It’s December 8, 1941, my father got a letter in the mail. He was shocked! He called me down and it was then I realized I was drafted.  I looked back on the past two days and how eventful they were. My father and I were hunting in the woods outside our house. ¨How was your 20th birthday?¨ father asked  ¨Great!¨ I replied. Little did I know that the next day would my life would change forever, but we will get into that later. Father and I were very politically involved. We had heard what happened overseas with Germany invading Poland. The United States was booming as we were still trying to recover from WWI and The Depression. So as a nation, we decided not to get involved in WWII. We finished hunting because we didn't get anything but we had a good talk. The next day, I woke up to find my father in shock and awe! Pearl Harbor was attacked by Japanese fighter planes. Now, I knew to help the Allies in the war was inevitable.

The next day when Franklin Delano Roosevelt said we would become an active member in the war, I was happy that we were going to defend our country and would do anything to contribute to the war effort as long as I was not on the battlefields myself. See, I wasn't the biggest person. I was skinny but I knew how guns worked.I would go hunting often but I was n4ot fit for the war. I was drafted so, I had no other choice. My father was scared and so was I. My first mission was storming the beaches of Normandy. I remember the landing ships being shot at and hearing the bullets ring off the metal. The small bridge at the front of the boat lowered and it was appalling!!! My brothers in arms next to me were immediately hit by bullets!. I jumped out of the boat into the water and tried to find cover, joining some other soldiers. They were trying to blow a hole in the cover so we could push forward. We lost people a lot of good men and I was sick to my stomach to see the severity of their wounds. I keep pushing forward. We made it! It was a group of 3 men.  Finally, we pushed forward by blowing up the cover stopping us from advancing. We got into a small gunfight with the Nazi soldiers. One of our men were injured but we were able to defend the beach and make an outpost. Later, I would find out that more 200,000 people died in what we now know as D-Day.

It was June 7, we had been walking for hours after taking the beaches. We were able to get reinforcements. Those four men I met on the beach were Johnny, a young man from North  Dakota our Sargent Patterson a stuck up person but he was good at what he did, Russman, my soon to be a best friend after he got patched up, he was ready for action and the fourth being me. Our next mission was to take out anti-aircraft guns ¨How you doing Russman it looks like you healed well¨ said, Johnny. ¨You three stop messing around we got our orders to go with Squadron B and take down those AA guns so are flyboys can move forward¨ said, Sargent Patterson. we all hopped on a tank and begin the ride to the Nazi outpost that had the AA guns. ¨Our mission is to...¨ said, Sargent Patterson. One of our tanks was hit by a German fighter plane. ¨RUN! PUSH TO THE BARN!¨” said Patterson. We were ambushed by the Germans we held our position returning fire till our tanks could arrive and about 15 minutes later are tanks came and finished the job we pushed forward to the AA guns I placed the thermite in the AA gun and boom my ears ring for about 5 minutes after that we had to deal with German reinforcements but they were an easy clean up with our tanks. We rested but we should have known better ¨SNIPER!¨ Russman yelled. a young man was hit by a sniper and was lost we were pinned down and had nowhere to move. Our sniper couldn't find where the enemy was.

¨We need to push¨ forward said, Patterson. ¨Its suicide we can not move we will die¨ I responded. ¨Are you abandoning orders son¨ said Patterson ¨no sir¨ I responded  as we pushed out of the aboded house we where in I spotted the sniper and I grabbed my rifle and took the shot, I hit him we made our way up towards him and took him back to camp for integration he didn't speak but when we searched him we found a note of a German convoy making its way to a stronghold and then are squared and three others equaling about 30 men where on hills under  bridges and in bushes waited and we heard the signal we jumped out and began firing on the Germans and it was a success we had supplies that could last us a few days at this point I was in war for 4 years I really only got along with 1 person and that was Russman we talked about our lives before the wars he had dreams of being an actor I always told him not to keep his head in the clouds but he never listened. Patterson was becoming more reckless every since the sniper ambushed us he was the knight and we were the pons I tried confronting him this led to us getting into a fight and almost got me in big trouble but I avoid it.

We were in the last few months of the war and our next mission was to take the Rhine bridge that was protecting the last land the Germans controlled ¨Men this is what we have been waiting for and it's the last mission on are agenda let's take this bridge and the next fight well get in is with are wifes¨ said, Patterson, we pushed the bridge and we took out the mg and boom a fighter plane hit the bridge we kept our balance and pushed forward ¨I've been hit¨ Johnny was shot by a german and we could not save him in time we lost one member of are squadron but we had to push forward I threw a thermite and blew the AA guns and now with are tanks we pushed forward but I heard a shot  and I turned around and saw a german soldier I took the shot hit him and killed him at first I thought I was hit by a bullet but I looked to the ground and say russman he was shot in the stomach and was losing blood fast so I ripped my uniform and tied it around his wound and carried him to the medic and for three days he fought for his life with me right beside him and he passed peacefully he took a bullet for me and I'm the one that lived I couldn't live with myself but we won the war but I lost two friends, two great friends,. ¨Thank you for doing this I'm sorry to ask but what happened to patterson¨ the interview asked. ¨He died of old age¨ I responded as I walked out of the room I felt a pain in my chest and fell to the ground and for a couple of seconds Russman, Johnny, and Patterson smiling and waving I herd Russman say one thing ¨Keep your head in the skies Daniel¨.

   Either a long time ago or in a faraway future, there was a girl sitting at the top of a green, grassy hill at the edge of the universe. There was a slight breeze in the air, gently blowing her silky, dark hair about. She was waiting, just like she did every day.

   “There you are,” A voice from behind her muttered, followed by a swift thump as the figure sat down next to her. Casting a shadow across the girl’s small body, the Silhouette joined in on the comfortable silence.

   “I’m always here,” The girl said simply with a shrug.

   Absentmindedly, the girl dug her nails into the wet soil underneath the grass, looking down at the valley between her hill and the hill opposite of her. The valley contained a village and the village was her home. “The village” was truthfully only a cluster of homes and dirt roads. A few people could be seen from her location at the top of the hill, walking about the small settlement. They wore honest, beige clothing, their expressions clear and open, free of worry. They had little to be troubled about, for it was springtime, pronounced by the bright flecks of blooming, red flowers amidst the dark, rich greens of the flora.

   “Tell me a story,” The girl said after silence had become boring, trying to scrape the dirt out from underneath her nails.

 “Is that all you ever ask for, girl?” The Silhouette chuckled with amusement.

   “Yes. Now please tell me a story,” The girl said impatiently, pouting a bit.

   Oh yes, this was her favorite story. The Silhouette would arrive upon the hill every late afternoon, eventually being persuaded into telling some sort of story. The best part of the girl’s day was when the Silhouette would tell her a story in the serenity the hill fostered. She would feel the blades of grass softly tickling her skin, enjoying the aroma of sunshine in the air. These rendezvous had been established long enough that the Silhouette had run out of stories, yet this one was still the young girl’s favorite. It had a gut-wrenching quality she couldn’t quite discern. The Silhouette would purposefully never tell the end of this story particularly, only making it more enthralling.

   “-They would build structures so great they could have been made for immortals. So very tall, towering much higher than that hill,” The Silhouette dramatized, pointing across the valley to the opposite hill.

   “Made, not of sturdy wood, but thin planes of clear matter. They thought they were going to achieve great things,” The Silhouette said with a weight the girl knew hinted to something, perhaps a theme or the end of the story. She continued to listen intemntly.

   “-Many thought their actions against Nature would be the reason for their demise. Others believed their actions against one another would do the trick. And some never had to worry, despite the inevitable truth they, together, shared their one world.” The Silhouette said, speaking with a tone of warning. This was why the Silhouette’s stories intrigued the girl so much. It was as if the Silhouette were from another world- A world where they had all the answers.

   “These people had become numbed to their actions. They were so easily hurt, becoming lost in their own thoughts, and their narrative becoming the only to exist in their minds,” The Silhouette chuckled, almost broodingly. The girl often didn’t grasp the things the Silhouette found funny but she had also learned that the Silhouette was much wiser than her. Perhaps one day she would understand as well.

    Drifting into her own world, the girl considered what a colossal, pellucid structure would look like in the valley, perhaps even shadowing over the two hills that held the village like a pocket. Before first encountering the Silhouette, she had only known her village. It had been her whole world. She had come to digest everything the village had to offer. From the grooves in the walls of her room to the trickle of the stream beside her house, she had perhaps discovered everything. She knew what time of day the sparrows lingered in the thick groves at the edge of the valley, where the hedges of bright, red berries were hidden, and even how to distinguish the different footsteps of her neighbors. The concept of a civilization that was capable of such feats like transparent materials was rather overwhelming, let alone a life beyond her village.

   “-Others were selfish. Hiding from unbearable truths behind their own fictions they wanted to believe,” The girl, though already silent, quieted. She was afraid to acknowledge her unwillingly resonation with some part of the dark heed the Silhouette gave. She couldn’t help but feel like a liar, listening quietly to a story that depicted her own flaws.

   “They would have wars, the concept of death no longer meant much. They endeavored for new ways to hurt one another. Pointless, it was. They thought exploring their world was only a parallel to developing new, advanced methods of killing. Eventually, it was too much. Their world of wonders collapsed into a society alike to their first primitive strides,”

   “And then what?” The girl asked quietly, afraid her companion would sense her own darkness and imperfections. The Silhouette was not oblivious to the girl’s worries but knew the girl had nothing to fret about. After all, the girl was clearly good hearted, her integrity and honesty allowed to thrive in these simpler times.  

   “And then…” The Silhouette paused, for the story had never been told past this point. The girl peered at the figure with her round, curious eyes. She could sense a sudden cold aura from the figure beside her. So she glanced away, hoping to ease the noticeable tension.  She noticed the sun beginning to set. The hues of tangerines, pinks, and lavenders blushing as another velvety night of glistening speckles neared.

   “The Divinity’s only choice was to revive them by wiping their existence blank,” The Silhouette said cautiously, looking away as their eyes met when the girl turned back around from the sky with an incredulous expression.

   “What does that mean?” The girl whispered, almost frightened of an answer. “The Divinity” was a common character in all of the Silhouette’s stories. From what the girl had gathered, the Divinity was more of a prescence than a person, almost a higher power.

   “Humanity was too fragile. Every time the Divinity gave them another chance, it was only another to take advantage of everything they could get their hands on. They considered forgiveness as a born right and perhaps it was, and is. But instead, they used it as a system to excuse their iniquitous intentions. They existed aimlessly with seemingly rooted manners of hypocrisy. And that was only the start of it. The endless cycle of humanity’s flaws lead the Divinity to desperately rescue them by allowing them another chance. Over and over and over again. Sometimes they make it far enough to escape the boundaries of the sky. Sometimes they never even make it to the see-through structures. Either way, their mistakes are always too consequential. Their paths start rather similar, easier to predict in the beginning. But in the end, regardless of which faults they have, they always need another chance,” The Silhouette spoke rather fervently, an untamed anger poorly hidden. It was as if the girl were no longer the audience. The girl said nothing, unsure if the story was finished.

   “Where would our village be?” She asked nervously, wondering if her own world might be following the same timeline.

   “I wouldn’t know, I’ve lost track,” The Divinity said with a sigh, a shadow still cast across the girl’s pale complexion.

Every morning began with the sound of clashing pots coming from the overloaded kitchen cabinet and a cry from Teresa that was heard by everyone on their street.

“Valería, ayudame por favor! Valería! Valería, ahora!” her mother called out in a strained voice.

Valería tossed and turned in her bed, eventually kicking her blanket out from under her and tossing her pillow on the ground. She then stretched her arms out, like they were ready to pick oranges from her grandmother’s tree. Once she sat up, she leaned over to look out the window when a white van struggled to drive up the driveway. The side of it said, “Myers Construction”, and out came an older man dressed in jeans and a gray shirt. Valería squinted at the younger man who exited from the passenger side, wiping sweat from his face. However her eyes widened when they suddenly brought out tools, causing her to throw on her fleece bathrobe and rush down.

The sound of heavy boots coming through the doorway hastened her pace down the stairs, as she ran her fingers along the wooden railing, remembering how she would trail behind her abuela while playing follow-the-leader. This house was her childhood- it was her abuela.

She halted at the bottom of the staircase upon hearing the exchange between the two males and her parents through the thin walls; “remodeling”, “accent wall”, “molding” and more heartbreaking terms were thrown back and forth. She shuffled back towards her bedroom, knowing that if she were to join the conversation, tears would rush out.

Once she splashed water on her face- pretending that what she heard wasn’t real-, dressed up, and braided her hair, Valería went to eat breakfast. To her dismay, the younger man was there, loudly chewing on an apple. She cleared her throat, before saying, “Excuse me”.

“Oh,” he coughed out, choking on the apple bits. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.”

Valería ignored him and instead focused on spreading cream cheese on toast.

“Um, I’m Liam Myers.”

She dropped the knife in the sink, the sound causing Liam to shift. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’m really just helping my dad, not exactly working. He’s discussing blueprints with your parents outside, so I came in here.”

The awkward silence between the two was broken, when Mr. Myers entered, laughing alongside Valería’s parents.

“Liam, stop eating all of their food, would you?” he chuckled heartily, punching his son’s shoulder.

“Please take as much as you want,” Teresa interjected. Valería continued to eat her toast, slowly turning her back towards the others. “Hija,” she whispered. “stop being dramatic.”

“¿Puedo hablar consigo?” Valería asked very quickly, in fear that Liam might know some Spanish. He was clueless, which wasn’t a surprise to her.

“Thank you for joining us finally, hija,” Teresa groaned, as her daughter pulled her away to the bathroom.

Valería rolled her eyes. “Why are we changing Abuela’s house?” she demanded.

Teresa sighed and explained slowly. “Your Papa just got a raise, and you know we’ve been wanting to remodel-”

“‘We?’ No, Mama. Just you.”

“Don’t play this game with me. Abuela’s house was built decades ago, it’s time for some change, no?”

“But I grew up here- you grew up here! How you just change everything?!” Valería felt herself screaming, so she immediately quieted down.

“Mija, this house is falling apart, can’t you see? I want to be able to cook in my kitchen without having to look up at the the cracks in the ceiling, or walk around without constantly feeling like something is going to break. Okay? Let’s go back out, you can’t just pull me to the bathroom like that when we have guests,” she chuckled, dragging Valería like a stubborn puppy.

When they came back to the kitchen, Valería heard Mr. Myers say, “We can start renovations today, if you would like that, and work until the afternoon.”

“That sounds very good, thank you,” her father said, shaking Mr. Myers’ hand.

“You’re very welcome, sir. In that case, can you run home and get my ladder and power drills, Liam?” he asked.

“Got it, Dad.” Liam quickly replied, ready to go outside, when his dad stopped him.

“You might want some help,” he suggested.

“Valería!” her father called. “Can you go, so we can make some final decisions? Por favor.”

“Yeah, mija. Make a friend,” her mother whispered, causing Valería to roll her eyes again.

She was about to scoff, when she noticed all eyes were on her. “Okay, fine,” she complied. She stomped through the adults and out of the door, as Liam followed.

She stopped in front of the truck and crossed her arms, squinting at Liam ahead, who was trying to close the front door.

“Uh, it won’t-”

“Close?” she finished for him. “Yeah, it’s been like that for years. You have to put in a certain amount of force. It takes practice, you know.” She walked over and closed it with ease, but she let her hand linger on the faded doorknob that her grandmother once painted gold. Her eyes moved up the rusted door frame, as they travelled along the worn down stone walls and stopped at the chipped address plaque. The numbers “265” were chipping away with only certain parts of the actual numbers remaining, like a malfunctioning LED sign.

Liam then ran his fingers over the wall. “I could easily fix this, if you want.”

“No, I would not want that.” she said, turning away from him and towards the truck.

“But you can’t even read the numbers anymore, so it’s kind of useless.” he admitted, trying to offer some help. “I would also fix this portico. A lot of houses nowadays have a flat roof instead of…this.” He gestured cautiously to the white wood splinters sticking out of the side facing them. Valería held her cold expression, but she turned to see where Liam pointed. “It would look really cool. Oh, and that would allow for a nice contrast in the walls. You could change the stone to a sleek wood pattern.”

As Liam continued on about her house, she hated that every change he suggested became a reality. Suddenly, the portico built by her grandfather was torn down to become a smooth black flat roofed top. Blue tarps fell from the sky and slowly covered every inch of the ramshackle house. Dust from the construction site contaminated the air and the garden her grandmother took great care of. Then, she saw Liam emerge from the destroyed home and tower over the bits of broken pieces, like a dictator, as sounds of drilling and engines roaring filled her ears.

“Just stop!” she shouted, lowering her head to face the cobblestones. “You don’t understand at all. This house means something to me. It’s not just a building, it’s a home. A home that was built by my abuelos, and it reminds me of them and my childhood, so maybe to you chipped paint is a bad thing, but to me it’s beautiful.”

“Sorry,” he said shyly. “I guess I don’t exactly understand.”

“That’s because you work in construction,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “All you care about is tearing down the beauty.” She stared Liam down, watching as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Um… I don’t know what to say to that,” he awkwardly chuckled. “I’m sorry again.”

Valería heard the honesty in his voice and suddenly felt a pang of guilt in her chest- the kind that her mother would say precedes an apology. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just-” Valería paused and looked at the ground to fight back tears. “I’m not used to change. It makes me anxious actually.” When she looked up, Liam’s brown eyes met hers warmly and she felt even worse for snapping at him all morning. “I’ll go back inside, you don’t need me-”

“No!” Liam exclaimed, holding out his arm to stop her. “We can still go together- I mean, not “together” you know? Well, I do mean together, but not like… in a weird way, you know?”

Valería couldn’t help but laugh at how nervous he immediately got. She walked past him, gesturing to the van. “Can we stop by somewhere?” Liam nodded, clicking the car keys. Valería hopped in with a smile.

“Where is this place?” he asked after thirty minutes of driving and talking to Valería. “Even the GPS is confused.”

“Turn left over there,” Valería replied, her excitement growing, as Liam put on his turn signal. He then pushed the rusty brakes, causing both bodies to be thrown forward.

“This van is a little old,” Liam said as they both sat in silence. “The seatbelts barely work, and honestly, they’re only here because of the law.”

“And you don’t want to change them? Wait, I’m having a vision!” she said through fits of laughter. She put her hair behind her ears and dropped the tone of her voice to match Liam’s. “I think if you replace the seatbelts, I can get you new leather ones. Oh, and let me put in a new steering wheel while I’m at it.”

“Very funny.” Liam chuckled, when he turned to look at the open field in front of him. Valería could barely contain her excitement; she jerked the car door handle back and forth, cursing it for its stubbornness. “Por favor, abre, abre,” she muttered under her breath. Like a fuse, it was cut short when Liam leaned over from his seat, and in one swift motion, let the door fly open. Heat flooded Valería’s face as she jumped out of the car, avoiding all eye contact, but Liam was able to quickly glance at the pink patches on her cheeks.

“Why did you want to come here?” he inquired, stepping out of the truck and joining Valería on the grass. He was hesitant to sit, in fear of crawling insects, but she plopped down cross-legged on the earth with her back towards the truck. Valería couldn’t help but feel a new energy from the sun with hues of yellow and orange, the stalks of grass swaying, and the wind dying down from its rambunctious state to that of a soft melody. The loose strands of her plaited black hair danced to the song.

Liam’s voice suddenly filled her ears. “Wait,” he said softly, crouching next to her to tuck one of the strands behind her ear.

“Isn’t this so peaceful?” she sighed, resting back on her elbows. She patted the spot next to her, hoping he would sit down, but instead he stood up. “In the wintertime, the snow goes over everything like a blanket and the lake behind-” Before continuing, she got up to interlock her arm with Liam’s to pull him closer. “You look scared. Look, there’s a lake behind those trees.” Valería felt her heart beat faster, as she looked up at Liam, her arm still connected to his.

“It’s pretty,” he whispered. Before Valería could respond, Liam started again. “I know you think my dad and I want to ruin the world, so go on. Let the jokes out.”

“That was angry Valería talking.” she defended. “I’m not always like that…”

“I believe you. And, I want you to know that my dad and I are so different. Like black and white.”

“So, why are you working with him?” Valería unhooked her arm from his and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.

To her surprise, Liam finally joined her on the grass, as he explained. “I want to make my dad proud that I’m following in his footsteps, that he raised a man and not another girl.”

“Not liking construction means you’re a girl?”

“Not wanting to take over his business means I’m a girl. I like designing, but not exactly using power drills and jackhammers. But, I work with him until the summer is over. Then, it’s back to school.”

Valería then decided on something she wouldn’t ordinarily do. She sighed, tipped her head to the side, and slowly grabbed Liam’s right arm.

“Uh, Valería… what are you doing?” he asked with a nervous tremor in his voice. She lifted it up and brought his index finger and thumb delicately together, as if holding a pen.

“Sometimes, I like to admire what’s in front of me. It helps slow down time for a moment, and I feel a little better. Imagine you’re drawing, like a designer.” Valería smiled, as Liam agreed and traced the outline of the mountains, the trees, the lake, and the stalks of grass around him.

“I’m sorry about your house,” he said to her, placing his pen down.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she replied, placing her hand in his.

Rylen

I was sweating under my bed covers, so I threw them off. Ugh, I have to open the window. I climbed out of my bed and walked past Elsie and towards the small window. I shoved it open and took a deep breath. The air was thick and seemed to clog my lungs instead of filling them. I opened my eyes to see clearly. The view from the window was hazy and gray. It was getting hotter and hotter. I looked down and saw the front porch was on fire. I screamed. The rest of the morning was a blur. Fire alarms started wailing and I ran to the bed. I grabbed Elsie out from under the covers. She looked confused but followed me anyway. We ran down the burning hallway and towards the door. We heard shouting. Mom, Dad. It sounded like it was coming from outside.

Elsie behind me, I pushed through the front door. We ran across the lawn to the sidewalk and stood there looking around for our parents, but they were nowhere to be seen. Fire engines whirred behind us. The screaming continued. They were still inside! I ran towards the house, but a fireman restrained me. They told us to wait on the sidewalk. I watched as Elsie started to cry and sob, and my heart broke. We sat on the sidewalk, hugging. Tears started to slip down my cheeks. They kept coming and didn't stop. But the screaming did. I cried harder. The firemen finished spraying the house. My beautiful home was a pile of ashen rubble. My parents were gone, and I cried even harder. I sat there with Elsie. Crying, and crying, and crying. At the police station they brought in some plastic bags with things they found at the scene. I looked at them. They held up bag after bag and then the last one. It had two rings in it. They were my parents wedding rings. I covered my head and cried until the tears no longer came.

I sat up, realizing it was just a dream. That was what happened when my parents died and my home was destroyed. Just then, my sister’s voice shook me back to reality.

“Ry, tell me about when mom and dad died.” Elsie said, her voice loud and blunt, cutting through the darkness.

“Elsie, I’ve told you this story so many times! You were only 5, so you don’t understand what it’s like to watch everything you’ve ever known just crash and burn to the ground.” I was yelling now, screaming almost, pacing the room, and breathing heavily before I realized what I was doing. “I’m sorry.” I said meekly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too.” she said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me. And you're right. I’ve heard this story almost too many times. I guess it just feels if you tell me enough times, I might remember something about mom and dad, you know?”

“No, I get it.” I replied. I decided to start telling her about them, I hadn’t really done that before in the past. But for some reason every detail about mom and dad that I told Elsie was like a stab to the heart. It was like a stab to the heart! My heart was hurting so much, it felt real. “Elsie?” That was all I could manage to say before I passed out on the floor, my body hitting our rug with a loud thump.

Elsie

“AUNT TARRAH! RYLEN PASSED OUT! HELP!!” I screamed, trying to attract the attention of my aunt, but it was no use, my  aunt sleeps like a rock. “UNCLE MAX! SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP!! Please please please.” I fell to the floor in front of my sister, crying. My aunt and uncle came in after a few moments, and when they saw Rylen on the ground, and me crying next to her, they grabbed Rylen off the floor, put me in the car and told me that they were taking us both to the hospital. I was crying too hard to say anything back. During the drive over, I silently slipped into oblivion, my head silently hitting the seat. My  dreams were filled with images and pictures from when my parents were alive. They played like a slideshow through my mind. Each picture made my heart throb and twist in my chest. I tried to reach out to them but I couldn't reach them. Thrashing, turning, twisting, struggling. I was contained. Strapped down, I could not move. I need to reach them. I have to reach them. I screamed, but the sound froze before it could escape my mouth, stuck in my throat. A golden light appeared as they seemed to reach towards me, then blackness. I woke up, strapped down in a hospital bed, unable to move anything except my head. Then, I screamed. A team of doctors came into my room. I was so scared. Where was Rylen, is she okay? “What happened?” I asked, feeling like a thousand hot knives were slashing inside of me. “Why am I strapped down to the bed?”

“Elsie, you were thrashing in your bed. We were fearful that you would fall and worsen your injuries.” The doctor replied, “And, you have a Stage IV disease and you probably won’t see the outside world ever again.”

Rylen

The doctor brought in a clipboard for me to sign. It was a waiver to let them do treatment on the two of us. He said it was Stage IV Cerebral Cytosis. The words just seemed to fly over my head. I couldn't even register this could be happening to me. You only ever heard about this disease in the books, there are only a few recorded cases, and none survived. The disease supposedly originates from too much chemical intake coupled with stress and shock. It can take years to surface. He said the disease’s sudden appearance was due to reliving the memories of the fire and my parents. The world started to fade away. He told me within the last bit of consciousness it was so contagious that I would never see the outside world ever again.  Then a hazy feeling came over me and I passed out once again. Elsie…her name echoes through the emptiness of my brain. Is she okay? Will I ever see her again?

Elsie

Thunder clapped and lighting struck the hospital. The halls were silent. In one of the darkened hospital rooms I sat looking out the window at the moon. It was covered by storm clouds. The monitor’s beeping started to slow down and the IV started to flow faster. A nurse ran in and yelled down the hall at a doctor. Instantly, doctors ran in, and immediately started to work. Red lights flashed in the room. I felt my heart in my chest. It slowed so much I couldn't feel it. Was this it? Was this the end of the line? Was this where I would silently slip away for the last time, surrounded by doctors and nurses, instead of my family telling me it was okay to let go? No. This was not it. This was not going to be the end. I was going to live. I had to. Rylen. No, No, NO! My poor sister. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s probably at home. And I’m here. In the hospital, dying of some disease that the doctors wouldn’t even tell me what it is. But I deserve to know what disease is causing what’s left of my family to be broken even more than it already is. I deserve to know what is causing me so much pain. I need to live. I can’t break Rylen’s heart like this. Not yet. I see Rylen’s face in the window across the hall. She’s here. The monitor suddenly silenced and it all went dark. No laughing, no smiling, just the hollow shell of the girl I once was.

Rylen

Elsie, I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve been there, but the doctors wouldn’t let me out of my room. I heard beeping coming from across the hallway, from your room Elsie. I saw the flashing red lights. I went to the door and as soon as I saw the doctors and nurses rushing around you, I had to come. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Almost immediately more doctors and nurses ushered me into my room and locked the door. I tried picking the lock but it was no use. I couldn’t escape it. I watched as the doctors fussed with the IV and the heart monitor. I watched as the head doctor mouthed, “It’s no use, she is going to die”. I screamed. I screamed with all I had left in me. I beat against the door screaming to get out. I screamed it wasn’t fair. I screamed for God to take me instead. I sunk to the floor and screamed. But I realized, my sister is dying. I need to be there as much as I can. I regained control over myself, and stood up. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, Elsie, watching you take your last breaths. I heard the monitor flatline as I saw your small, frail chest heave in air for the last time. I watched the nurse close your eyes, with an expression somewhere between sadness and sympathy. Now she could be sleeping, I foolishly thought. But then, it hit me. She’s really gone. I sank to the floor and cried. I howled for you to come back, I howled, wishing I would die too. The nurse who closed your eyes came in and took me to see you one last time. As I stood there with my IV line in, and my pump steadily bringing life to my lungs, I broke. I took your dead body and held it in my arms and I sobbed. The nurse tried to bring me back to my room, but I wouldn’t leave. Everything just fell away, and it was just me and your body. I opened your eyes so I could see them. I don’t think you ever realized how beautiful your eyes were Elsie. They were a pretty light blue color, and along the outside, there was a ring of a blue so deep, it looked unreal. But your eyes held no life, no light. They had lost that twinkle they always had in them. As I looked into your eyes for the very last time, I realized that I wouldn’t be able I go to your funeral. I would be stuck here in the hospital. Not dying. I closed your eyes, took off my ring, and replaced it with yours, so I could always have something of yours with me and you could be buried with something of mine. I laid you back on the bed and kissed your cold head, nose, cheeks and lips. The scent of your rosey perfume filled the space between us. I wanted to remember what you felt like since I would never see or feel you again. I did your hair all pretty, and then walked out of the room and closed the door. I went back to my room and shut that door too.

They say when one door closes, another one opens. So far another one hasn’t opened. I got cleared to go to your funeral. I have to speak. I’ve been practicing my speech but I can’t seem to get through more than three sentences without choking up. Your funeral's tomorrow.

All your friends and family are here. Gramma and Grandpa, Nana and Papa, and all your school friends. A girl named Sienna, a boy named James, to name a few. They both said wonderful things about you. Everyone who was there seemed greatly upset by your passing. I thought it wasn’t fair they got to be so upset. Even the minister was upset and he didn’t even know you. I thought it was stupid that people that didn’t even know you were so upset.

It’s been a year Elsie. A year since you died. I’ve been allowed home a few times. About 6 I think. Aunt Tarrah is talking about moving to a house closer to the hospital. Uncle Max wants to stay. I personally don’t want to be closer to the place of your death, but it would be easier to get to the hospital if something happened while I’m at home.

It’s been two years Elsie. Things haven’t gotten any easier. I’m becoming weaker by the day. I nearly passed out trying to stand up so they moved me into a permanent room at the hospital. It’s a miracle I’ve lived this long with such a serious disease. If you didn’t know, it’s called Cerebral Cytosis. I have Stage VI, which they didn’t even know existed until I got worse. Cerebral Cytosis, or CC, essentially destroyed your immune system, your lungs, your heart, and eventually your brain. That’s what Stage VI does. The brain. The doctors say I’ll live for at least another 6 months in the hospital but I can feel my energy and will to live draining faster and faster. I want to go home to die. I can’t die in the same place as you. It’s hard enough living there, in the same room, the one across the hall from your old one. An old man resides there now.

The doctors are moving me back home today. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you soon Elsie.

I’m back home now Elsie. Back to where we used to live before you died. Aunt Tarrah and Uncle Max just came in. Sienna and James are here too. I can feel myself slipping away. I’m dying. I can manage to give Aunt Tarrah and Uncle Max a hug. Sienna and James reach down to give me hugs. James kisses my cheek. My breaths are getting farther and farther apart. Aunt Tarrah and Sienna start crying, and I can tell James is holding it in as long as he can. I can almost see you Elsie. Tell mum and dad I’ll see them soon. I’m supposed to turn 17 tomorrow. Too bad that’ll never happen. As my vision grows darker, I see James burst into silent tears. Uncle Max kisses my forehead. I love them all so much. I give into the darkness, and I feel myself floating away, up, up, up. I open my eyes and see you standing a few yards away. So this is heaven. Everything is bright, and I can see mom and dad standing with you Elsie. I stand up and walk over to you.

“I missed you Elsie.”

Elsie

“I missed you too Rylen. I’ll never let you go ever again.”

Rylen

“Sounds good to me. I love you.”

Elsie

“I love you too.”

Rylen

“Mom. Dad. you’re here.”

Him

Noise. Laughing, talking, walking, yelling. Doors slamming, phones beeping, bells ringing.

Sudden silence. One face in a crowded hall. Gentle command, effortless perfection. An aura of shimmering gold in a world of fading color.

Her name shoots in my mind. Sierra. People jostle me, oblivious of anything but the now. I think of all time—past, present, and future.

Some people never seem to change. But then one time, when you look away for only a second, the entire foundation of who they were shifts. I look at her, and see a different person. Only a shadow of who she was remains on her face. Where there was once naivety, there is now a painful hardness. Childhood innocence is altered to leave the result of a bitter collision with the real world. But I can still see the care, the empathy, the faith in the few good souls left.

She abruptly stops walking. Our eyes meet. My breath is caught. I turn to my locker and grab my books. I know she has walked away.

“Hey,” I whisper.

Her

Emotion. Excitement, nervousness, anticipation, nostalgia.

Then nothing. His face. Tall, handsome. Older.

Memories, flooding in. Walls caving in. It all comes back like it's been no time at all. Cameron.

He's grown up. He looks like an adult. But I can tell he's still the same.

He looks up. I look down. My mind is collapsing, and the hall seems to stretch forever. His name is rolling around in my head. I can't say anything.

I raise my eyes, and they're instantly locked to his. A lifetime passes, and silent words seem to fly between us. He turns suddenly to his locker. I shake myself and quickly walk by.

“Hi,” I think.

Him

I can't focus. I don't focus. My thoughts are absorbed entirely. Classes pass, I look for her in between them. A few times I see her ducking around a corner, or into a room. I want to go after her but I can't.

We used to be friends. Both twelve years old, on the same street, liked the same things. Wherever she was, I was too. Wherever I went, she was there. She was the best person I knew. She is still the best person I've known.

It's neither of our faults the way things ended. There was nothing either of us could do. She moved to be with her aunt when her parents died, and we just slowly stopped talking. I wish it had been different, but there's nothing I can change now.

I don't tell anyone that she's back, or that I know her. I just watch for her, and want to see her, to talk to her, but act on nothing.

Every night, I can't shut her out of my head.

Every night, I pretend to say “Hi,” to her, and wish I really could.

Her

I want to talk to him now, but something has changed. We're not the same people anymore. When I moved away, I naively assumed that we would keep in touch. But we only communicated a few times. Now there is something between us, keeping us from going back to where we started. Somehow, I am not surprised by this.

It's funny how in only a few years, a lifetime can change.

I imagine how I would have preferred our first meeting to have gone. I would have run up, both of us so excited to see each other, and we would have hugged and talked all day. But it didn't happen like that, as many things in life don't.

I laid in the dark that night and whispered the word I wish I could get out.

“Hi.”

Him

I never talked to Sierra, all that school year. I wanted to, I don't know why I didn't. But she didn't talk to me either. I watched her a lot. She seemed so different, but now and then I saw her like I remembered her.

One day, I was studying for my midterms in the library. A soft laugh made me look up. Sierra was standing, trying to get a book from one of the popular football players that went to our school. He kept holding it up so she couldn't reach it. They teased each other, and she rolled her eyes at his antics. Then he bent down and kissed her right in the middle of the library.

Something in me jolted. There was no reason for me to care who she was with. But I did.

I had to pass them to leave. I avoided eye contact with both her and her apparent “boyfriend.”

As I slipped out the double doors into the hallway, I couldn't help but wonder if that would have been me, if I had just said, “Hi.”

Her

I told myself everyday of the school year that tomorrow I would talk to Cameron, if he hadn't talked to me yet. But tomorrow came, and there was something else I found to do.

I started dating a guy on the football team. Everyone told me how lucky I was, how we were “#goals”, how we made the cutest couple. There was nothing really wrong with him, but I never loved him. He was a little like a child, always wanting to have fun, never taking things seriously. But we stayed together a long time.

I graduated with honors that spring. As the senior class threw our caps in the air, I made a decision to get on with this next chapter of my life, without craning my neck to look at the past.

Through the crowd of alumni, I saw Cameron weaving towards the parking lot. Suddenly, I thought, “why the heck not?” I called out, “Hey!”

But he didn't turn around.

Him

Years passed. I graduated, and moved to a little town in the heart of Idaho with my parents. I went to a small college there, and studied engineering. I dated here and there, never really seriously. For some reason, Sierra always lingered in my mind. I couldn't help but wonder if it was obsessive. Nothing ever happened, so there was nothing to get over.

Even still, I wondered what would have happened, if I had only worked up the nerve to say hi.

Her

After graduation, I can honestly say I forgot about Cameron. The whole, “Moving on” mantra was my anthem, and I was heading for the future with open arms. I decided to take a gap year after high school, and go on a road trip. Just me, the breeze, and some back roads. I visited places that were just quiet and unseen. I wanted them to feel seen. I wanted to know they were there even if barely anyone else did.

I went to New Hampshire, Illinois, Wyoming, and others. I went to “forgotten states”, I called them. My final destination was California. Yes, I knew it definitely wasn't a forgotten state, but I had always wanted to go.

There were snags along the way. I got lost countless times, I ran out of gas on the highway twice. And I spent the night in some of the sketchiest motels I could imagine. But I kept looking forward to California.

Once in a while, I would get lonely on the road, and only then would I think of what could have been, whether between me and Cameron, or between me and someone else. I really did regret not attempting to talk to Cameron sooner. Not even as a romantic interest, but just as someone who had been a friend. I tried to soothe myself with the thought that I had at least tried to say Hi.

Him

One night, a few of my buddies and I decided to go to the local (and only) hangout. It was a small pizza place, called Eddie's, and they had live music every other Friday night. So off we went, joking around with each other, and drove to Eddie's.

Garish lights and hazy smoke filled the little joint. The band that week was loud and kind of obnoxious, but people were dancing, pizza slices in hand. One of the guys I went with, Jack, was probably my best friend in Idaho. He was always trying to set me up; but he never was without a date. Tonight was no different. A pretty blonde with a Jersey accent hung on his arm while Jack tried in vain to find me a girl to buy a drink for.

Finally, Jack pointed to a girl with her back to us, with shiny auburn hair, who was sitting on a stool, watching the band. I was tired of his attempts, so I agreed to go talk to her, even if it was only to appease him. I came up behind her, and spun a chair over next to hers. She turned suddenly, and I was back in that hallway in my old high school.

Her

Oregon was the next state on my list. As I plodded along in my old Jeep, I had been driving through Idaho no more than an hour, when a strange rattling started somewhere behind my steering wheel. I groaned, wondering how on earth another part of this car could possibly be failing me. Sure enough, within a few hundred yards, I abandoned ship because there was now a curling string of steam rising from the hood. I called the closest mechanic, Bud from Buddy's Auto Repair, and he came to get my Jeep, chomping on some wad of who knows what.

I asked him if he could recommend a cheap place for dinner. He said Eddie's was the place to go (“Probably the only place to go,” I thought). Pizza sounded great to me, and Bud dropped me off, mentioning something about live music tonight.

Eddie's was small and crowded. I ordered two slices of pepperoni, and sat down on a little stool by the band. I was lost in thought, primarily about my stupid Jeep. My pizza came, and I ate it slowly. When I finished, I didn't want to leave yet, so I stayed on my stool. There was interesting people watching in Eddie's. Mostly what you would expect in a rural town. Lots of flannel.

I was startled suddenly by a chair being moved over next to me. I turned, and couldn't believe what I saw.

Him & Her

“Hi.”

“Came to watch the sunset?” the man’s words surprise me, especially because I thought he didn’t know I was there.

“No,” I say matter-of-factly, “I came to find you.”

“Really,” he says tilting his head slightly and looking somewhere past me.

“You’re always running away,” I say. I’ve rehearsed possible conversations hundreds of times in my head. “Running away from people; me and everyone else!”

His eyes glint with a bit of bemusement, he can tell I have planned what I’m about to say. He shoves me off track with his next sentence.

“How do you know I’m running away from everything? Maybe I’m running towards something.” After a little bit of silence where I consider this, he says, “So why did you come - last time I mean - when you were… crying.” For half a second I stare at him, my mouth slightly agape. I didn’t expect to be questioned, I thought I’d be the questioner. The amusement in his eyes makes me realize that while he is a few years older than I am, he also believes that he is much more mature.

What I say next is the result of my anger at this realization - I doubt I would have said it otherwise.

“The world,” and then I realize that it’s true - what I said - I was angry at the world. The woods were my escape from it while still being in it.

To my surprise, instead of laughing, his eyes grow sober.

“Yes,” he says softly, “that is a problem.” For a few minutes, we stand there in awkward silence. The birds are silent as if they’re watching us, wondering what will happen.

“Who even are you?” I ask suddenly. He gives a soft laugh and says:

“I could ask the same thing of you; who do you think I am? Or better yet,” he grins, “Who do you know me as?”

“Someone who stole my woods from me,” I say.

“They weren’t yours to begin with,” he replies.

“No, but they’re not anybody’s really,” I say.

“Oh yes they are,” he says. Once again we’re silent. “My name is Torren,” he offers before slipping around the trees and out of view before I can stop him.

The last look he gave me before disappearing makes me think I might have scared him somehow. Maybe, like me, he is a little frightened of people.

One of the times I see Torren we talk about our first conversation. The one we had about who owned the forest. I’m the one to bring it back up again.

“You’re going to judge me for this,” he says, still avoiding my gaze.

“I won’t,” I promise. He grimaces slightly.

“That’s what you say now, but people are always judging, they can’t stop. Honestly, it’s not their fault, it just happens. That’s how the world is.” I watch him, knowing he can feel my gaze and is avoiding my question. “Well,” he says finally, “well, I have to say, God does.”

He looks at me. I don’t say anything for a bit, just look at his burning eyes. Then I smile.

“Yes, He does,” I say. Torren looks confused.

“You really believe that?” he asks looking like at any second I might turn on him.

“Yes,” I say laughing. “Yes, I really do.” Torren blinks.

It’s a while before either of us talks again. When we do, it’s because of a loud crashing noise that must be many miles away, yet still shakes the ground. Torren looks down at the ground.

Bombs.

“Why can’t they just stop?” Torren asks the forest leaves.

“They’ll never stop,” I say as another bang alerts us of a second bomb.

“I’ll never help them fight any sort of war,” Torren says quietly, “Never in a thousand years.”

“When do you think it’ll end?” I ask. “The war I mean.”

“Who knows,” Torren says with a sigh, “maybe in a day maybe in four-hundred years.”

With the war happening and the possibility of dropping bombs, I stay clear of the forest for several months. In all that time I don’t see Torren.

When I next see Torren it’s not in the forest.

I visit our place in the woods and find a note pinned to a tree. It asks me to come. At the bottom of the page is scrawled an address.

By the time I reach the address that was given, my heart is leaping with worry and I’m about to freeze from the chilling wind. I knock on the front door. Once. Twice. Finally, I resort to ringing the doorbell.

I hear the heavy stamping of boots and an older man I imagine to be Torren’s father opens the door. As the wind whistles inside the house, I explain that Torren asked me to come. With an impatient grunt and a jerk of his head, he invites me inside.

It’s only when I step into the room that I realize the man is dressed in a soldier’s uniform. My heart thumps.

However, to my relief, the man introduces himself in a gruff voice as Torren’s father. But as I follow him deeper inside the house, I realize that my hands are shaking badly.

And when I enter the dining room and see Torren, I freeze.

The uniform, the badge, the boots, the belt, the gun… I stare at Torren in the center of the dining room fully clothed in a soldier’s uniform.

Behind me, Torren’s father makes some sounds in his throat.

“I...I’m going to war,” Torren says slowly. I stare at him. “I won’t be fighting…” but that’s when Torren’s father interrupts.

“You may not at the beginning, but I’ll have you fighting by the end. You won’t see the people you kill. Besides, it doesn’t really matter.”

“It most certainly does matter!!” Torren roars, spinning around and dashing up the wooden stairs. I look after him, wondering whether to follow.

“I won’t stop you,” a deep voice rumbles softly, “but in these moods, he can be...different.” I turn and see Torren’s father. He doesn’t look how he sounded a moment ago, all strict and mad. Instead, there’s a lingering melancholy in his eyes.

I walk up the stairs.

As I turn the corner to the room at the end of the hall, I knock.

“Come in,” Torren says stiffly. I slowly open the door.

Torren is a silhouette against three large windows from which light is streaming onto the hardwood floor of his room. On the windowsills are animals skulls, feathers, seashells, a piece of coral. The two bookshelves standing on either side of the windows are filled with books. Various small flutes and pipes are spread across them. Against the back wall, the one I’m closest to is a large piano. And in his hands, Torren holds an elegant violin, poised to play.

“How did you know it was me?” I ask.

“Father never knocks,” Torren replies. After a few tense moments, Torren says in a strained voice, “It’s because he always needs control! Control over his life, over mine! He even needs control over the war! … that’s one thing he won’t be able to get though, the war, and he knows it. So he controls me instead… and I let him.” The end of Torren’s sentence is slow but full of anger. After about a minute of uncomfortable silence, I can’t bear it any longer.

“Can you play all these? The pipes and piano and all?” I ask breaking the silence.

“No, I can only play the violin. The others I just have.”

“Then play it,” I say, watching, waiting. But to my surprise, Torren lowers the instrument. He turns.

“I haven’t played it since my mother died. That was the last day I played and the last day I will.” He set the violin and bow on one of the bookshelves. Disappointed and uncertain of what to say, I stand there in the room flooded with light.

Torren sits down at the piano stool and starts his fingers dancing across the piano keys.

“I thought you said you couldn’t play,” I say.

He turns, “I can’t, I never learned,” he says suddenly slamming his fist onto the deepest note in a thunderous crash.

“You still make beautiful music,” I say. Torren is silent. Staring at the keys under his fingers.

“Tomorrow,” Torren says, “Tomorrow I’m going to war.” There was something in his eyes, something that told me he wasn’t one of those glorious young war hawks who would run off to battle the first chance they got, nor was he a dutiful old officer fighting for his country. Torren was a thinker, he couldn’t fight in a war.

“Well then,” I say, not sure what I should tell him. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says standing up. He goes back to the violin and picks it up. I wonder if he’ll play it, play it before he goes to war. But he doesn’t. He stands in the same position he was in when I first came in. Alert, resolute, reflective, but frozen in time.

When I go downstairs I find Torren’s father. He’s sitting in a large chair smoking.

“You can’t do it,” I say. He looks at me in surprise.

“Can’t what?” he asks.

“You can’t make Torren fight because he won’t, and if you put him in battle he’ll be killed!” I say angrily.

I wasn’t planning to run out and I didn’t really realize what I was doing until I had stomped out into the icy air.

That night I stay up, watching a candle burn. Thinking about Torren. And when I wake up the next morning I know that he is already gone.

Anxious, I finally write to Torren. I don’t know if he’ll get my letter, but about a week afterward, I get a note. It’s from Torren. He says that he’s fine and avoids the topic of the war or what he’s doing. I quickly write back to him.

For many months we write back and forth like this. He talks about the people he meets and the things that he sees, but never describes a battle. He never even mentions the war.

When I receive a letter that merely says: ‘Placed in 42nd infantry.’ I doubt that Torren will ever make it home. For the next few weeks, I don’t get any more letters.

When I hear that the 42nd infantry is returning home, I don’t know what emotion to feel. I am scared that he might not return, but I must know. Fear battles with hope.

I wait in my small house, watching a candle like that first night when Torren left. At midnight I still have heard no news from Torren. And yet, I refuse to stop waiting. Dawn comes and finally, I think that he might be gone.

That’s when someone knocks on my door. Leaping from my chair I fling the door open. A man stands there, he hands me an envelope. I take it and shut the door. My hands shake violently. My sight isn’t exactly clear and I sit down to open the letter.

A strange feeling of unrealistic hope floods me as I see Torren’s handwriting, or at least what I think is Torren’s handwriting, although there’s no signature and I’m not ready to be certain of anything. Scrawled on the yellowed paper are the words: ‘Come at once.” I leap outside and run toward Torren’s house.

I am hoping that Torren is alive and that I won’t be met with his sober-faced father who will tell me that he is dead. When I knock on the door, Torren’s father opens the door like he did last time.

“Come in,” he growls in his gruff voice.

I don’t wait for him to say anything else, I come inside and then dart into the living room and up the worn stairs.

The door to Torren’s room stand’s open, the sunlight from the windows filtering out the doorway.

He never had the door open before.

I step into the door’s entrance.

The room is exactly as I saw it last time with the bookshelves and the piano and the feathers, with the fine, clear light streaming onto the floor. And just like last time, Torren stands in front of the central window, his violin poised to play. And as I watch, he slowly draws the bowstring across his instrument and for the first time in several years, music echoes from the little violin making the light flicker to its song.

Heavy droplets of rain were being pelted from swirling grey sky, that first day we met.

The drizzles of water streaked across the reflective surface of my thick glasses, dripped into my tousled hair, ruined my coat. I stared at my shoes as I walked, hunched over, hands stuffed in my pockets. That day, I was wearing Converse the color of white sand, the kind that had stretched out across the splashing coastline when I visited the beach, that one colorful summer, eternities ago. Now, all that I noticed came through in a disorganized jumble of dull thoughts, one at a time. Everything felt worlds away, as if I were on a separate plane of existence, so far from the world, surrounded by nothing but a lonely quiet, with only distant chatter in the background, blurred out into nothing but indistinguishable murmurs to supposedly comfort me. Around, I knew there were people. There were always people. Each, with their own, individual life, their own, individual story, that means the world to them and next to nothing to anyone else in the world. I’d bet you could zoom in on each and every person casually walking down the street next to me right now, laughing or crying or smiling or chattering, whatever they may be doing, and they could tell you a story, a story worth telling, of love and loss and happiness and obstacles—but I couldn’t. Because the only thing I would have to tell is of an endless void, filled with darkness and failure, that stretches over the course of 35 pointless years, on and on and on, and will continue to do so until it is like I never existed to begin with. Because that’s all I’ve ever been, anothing insignificant part of a faded backdrop, grey and dreary, like the sky. The darkness has been broken through once, and only once, and that was by my mother, who shone a light and revealed the path ahead, who pointed me to look up from my books and become a write. But she’s long gone now, and even her incredible optimism will dissipate into nothingness once I am buried and everyone forgets, like they always do. That was me. Merely the pessimistic shadow of a defeated writer, who creates nothing but monotone worlds that are just as monotonous as he.

I suppose you could say that I fell, in a way not so different from so many stories out there, but that wouldn’t be quite accurate. I was pushed, plain in simple, both quite literally and figuratively. There was an accident, and there was a girl, as there always is. And, finally, I had a story worth telling, though I can’t quite say that it was my story.

The crisp morning air pinched at my cheeks, accompanied by drops of rain that splashed against my face and formed a continuous metronome of pitter-patters. The day had been off to an uneventful start. Wake up, drink coffee, wrestle with writer’s block until you give up and go take a walk to clear your head. I was on the “taking a walk” part. Really, I knew it was a lie. What little time I had was up. I wrote a story, it got a bit of recognition, nothing since. And I knew that. My career as a writer was as good as over, but I might as well chase after the idea of it a little while longer, humor myself. What I do now won’t matter in a hundred years, after I die, so why not. Haven’t got much else to do with my waste of a life. Besides, I needed groceries. There were people, plenty of them, moving along with their lives around me, while I stayed here, stuck. Not literally. I was actually walking around with crowd. Only an idiot would stand still in the middle of the sidewalk during this hour, when everyone was rushing to work or school or something in between. I hung my head, glasses slipping down my nose and hair forward. One foot in front of the other. Step, step, st—. I feel the hand of someone trying to push through the thick crowd on my back, and the splash of a puddle under my foot as I toppled to the ground, thudding to the concrete sidewalk. I felt someone step on my coat as I struggled to get up. Footprints landed across the edges of the fabric and yanked at my hair. My clothing was soaked through. Scrambling to get up, I felt a grip on my hand. I stared up at a silhouette, arm outstretched. I hoisted myself up and was pulled into a thin space between two stores. The first thing I notice is red hair, short and a little frazzled. I push my glasses up my nose and run a hand through my muddy hair.

“Looks like you’re having a lovely day,” the thread of words. followed by a slight laugh, and the ends of a mouth quirking up. Only then do I see them. The tubes and machines that trail behind her and sit between her nose and mouth, life itself. I pause for half a moment, feeling the pressure building up in my chest.

“Sure seems like it,” I smile back. It feels as though the rain has stopped. She offers her hand.

“Rosaline,” I stand on the edge of a building, staring. Do I move, do I jump? No, scrap that. Don’t hesitate. I jump.

“Alex,” Someone had pulled me into the rest of the world. I was no longer on my own plane.

~

Perhaps a month passed, maybe two, I don’t quite know. What I do know is that the world began to repaint itself. It was like I removed the filter from the photo that was my life. Everything became so, absolutely vivid. The blank pages suddenly began to swirl with dancing colors, brilliant what-ifs. My Converse were no longer the color of distant, sandy beaches, but rather the color of her carpet. My life, which had shattered into a thousand pieces, and now I was piecing it back together with superglue. Call me cliché, but there isn’t another way to describe it. It was a story, but it wasn’t. It was real. And it came in three parts. The beginning was that dreary January day. The middle went something like this.

The park was overflowing with color. Green-apple leaves were dipped in dripping yellow sun, laying themselves under blooming flowers the color of rubies. I can’t tell you what shoes I was wearing that day, just that her eyes were a green that I could have sworn was more vibrant than the greenery itself. We sat among a sea of grass, basking in the golden daylight, a tangle of red hair and green grass and scrapped ideas. I scribbled at a notebook, writing all the good ideas and the bad ones.

“I like your hair,” she said, absently, “It reminds me of coffee.” I laugh.

“Boring. Yours is lovelier, it’s the color of autumn leaves. The kind that entangle themselves into your hair and crunch under your shoes.” She smiled.

“I’ve got a question for you,”

“Shoot.”

“Do you, uh, enjoy being a writer?” I look up, slightly surprised.  

“Y’know, I didn’t before, but... now, I think I do.”

“Huh...is it...because of me?” I laugh.

“Absolutely,” Her face fell, though I didn’t know why at the time.

“So, say, I left. Would you still write?” I considered the question, staring up at the pooling blue sky.

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. I don’t really want to have to think about it,” I turn to her, and watch her shape her face back into a smile. God, I really was oblivious.

Weeks later, she seemed exhausted. Dark circles lined her eyes, and she’d gotten thinner. When I asked, she brushed me off. I figured she was just going through a bit of a rough time. I was wrong.

I began to worry. She hadn’t been responding to my texts. Had I done something wrong? My phone dings. Excited, I look to find a text message. Where’d she been? What happened? All I get are three short phrases.

“I’m sorry.”

“Goodbye.”

“I love you.”

And nothing else. The darkness has crept in again. Once again, I am being pulled away from the rest of the world, dropped back into my lonely plane of existence. The tears started to flow, salty and hot, and I did all I knew how to. I ran, and I ran and I ran, until my legs couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped to the ground on the icy sidewalk, in the place where we first met. And I drowned out the murmurs of the rest of the world with my screams.

“Why didn’t you come today at Prize Ceremony in my school?” Angelina growled while opening a Prague style iron wrought gate.

Struggling to keep herself balanced, Mrs. Khan lurched towards her daughter and replied “Sorry dear! I was....”

“Drunk? Huh? This is what you want to say?” Her face flushed red “Mom it was my big day! I waited for you so long but you didn’t come as usual! It is my fault. If I would not have expected you to come, I would not have been hurt”

The tears from her almond shaped eyes burst forth and she ran with all speed to her room. The more she tried to hold them, the more they flowed. She hit the wall and tried to scream but no sound came out of her mouth.

Drying her tears, Angelina saw herself in the large circular mirror embedded on the golden painted wall with black roses on it. It was a beautiful antique intricately framed hanging wall mirror that was found by her in store, covered in dust. The only reason why she hung that mirror in her room was that she felt that they both were somehow same, both worthless and unimportant.  She has not seen herself with such concentration for months. Her face lacked liveliness now, she looked wan and tired. It is true that eyes are windows of the soul. Agony as well as gentleness can be seen in them. She did not know which pain was bigger, the sudden death of her father or seeing her mother dying slowly.

She felt as if she was the only guardian of the house. There was too much burden on her as she was the only child of her parents. She had to be strong enough to deal with the problems even though she felt powerless and fed up. Removing her eyes from mirror, she displaced her trophy on the shelve and then went to sleep.

                                          ***

“Angelina! Angelina! Open the door! Your mother is burning up with fever!” someone cried at the door while tapping it loudly. With state of confusion, she woke up immediately and opened the door. It was her granny, weeping bitterly. “Your mom is in her room. She has high fever. Please take her to the hospital. My old bones don’t allow me to take her to the hospital alone”

Angelina ran to her mother’s room, lifted her up and made her sit on the back seat of the Taxi that was called already by her granny. Mrs. Khan laid her head on Angelina’s lap and started murmuring something which Angelina couldn’t hear nor she wanted to. “You have eyes of your father. Ah! He loved me a lot...” Mrs. Khan said with slurred words and a loud voice, while gazing her daughter lovingly. However, Angelina had an odd feeling upon hearing this. She has not heard this type of compliment from her mother before. A part of her was happy after hearing this compliment whereas a part of her felt sorrowful about her mother’s condition. She looked fixedly on her mother. Her mother was a complete stranger to her now in every way. She has lost a lot of weight in a few period of time and her blood vessels had become spider-like. It was all beautiful 7 and half years ago, Angelina thought to herself.

                                      ***      

Doctors and nurses were all surrounding Mrs. Khan’s hospital bed, attaching IV drips into her veins. Seeing the room, Angelina immediately understood why people take flowers to the hospitals. Despite the technological advancements, there is something in our nature that requires natural beauty for healing process. The hospital’s room was all white. From curtains to tiles and from patient’s gown to doctors’, nothing had colors. It felt as if some sort of vacuum was used which had drained all the colors. The doctors handed Angelina a chart who at that time was sitting on a chair, her face facing the floor.

Name: Lora Khan

Status: Stable

Admittance: 4 p.m.

Cause of admittance: jaundice due to cirrhosis of liver

Duration: unknown

Angelina’s hands trembled as she read the report. Adrenaline flooded her system. Several thoughts filled her mind. Is it how she was going to lose her mother? It was a moment when the world wheeled chaotically about and she suddenly realized, 'I'm still here...', but things will never be the same again. She descended the stairs of hospital with full speed, took a Taxi and ran to her mother’s room speedily. Looking around with watery eyes, she was standing in the middle of the room. Everything was in order and organized. As she was taking a closer look of room, her mother’s favorite sweater caught her eyes. It was black in color with white beads and buttons. Inching her nose a little nearer to the sweater, Angelina breathed in her mother’s scent which smelt heavenly. She had deprived herself of this fragrance for so many years. Emotional pain flowed out of her every pore. It felt as if her mind has been shredded from inside. How cruel she has become? She is the one who has done injustice to her mother as well as to herself. Her head now ached too much. Is death the only solution? Are all going to be happy if I die? She grabbed the chair so that her hysterical crying would not cause her to fall to the ground. Her mind had become numb.

“Dear Mom and Granny,

I know I am the horrible daughter.

I am not even a second choice.

I am not the clever one.

I am not the prettier one.

I am not the talented one.

I am the one you people are not proud of.

I am the “Why are you even here?” one.

Sorry for everything and I want to tell you people that I LOVE YOU BOTH EVEN THOUGH I DO NOT SHOW” she said in a loud voice.

Listening to her crying, Granny came and tried to hold her back, even though her eyes had become transparent too with tears but Angelina was too wild to handle. “Granny!” Angelina screamed while hugging her, “Am I that bad that you people hate me? Am I the reason of this condition of Mama?”

“My love! Stop crying. You are not the reason. Nor she hates you.”

“Then why doesn’t she attend and enjoy my success?’’

“Dear!” she replied with a sigh “she loves you more than you think. The only reason why she does not attend your ceremonies is that she does not like you to be ashamed in front of everyone. Remember once you said her   ‘Mom! Look at my friend’s mother. How perfectly she maintains herself while you! You are such an old fashioned calf. You make me feel embarrassed. I have a reputation too in school that you ruin effortlessly.’ She was broken from inside. From that day onward, she started drinking and made herself reserved. The house is like a tomb now for her, she keeps everything to herself, nursing her wounds and thinking of your father. Even then there is not a single day she didn’t come to your room at night and didn’t smile while looking at you, sleeping.”

Her heart skipped a beat after listening these words. “I am the worst kid a mother can have!” she wailed.

“Honey! Don’t cry. Remember, as long as you are breathing. It is never too late to start a new beginning.”

"I was always glad, whenever you saw me out of the corner of your eye-” He said, in the dark apartment living room. “Even when you got scared, I was always glad you shifted your glance in my direction because I was afraid of what would happen if you noticed the much darker, and bigger thing to your right.” He looked at the shivering girl in front of him, who was no longer a girl and now a beautiful young woman, a young woman whom he had watched grow up, a woman he had helped protect ever since she was a baby, at this moment he felt a slight twinge in his chest. “But now my dear, I need you to notice, because I don’t think I can distract you any longer”

The women looked at him, Andronika was her name, and the apartment they were sitting in belonged to her, and it had, only moments ago been empty until she had felt an icy cold presence, one that she had felt so many times before ever since she was a little girl, one that she had always associated with danger.

He knew she was scared, he could see her paralyzed on her living room couch, thinking of a plan for escape- It had always been hard, knowing she was scared of him when he had always loved her so much, but now was a time for action, and he needed her to warm up to him fast or he didn’t think he could save her.

“You’re right to be scared, and I know you probably have a lot of questions, but now I need you to trust me, ok,” He said awkwardly, knowing it sounded cliche and a little idiotic.

“Ok,” Adronika said, shifting her position and trying to regain her breath and fight off the temptation to leap up from the couch and lock herself in the nearest room.

“So-er, can I ask one question?” She asked

“Yes of course, sorry I didn’t mean you couldn’t ask questions, just- trust me” He laughed awkwardly.

“What’s going on?” Adronika asked, who now realized she had no idea what was happening.

“Oh yes, well I guess I should start from the beginning. My name is Alastair, I have been protecting you since you were born, don’t really know why, I think I was assigned to you, or your family, not really sure, it was a while ago and I lost the paperwork- uh anywho” He said, trying to crack a smile, though when Adronika twinged a little he realized this must be quite terrifying seeing as he was basically a black cloud of smoke with a mans face hidden somewhere inside. “Well ever since you were small I saw something dark next to you, I discovered I had some sort of sense whenever it was around you, which I guess makes sense since you have ties to me, I have ties to you, you have ties to it and it apparently also has ties to you-” His eyes shifted up when he said this, as if he was checking to make sure it was factually accurate. “I don’t fully understand this so you’ll have to bear with me here- I was never sure why I was supposed to be protecting you, but as time went on I had some time to think and grew a few theories and I discovered that the thing I was protecting you from, was not, as I had previously thought, an extension of you. Well as you started to grow up, had new experiences, I noticed the thing get stronger, I was so afraid you would notice it- so afraid, but only because of the stories I had heard”

“What stories?” She asked, taking a steady deep breath.

“There are these things- don’t ask me what they’re called, I can’t recall the name at this juncture nor at any juncture because I never bothered learning it, anyway, they can become very powerful, from what I understand- I’ll get to what they are in a moment hang on. Most people have a very ‘downgraded’ version of one, I believe these are called Primis Tenebris, I think it means dusk, it’s Latin I believe, though don’t quote me on that. Anyway most people have one, but it is relatively harmless, stronger ones can bring on insanity though meds have been able to keep them subdued. Anyway, the strong thing, what I believe you to have, it’s pure darkness, pure fear, it feeds on any sort of bad emotion. I don’t know how you have survived this long with one- I like to think I have something to do with it, though I won’t take all the credit for your strong mind. Anyway, it destroys, wishes to hollow out the human, feast, make you do all matter of unspeakable things, I believe it wishes to make you into one- the process would take a whole lot of emotional and physical torture, ghastly business. Sorry, we are getting off topic, any more questions?”

“If it’s always with me- or mostly always with me, then where is it now?” She asked, finally coming to her sense and timidly reaching for a lamps switch to brighten up the room.

“Well you’ve seemed to have starved it, see while it was getting stronger so were you. Its job is to turn you into it. You have done beautifully with not letting that happen, you’ve always been so happy.”

“Right so-er, how do we stop it?” She asked, trying to be more blunt, despite thousands of questions now swirling inside of her head.

“It will be very difficult, though I am glad you have asked. It’s going to be coming back soon, it’s been feeding- much grosser then it sounds by the way, and we need to make sure your mind is not in your body when that happens, this will confuse it, we should then be able to get in contact with my friend Horatio, we’ll have to move fast so things may not make a lot of sense, all I need you to do is trust me, know I am your friend, and please please please do not be afraid. You’ll be going through a lot of emotions in a very short period of time and I need you to stay positive.” He finished by reaching out a hand “I believe our journey is beginning!” He said his fingers hovering near her forehead.

“Sorry, who’s head are we jumping into?” she asked nervously, flinching when his hand got near her.

“We are going to be joining Horatio, ready? One, two, thr-” and they were sucked inside, first there was nothing but black, then an oozing sensation and Alastair found himself in a white room next to Andronika, he scanned the room, he knew what he was looking for- it was a blue door rimmed with the color coal.

“What are you looking for?” asked Andronika

“Just tell me if you find a blue doo- ah yes there it is,” He said looking to the door directly in front of them, “I know, it wasn’t there before now, was it? Things tend to work like that in here, now in you go” and with that, he opened the door for the both of them and stepped inside.

“Where are we going?” Andronika asked as she and Alastair walked through the room.

“We are going to find Horatio, we have entered his mind, or a part of it he has left open to friends anyway” He said walking through room to room, all around him the rooms were changing scenes, one room was dirty with broken liquor bottles littering the floor and empty syringes lying on tables while the next room was warm and inviting, and had various stuffed animals lying on the ground. “It’s been a while since I was last here, it has changed a bit, but I guess that’s how it is with Horatio, constantly changing.” The rooms continued to change, one room had people lying unconscious, another had two teenage boys standing outside in posh schoolboy uniforms sharing a cigarette.

Finally Alastair and Andronika came to a room with a canopy bed, a desk, an old typewriter and a very tall, thin man (6 ft 4 to be precise) with bright orange hair, black high-heeled boots (They must have added at least 3 inches to his already impressive stature bringing him to be around 6ft 7)

“Aww Horatio, there you are, this is the woman Andronika, who we’ll be helping” Said Alastair gesturing towards Andronika.

“Hello darling, so good to meet you, I hope it wasn’t too hard to find me, I’m pretty sure I made it easy this time, but my mind can be so convoluted what with occasionally having to share it that it can be hard to tell, you’ll notice  Alastair that I kept it a lot cleaner than usual? Great, now I guess Alastair has already filled you in on everything, what, or whom I should say, you’ll be fighting? What’s that- a sort of? Leave it to Alastair to make my job harder.” He said, asking questions then answering them as soon as the answer had just barely crossed anyone's mind.

“Pardon how-” Began Andronika

“How do I know the answer to your questions? You’re currently inside of my mind, we’re basically one. Now enough questions, even if you have them please hold your tongue, a lot of this could have been solved if Alastair hadn’t lost his paperwork- you could have read it first, oh well. Anyway, the being you are fighting is named Melaina, greek I think, anyway, soon we are gonna be fighting it, and I don’t mean swords and fist fighting raw raw.  Melaina has at this point implanted apart of itself in Andronika’s mind, so it can still have a hold over her when it’s not around, the only reason it’s not here is that my mind hasn’t been mine for a while and nothing that serious could ever find its way in or out. Anyway, we will have to remove the part of Melaina that has been implanted into Andronika’s mind, that means we will all be entering your mind. I’m not sure how we’ll remove it but I know Andronika has to ultimately be the one to do it. I think everyone is caught up now. Ready?” He looked to both of them, stepped forward then pushed his hands onto their foreheads (It was hard to tell where Alastair's forehead was, but Horatio seemed to have found it.) He then pressed in hard.

Now they were back into the blackness, the strange oozing feeling returned, only this time it didn’t stop, Alastair called out to Andronika and Horatio, he felt space vibrate. He felt like he was drowning or suffocating in a cold icy liquid that was somehow wet and dry at the same time. He was stationarily swimming through pudding.

He was in a fog and could no longer remember where he was or why he was there. He thought he was looking for something but now thought he better relax into the ooze. Something grabbed his hand and pulled up, he felt light again and was suddenly on hard ground, he felt the air and could think straight again.

“Alastair!” Ejaculated Horatio, panting and wiping the ooze off of his hands and onto his slim black pants, “Are you o- what the hell” he breathed, looking at the dark space around them. It was black with a thick fog all around them, the room felt humid and it was hard to breathe.

“Bugger sure did implant itself in ‘er- probably has all sorts of nasty things planned, you know, a line of defense, should be pretty quick now-” Alastair gave him a stern look, “I mean for either of them. Wow, I’ve seen some nasty things but this is truly something- this is where the dark things hide.”

“What do we do now?” asked Alastair, now feeling extremely uneasy.

“We? This is all you mate, I got you in now it’s your turn, you know why you’re here? Yea, to give her strength-” Horatio was cut off by a horrible scream, the ground around them shook hard and the air flushed. “That can be your inspiration, do your thing, tap into her energy or whatever it is you do, probably something pretty cliche- is that the right word?” Horatio continued to mutter to himself over words while Alastair was tormented with the sounds of screams.

He motioned for Horatio to be quiet and began concentrating. At first he felt nothing but then felt something comparable to a ton of bricks being bashed into his head- a flash, Andronika was trapped in a maze- now she was in a bright red room surrounded by her family at the dinner table, he felt immense pain- now she was in her bed, there was a dark figure at the corner of the room- Alastair focussed on the good images, he could feel her pain. He opened his eyes and he was in a raging room watching from the corner. Andronika looked still but he could feel her pain. He closed his eyes and was now in a calm baby blue room. In the room was a crib, and in the crib was a baby- Andronika, next to the baby was Melaina, the baby started crying, he walked over next to it and put a hand on the side of its face, once the baby stopped crying the thing faded away, suddenly he understood what he had to do. He opened his eyes, for real this time and was now next to a crying Andronika, across from her was a raging Melaina, he stood next to Andronika and put his hand on her shoulder, he could feel how scared she was, he knew if he could calm her down she could take down Melaina, he whispered into her ear “It’s all right I’m here, you are doing so well, you’re almost there, just remember I will always be right here.” He waited for a while, he could feel the room boil, then slowly it began to cool down, he felt an oozing again, this time soothing, he closed his eyes and relaxed into it, when he finally opened them again he was in Andronika’s apartment sitting across from her just as he had been. Her face was wet from tears though she was smiling. She scooted closer to Alastair, put her arms around him, and hugged him.

The feeling of knowing what happened, seeing what happened, and not doing anything. That feeling that will stay at the bottom of my stomach forever. That one feeling that will not let anyone sleep a peaceful night. The feeling that everyone around will hate me if they found out. Except someone the only person I can feel comfortable around, someone I can trust. The only thing is, can they beat all the obstacles and reach me or will it be too late?  Will they give up halfway or will they even start?

    My name is Naomi Lucy Main, I am a twenty-one years old. I try to live a normal life, but it is hard to with my past. I am about to be a freshman at Mains College. This college was made by my family, my parents wanted the best school for me. This school is for the richest and well-known families only. Also, what I like to call the rudest school, everyone wants to show off their diamond earrings and gold necklaces.

    “Naomi,” I hear a faint voice yell, “Naomi Main!”

I jump up and slam my book shut, I see Aunt Luna looking around on the top of the hill. Her light pink gown pulled up so, it will not touch the dirty ground. Her plump face which matched her pink gown. I can hear her mumble under her breath. I try to figure out what she was saying…

Then I realized, oh no, today is the day. I quickly gather everything around me. I throw everything in my bag and sprint towards the house. When I reach the gate of the mansion I see George. I head towards my room which is in his direction. When George looks my way I head towards him.

“George, if anyone asks I am not in my room,” I whisper as I walk by.

“Ok, bye,” I hear him say as I run towards my room.

    I turn around and mouth, “Thank you.”

    George smiles, George is a forty-five year old man. He is my personal butler and cook. George is a funny guy he is more a father then my real dad is. My dad is thirty-nine years old. He was never around after my mom died everyone says that he died as well but, I know he is out there. Not wanting anything to do with me, the only thing he does is provide a house, food, and servants. My dad, Francisco Mario Banteen Main, never actually seen me in person or talked to me since I was six years old. Back then I was as cute as a button, now I am just a normal human. Some say that I am a spitting image of my mom, but she is way prettier than I am. My mom had very long brown hair with blond streaks and bright blue eyes. Even though, I look a lot like my mom I still received my darker skin color from my dad. I only seen a few pictures of my dad and I do not fully remember what he looks like.

George tries to keep me safe and avoids telling me anything about my family. George says I act like my mom when I am scared or mad. Maybe that is why he know where my secret hideout is. I ran up the stairs towards my room and slowly open the door. The loud scream of my door could be heard across the world. I flinch hoping not to be heard I slowly close the door with another loud screech. I throw my book bag onto the foot of my bed and bend down. I pull out a box from under my bed and set it onto my dresser. I open the box and pull out a journal, pencil, and a key. A very old key that could not be found at any normal store.

I tuck the key into my back pocket and head towards the door. I open the door again preparing myself to hear a loud creak. I slowly open the door hearing only what I expected. Then, I put my foot out slowly trying to do something I do not know what it is. Maybe I saw it in a movie or something. Perhaps I thought it was more suspenseful. I rushed to the stairway and peeked around the corner.

“Cut! Anna, you are doing it wrong,” I heard the director yell, “from the top!”

After I finished doing the scene for the one-hundredth time we were able to go home. It is very tiring being the head actress, though it is very exciting. We started filming back in May, this movie has changed many times. Every time we had to reshoot the scene with even for the smallest difference. Sometimes, because someone looked towards the wrong person or rolled their eyes the wrong way. Once, we had to reshoot a scene from about a month ago because they did not like a background actors outfit. I sometimes wish I stayed at home on my phone, admiring actresses in shows and movies. Instead, people stay at home admiring me and the movies I am in.

When I reached my apartment I stumbled into my bed. Then a huge relief went over my shoulders. Even though this is my dream job it is very tiring. “When will this movie be finished,” I wondered. Naomi Lucy Main has been my life for the past two months. What will I do afterwards, am I going to find another movie or will I take a short break. Some fans may be devastated if I made the decision of taking a break. I really need some time off though. Being an actress is not easy. Some days I can barely leave my apartment because of the poparazzi.

When I was younger I used to say my family is all I care about.  I prefer them over my friends, but now I rarely have time to see them. If I can take a break from work that would be the first thing I do. I would head back to Arizona, where I was born and visit my family. They were very supportive on my decision of moving in order to pursue my dream job. I moved to California when I was 20 years old. I have lived in Los Angeles, California for five years now. At first I was at acting school learning, but now I am one of the most famous actress alive. Of course I will still have hard times in my feature, but I will have to surpass them.