily cutting through its fleshy head. This wasn’t so bad. More blood filled the water, and as it finally pulled its head free, it swam back into the depths. I swam out of the tunnel, eyes trained on the center of the pool it had come from, knife at the ready. I surfaced, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wanted to get out of this place.

The swim to the far side of the pool was longer then I had expected. The cavern seemed to continue onwards forever, but a light glimmered at the end, giving me hope. I kept on swimming. As my eyes gradually adjusted to the brightening light, and the opening widened, I could begin to make out what was outside. A lake, surrounded by trees, water shining off of the still surface. And in the middle of it all was the Equinox.

I swam with a renewed vigor, elated that I had actually found my ship. The only bad thing was that the outside looked battered and blackened from the entry into this planet's atmosphere. As I got closer, I found that I could walk on the bottom of the lake, which was surprisingly sandy, just like back on Earth. I walked up to the outside hatch, wrenched it open, and climbed inside. I was astounded to find mostly everything on the inside intact. As I walked through, I realized just how lucky I was just to have survived the crash. I opened one of the storage lockers and took out a bag of chips. I deserved them. I turned to the controls, and powered up the beacon, alerting every ship nearby where I was. Help would arrive soon. Meanwhile, I climbed out the top hatch and onto the roof of the Equinox. The sun was setting, and I gazed out at the strange new horizon, the place that I would call home for now.

Before I start, I want you to know and keep this stored, that everything happens for a reason. (Whether this is fact or fiction as a general rule,  it remains true to me… at least as far as I’ve learned on my journey.)

I’m walking along a gravel and dirt path, barely used, deep within those woods that have a history of storing creepy stuff inside. As I walk further and further along the path, I keep telling myself that the things I’ve heard are nothing more than myth, legend, or rumor.

I wanted to say the same about the cabin that appeared along the path, a day after I had ventured in to see for myself if the tales were true. I couldn’t make out many details of the cabin. Not before I was inside. It drew me inside. Called to me, physically. I could hear a little girl’s voice, or at least that’s what I had thought that… thing… was. Almost forcing me through that fateful door. That’s the last thing I remember of that horrible, horrible place. That worn, squeaky, terrible oak door.

The outside of the cabin was made of red brick, poorly done mortar, and cinder blocks stacked up to close in the holes where windows may have once been. The house had no vines or flora growing up its walls. It looked… clean almost. But never really cared for. It had a chimney, or something similar. No windows. Only one door.

   Once I was inside, and back in my right state of mind, I realized there was no furniture. No light. No other rooms, just a staircase, and a flashlight placed just two steps down. I had no way to check if the batteries were full, as I hadn’t brought pocket tools with me on this particular hike, and I hadn’t intended on setting up camp, so I hadn’t brought a backpack or tent with me on the journey. And, oddly, I had encountered the cabin on the way back from the hike, not on the way in. (The first time I passed by this spot, I had encountered nothing other than the typical sounds of nature: a chirping bird, a soft spring morning breeze floating across the bushes, and the few flakes of snow barely visible to the human eye, carrying the last of winter along with them.)

But now here I was in this strange cabin. I looked around the room for a moment, not eager to go down an unknown staircase armed only with my wit and a flashlight. And because I didn’t happen to have a Phillips screwdriver on me, or spare batteries, I concluded that if I did end up heading down there, I’d need to conserve as much battery life as possible, so I wouldn’t be getting stuck down there in the dark going who knows where.

I don’t know why I didn’t leave. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. Although the door was, in fact, open… my one source of light at the moment… that place just wouldn’t let me escape.

***

   And now for a little about me. My name is Ben. Short for Benjamin. Ben Bleakson to be somewhat formal, but I’ve always thought of changing my name. My last name at least. I just feel like it makes me sound a little… dull.

I grew up homeschooled, in a good economy, but my dad Jake Bleakson always said, “One day, once you learn to make lots of money like me kid, you’ll learn that you need to save as much of that money as you can. Not spend it on pointless things like paying for school, or entertainment. You’ll learn to be just like your old man. And when that day comes, know I’ll be proud of you.”

I can say for a fact, that I haven’t made him proud yet.

Once I turned 16, I studied and studied to get a driver’s license so that I would be ready when the time came to leave that town, that city, the whole state even. I started a new life. But I kept my name. Through all of it. I never once changed a letter of it. (And I regret every second of that now.)

It’s been 20 years since I left New York City. To move to a countryside home in Kansas. No… no, not Kansas. Why’d I just think I went to Kansas? I went to Canada… I know that. I remember that. Toronto, Canada. The first thing I did was rent a hotel and go to the nearest bar to drink off the long drive I had just made… What made me think of Kan… sas… oh no…  

(A few minutes pass, with Ben not counting the seconds, only his heartbeat, which was rapidly rising.)

Whew. Nothing. I thought it’d almost found me there. Never mind that… moving on with the flashback… I ended up with a “medical degree” from the “School” for Gifted Benjamins, hand given to me by my mother/teacher, Elena Bleakson. She’s the one thing I miss about New York. The Bronx, to be specific. Gah! I’m getting off track! Cabin, cabin… right! Dark, who knows where, yadda yadda yadda, standard horror book intro… Okay, back to the story…

***

“Well, if there’s at least one thing I’ve learned down here, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is predictable. You learn to abide by those rules, those laws. They keep you alive. WOAH! I nearly walked into one of those pits again. That’s the third one today. How can I tell night from day down here? Well, um… The Beast, as I’ve named it, only hunts at night,” I say closing the book A Darkened Cabin by Mike Fowler. I’m reading it to my friends who are gathered around me in the living room, taking turns at reading horror stories.

   “Maaaan. Y’always suck at readin’ these days,” says Ty, one of my friends in the little half-ish-circle.

“Yeah! You always try to spin the story yourself! Put your own little bits in between lines! You even skipped ahead too!” accuses Blake, yet another among the now agitated circle of friends gathered around the fire, laughing off the fact that the only form of entertainment we have is playing tag, and telling spooky stories with a flashlight outside the cabin we are staying at for the weekend while our parents are partying their lives away, or something like that.

They took our video games, phones, computers, even candy. Candy! We were outraged… at least for all of 5 minutes, until we found a creepy old unlocked hatch under an ugly Christmas throw rug that led to a library of books written by the previous owner of this cabin. Everything down there was lit by torch, covered in cobwebs, and may as well have had skeleton monsters and a treasure chest atop a pedestal -- it was that level of dungeon-turned-book-storage creepy. We didn’t care. We were kids, and kids like us enjoyed a good adventure. Heh. Adventure. How gullible I was.

Not one book was listed as fiction or non-fiction, although they all seemed to tie back to the book I had just closed up. The cabin. This cabin. But this cabin had no staircase. There was furniture, there were windows, and there was a fireplace. Kept unlit of course, for the safety of us kids. Every morning, birds chirped, a soft breeze, and a faint groan coming from underneath our feet every night. Our parents told us it was just the old cabin settling, to calm our fears. (Fear, as a child, is possibly one of the most powerful emotions you can instill, or receive.)

One of the books we found was dedicated to methods of how to kill creatures like the ones described in A Darkened Cabin. I burned that book. To keep it from making me seem scared of something as little as pages in a book. We were each 10 or 11 years old at that time. 20 years later, when I was moving away from New York City, I began to understand I really should NOT have burned that book.

On the day of my move, a news story was published about the brutal murder of a young girl named Jackie Mayfield 20 years prior in a  cabin deep in the woods. The last visitors to the cabin had been a group of pre-teen boys. There were no witnesses to the murder. The body disappeared. The only evidence was the name Benjamin Bleakson, spelled out in flames burning on the grass, outside of the worn-down cabin, which was burning as well. When the fire was fought out, the inside of the cabin was untouched. Though it appeared quite bare anyway, with no furniture, no windows, and a single oak door through which the reporters and firefighters entered to find nothing but a dark staircase… too dark to see the bottom… and one single flashlight. Upon entry, the oak door slammed shut. Reporters with cameras attempted to turn on night vision and record whatever phenomenon was happening, and that exact thing… was the last thing that everyone else in that room ever saw. One firefighter tried to attack it, but his ax just absorbed into the body of that demonic creature. No one got a good look at it. Anyone who tried to look got their heads torn off, their hearts ripped out, or just died right there, by only looking at it. Without even a sound. Now that, that was terrifying.

The newspaper article went on to explain that those who walk that path, those who enter that cabin, will either find death or mercy. An entire group’s fate appears to be decided if merely one person in the group has done any sort of unlawful deed, and everyone in the group pays the price for one. Whether that may range from petty convenience store thievery or mass murder, death will follow. Those who have not done any sort of unlawful or unkind deed in their lives are greeted with a cozy little shelter, fireplace, fully furnished, campfire out back, and rooms to accommodate the exact number of people every time.

Some see it as a god to worship, and some see it as a vigilante who needs to be behind bars. But whatever that thing was that tore our group to shreds, and only I was let free, was anything but human, maybe animal, maybe even from another world. I’ll never know. I never want to. Some have tried to destroy the cabin, with explosives and fire, and though the outside now today may remain as dust, the oak door still stands. The squeak stays the same, no matter how much oil one puts on it. The wear, no matter how much wood polish one should use, never changes. And the fate of those who enter it, well, that’s for them, or maybe even you, to decide.

The news story promptly ended. As did my story. Five years since the death of Benny Bleakson, as everyone in town called him. I looked at the door one last time before I was about to give up. The coin I had brought along with nail and hammer to leave as a symbol, was not nailed in the door, but it was imprinted inside of it. The texture, still there. I pressed up against the door too much, and it opened invitingly. I fell flat on my face. I quickly darted up to see if there was any sign of a staircase, but no. Not today I thought. Not today. I turned around to leave the magic cabin, and the creature stopped me.

“Ah, you cunning little thing you,” I utter before I give it a big hug. After all, I did create it. It purrs softly. We venture further into the cabin as a staircase appears, and we climb up.

Only those who know the story, the true story, of the cabin can find the special staircase. No one has found it yet. Not until today. Not until you. Thank you for finding this. For finding me. A skeleton sits in the corner, fountain pen in hand, and beside it a little chest atop a pedestal. The skeleton is me.

***

I wake up in my little studio apartment in Times Square, New York City, my alarm clock blaring, soon to be stopped by a slam from my open palm. The clock reads 10:00 am.“Ugh, another dream, another story,” I groan to no-one other than myself through the echoey room. I slowly get up from the pull-out couch, kicking the blanket off my legs, and shamble over to my clothes pile. I throw on a T-shirt and blue jeans, reach over to my right just a few feet, and grab my cell phone. No new texts or calls, no stories published. The fountain pen appears in my hand again, and I know what must be done. I slowly turn the pen towards my eye, preparing to drive it home…then I shake myself back awake from almost drifting off again, remembering I had tried to pull an all-nighter writing a would-be prize-winning novel. Heh, like that would ever happen, dream or not.

I give up on writing today, get up from my folding chair, slip my keys into my pocket on the way to the door, snatch up my green “Writers Right!” baseball cap off the hook, and set it atop my curly haired head. I unlock and open the door, only to be greeted by a hallway, ending with an oak door… the door I had imagined in my dream. I slap myself and nothing happens. I shake a little, pinch myself, even bite my finger a little, but I don’t wake up. The door isn’t real, I think to myself. I’m just hallucinating or something, I decide.

“Yes...” says a gurgly, almost alien voice from about 10 inches behind me, “hallucinating.” I spin around, throwing out a punch that lands on nothing but air. I turn around slowly, hoping the door will be gone, but there it is, still there. There’s no way out other than the door. (Unless of course, I want to become this week’s NYC street pancake.)

I knew that door all too well. I created it; I thought it and molded it.

I walk backward, getting ready to run right through the door, ready to tackle anything on the other side. I break into a sprint, streaking by as fast as I possibly can, screaming all the while, and slowly, the door becomes glass; the once-empty hallway is filled with shocked onlookers; and the solid floor beneath me fades into air. I now know why I shouldn’t have burned the book. I didn’t kill the story; the story killed me. Weakness. Fear. Remorse. Pain.

The sidewalk’s drawing closer; and the last emotion that flows, floods, burns and courses through me… is freedom.
 

Katrina shook me awake as the first pink fingers of dawn where slipping through the holes in the wood that we used to cover up our shelter. It was colder this morning then it was last night, and, unsurprisingly, I didn’t feel any less tired then I did last night.

“I think the zombies are finally gone,” Katrina whispered. “Now is the perfect time to get supplies”

I groaned as I pulled myself up. I wanted more sleep, but she was right, you could barely hear any zombies and they sounded like they were far away, I was tempted to send Katrina to get supplies by herself, but then I remembered what happened last time that happened, and it was so recent that I threw all my sleepy thoughts away.

“Fine,” I mumbled. I wanted more sleep, but I knew we needed to move as quickly as possible. I knew by midday the zombies would invade this place, and we would get eaten alive. I kept reminding myself of this as I looked through the holes to scan the surroundings. When I didn’t see any zombies, I shoved the board out of the way, and climbed out from the ditch. Katrina quickly followed me, scrambling out and nearly slipped and fell.

“Careful” I told her, but I could tell that she wasn’t doing well. Her eyes were red and dry, her hair was a mess, her clothes were falling apart, and her wounds still didn’t look to good. I should have taken a longer shift last night. I thought guilty, She really looks bad. I took a deep breath and begin to walk down the alley, my fingers on my knife just in case. I turned into the direction I thought was a store, or someone I could get some supplies from. Katrina limped up beside me, her ankle was still swollen and bruised. “You know Diana,” She said, “I really think we can stay in the shelter for another day or so, we both need the rest and the zombies shouldn’t be to bad. Those troops cleared quite a few out.”

I shook my head. “I would love that Katrina,” I said, “But the whole place will be swarming by midday and we can rest somewhere else.” I frowned, studying Katrina “And you are going to the doctor, that ankle and those cuts need to be treated, there’s not much more that I can do to prevent them from getting infected, and you won't be able to make it any longer without getting rest.” Katrina automatically shook her head. “I’m fine,” She responded, but she was limping badly now and breathing heavily “You don't need to waste your money on medical bills.”  

“Shut up” I told her. “Your never going to make it without actual medical treatment, and you need rest, look at you now, your pathetic”

Katrina opened her mouth to argue with me but then shut it. I had learned that being blunt was the only way to get through to her sometimes.

As we reached the town I saw one of the few open shops, it was one of the larger, nicer ones and the sign read:

Selling food until 10:00 am. If you don't know what time it is, then you lose.

I rolled my eyes. “Time” didn’t exist anymore. There was no 10:00, because no o̷ne knew when 10:00 was. In fact, I don’t know the day or the month. I’m not even positive on the year.

“Wait out here” I told Katrina, who was leaning against the wall. “Yell if you need help”

As I stepped inside the store I realized there wasn’t much left of anything, which didn’t come as a surprise. There was enough food, water and supplies in the world, but it was just hard to get it around.

I snatched some food, water, a first aid and a new zombie tracker, since mine was almost dead. There was no one in the store so I shrugged and walked out the door with my supplies. I saw that Katrina was now deathly pale and she was breathing even more heavily.

“Lets go” I told her

The doctor was able to fix Katrina up for a decent price. He looked so thin when I first saw him, that I offered him a banana. He looked so relieved, which almost made me feel better about myself.

As Katrina was lying in the hospital bed, her eyes looked far away. They held so many emotions from hope and joy to the most anger and pain that I had ever seen. I wondered how much she had been through before I met her and how much she hadn’t told me.  She was only fourteen, to have her life ruined at such a young age made me feel even more empty inside. The zombie apocalypse ruined any chances of her having a normal life. The teen years were the most delicate years, I had learned that. I wonder how she would turn out as a adult, if she ever made it that far.

“Diana?” A voice whispered. It took me a minute to realize that Katrina was speaking to me. She didn’t look at me and she didn’t seem to notice that I was there, sitting in the chair right next to her. For a moment I wondered if she was only speaking to herself and not me at all.

“Yes?” I finally responded

“When will this be over?” She said, so quickly and full of emotion, something so different from her normal voice that tried to cover up her pain. “Diana, I am sick of running and hiding,” she continued “I’m sick of being in pain, I’m sick of wondering if I will survive another day, and I am sick of trying to be tougher than I actually am. Why do I even try? Why don’t I give up?” Katrina’s lips moved, but the rest of her body stayed still.

I was silent for a moment. Why didn’t we just give up? Let us get ripped apart by zombies and just die? What was the point? Did we really think this was going to end? That we would find our loved ones? That Katrina would find her brother and that my mother’s sanity would be restored? Or were we just humans, doing anything to stay alive for as long as possible, to fear death more than anything?

We were quiet for a long time. I didn’t know how to respond to Katrina’s question.

“I don’t know Katrina,” I finally whispered, “I really don’t know”