The pie on the kitchen counter is made with love. Mamma says that is the secret ingredient in all her pies. There is always a pie on the counter. Mamma makes them every morning. By the time the birds wake up Mamma is mixing sugar and butter. The entire house smells like her creations when she is done.

Mamma never lets me have any of her pies, she says they are for our guests. We almost always have guests. Hospitality is another one of her talents. Mamma says every good southern woman has it. Mine is taking a little while to get here.

Our guests never seem to share Mamma’s love for hospitality. They are all big city men who come late at night, their big city boots track mud on the floors, and their bags, stuffed to full of their city lives, take up so much space in our halls.

It’s my job to take their bags to their room when they arrive. I hate the way they smile at me after. Yellow teeth the color the daffodils in the garden. Mamma says their teeth are like that from to much city air. I wonder if the city air also makes their voices so rough. I hate seeing their sour footsteps lingering around all of Mamma’s sugar. When I tell Mamma this she just laughs and tells me to do what I’m told.

“All proper ladies use manners” She coos, sweeping the dirt off the floor. So I don’t complain when their shiny cars pulls into our driveways anymore.

“Thank you.” I say, “Enjoy your stay.” Sometimes one of Mamma’s guests will ask me questions. I just smile and pretend I don’t hear them. Sometimes it’s hard though, and Mamma scolds me later for being rude.

Every guest only stays for one night, that’s the rule. Their bags are always still there. Even after the time is up. They just up and leaves their fancy suits and shiny shoes. Sometimes they even leave gold watches the dressers.

“I hate these big city people.” I whispered to Mamma one night. Mamma just laughed and told me that hate was an ugly emotion, and that I was too sweet to get caught up in something like that. I laughed to but it didn’t make me any less mad. I wonder what is is like to be so rich that they can just leave what is theirs.

After Mamma finishes her pie we clean. Mamma cleans the floor while I wash the bedding. When I come down stairs the whole house smells like sugar and rosemary again. Just like Mamma.

“We’ll make a game of it,” She says, “Even cleaning can be fun when I’m with you.”

Next Mamma and I will gather up all of our guests belongings. What she can’t burn she’ll bury. Sometimes the fires will last all night. I used to worry that the fire will get to high and burn down our whole house, but Mamma started bringing out marshmallows and blankets so we could keep an eye on it. Now I don’t worry so much. Sometimes I will  dance around the fire until my feet hurt, celebrating that no more city is left in our house. At least till the next one pulls into our driveway.

Every guest is the same, and everyone has a piece of pie before they leave. Mamma makes sure of that. She says that a good piece of pie will warm the soul and keep them safe on their journey. They all may laugh, but every one takes a slice. That is the power Mamma has over people.

 

Sometimes I ask Mamma why I can’t have friends over. Mamma says that part of the magic is in the secret. Me and Mamma have lots of secrets. I am the only person Mamma can trust.

“That is why you must not worry about the guests. They will be gone by the time you wake up.” Mamma whispers. They always are.

Mamma says the world lacks trustworthy people. That is why we should be so glad we have each other.

“I don’t know what I would do without you my love.” She hugs me and the whole world smells like Mamma, like sugar and blueberries, apples and cinnamon, rhubarb and lavender. She wakes me up with the sun so we can start the day together. She dances around my room until I am out of the covers and on my feet.

“Good morning love!” She sings, arms swishing over head and apron swirling around her hips.

On the mornings after our guest leave however she smells like dirt and forest. She doesn’t dance and the sun has already woken up. We won’t get to start the day together. On those days Mamma bakes. She bakes all morning and never lets me into the kitchen. When she comes out she feels better and smells once again like sweet things. She asks me if I want to help her clean. I always say yes.

 

When the man dressed in blue knocks on our door Mamma is still in the kitchen baking a pie. She never has guests back to back. Mamma doesn’t like it when I bother her in the kitchen. I think about sending him away and telling him to come back when she is done, but that wouldn’t be a good manners and Mamma would be angry.

“Can I take your bags.” I offer. The man does not seem to have a bag with him. His suit is weird with lots of patches on it. Nothing like Mamma's usual guests. It also has a metal badge on the front which I hope he doesn’t leave because it won’t burn and we will have to go through the trouble of burying it.

“Are you here all by yourself?” He asks. He does not say anything about bags but I keep my hand out anyway hoping it will remind him. It does not.

“Mamma is in the kitchen. She isn’t ready for guests, but I can take your bags to your room so y’all can get settled.” I give the man my best smile, but he doesn’t seem to notice. A few more men in the same blue suit come up, none of them have bags either.

“Can you fetch her for us?” He asks, kneeling down so I can see the individual hairs of his beard. Mamma says that people with facial hair are known for devious character. I don’t like how pie gets stuck in their beards.

“I can take your bags.” My smile is getting harder to force. The men in the matching blue share a look with each other. My arm is getting tired but I’m afraid Mamma will walk out of the kitchen and ask why I haven’t taken proper care of her guests.

The man looks like he is about to ask again but one of his friends nudges his arm. He looks up and I follow his eyes. Mamma is walking towards us. I try to telepathically warn her that these guys are weirdos. She smiles and extends her hand. The man shakes it, but pulls away fast. His hands go back to hovering around her belt.

“Hello officers, What can I do for you today?” She says.

“Sorry to bother you ma'am but we’re here to speak about a Mr. Jefferson Moes. He apparently stayed here a few weeks ago.” The men asks.

“Of course, come on into the dinning room. Can I get you a piece of pie. Fresh out of the oven.” Mamma’s smile never wavers but her steps are stiff and quick.

 

One of the men stays and sits with me on the couch. He asks me questions about me and Mamma, like how long we’ve lived here, and where my daddy is. He asks about the guests as well, he seems especially interested in the fires. I answer honestly because Mamma says that people of purity don’t lie. Even to strange men who wear ugly blue suits with lots of patches, don’t come with bags and refuse to eat your Mamma’s pies.

He doesn’t move his hands when he talks, he keeps them firmly in his lap. Like a statue. The only thing that moves are his lips.

“Would you like to see one of the fires? It’s not lit right now but if you stay for supper it will be.” I ask. Mamma never lets guest stay for them but she never said anything against it. Mamma is usually pretty clear about what sort of things are against the rules.

He says yes and I lead him through the glass door to the path in the backyard. Usually Mamma wants me to tell her when I leave the house alone, but she is busy with the other men right now, and I am not alone.

He doesn’t ask me anymore questions until we get to the fire pit. The last guests clothes are in a heap, ready to be burned. The man kneels by one of the shirts that has fallen off the pile. I want to tell him not to do that because Mamma will be mad but I don’t want to be rude. He seems pretty focused. I don’t know why, it’s just a standard blue shirt.

“This is sure a lot of stuff to leave behind.” He says, kneeling down by a pair of brown leather shoes.

“Mamma says that big city folk have so much stuff they don’t mind leaving some behind now and then.” I say. The man is walking around the fire pit, pulling on a pair of plastic gloves.

“Why don’t you run back to the house, I’m sure your mother has a piece of pie waiting for you.” He says, his back is turned and I can see the muscles in his neck tick.

“I am not allowed to have any. Mamma says they are for the guests. Nothing like a pie made with love before a journey.” I say quoting Mamma.

“Then we should go back inside. You must be chilly. My friends and I will come out here later.” He says, pulling the gloves off and putting it in one of the pockets in his ugly blue suit.

The man is silent the entire walk back. Mamma is waiting for us by the glass door. At first I was afraid she was angry at me for leaving without telling her, but when she sees us she smiles. She holds out a piece of apple pie to the man.

“I just fed the rest to your buddies. Saved the last piece for you.” She says, smiling he takes the plate.

“Thank you” The man says.

 

The next day the men’s blue suits are sitting in our fire pit and Mamma is hard at work on another pie. Sitting on the counter next to the sugar and the flour is a bottle of Mamma’s love.

“Our secret.” She says, pouring in a generous helping. No one but Mamma and I know that Mamma’s love comes in a bottle labeled arsenic.

It was like any other normal Friday, or so I thought. Bring Bring there went that artificial bell.  Yes, the last period of the day. All I could think about was nature club I couldn’t wait to go.  As the class walked in quietly (which was strange) we all took our seats . Mr. Figmen’s room was small and plain he had no vibrant colors, everything was just, boring, like him. I was glad my seat was next to the window because I only had to worry about three other people instead of four.  Mr. Figmen stood by his desk right in front of the black board and continued, “Today we’ll be learning about Max Andrew Jackabee or as you hooligans-,” he just started laughing like it was the funniest word ever. “So as you hooligans like to call him, the Lonely Lumberjack.”

The classroom shivered.  Mr. Figmen started to pass out a picture with a passage about the Lonely Lumberjack. What he looked like before was very different then what I had  imagined. He was tall and young in the photo, brown eyes, light brown hair and was thin. All day I had heard rumors spread about him. I didn’t think he was real I thought he was made up like Bigfoot, but then again, no one had really known if he was real.  They had said he ran away from society for thirty years and whoever comes near him he takes. As the class went on I started to dread going to nature club more and more. Today was different, I couldn’t get the image of the Lonely Lumberjack out of my head. I nervously opened and closed the locket Kate had got Jackie and I.

On the way down to the woods there was a creek and to the creek there is a small gravel hill, where I normally slip and fall.  

“Hey, wait up!” Jackie screamed. I turned around just in time to see Jackie's dark brown curls bounce and the Earth go dark, and then there went that patronizing sound that I hated so much.  It was like a microphone blaring. I woke to find myself on the trail which was quite odd, but I didn’t think much of it, Kate was about three yards away whining, “ Hey come on, let's go,” She yelled Jackie was right behind me pushing her way through.

Later on, we started to find sticks and leaves to complete our fort. Anyway, we had finally sat down and started our homework and as in us I meant me.  I didn’t have that much homework that day it was only to draw a diagram and to read. I had loved drawing and Science. Our fort looked like a long triangle kinda like a Toblerone candy bar.  Jackie and Kate were going on and on about how Jeremy lent Jackie a pencil, boys are overrated. I had finished my diagram and started to read my assigned book for reading.

“Hey Earth to Kenzie.  Where is your diagram,” Kate said.   Oh, here it comes I thought.  I looked at their paper and it was blank of course.

“Hey, could you help us with it your really good at it,” Jackie said. I hated when they asked for my work, but instead I had given them my diagram from last month.  I had not been able to get the image of the Lonely Lumberjack out of my head it was like he was crowding my brain with nasty thoughts. Snap went a twig. My heartbeat went from eighty five to 5,000,000 in four seconds.

“What was that,” I whispered, but in a tone that sounded like screaming.

“Omg Kenzie it's probably just an animal. I knew you were lame, you're such a baby,” Jackie said in disgust.  I looked down at my paper as water filled my eyes.

“AHHHHHH!” Jackie screeched like bloody murder. Jackie got up through our fort to the ground and sprinted to who knows where. I stared at her as her tiny legs disappeared. I looked over to see Kate curled up in a ball under sticks and leaves that used to be a our fort. Her long blonde hair had been covering her deep dark brown eyes.

“Hello, Kate, hi, hey, what's wrong, what did you see?” I said acting like a dog wanting to be noticed.  

Kate crawled to my feet looking up like a puppy wanting food and she softly stated, “the Lonely Lumberjack.” I didn’t believe her, all of today they made it seem like it was no big deal and made fun of me for it.  They made me feel like a bunch of crap. I pulled Kate to her feet and she fell back over to the ground, limp as could be.

“Kate we don’t have time for this we need to find Jackie,” I stated more grown up then ever which was not the case. “And next time I’m scared don’t make fun of me,” I had said it and surprised myself.  Everything I wanted to say before suddenly wanted to flow out of me, but something had stopped me, it was like a dam holding back a river.

“I know... I am so...sorry how will you… ever forgive me,” Kate was making puddles under her feet with tears and gasping for air every two words she spoke.  Her tears were rushing down her face like a person in the aisle of a store on black Friday.

As we walked I could see clouds rolling in faster than usual.  Kate kept sobbing. We kept walking as the fall breeze got tangled in my wavy brown hair. The birds that were once playing in the sky hid and it had brought my thoughts back to the road. Things got worse when I had found a fork in the road and knew we would have to split up and by making that decision it would disobey ever nature survival seminar I took. I looked at Kate and saw her eyes fill with sadness.

“I don’t want to split up, what if he gets me?” Kate said, crying her eyes out.

“Kate, I promise you will be safe just run and call me if you need anything.You will be fine” I stated.  She nodded and started running with trembling lips and a face so red that would soon burst into a stream of tears.  As I ran, fog started coming in and I felt like I was getting even more lost. Bring bring this was the 5,000,000th time she has called.

“Yes,” I answer with annoyance in my voice.

“So I found the way out but the police are here saying they are looking for… Max Jackabee.”  Kate said cluelessly. I started to panic once more. Again her voice started getting choppy.

“Kate that's the Lonely Lumberjack!” I screamed to her and continued walking back.

“Wait really oh,” all I heard was a long pause until I realized my phone lost reception.  I kept wandering trying to find the right path back and ignored my conscience saying when lost stay put.  I eventually couldn’t see five steps in front of me the fog had took up the whole forest and became it. I then started to pick up leaves and sticks until  I was left with a makeshift shelter and I rested there.

I woke up and an hour had past.  I guess gym must had really tired me out then.  My backpack had been crushed from being used as a pillow and my phone was buzzing up the whole time until it died.  I got up and dusted the leaves and dirt off of me. I brushed my long wavy brown hair behind my ears. I pushed my glasses up my nose and looked at the sky it was a bright blue like there was no storm at all.  I turned around and got a glimpse of what seemed to be a face. I wasn’t startled. I was relieved. I knew it had, had to be an officer that had finally found me and would take me home. But boy was I wrong.

I turned around and paused I saw a better look.  He looked just like the picture Mr. Figmen had given us, but he had a confused and angered expression plastered against his face.  It couldn’t be, but it was, the Lonely Lumberjack he charged at me, my mind was running fast but I was still, but soon enough it caught up with me. I could feel the wind swoosh through my hair I screamed and ran a whole different speed that I had never seen myself go.  I of course had hit a dead end. A couple steps ahead was a cliff if I stepped any closer I would surely fall down into the creek. I shuffled my feet balancing myself on the edge which was not a strong suit. I looked around to see if there was another way out or around but I was stuck.  With one swoosh of his arms I fell back. It felt like I had been in slow motion. I looked to the sky with birds flying high and that's when I felt the crash of the bitter cold water envelope me into the abundance of creatures and bitterness. I tried swimming up but it felt like I was being dragged down with weights I suddenly realized I was breathing and it was not human at all I started to think I was a mermaid but that thought erased from my thoughts very fast.   I shut my eyes really tight and saw images of Kate and then Jackie. I reopened to see I was still in the water. The cold water made me feel like it was pricking me as I stayed there in my thoughts I could feel my whole body go numb. I struggled to reach the top, but then I finally reached the peak of the water.

I opened my eyes once more.  So many thoughts filled my head. That lead to more questions my brain couldn’t comprehend. I was so lost.  I wanted to cry but there was none left. I looked around with a painful soreness. The spot I was in looked familiar.  I hadn’t moved an inch from where I had fell earlier which seemed like forever ago. I turned my head some more and with it came a catastrophic pain down my neck and through my body.  I saw Kate screaming. She had looked like she was in trouble. I hated the fact that I wanted and needed to help her. Even after all she and Jackie had done to me. I looked to see my resources on what I could do.  I saw my lunch box and the things in it scattered around and it just as wet as me. I suddenly noticed that I was sopping wet. I put it all together in my head realizing that’s what made me wet. I looked to the sky as usual. Nothing changed. I heard nothing only saw the birds flying around having fun.  I could have been having fun too if I wasn’t in the position I was in. I was wishing this would all blow over and I could run home, but I couldn’t. I finally had heard

“Let me go! Stop it!, Mackenzi don’t let him get me and take me away,” Kate screamed.

I was dreading to find out if this was real or not but I knew I couldn’t take the chance of her getting captured or whatever.  I tried standing up but I could barely move my neck. I limped to Kate. I was slightly worried. I looked at the huge rip in my pants and a huge cut on my leg.  I kept limping, my bones felt like they would crumble into today's ritz crackers I had, had for lunch. I finally reached Kate when... Jackie jumped out at me. She was laughing along with Kate.  I crumbled to the floor for rest. I can’t believe I just got played. Kate and Jackie did one of those cliche high fives where they both jump up and hive five each other.

“We so got you! Did you actually think I was the Lonely Lumberjack?” Jackie obnoxiously laughed.

“More like Lonely Lumberjackie,” Kate laugh while Jackie gave her a glance of shut up and then just stared at her.

“Aww widdle Kenzi you should've seen your widdle face it was so priceless,” Jackie continued.     

I had, had it I went through so much today and they kept treating me that way. I must have had an upset look on my face because.

“Oh Kenzi did we hurt your feelings.  Maybe they wouldn’t of gotten hurt if you stayed asleep,” Jackie laughed.  My dam that had once held back that flowing river had just broken.

“Stop it! Just stop!” They seemed shocked that I had that in me. “ I am sick and tired of you guys being complete jerks. I have done absolutely nothing wrong what makes you think you can treat people that way.  All you give me is grief, grief, grief, and I am sick of it and I am done with the way you treat me!” I kept screaming. I didn’t know what light turned on inside of me, but I could never had, had the guts I did then.  

“You have always been jealous of me not only are you a scaredy cat but a copycat too!” Jackie tried to insult me,but it got knocked down by my makeshift wall of confidence.

Why would I ever want to be you, know wonder why everyone at school hates you I wanted to scream back. I then realized I would be just as bad as her. Kate looked ashamed of what she's done but she kept quiet.  

“You will just come crawling back!” Jackie yelled. I just looked at her and shook my head.

“No I won’t.” I took my friendship locket off and through it into the creek.  As it sailed through the air I felt the sign of freedom and the twinkles of the sun's rays bounce of the metallic pendant.  All the hatred had left my body. My clenched fists released and finally let go of my breath. I turned back to real life. They were astonished by my behavior. I soon ran as fast as I could and it wasn’t fast for being injured. It was more or less a skip. I sat on the wood chips in the park. I had played with the wood chips and started shredded them into splinters of wood out of frustration.  I focused on the wood, my thoughts were all around me my actions and thoughts took over me and I laid there as the birds chirped and trees swayed, and all I could think about was, what's next, but I could only imagine.

                        

 

 

The Accuser-

 

The sun rests in the sky above me, punishing and cruel, it does nothing but bring perspiration to my forehead. My insides remain cold and empty, the perfect rendition of a barren chopped up forest covered in frost. My fingertips could freeze Medusa faster than her own snakes turned against her. I shiver, my legs like lead refuse to move, I think I have been here for hours, but my clock shows only a difference of minutes.

 

I lick my lips and taste the salty bitterness of sweat on my upper lip. I use the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe the sweat on my face away, and the fear that rips through my body and threatens to take control is greater than normal. I cautiously make sure that my shirt doesn’t come up with my hoodie and none of my stomach skin is exposed. The building watches my process. SKIN. SKIN. SKIN. blares in my head. The court’s glare penetrates my body and I almost double over and heave.

 

This will never end?

 

Roberto “Bernie” Alies-

 

That ungrateful…

 

I should have known she would take advantage of my kindness, but she was just so appealing. She was practically begging for it. The slight slur of her words told me she was too drunk to not punch and kick as much as she would sober, but too sober to not forget everything like she would drunk.

 

“Don’t worry. Your case is set and solid. I don’t know why she would take you to court about this little thing, it’s not like she didn’t want it. You know with all this Me Too stuff lots of women are getting besides themselves...” my best friend, Leonardo,  rambles. He has been pacing up and down the room, so I can’t tell if he’s nervous or irritated.

 

“This is why I prefer obedience not feistiness,” he sighs while sinking into the chair opposite from me.

 

I smirk, “You didn’t seem to mind her feistiness the night I brought her around.” He leans back in his seat and huffs. He closes his eyes and rubs the fainting bite mark on his finger, a smile slowly spreads on his lips. He opens his eyes and when our eyes lock my smirk grows, I know exactly what he was thinking about.

 

The door opens loudly and Lea walks in. My beautiful girlfriend. I lick my lips as I stare at her and like usual one side of her mouth lifts. When my smile doesn’t drop the other side of her mouth lifts so she is fully smiling. In her small voice she says, “It’s about time. They said Ally has just arrived.”

 

Lea heads towards her seat but I beckon her towards me. She hesitates but when I raise my eyebrow she obeys. Her hands twitch and when she walks over to me I grab them, she looks surprised which makes sense- I don’t usually hold her hand. “I don’t ever want to hear the word Ally come from your mouth again,” My grip on her wrist tightens but unlike before she doesn’t speak out or whine. Instead she closes her eyes tight and nods her head.  

 

I look at Leo and smirk, he’s always saying that Lea would leave one day. When she sits next to me I put my hand on her thigh. Her breathing seizes. She looks at me slowly and her flinch widens my smile. I don’t see how she could leave me since I constantly remind her of the fact that she can’t survive without me. How could she leave someone who loves her so much?  

 

The Court Reporter-

 

I thought transfering to this court after my move would make everything easier. I would work closer to my friends and wouldn’t have to take 5 different busses to get to and from work every day. How is it that I only depend on one bus to get to and from work, yet I still managed to be late. I definitely owe Julie lunch for covering for me.

 

A group of people walk in. One is a short female that looks Hispanic. She keeps her head down. One is a natural blonde and tall, he has a few moles on his neck but you wouldn’t have been able to see them if he wasn’t wearing a white v-neck. The other male looks a little older. The corner of his dull green and hazelnut eyes are wrinkled and he walks with a certain confidence- maybe it’s arrogance.

 

This is going to be an interesting case.

 

Then another group of people walk in- two women. One white with long brown hair, her eyes have fire in them.

 

The woman next to her wears a buzz cut, her eyes a warm brown. She sports a hoodie and a leather jacket that is too big on her and covers her fingers. I literally can not stand to look at her- how can she be wearing all these layers with this heat? If it wasn’t for the cool air blasting from the A.C I would have already died twice.

 

Everyone sits down and I lean back in my seat. What's up with the atmosphere? It’s like there’s a divide in the room. The two males try to stifle the laughter booming from their mouths. The ladies seem so serious, though, it’s probably their time of the month. I roll my eyes and think, girls. The Hispanic lady sits like she’s waiting.

 

The Judge starts scrambling papers around and I can tell he is about to start the court session. I pick up my phone and quickly rush to turn it off but a snapchat bubble pops up at the top of my screen.

 

THING ONE is texting…

 

I sigh and glance at the judge but shrug my shoulders. I click on the THING ONE and almost die of laughter. Raysheen has been texting me Birdbox memes since we watched the movie together. I text him a quick laughing emoji and then another text saying that this one is my new favorite before quickly turning my phone off.

 

The judge starts the process and my hands start to fly, typing every word that comes out of his mouth. My hands go eerily still once I hear what the male is being accused of.

 

The accused (he charmingly insisted we call him Bernie) is the first to be defended. Defended? A feeling curls through my body and my hands twitch with disgust, but I don’t do anything, it’s not my place. This is why I scribe for the lower courts- so I don’t have to deal these things.

 

The first person to go on the stand is Leo. “I have known Bernie since we were in diapers. I don’t believe that the accusations about him are true. He would never disrespect a woman like that. Not to mention he loves Lea so much... Out of all the girls Bernie has ever dated, she has been around for the longest. I don’t think Bernie would jeopardize that.”

 

He is asked the usual question and replies quickly, without doubt.

 

Where were you at 12:00 am on Friday the 10th of February?

 

“Me and Bernie had went clubbing for a little and then we had came back home. Once home we stayed up a little, but lately Lea has been getting tired easily so she went to sleep before us. ”   

 

Was Alicia Hayes in your apartment that night, yes or no?

 

“No.”

 

The questioning continues. I force my hands to go faster as if it’ll make my lunch break come any sooner. Lea takes the stand. She’s dead calm but her hands twitch uncontrollable. For a moment she stalls, her eyes widen a little bit but then she’s talking vibrantly. I trace my eyes to where she was looking and my quest leads me to Bernie. His smile reminds me of the cheshire cat. I look away.  

 

Time passes and before I know it Alicia is on the stand swearing on the bible. The blonde -Leonardo- snickers and rage fills me, but I quickly remind myself that I simply write down the proceedings. I don’t have a say on this issue.

 

Her questions are different.

 

Can you please walk me through the events of February Friday the 10th.

 

She touches her fingertips to her face and I thought the word Medusa escaped from her lips, probably not. “I had just found out that I would be working on Valentine's day so me and a friend decided to celebrate early. We went to the Club Flames on Washington Avenue. I had two drinks maybe 3 but not more than 4. I wasn’t walking around drunk, I was just a little tipsy.”

 

The judge starts to talk, startling me. I don’t know why.  

 

“How do I know this evidence is credited and can be used.”

 

Alicia blinks as if she never thought those words would come out of the judge’s mouth. She lets out a few heavy deep puffs of breath and her eyes glaze over. In a whisper she says, “my friend’s testimony is after mine,” he voice sounds cold, sharper than ice. “May I continue?” The judge gives a sharp nod and she takes a deep breath in.

 

“I was heading towards the bathroom but I bumped into Ro- Ro-” she closes her eyes and the shaking deepens to a point that is noticeable but still subtle enough that we all pretend not to notice it. “Roberto.” The way she says his name- not like glass or a knife but like a poison, one that takes its time spreading through your organs, leaving you with nothing. “He said he wanted to help me but I told him I didn’t need his help. He- “ another deep breath, the trembles deepen, “he grabbed my thigh and said that I was begging for his help.”

 

“Ms. Hayes, what were you wearing on this night?”

 

Alicia’s head snapped up to look at Judge Falasco, “I’m sorry judge but I fail to see how that is important to this trial.”

 

Alicia continuous with her description and when she starts to shake and her words start to become dark, I go to my happy place. A startling thought brings me down, Lea shook too. Lea seems to control it, she seems above it -shoot- she seems to be ruling it. Alicia is drowning in it. If you listened to her voice, smooth and calm, you wouldn’t know it. I wonder if that means Lea is drowning too?

 

By the time Alicia leaves the stand the shaking has stopped, but she is staring blankly into nothing. She reminds me of Raysheen when he’s off his antidepressants. I make a mental reminder to talk to him about how he’s doing mentally and move that to the back of my mind. My hands keep moving rapidly and my stomach rumbles- it is so close to my lunch break. My hands are starting to hurt so I take turns typing with one hand while stretching the other. Alicia’s friend takes the stand.

 

“Where were you while Ms. Hayes was talking to Mr. Alies?”

 

The woman- Sherwin-  says, “I was trying to get to the bar. Alicia told me she was going to the bathroom.”

 

“Has Ms. Hayes ever been one for the dramatics?”  

 

Sherwins runs her hand through her long brown hair and squints her eyes. “I believe her wholeheartedly… Alicia isn’t one to go home with strangers and she never drinks past her limits. She came home the next morning with scars.”

 

I decide that I like Sherwin. As the judge asks her question, her tone stays respectful but her eyes say it all. After her questioning the judge declares a five minute break to make his decision.

 

I know that after these five minutes, It’ll  be my lunch break, so I see no need to keep my phone off. Turning my phone on, I scan the room. Sherwin and Alicia are gone. Both the attorneys and Bernie’s crew remain. I pay no mind to them and focus on defeating level 122 of Candy Crush. I spend a few minutes playing Candy Crush before Sherwin walks in with Alicia. I want to talk to her but what do I say? I haven’t really studied the case so I don’t know if she could be lying. My mind flashes to this article I read about a man that was falsely accused- his life was ruined. That could be Bernie. I shake that thought out of my head. If he really did that to her, her life is already ruined.

 

I shouldn't dwell over something I have no control over. I try not to think about anything as the judge finally lifts his head. “I pronounce Roberto Alies -the accused- not guilty.”   

 

Wow.

 

The accuser

 

I’m stuck loading at 99%. People are leaving, why are people leaving? We’re not done yet.

 

Sherwin looks at me, shoulders slumped and a angry look on her face, “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Sorry about what, I want to say but the weeds in my mouth stop me. Bile is rising in my throat and the world is tipping. I need to go to the hospital, my heart is beating too loud.

 

The paralyzing fear I felt when I realized I would be breathing the same air as him has returned. Oh God, this will never end.

 

I gave it my all, yet my all still wasn’t enough.

 

100%

 

My heart sinks inside of me. A pressing weight pushes my chest down- suffocation. I rub my hand on my chest and my body sags on the chair. No weeps. No pained groans. Silence is its own sound.

 

It hurts again. Nothing new.

 

Lea- “One Day”

 

He loves me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The setting sun glared at Naphtali as he trudged along the overgrown forest path. He knew that delivering the package for Master Alvah would take several days, but this forest truly seemed to distort time. He shifted the satchel that held the package to his other shoulder and scratched absently at the magic-suppressing seals that decorated his wrists. If those cursed seals weren’t there, Naphtali could have easily used his pyromancy to create a flame to light his path as he continued onwards, but as it stood, the seals prevented him from doing so. Instead of continuing on through the darkness, he would have to find a clearing in which he could spend the night. Almost as if sensing his thoughts, the forest seemed to open up before him as his path led into a small clearing. As he set about lighting a small fire, Naphtali knew that he was already lucky enough that Master Alvah had allowed him to leave the castle in order to make this delivery. Most servants never left the castle after they were bound into service by one of Master Alvah’s seals. But the material he carried with him was valuable, which was why Alvah had sent him to deliver it instead of using a post hawk.

Naphtali sat down by the small fire and took the spellbook out of his satchel. Just because the seals didn’t allow him to use magic, it didn’t mean that he lost his interest in learning about it. He read the castle’s spellbooks whenever he could, rarely deterred for more than a few days by the punishments he received for getting caught sneaking around the library. Plus, this spellbook was rare, almost completely unique if what he overhead earlier was correct. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if he read a few pages before he slept through the night. And so Naphtali leant back against a tree near the edge of the small clearing, opened the book, and promptly got lost in the words.

Naphtali wasn't sure how long he’d been reading before he fell asleep, but as he blinked awake in the late morning light, he knew he’d read for far too long. As he became more aware, he noticed two important things. Firstly, the weight of the book had disappeared from his chest, where it had lain all night after he fell asleep while reading it. Secondly, he could hear breathing from something else about a few paces away. Naphtali froze. If whoever (or whatever) was over there had damaged the spellbook, he would be in the most trouble he’d ever been in in his entire existence. Master Alvah would probably kill him upon his return. He briefly considered running away, but knew that any attempt of it was futile, since the seal Alvah had placed would allow him to simply teleport Naphtali right back to the castle. He sighed inwardly and resolved that he’d have to try to get the book back undamaged.

Praying that whoever else was in the clearing hadn’t noticed him stir, he shifted slightly, as though he was still asleep, so that he faced the area where he heard the breathing more directly. He heard the breathing pause as he began to move, but he forced himself to settle back down as if he was asleep and hadn’t noticed. After a few seconds, the breathing resumed, and Naphtali heard the unmistakable sound of paper on paper. Was this other person reading the book? If so, why then had they not just taken it with them and fled the area so that they wouldn’t get caught? Naphtali pondered this for a second before deciding that whatever this person’s logic was didn’t matter to him, and that as long as the book was unharmed then he could probably get it back easily enough. He opened one eye slightly and had to stifle a gasp.

A few feet away from him, lying on the ground, was a creature, the type of which he had never seen before (Not that surprising, since Alvah’s servants were forbidden from interacting with any of the magical creatures in his menagerie). The creature Naphtali found himself staring at couldn’t have been larger than a puppy. It certainly appeared to be a puppy at first. At least until Naphtali opened his eye a little more and noticed the wings, the oversized tail, and the antennae on its head. It was lying down with its head in its paw, tail swishing lazily around it, as its orange eyes wandered over the lines of the book. As Naphtali watched, the creature flipped over to the next page with such familiarity that Naphtali would have assumed that it had read many books before this one, if not for the fact that Naphtali had never heard of any creature similar to this one that could read.

Rather unfortunately, the creature chose this time to glance back up at Naphtali, and their eyes met. Naphtali jumped up from his reclined position to try and grab the spellbook, but by the time he was on his feet the creature had, with lightning speed, snatched up the spellbook and bolted for the trees. Naphtali grabbed his satchel and took off after the strange creature, intent on retrieving the spellbook. As the two crashed through the underbrush, the small creature pulled farther and farther ahead of Naphtali, a sliver blur flickering and weaving through the trees and ferns towards a nearby river. Suddenly it screeched to a halt. As Naphtali continued to barrel towards it, he could see that it was looking around frantically, its paws empty. It must have dropped the book! Naphtali slowed down, eyes scanning the area for any hint of the ornate cover of the spellbook peeking through the flora, intent on finding it before the small silver creature could. They spotted it at the same time, a flash of gold amid the leaves. Their eyes met once more before both of them dove towards it. He wasn’t as fast as this small thing, he knew, but the book was closer to him than it was to the creature. If he could just get there first, he could continue on and forget this ever happened!

His fingers closed on the edge of the book. He had done it! He had gotten the book first! Naphtali looked up from his prize, only to find himself face-to-face with the strange creature. It had managed to grab the other side of the book, and its orange eyes glittered intelligently as it sized up its opponent. Naphtali blinked, and was suddenly pulled upwards. It took him a moment to register what was happening, but by then it was already too late. The creature rose upwards, its wings flapping madly as it took to the air. This caught Naphtali by surprise, and his fingers slipped off of the book. The small creature darted through the air towards the river, making a chittering, almost laughing noise as it flew. Naphtali followed on foot, frantically looking for a way to cross the river and get his book back from this strange creature. He wished again for his fire magic, which he could’ve used to hurl a fireball and knock the creature out of the sky. As he grumbled, he spotted some rocks dotting the river and sprinted towards them. He scrambled across, trying to keep an eye on both the rocks and river below him and the escaping creature. As he reached the opposite side of the river, he looked up just in time to see the creature’s tail vanish into the trees. He sprinted over to where he thought the creature had entered the brush and paused. There was no sign of the little silver creature. Naphtali half-expected to see it’s glowing orange eyes peering out from some bush or tree, mocking his inability to capture it. But there was no sign of the orange eyes, nor any traces of silver fur.

Naphtali now had three options. One, accept the loss of the book and return to Alvah, which would almost certainly end in death. Two, give up and try to run away. This could maybe be successful, if it weren’t for the fact that the seals on his wrists would allow Alvah to teleport Naphtali right back to the castle if he was gone for too long. Some runaways found ways to lessen the effect or hide the seals, but the very presence of the black swirling marks would mark them as runaway. This was also dangerous, as runaways often had bounties put on their return. This would most likely also end up in death, or a life of running and hiding.  Three, Naphtali could venture into the forest looking for the creature. He didn’t know what was in the forest, didn’t know which way the creature went, and the longer he debated with himself the father away the creature could be. He could die in the forest, but he also could find the book. That was his best chance. Steeling his resolve, Naphtali began his trek into the forest, alert for any signs of the creature. He knew rudimentary tracking magic, but the seals kept him from using it. He also didn’t have any of the materials he would’ve needed, but that was besides the point.

    The greenery was much thicker on this side of the river. Naphtali crept along, alert for any signs of danger or the small silver creature. Every chirping bird or rustle of leaves sent his hair on edge. Suddenly, a silver flash of movement from the underbrush to his left! Naphtali froze, instantly on high alert. After a moment of stillness, Naphtali turned his head towards the bush and found himself face-to-face with a pair of glowing orange eyes! Surprised, Naphtali stumbled backward, landing sprawled in the dirt. He glared up at the eyes but before he could move they had vanished back into the bushes. Naphtali sprang to his feet and whirled around, trying to spot the tiny creature. He quickly spotted its long tail dangling from a tree a few dozen feet away. He barreled towards it, desperate to try and catch up. As soon as he got near the tree, the tail whizzed up and out of his sight, disappearing into the leaves and branches. Naphtali swore and leapt as high as he could, grabbing onto one of the tree’s branches and hauling himself up. He could spot a silver shape lurking around above him, and Naphtali began to climb up the tree as fast as he could, using the branches to boost himself up higher until he was near the top of the tree, almost able to grab the creature. Moments before he could, the small silver thing whirled around and leapt off of the tree and into the air, spreading its wings. Just as Naphtali realized that the creature no longer had his book in its arms, he heard a splintering crack from below him and looked to find that the creature had broken several of the branches below him, which meant that Naphtali would have to find a new way down. He glared are the creature, which had flown back up and hovered just out of Naphtali’s reach, grinning and chittering. Naphtali realized with a surge of fury that this little creature was toying with him!

Naphtali was completely fed up with his situation. This tiny little thing had stolen his book while he was sleeping, led him on a wild chase through the woods and up a tree, tried to strand him on top of said tree, and now had the audacity to float there and mock him. With a shout, Naphtali snapped off one of the thin branches near his head and threw it at the small creature with all his might. The branch smacked the small creature right between the eyes and it dropped a few feet in the air, stunned, before blinking and looking at Naphtali, taken aback by his sudden attack. Naphtali yelled again, throwing another small branch at the creature.

“Give me back the book!” Naphtali screamed as the creature ducked out of the branch’s path. “You have no idea what you’re doing taking that book! Damn you!” Tears began to form in his eyes as he tried to yank another branch off the tree to throw at the little flying menace.

For its part, the creature looked at Naphtali, and an inkling of what might have been guilt flickered across its face. It flew a little closer to Naphtali, and stopped when its gaze was drawn to the swirling, black magic-suppressant seals that decorated Naphtali’s wrists. It looked surprised, then angry, then sad, all in a the span of a few seconds, before turning and flying down to the ground, landing near a bush a few yards away from the tree Naphtali was still in, and disappeared into the greenery.

Naphtali, tears still pricking his eyes, began to make his way down the tree, placing his hands and feet as carefully as he could, feeling utterly defeated. He hopped past the last few branches into the clearing at the base of the tree, and felt a surge of anger as he noticed the end of the creature’s silver tail disappear into the bushes around he clearing. He started after it, but froze when he noticed what was lying in the center of the clearing. It was the spellbook! Naphtali ran over to the spellbook, tears blurring his eyesight as he picked it up and checked for any damage. The spellbook was completely unharmed! Naphtali couldn’t believe his eyes. Before he could stop himself, he thought how the little silver creature must have been very careful with the book as it ran so that the book wouldn’t be damaged. Naphtali picked up the spellbook and turned to leave, but as he did his eyes spotted some scribbles in the dirt next to where the spellbook had lain. Leaning over to get a better look, Naphtali’s heart froze when he realized the scribbles were letters. The scribbles in the dirt read, “Sorry. Be free soon.” right above a detailed copy of the seals on Naphtali’s wrists.

Clutching the spellbook to his chest, Naphtali stood up. There was no sign of the creature, but Naphtali had no doubt that it was nearby, still watching. Drying his eyes, Naphtali took a deep breath. “Thank you.” he said, before beginning to walk away. He paused at the edge of the clearing. “And, uh, sorry for hitting you with a branch.” With that, Naphtali turned and left the clearing, intent on delivering the spellbook and keeping himself alive.

On the other side of the clearing, a pair of fluorescent orange eyes watched Naphtali disappear. “Be safe.”

 

 

Mystery Island

Here we are, on a cart with a connected sail, wondering what will come after the fog we see ahead. As we journey along, “Mountains!”, he excitedly yells. I look over, and I do indeed see mountains ahead. In the distance, on the mountains, I spot a quaint little castle. “Looks like it’s fit for a princess.”, I say to him. “Shall we see?”, he asks. “We shall.”, I respond.

We continue to journey along. Unfortunately, Just as we think we are approaching land, it appears that we end up farther and farther away. After a hard and long  journey, we finally reach this mysterious island. Suddenly, we feel and hear a large ‘thump’. We soon realize that we have crashed into the island. Water immediately starts to flow in to our cart. My first reaction is to jump out, so I do. I grab onto his arm and pull him with me as fast as I possibly could.

Lucky for us, we jumped out just quick enough. We look out just after our jump to see our broken cart, sinking and sinking, carrying all of our items along with. “Nothing else we can do here than explore, right?,” I say to him. He agrees with me, with a sad tone. We now see the quaint little castle that we saw earlier. Now it is realized by both of us that what we thought was a quaint little castle is now a large elegant castle. Through the windows we can see every light turned on but no people. Just the bright-colored lights.

Heavily breathing. Him and I. Climbing up a mountain to get to this mysterious castle that we have yet to discover what lies within the walls. Once we finally make it all the way up the hill, “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says to me. We have to go in at this point after all of our journey and effort to get up here. Luckily, I was able to convince him to come into the castle with me. We walk into the castle and all of the lights turn off. No sound coming out from anywhere. “1. 2. 3.,” I count in my head so I don’t panic. Right after I say 3 in my head, a spotlight shines on both of us. We look at each other and the light goes away. Next thing we know, the light is shining up on an elegant stairway with a man dressed in a suit walking down the stairs.

We look at each other and start to back away. “Don’t worry! I am not here to hurt or scare you, I am here to welcome you to the ‘Island Castle Hotel’,” the man says approaching us even more. We stop walking and just stare at him for a while. The man scoots to the left and a podium with four buttons shows up. Each of the buttons has a state on it. “What state did you come from?,” the man asks us. The buttons say: Washington, Oregon, Connecticut, or Louisiana. I press the button that is labeled ‘Oregon’. He gives us a very suspicious and mysterious look. “Tell me when you are ready.,” The man says quietly. We look at each other because we could not hear the man very well. “Ready?,” we ask and suddenly the floor beneath us drops and we drop along with it.

I now see and feel him and I moving down these slides that take us into a room. I ran directly towards the door just to find out that it is locked. Suddenly, a light starts flashing and we hear a voice from a speaker saying “You now have 60 minutes until you are stuck in here. Forever,”. We are now panicking and walking around the room when a box falls from the ceiling and hits me in the head. He opens the box and picks up a note inside. The note says “Here is your first key. Open a door, but choose wisely,”. I look around to see six doors, each labeled with a number. 1, 34, 26, 99, 45, and 8. We take a very long time discussing which door we should open. In the middle of our conversation we hear another voice in the speaker, a different voice than before.

“30 minutes left! Better decide which door to open! Remember quicker is better,” the voice says. “Quicker is better? What is that supposed to mean?,” He asks me. “Don’t know but let’s just open every door and see which one works,” I respond. We open every door but nothing works. That is until we open door number 99. I walk into room 99, with him following me behind. After we walk into room 99, we realize it is not just an ordinary room, maybe not even a room at all. I look forward to see a hallway with flashing arrows pointed ahead. I assume that he has seen the lights by now, he does look very amused. We both sprint down the hallway all the way to the end. We do only have 10 minutes remaining at this point. After a while of running, we end up back in the same room that we entered the castle from. We both look at each other and scream.

Then we see someone who looks familiar. A tall mysterious man. As he approaches us more we now see that he is the man that sent us into the room earlier. “Congratulations!” he says, “You have made it out alive and you passed the test too! Let me take you to your new room!,” At this point, we are so in shock that we just follow him. Without any question. The man leads us up to our new room. He tells us that it is our new home. There was no way for us to get back to Oregon so we decide that we might as well stay in this castle.

Since we are now planning on staying in here forever, we try to make the best of it. It was fun and all getting served by all the waiters and waitresses there but it just didn’t feel like home. We both missed Oregon very much. Soon later, we got very used to the whole thing and started enjoying this new lifestyle of ours. And here we lived happily for the rest of our lives.

The end

The wings of a mechanical magpie glided across the freshly mown yard, and left a trail of azure and cream feathers. Elizabeth carefully placed her hand on the windowsill, caught the cool breeze, and relaxed her shoulders. Her ashen hair swept across her face, and she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears, revealing her still curious and verdant eyes. The kettle stationed on the counter flashed a blue light three times and began to whistle; the water was ready. Elizabeth pressed the open button on the kettle and slowly poured the steaming water into her favourite red mug, which held a few Earl Grey tea leaves, and sauntered towards the living room. As she plodded along the hallway, her gaze shifted to the calendar hung on the left wall. It was Wednesday, July 1st, 2050.

The living room was dreary and somber; chalky blankets draped over the dilapidated furniture and hoary cobwebs occupied the corners of the room. The only furniture uncovered were the century-old armchair–embellished in scarlet and maroon floral patterns and diagonally positioned to face the only window–and the mahogany table on its side. It was almost noon and the sun was already at its peak, yet the inside of the room remained dark. Elizabeth strolled across the room and situated her mug on the table before collapsing into the rough armchair, sighing in discomfort. She picked up the mug and let her hands cup around it to feel the warmth. As she was about to take a sip, she noticed an azure-winged magpie outside the window that was attempting to fly with one wing; the wingless side of it was a hole, except around the rim, there were a few torn wires that flopped with each movement. Something gleaming at the core of the creature intrigued her eye and she concentrated diligently on the mysterious object. It was black and small with sharp, straight edges and eight corners; it was a box. There were two words printed in white on the top surface, but her farsightedness prevented her from reading them.

Elizabeth looked down at her tea, and contemplated whether she should take a sip as the steam made it seem too hot to drink; she decided to let it cool and settled it back down on the table. She fixed her gaze at the window to amuse herself with the magpie’s misery. Surprisingly, it was perched on the window ledge; it was illuminated like a herald from heaven, except this time the source was a by product of a nuclear reaction inside the sun. A sudden lump formed in her throat and a mixture of nostalgia, pain, and fear seized her. She closed her eyes and remembered.

 

 

“Lizzie! Please for God’s sake, don’t fall in the water!” Dad warns from behind.

I spin around with a dance and snicker at him. “I won’t! Even if I do, you’ll be there to save me.” I grin as I continue to jump and balance on a row of large, jagged rocks, inches away from the harmless river. His forehead wrinkles with worry and he sighs.

I was born sixteen years ago, on July 1st, 1984. I guess you can call today the cliché “sweet sixteen.” It would have been nice to have a party but my dad was recently diagnosed with mild Alzheimer’s, so I need to spend time with him. He doesn’t even remember today’s my birthday.

I take a deep breath and let the warm sunlight nurture my soul. I take a peek at my dad and catch him observing a shoal of rainbow fish racing against the current of the river. I turn around, and tiptoe and twirl under the fierce sunlight like a proud ballerina on her first stage. My flowery dress, embroidered in swirls of amber and blue, embraces me like the ring of fire. I glance over and catch my reflection on the surface of the river. As I hold onto my sun hat, I lean over to say hello to my doppelgänger living underwater. She smiles and waves back.

From the river’s reflection, I inspect a white butterfly fluttering along the bank in my direction. Its wings shimmer in the sun like a brand new porcelain tea cup. A few feet behind me, dad stops in his tracks and reaches for a cigarette and lighter in his pocket. He clutches the cigarette in his mouth and hovers his left hand over the waving flame of the lighter to shield it from the wind. Instantly, his shoulders drop in relief as he exhales three rings of smoke. I shiver and look away in disgust. Instead, the glorious scenery that envelops me captures my attention.

A sudden scent of smoke grasps my attention and I quickly turn around to find a motionless white butterfly on the ground, covered in ashes and a cigarette butt that is still burning brightly.

“I’m sorry, it just happened, I didn’t know it was there..” Dad mutters.

I glare at him in disbelief, and kneel down to gather some nearby rocks and grass to make a resting site for the fallen soul. I stand up and look him in the eye.

"I really wish you’d stop smoking, but I know it’s become an essential part of your life, so I respect your need to do it as a way for you to adapt," I say, "but just be aware of your surroundings, especially when you're around nature. Please."

He looks at the ground like a child in detention, then looks up and smiles at me.

“Wow,  you’ve sure grown up,” he says with a sad look in his eyes, “you remind me of your mother. She used to lecture me all the time." He chuckles.

The mentioning of mom feels like a stab to the heart; a wave of sorrow washes over me and I force my small fire of outrage to extinguish as I turn away to continue walking down the path.

Oddly, the heat that enfolds me seems to increase every passing second. Droplets of sweat start flowing down my cheeks and dripping onto my dress. An intense itch forms in my throat, forcing me to cough, and a sudden overwhelming desire for water overlaps me and my head begins to spin: dehydration. My vision becomes blurry and I trip over a rock, falling forward. A distant yet comforting voice shouts my name and a set of arms reach out in front, just in time to capture me, as my breathing proliferates.

“Elizabeth! Are you alright? Hey, let’s slow down and sit by the water for a bit. It’s way too risky to be using so much energy under this red-hot sun,” dad says worriedly, “I don't want you to be smoked bacon after this walk."

We sit on some patches of dried grass and observe a cluster of tiny, purple fish scurrying beneath the tranquil water. I remove my sun hat and gently place it beside me. It’s embroidered with a pattern of red and orange marigolds, and overlapped with an azure lace bow; the perfect accessory to my dress and the last gift from my mom before she passed. I turn my head around at dad, and notice the dark circles under his eyes and the deep creases lined across his forehead.  He catches me looking and tilts his head to the side and smiles, prompting a pair of crow’s feet around the outer corners of his eyes.

“I’m okay, dad, don’t worry,” I  say, "can we get some strawberry shortcake?”

“Whatever you like,” he answers.

We begin walking back towards the entrance of the pathway, thinking about my favourite childhood dessert, and forgetting the sun hat that’s still sitting on the dried grass by the water.

I stroll alongside my dad and glance at him.

“Dad.”

“What’s up?”

“Thank you,” I say, "for everything."

He looks at me with a smile that reaches his eyes.

 

The cheery and energetic ambiance of the cafe made my freshly baked strawberry shortcake radiate beauty and delight. Its light and fluffy cream squeezed between layers of spongy cake with ravishing strawberries oozing juice down the sides prevented my eyes from looking anywhere else. Every bite feels like I’m wandering through a landscape of emotional epiphanies.

I look up and see dad reading the daily newspaper. His left brow is raised and his nose scrunched.

“What’s the matter?”

“It says the afternoon will reach up to 49°C.”

Strange. This city has never went above 35°C.

I frown, trying to contemplate reasons.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He puts down the newspaper and looks up. “We better get home to avoid turning into roast pigs,” he jokes.

“I guess.” I lower my head in disappointment.

I dig my fork into the remaining cake, splitting the last piece into two then bringing both pieces to my palate; this time I swallow hard. I drink some water and wipe my mouth with a handkerchief. Then I reach behind me to grab my hat, but my hand just grabs the back of my seat. Hold on. I look under the table and search the floor frantically. Dad stares at me with a puckered forehead.

“What’s up, Liz?”

My eyes widen. “I can't find my hat.”

“Don't worry, we’ll find it. Where do you remember last seeing it?” He says with composure.

“I don't know..I can't possibly lose it. It was a gift from mom. I was wearing it before we came here, right? Oh, I’m so careless.” My eyes start puffing and my breathing increases quickly.

“Elizabeth, slow down and take a deep breath.”

I take a deep breath and search through my memories of this morning. I remember holding my hat as I observed the creatures under the river, and the white butterfly; I had it with me when we went to sit by the river, and I placed it beside me, then we left..and oh my God, the hat is still by the river.

“Dad! It’s by the river where we sat!” My eyes light up.

“Great. It’s too hot outside so I’ll go get it, Liz. You stay here and-” he hands me some cash, “get a milkshake and read a book?”

I nod, though a bit uneasy letting my sick dad go back to the park in this peculiar temperature.

 

I check the cafe’s clock. Fifteen minutes have passed. It shouldn’t take that long, right?  The park is only a block away and dad knows where to find my hat. I look at the cash in my hand and consider ordering a vanilla milkshake. I suppose it’ll help pass time.

As I slurp the last blobs of my milkshake, I check the clock again. Forty-five more minutes have passed; dad has been gone for an hour. I lick a smudge of milky substance off my upper lip and look down into the empty cup, noticing the dregs that line the inside. Something doesn’t feel right; dad has been gone for too long.

A woman with a double stroller rushes into the cafe, and promptly drops her shoulders in relief as a gust of cool air from the fan blows straight at her. Subsequently, a short and stout man wearing a green tracksuit jogs in and crashes into the nearest empty chair; his face is cherry red and soaking in perspiration, and his tracksuit bears the features of a swamp. As soon as he flops down, a group of people bolt in, screaming “Fire!!"

“Where’s the fire?” I ask a woman who just ran in.

“Oh, at the park," she answers, trying to catch her breath.

A spike of energy rushes up my spine. Dad. I head for the door, pushing people back–a few give me weird looks–but I ignore them; I sprint out the cafe, as fast as my legs can take me, and down the block to the park. Heat waves crash into me and I can feel myself drowning in sweat, but I propel forward as if there’s a man chasing me with a gun. I turn a corner and see endless smoke emerging into the atmosphere from a violent, blazing fire that’s spreading at a proliferating rate in the middle of the park. Firefighters are carrying bodies–many with ashen faces, blood, and burnt marks all over–to the paramedics. I run up to a female firefighter holding a clipboard–assuming it’s used for recording casualties.

“Did you find a middle-aged man named Hughes Murphy?” I ask while panting.

She looks down at her board, flips a page, then looks at me and shakes her head.

Inside, I feel a small relief. But I know dad. He would never leave me.

        I find the entrance to the park–people are running out and screaming and firefighters are sprinting in with their equipment. I have to make a decision. I have to find dad despite the risk of me injuring myself, or worse. He’s the only family I have left in the world, and I'm not going to leave him. I cover my mouth with one hand and put the other in front of me as I run into the smoke. I hear someone shout at me, then another, then a cluster of clunking noises head in my direction. It’s probably the firefighters. I run faster, uncertain of my destination.

 

It’s hard to see anything. I can hear people running back and forth, but I can’t see their faces. Ashes float around me and sparks of red and orange momentarily appear. As I pace  myself down the path, smouldered branches fall and I hear cries in the distance. The smoke clears a bit and I glance at the river. Fallen trees, floating fish, and a few scattered bodies. I look straight ahead and sprint to the part of the bank where dad and I were sitting this morning. I observe the area. There it is. Mom’s hat caught on a branch on the other side of the river. I climb down the bank and my eyes widen in fear. A still body with ripped clothing, burnt marks,  and blood dripping down the sides of its torso, lies where the water touches the shore. A lump forms in my throat. I kneel down and turn over the body. It’s dad. His breathing is slow and heavy. He opens his eyes halfway and looks at me.

"Liz..Happy...birthday." He remembered.

"Dad! I'm right here. They're coming, dad, don't worry."

He smiles and closes his eyes. I check his pulse. He's gone.

I bring him close to me. I scream. A flood of tears roll down my face. “Please dad. Please don’t leave me all alone.” I whisper.

 

 

Elizabeth woke up with tears staining her cheeks. Her tea was cold. She grabbed the armrests and slowly got up, careful of her back. She walked to her porch and observed the vast, empty city in front of her. An azure-winged magpie swooped down and she caught a glimpse of the box that was embedded inside with two printed words. This time she knew what they meant.

 

The lecture continues, until the teacher has lulled us all into a drunken, tired state. No one’s really listening anymore, just copying down random notes to come back to the night before the test. As my friend and I play hangman on the corner of her paper, a man, probably an administrator by the ID tag on his shirt, enters the room. Probably here on a quick errand. I turn back to my friend, tapping the letter G in an invisible question, when I hear my name.

“Elise Newman?”

The man’s asking for me. I push back my chair, confused. I’m almost certain that I don’t have an appointment today. Maybe it’s a schedule change, or something of the like.

“You should bring your things,” he says, turning towards me. His expression reveals nothing, devoid of emotion. I could be called for a random survey or an expulsion hearing for all he cares. My teacher nods, confirming my release. I collect my books and backpack and turn to him, sending him a small smile to be polite.

There. A flicker of something indiscernible in his eyes. He blinks and the only connection we had that crosses the boundaries of child and adult vanishes. We walk out and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” I ask, figuring I at least have the right to know where I am being herded towards.

“The front office,” he replies rather gruffly, not looking at me. I wait patiently for him to elaborate, but he suddenly walks faster, and I have to quicken my pace to keep up. We reach the office  and the young receptionist looks up in surprise. She sees the man, then me, and realization flies through her face. She gives me a thin smile, then looks to the man.

“He’s waiting in the principal’s office,” she says, pointing towards a door to our left. The man nods and glances at me. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but I feel something resonate through me, perhaps given by the position of his body, or the clearing of his throat. However, he eventually makes up his mind and gestures for me to walk into the room. Apparently I am going alone.

A feeling of unknown dread begins to settle like silt in my stomach, I know there must be a perfectly rational explanation for this inexplicable situation, but I feel uneasy regardless. I thank them both mechanically, for what, I don’t know, then open the door to the room.

At first I don’t see him, still reeling from the strange man and the receptionist’s smile, but there he is, sitting, motionless, in an accent chair in the corner of the room. My dad. He stands up, walks towards me, takes my hands and looks into my eyes, almost searching for something. I see a tear escape out from under his glasses, and he clears his throat. He never cries.

 

“Your mother,” he chokes, “is with God now.”

 

“What?” What does he mean? Why is he crying? Why is he here? School hasn’t ended yet. He should be at work.

“Elise… There was an accident. She was driving to work-” he stops, blinking at me, and then I feel his arms around me, holding me close as I realize what he’s trying to say.

“No.” I back up, turning away from him. “No! No, no, there must be a mistake, she couldn’t have died. Dad, you’re wrong, she’s at home! Have you checked the house yet? Maybe she’s still at work. Yes! Dad, it’s okay, it was a mistake. She hasn’t died!” I start to laugh. He thought she’d been killed! It’s okay, it’ll be better now. I’ll show him. It’s going to be alright.

“Elise!” He grabs my shoulders. “Look at me! We’re going to be alright, okay, sweetie? We’re going to get through this.” He pauses, a sob caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry, Elise. I am so, so sorry.” He backs up. I watch him struggle to pull himself together as it hits me. He wouldn’t have told me if he wasn’t sure. He too would have exerted all possibilities to prove that she was alive. He had already accepted what I couldn’t. That my mother, my beautiful, lively mother, was dead.

 

I close my eyes. My body is slowly freezing, and the colors around me are too vibrant, too bright. A pounding headache fills my mind and brain. It throbs, again and again... I count slowly to ten, then open my eyes. It didn’t work. Dad’s still standing there, hopeless, with no control, wanting to fix this, but he can’t. This isn’t a dream. She’s still gone. Why is she still gone? Why did Death have to choose her? Of all of the people, all of the mothers, fathers, and children in the world, why her?

My shoulders begin to shake. Dad squeezes me, holding me against his chest as I sob. It’s all my fault. If I had stopped her from going to work this morning, if I had been sick then she wouldn’t have gotten into this accident. If I had only hugged her and told her to drive safe, maybe she would have seen the other car and had time to swerve. If I hadn’t woken her up on time, maybe she wouldn’t have had time to eat breakfast, and would have stopped for something on the way, Death taking someone else’s mother instead. But not mine. Why did my mother have to die? Mine?

 

“Elise! Elise!” He’s holding me and trembling too; it seems as though neither of us will be able to stop. We might be able to drain out all of the water in our bodies right here and now, and then we will be able to join her.

“No Daddy! Why her?” I wail. He gives no response, only shakes alongside me. I finally understand what it means to be heartbroken. I truly feel as though I will never mend, will never be okay again. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be happy. The world is barren and lifeless; nothing will ever be able to fill what we have lost.

 

But then I realize my father came to me first. I am the first to know. I am the oldest child. Which means that my younger brothers, my little brothers, don’t know yet. They don’t know that our mother has died. They don’t know. Didn’t Paul have a presentation in class today? He wore his little suit. I think Mom took his picture before he went to school. Mom.

“Mom. Mommy. Mommy!”

“I know, honey. I know.” He’s trying to be strong for me. My dad is trying to protect me, by not letting his own defenses crumble. Which means I have to be strong for the boys. I need to be strong for my little brothers. I need to be the closest thing they will have to a mother now. I need to comfort them, not cry, and show them it will be okay. I need to be strong.  

 

“What now, Dad?” I pull myself up. I hate to ask him for help, to push him to make decisions, but I don’t think I can do it myself.

“We- We need to tell August next.” More tears leak out from under his glasses. I take a deep breath as I feel more tears trickle down my own cheeks. I’m not sure I can do it. To stand there and tell my 13-year-old brother that our mother is dead.

 

 

But I do. Soon history is repeating itself, and I sit with my father in a similar room, waiting for August. We tightly clasp hands over the rough upholstery of a couch in one of the offices, somewhere private where people can be broken beyond prying eyes. We sit in silence, both numb with shock and grief, until August comes, opening the door tentatively, apprehensive of what he may find. I go to him, and wrap him in the tightest, most secure hug I can give, and pray for help to do what I must next.

My dad joins us, but August is impatient. He begins to throw rapid fire questions at us.

“What are you guys doing here? Where’s mom? Is Paul okay? Where’s Mom? Ellie? Dad?”

He was always better at guessing what was going on than I was. And at accepting the facts, because as Dad repeats what none of us want to hear, he’s quiet. He doesn’t cry, not right away at least. He looks down, stiff. What he asks next is so quiet that I almost don’t hear it.

“Is this a dream?”

And I answer him, because I am a monster.

“No, sweetie.”

Our family hug resumes, tighter, more desperate than before, and we’re all broken, all soaked with the tears pouring out of us, mute because of the cries and primal sounds tumbling out of our mouths. I wonder if she can see us. Surely she too is broken. Surely she hates seeing her family in pain. Or does she see us? No one in this world knows where we go once we die. If we go anywhere at all. Maybe she’s just gone. Maybe we only live once. If so, what is the point in living?

 

But then as I look at Paul, my 8-year-old brother, his small cheeks shining with tears and confusion as I squeeze him as tight as I can, I realize we are all sobbing and broken for one reason. That we loved her. We loved our mother. Would I take away this pain if it meant forgetting her?

 

The funeral comes and goes in a blur. We cremate her, not wanting to keep her restrained by a coffin, and scatter her ashes on the graves of others we loved and out into the world. It’s what she would have wanted. I tell my closest friends, and accept their condolences. The words “I’m sorry” don’t fix anything, but it means they care, that I have shoulders to cry on. Somehow the rest of the school finds out. Most of them comfort me, offer their sympathies, and some their empathies. Those help the most. But after a couple weeks, it fades. They forget, the thoughts of the girl without a mom pushed from their minds making way for the issues relevant to them. I don’t blame them, though it hurts. It hurts that the world could forget her so easily. The driver who hit her had lost control, due to icy roads and the wrong tires. He came to the funeral, but he was the lone man at the back. With nobody he knew or could talk to, he left before the service ended. I’m sure he felt guilt, but it was not his wife who died. He would regret it, but move on. After all, the roads had been icy. Soon, we would all move on.  We would have to, or would never be able to enjoy the time we have left.

Welcome to winter, where the only thing we know for sure is that one day, it will be spring. I hope you enjoyed those last few days of fall, with the pretty leaves and the warm sun on your shoulders. You have a long ways to go before that will come back.

 

There must be places where spring does not come. I wonder what winter would feel like, there. We are lucky. It will be warm again, eventually. March, April, by May it has to be warm. The sun will come back. Until it does, we will wait. I hope you brought a book.

 

Welcome to the kind of cold that can destroy you if you are not careful, and maybe even if you are. A power outage would be the end of the world out here. You might want to start wearing a hat to bed. I’m sure you know it’s impossible to fall asleep in the cold. Somehow, your body knows that falling asleep in the snow doesn’t give you good odds on waking back up. It is better to stay awake.

 

There is cold, and then there is this. When it drops this low, this fast, the cold feels almost warm. The snow is only soft. You can fall asleep just fine. I do not know why.

Perhaps it has something to do with having already given up.

Please, go inside when you’re tired. Don’t stay in your car once you’ve turned the engine off, even if you are only going to sit for a few minutes. Time doesn’t move quite right when it’s this cold.

 

You are farther north than any other primate, now. It is possible we were never meant to be here.

 

You might think that, if you make it to spring, you will have some kind of immunity to the cold. Might think you can go where the temperatures barely dip below ice and walk around in shorts, a tank top, take your coat off and feel warm, simply because you have been cold, before.

If you are still here, when the world unfreezes, you will forever be the first one to put on your coat. Winter is a losing battle: the closest thing to winning you can do is survive.

You may as well be warm.

 

I hope you brought your dog. Winter is good for dogs, even all-consuming winters like this. They always seem ok with living in a world that refuses to melt. And your dog will be happy on the days when you stay home with them, when the entire city shuts down for the cold and you only leave the house to walk them. Go for short walks. Dogs don’t always realize when they’re getting cold.

 

Welcome to a world that’s covered in ice, in snow, in sleet and freezing rain and the kind of wind that threatens to rip branches off of trees. Tomorrow, the rain will have frozen into more ice. At least the ice will freeze the branches to the trees they are so nearly broken away from, will keep them from falling off entirely.

At least the ice will be pretty.

 

Welcome to winter, where it seems it might not ever be warm again. Spring is not a given, not here, not today. A bit farther north, farther into the cold and wind that is pouring out of the end of the earth, and spring might not even be a possibility. What that must feel like.

 

On Neptune, winter lasts forty years. Perhaps our planets switched places when we weren’t looking.

I wonder how far north you have to go before you don’t have to worry about the world ending, anymore. How cold does it have to get for zombies to freeze?

There must be a place where the immediate cold of today means that there is only so much you can worry about tomorrow.

 

Welcome to the coldest day of the year. The sky is bright blue, today. That tends to happen on days like this. Don’t walk your dog in jeans. They will cut your legs open with cold, today. Take your glasses off before going outside, too. They will freeze to your skin, and the cold doesn’t care what you can or can’t see. It will be there, regardless. Don’t stay out for too long. Make sure your dog’s paws are covered with something, that they are not facing the cold on their own. Make sure your dog is warm. Today, you are not responsible for much, but you are responsible for your dog. When you come home, don’t turn your heat up too high. A power outage would be the end of the world, out here.

 

The sky really is quite pretty, today.

 

Welcome to the middle of winter. The center of the universe is everywhere, because the universe does not end, and the middle of winter is everyday now, because winter might be equally endless. The world might have ended yesterday. Perhaps it will end tomorrow.  Today, it is so, so cold that the rest of the world, tomorrow, yesterday, everything that is not here, now might not exist.

 

Ignoring the cold does not make it go away. Winter is a losing battle, yes. But if we pretend it does not exist, we have already lost.

 

And if we pretend tomorrow does not exist, it’s all over, today.

 

We are on Neptune, we are farther north than we ever should have gone, winter is never going to end. Put your book down. We cannot wait this one out.

 

Welcome to a world that might be frozen forever. Let’s reopen our city. It is cold, yes, but I do not know that it is going to ever be warm again. We will just have to learn to live in the cold. We will have to make our own warmth.

 

We are farther north than any other primate. Perhaps we were never meant to be here, but this is where we are, now. The snow is pretty, don’t you think?
 

 

 

A Lucky Discovery

 

            “It will only be for two weeks, mi vida,” her mother told her for the fifth time.

            Ten-year-old Marisol stuck out her bottom lip and made puppy eyes. “I wouldn’t be a bother,” she said. “I’m very quiet.”

            “I know, mi hija,” her mother said. “But the hospital has rules. No children in the patients’ rooms.”

            Marisol bit her lip to stop herself from crying, but it was no use. “I want to see Aunt Carmelita,” she said through sobs. “And this might be my last chance.”

            “You’ll see her when we bring her home.”

            Marisol looked up. “Home?”

            “Yes, home,” her mother said. Marisol detected a tremble in her voice. “Without more money there will be no operation and without the operation…” Her mother took a deep breath. “There’s nothing else they can do for her.”

            Marisol nodded. She thought of all the good times she’d had with Aunt Carmelita. Then she thought of the best time of all, their last beach trip before Carmelita got married last year and moved away to San Rosendo, three states away. She and her aunt were walking on the beach, their feet digging into the damp sand. Every few seconds the water would come up and cover their feet.

“I love you,” said Aunt Carmelita.

            “I love you too,” said Marisol.

            “Look, I have something for you.” Her aunt pulled a silver bracelet out of the pocket of her loose, billowy dress. Marisol looked at it. There was an engraving in the middle of the oval plate of a swirly letter C. “I’ve got one too,” her aunt went on, drawing another bracelet from her pocket. “See, it has the letter M for Marisol. This way we’ll be connected, no matter where we are.”

            Now Marisol stood rubbing the bracelet, deep in thought.

            “We’ll drop you off with Great-Grandmother Matilde—” her mother began again.

            “I don’t even know her!” shouted Marisol.

            “You’ll love her. She’s very kind, and she has a beautiful old house. It’s like a museum.”

            “Well, if she lives in a museum, why don’t we ask her for money for the operation?”

            Her mother sighed. “Because she doesn’t have any money, darling. All the family’s money was lost during the Revolution. All that’s left is the house.”

            “But…” But Marisol looked at her mother’s tired, worried face and decided she wouldn’t put up a fight after all.

            They loaded up the car. Marisol must have dozed off during the ride because the next thing she knew, her mother was shaking her and saying, “We’re here, mi amor. Unload your things.”

            “Mami,” said Marisol.

            Her mother looked into her eyes. “It will be okay. Now get your stuff.” She kissed Marisol lightly on the forehead.

            Her parents went in with Great-Grandmother Matilde first, leaving Marisol in a huge front room with lilac-colored walls covered with old paintings. The furniture looked like it came from another century. It was made of thick, heavy wood with a velvety lining. There was a coatrack made out of the same dark wood with feet like claws. The air smelled musty, as if no one had entered the room for a long time.

            The door opened, causing Marisol to jump.

            “Okay, darling, we’ll see you in two weeks. Be a good girl.”

            Marisol couldn’t bring herself to look as her parents walked out the front door. Instead she turned to look at the young woman who stood in the doorway. She was tall, with deep chocolate hair and an expression that was sharp but kind. Her eyes were the color of honey.
            “I’m your long-lost cousin Guadalupe,” she told Marisol, smiling. “You can call me Lupe.”

            She motioned for Marisol to follow her. The house really was like a museum. There were arches and columns dividing enormous rooms full of antique furniture and paintings. On one wall hung a collection of spears and military medals. It was the kind of house she’d read about in her Ghosts of Guanajuato book—a house filled with secrets.

            Finally, Lupe stopped at a closed door. “Your great-grandmother’s waiting for you inside,” she said, opening the door and standing aside so Marisol could pass.

            Her great-grandmother Matilde sat in a wooden chair with comfortable-looking pillows. She held a long silver cane in one hand. Her hair was pulled back in a braid that curled around her head.

            “It’s been years since I’ve seen you,” her grandmother said, squinting at her. “You look a lot like your mother.”

            “Gracias, Señora,” said Marisol.

            “Call me Great-Grandmother Matilde,” she said. “So many years have passed since I saw you last, but you’re still as beautiful as ever.”

            “Thank you, Great-Grandmother Matilde.” Marisol smiled, thinking that her great-grandmother’s eyesight must be going.

            After more conversation, Matilde told Marisol that she was free to go about the whole house exploring. If she needed anything, her cousin Lupe would help her.

Now Lupe appeared at the door and took Marisol up the winding staircase to her bedroom. Her suitcase was already there, on the floor at the foot of the bed.

            “Make yourself at home,” Lupe told her. “We’ll have dinner in an hour.”

            Marisol walked over to the dresser, which was topped with a large mirror surrounded by carved wood. She examined herself briefly and sighed. If only she were beautiful like her great-grandmother said! Then she looked around the room.

            The big bed in the middle of the room had an elaborately carved headboard. The lampshade was a mixture of swirling colors. There was a sturdy-looking wooded desk and a bookshelf full of old-fashioned leather-bound books. Marisol thought it was the most interesting room she’d ever seen.

            The days flew by. There was so much to do and to explore. So many trunks, paintings, and even clay sculptures to examine. Three days before her parents were going to return to pick her up, she heard a scream from upstairs. She put down the necklace she was admiring and rushed upstairs.

            Lupe was in the hallway. When she saw Marisol, she pointed a finger at the wall. It was a big spider. Marisol picked up the broom that Lupe had been sweeping with and gave the spider a hard whack.

            She gasped when she saw a hole where she had hit the wall. Peering into the hole, something caught her eye. She peeled back a few remaining pieces of plaster that clung to the edges of the hole so that she had a better view. It was the keyhole of a trunk!

            “Open it up,” Lupe said excitedly. “There’s something in there.”

            After a few more jabs with the broom handle, there was a hole big enough for the chest to fit through. She pulled it out, waving away the dust that came out with it.

            “I’ll go grab a crowbar,” volunteered Lupe.

            “Great-Grandma!” yelled Marisol. “Come quick!”

            Lupe returned with the crowbar at the same moment that Great-Grandmother Matilde arrived from her bedroom down the hall. The old woman’s eyes grew large when she saw what was happening, and Marisol thought she heard her murmur, “Papá.”

            The trunk was filled with necklaces, bracelets, rings, and gold coins.

            That evening at supper, Great-Grandmother Matilde told them the story of the missing trunk. “When I was a little girl, the Revolution broke out and we had to flee. My father stayed behind; he said he had something to take care of. He was killed. We never found our things. we thought the soldiers must have raided the house, but my mother always believed that my father had hidden the trunk before he died. And now we’ve found it at last!”

            “All because of one spider,” Marisol said, and they all laughed.

            “Now let’s call your parents,” Great-Grandmother Matilde said, with a twinkle in her eye. “We’ve got an operation to arrange.”

 

 

 

 

A pair of headlights speed by, in the otherwise desolate city block. No other cars were roaming the empty streets. The fog swept through each building of the lifeless town, leaving even the most colorful houses a disheartening shade of gray. The window of the taxi was clouded with haze. The cab driver hadn't seemed to notice a thing to concern the weather, in fact, he began to whistle along to the drops of rain that descended onto the cab’s roof. She tapped her fingers against the cab door, anxious to get out of this dreary place. Her hand gripped the paper so tightly, her knuckles were white. The cab crept down the pavement silently, like a spider crawling down the wall.

Madeline blew the hair from her face. She sat in that stupid, stained, flower printed chair, holding her head up high, as she was supposed to. The paisley yellow wall screamed out at her. The room had never changed, it was always considerably intimidating. Mrs. Miller kept her paisley yellow pattern throughout the room, with more bright yellow floral accents dispersed throughout. Madeline kept her eyes fixed on the wall, studying the pattern in detail. A pattern that she had seen a million times before.

Ada Miller ran one of the finest orphanages in all of New Orleans, or so they say. In the utmost honesty, she was probably sick and tired of the bustles of children that were there. It was well past her time to retire, or so Madeline thought. Mrs. Miller cared almost nothing of children, especially Madeline, who had been there most of her life. Hate built up in Madeline's chest. Why did it have to be her? She wasn't that hard to manage, was she? Thoughts clouded her mind. She sat alone, in the middle of the room, staring at the patterns on the wall.

The cab came to a near stop, in front of a petite brick building with paint peeling up the sides, and bushels of dead flowers by the front steps. She stood at the sidewalk, staring up at the building in front of her. The cab sped down the street once again, crawling down the pitch black pavement.

Mrs. Miller burst through the door, her heels clacking vigorously against the wooden floors. She marched like a British soldier towards her desk and started to ruffle through mountains of paperwork. Madeline sat quietly in her chair, studying the endless patterns.

“..And you know you must- Are you even listening to me?” Mrs.Miller looked at Madeline with a look of such hate, her spectacles nearly melted off her face.

“You behave like such an animal, I’d get rid of you if in a heartbeat if I could. Only four more years until I can legally-”

Mrs. Miller’s assistant Matilda waltzed into the room and whispered something to Mrs. Miller’s ear. Hushed, everything was hushed. Madeline kicked the small carpet that her chair was sitting on, waiting as Matilda and Mrs. Miller discussed her fate. They never told her anything, they just talked quietly with one another. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Miller marched out of the room with Matilda at her heels.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Madeline dared not leave her spot on the chair, however, she was dying to what was going on outside the pitiful room. Papers were stacked high on the desk, just like every time Madeline had to sit in that chair. She felt a lump in her throat. Madeline had been to several foster homes in her life, and that was what she dreaded the most. She never liked the orphanage, but Matilda had always been somewhat kind to her. Only four more years. She studied the patterns on the wall.

After a long while of waiting, they came back in the room accompanied by another woman. She had short brown hair and bright red lips. She was holding a bundle of paper so tightly that the paper was wrinkled and her knuckles were white.

“Madeline, This is Miss Waylynn Johanson.” Mrs. Miller waltzed over to her desk and sat down.

“Now let’s see…”

Mrs. Miller asked so many questions that it made Madeline's head spin round and round. Madeline's kept to herself, only speaking when spoken to. She didn’t pay a shred of attention to Miss Waylynn Johanson, nor to Mrs. Miller.

Several days went by, and Madeline heard nothing. Hushed, why was everything so hushed? She felt a pit in her stomach, swirling inside her every which way. This time, she was truly scared of what was to come. She wandered on the slick sidewalk, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets. The cold air whirled around, glittering snowflakes brushing past her face. The streets were practically empty, every building fashioned a different shade of gray. Madeline roamed the streets, gazing at the dying flowers gathered around each house. Her caramel colored hair flew wildly around her face, like a hurricane swirling rapidly.

She saw the orphanage up ahead, it’s sad bricks, squashing one another. She gazed upon the tattered curtains, the dead flowers that wrapped their way around the building, the bulky front door. Each thing got sadder and sadder.

“Madeline?” Courtney Hollows peeked her head out of the bedroom's door. “where have you been.”

“Nowhere. What’s the scoop?” Courtney was thirteen, with long black hair and skin the color of dark chocolate. Besides Madeline, she was the oldest at the orphanage.

“Nothing much, Mrs. Miller hasn’t yet hit her head and became nicer, if your wondering.”

“Bummer.” Madeline smirked. Matilda burst through the door.

“Madeline, Mrs. Miller requires you.” Madeline swallowed the lump in her throat and followed Matilda down the hall.

“Really? For sure” Courtney bobbled up and down. “I guess that's good.” Madeline fought the tears that burned in her eyes.

“How long will you be there, forever?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care anyway.” Madeline fought her way through waves on endless tears as Courtney bombarded her with questions. Madeline packed her suitcase posthaste, but she wasn’t sure why. She trudged out the front door, afraid to look back. She twisted the ring around her finger over and over again. Around, and around, and around. A new home, new opportunities, Matilda always said. She pulled her suitcase close to her. Around, and around, and around.