I checked my phone. 10:26. It didn’t seem particularly late and yet, the whole city seemed asleep. Tranquil, in a way that I almost didn’t think it was possible for anyone to actually be out there.

I had been standing on the bridge for nearly 20 minutes. My family still hadn't realized I’d left but I had expected as much. I looked over the guardrail. It was about 30 feet down to the water, the river littered with jagged rocks. 

I pulled myself over the rail. I had gone through this moment about a million times in my head, but still I paused. The small voice had returned to tell me to stop, but it was drowned out by a familiar emptiness and the rushing sound of the water. Do it. Just go alr-

“Hey!” I turned, looking for the voice and found a girl looking up at me from the side of the river. “It doesn’t have to end this way…” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years have passed and I’ll never forget that night. But now I’m standing at the altar, watching the girl walk down the aisle. I smile tearfully, glancing at the bridge in the distance.  I’ve made it.

  Everyone was in black. I caught a hold of my two best friends and then quickly lowered my gaze. I couldn't bear meeting anyone's eyes.  Everyone was here because of me. It was my fault, if only I had done something! I couldn't bare standing in front of Alice’s coffin. I quickly made my way across the crying faces into the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes puffed and bagged. I hadn’t slept the last nine days in guilt, guilt of someone's death. My parents had tried to convince me that it wasn’t my fault. As if saying those words would forgive me. I glared at my reflection. “Sam”, I turned around, behind me stood Alice’s younger sister, Lila. She wore a black dress, but was grinning from ear to ear. She probably didn’t know what had happened. What if she asked me something? What would I say?  Everyone was here today because Alice committed suicide, because even when I had the chance I hadn’t said a word. I couldn't help myself and wrapped Lila into a gentle hug. She was about four but looked exactly like Alice. She would probably not remember her sister by the time she grows up, she will just have pictures and stories. More tears flooded my face. I squeezed Lila and let out a hard smile as I let go of her warm body. I pretended to fix my hair as I waited for Lila to leave the bathroom. I didn't want to go out yet. I buried my face into my hands as I started to cry. Only if I had been a better person. If only I hadn’t just stood there and pretended everything was okay. Only if I hadn’t listened to them. If I hadn’t been lost in my own world, I would have seen her pain, her endless struggle and most of all, I would have seen her, her for who she really was. I sat down on the counter, in front of the mirror and tried to understand what had happened. 

Alice was bullied, bullied to hell. When she first came into the school, she was the new girl with dark brown eyes, glasses and frizzy black hair. She was like everyone else except for the fact that she was brilliant. Alice was really smart! She had just moved out of a school for gifted youth but since there were no gifted schools near our neighborhood, she was at our school. At first, in second grade it was small things like name-calling and pushing but by the time we got to fifth grade, Alice was beaten up every day. Her social media posts had more thumbs down than up. Her locker was always filled with mean notes. She was picked last for everything but her marks never suffered. She always topped the class. It’s not like I was the one to call her names or  write mean notes but my blunder was that I never stood up for her. I was a bystander. I was too afraid to be different. I didn’t do anything mean but I didn’t do anything nice either. The guilt had flooded through me like a pool of water but now it was too late. I knew, eventually I would have to get up. Get up and face the real world, but I didn’t want to. Not yet. If only I had one more chance, one more chance to amend my deeds!

“Get up Sam! You're going to be late for school.” Did I just, wait, what, Alice, funeral. My brain was racing. Alice was alive! It was just a nightmare! A nightmare that I did not want to turn into a reality. It was an opportunity for me to make better choices. “Samantha, you have 5 minutes to get yourself downstairs” yelled my mom. I turned to my side and felt that my pillow was wet. Had I been crying? I quickly dragged myself out of bed fighting against all my will. I knew if my mom ever called me by my full name, I was in trouble. I got ready while trying my very best to ignore the constant vibrations on my phone. My friends must be ready for the big day, a day which will ruin Alice’s life forever but I definitely was not. I spent the rest of the morning doing three things: trying to figure out how I was going to face my two best friends Tess and Nira, trying to understand the meaning of my dream and avoiding getting anywhere near my mom. “Sam,'' yelled mom. Tess and Nira are here.” I rushed downstairs. I had no intentions to share my dream and become a laughing stock of my friends. Tess and Nira were great friends but I had really started wondering whether they were good people. In my dream I had been in regret, in regret of Alice’s death. I was prepared to make a change, a change that was long awaited. I opened the door and let Tess and Nira in. “We’re so excited! We’re going to ruin her forever,” whispered Tess and Nira. They were smiling, grinning from ear to ear. I tried to smile back but my brain visualized Lila dressed in black. “We got the passwords to all her social media accounts.” I startled. They both were so busy that they didn't notice my reaction. “Now you just have to finish editing the last pictures. We wanted to let you have a pick on the filters,” Nira threw me a smile. I looked down. She was wearing black shoes just like the ones she was wearing in my dream. I usually didn't remember my dreams this well. I had a feeling that this was a signal, a signal for me to do something right. As my two friends laughed in sync, I counted the number of times I had tried to say something to stop them, to stand up against the bullies, to comfort Alice. I counted more than twenty before they stopped laughing and began talking again. “Come on Sam, here take my phone, we’re going to be late for school.” I glanced at her phone. Wow! they were good at editing. They had copied Alice’s face with other backgrounds and bodies and were planning to post them on her social media platforms. Some of them looked so realistic. “Which one is better, her face in a donkey's body or her face in a fat woman’s body?” asked  Nira. They started laughing joyfully again. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to lose my best friends but I didn’t want to hurt Alice either. I decided to question them and asked “Why are we doing this again?” I added the ‘again’ so that it seemed natural. “So we can hurt Alice, obviously” responded Tess. I couldn’t think of anything so I just nodded. “Hey, why don’t we finish these at school?” I suggested. Good idea, Sam! “Let’s start walking girls,” said Nira. “My mom wants me to go with her today. I will see you soon at school,” I mumbled and ran in. I needed some time to process all this information. What if this new plan stimulated Alice to committing suicide? I remembered how guilty I had felt in the dream, imagining living like that seemed impossible. I requested mom to drop me off to school.

As soon as I reached, I gave my mom a good-bye kiss and jumped off the car. I knew I had to do something, something to warn Alice of the upcoming danger, but how could I? I couldn’t break Tess and Nira’s trust, could I? I saw Alice walking through the school’s front doors. She wore a bright yellow hoodie with black pants. Behind her was a group of boys, already following her. I’d never noticed this before but Alice seemed hurt. The words from my dream came back to me, If only I hadn’t just stood there and pretended everything was okay. Only if I hadn’t listened to them. If I hadn’t been lost in my own world, I would have seen her pain, her endless struggle and most of all, I would have seen her, her for who she really was. I felt bad, really bad, but what could I do? They would just start hating me too. But Alice would have a friend. But I would be bullied. It was as if two sides of me were fighting, I had to choose what to do. I remembered the look on Alice’s parents face in my dream.

The bell rang and I promised myself that I would do something about Alice’s situation. As I scurried to my drama class, Tess and Nira joined me. They started talking about Alice. An idea sparked me and brought a lost smile on my face. Today in class, we would be working on monologue. We could pick any topic and were expected to act it out for three minutes. I quickly began planning out my act. I had already asked Mrs. Riviera if I could present first. My presentation would be sweet but simple. I was nervous and excited at the same time. When the time came, I stepped onto our make believe stage. I sighed and then began. “Hello fellow classmates and Mrs. Riviera. Today I will be acting about bullying.” I noticed some students threw weird looks at one another while others looked more intrigued. My palms started to sweat. I couldn’t overthink this. I took my position on stage. It was now or never. “There was once a girl, a victim of bullying.” I took a deep breath. “This girl was smart and kind.” Another breath. “But this girl was physically and mentally bullied for absolutely no reason.” I glanced around the class and made eye contact. Nira and Tess seemed confused and lost in some thoughts. I continued my monologue. “Some people pushed her, while others laughed along. There were some that did nothing, nothing at all. But in particular, there was a group, a group of friends, they never did anything mean, but for some odd reason, they decided to cyber bully her. They wanted to  hurt her without thinking about the consequences of their actions.” I paused and looked at Nira and Tess. They were in a position to almost bury themselves in the ground. “For the first time, I glanced at Alice and smiled. She looked pale and had a band aid on her head. I continued, “But then a miracle happened. They thought about their actions. What if this girl died tomorrow? would we laugh, would we not regret everything we had done? Would we ever forgive ourselves?” I paused again. I hoped the message would sink in. “They stopped and thought and they decided that maybe, maybe, this was an opportunity for them to prove themselves, a chance to prove themselves to the world. To show the world who they really were. So they did the right thing, they didn’t ruin her social life and instead they walked over to this girl and apologized for their misbehavior. I stopped and took a breath. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Riviera began to clap, soon the whole class was clapping. I stepped down from the stage and walked towards my two friends. They hugged me tight and whispered in my ears, “Thank you for being a true friend and showing us the right path.” My friends realized that what they were doing was wrong and we were able to make friends with Alice. Turns out Alice had a lot to share. She helped us study for our final exams and surprisingly we didn’t fail. As all four of us walked out of the eighth grade today, we were all in smiles. We promised we would always be there for one another!                     

It was only 3 AM when I awoke. Something was a little strange—A little different. I wander through my home like a ghost, guided by some unknown purpose, a hand gently pulling me.

 Out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I changed the diapers of my son, played tag with him, helped him with his algebra homework, and watched baseball when he’d come to visit.

Then into my kitchen where I would greet my wife after work and help her bake my son’s birthday cakes.

I am then brought to the entrance of my home. A framed picture of my family takes my gaze and I see in my place, an old gray-haired man in golden spectacles.

I see from the open door of my bedroom, that I never really awoke, now realizing that I never will. 

The being makes itself clear, one hand gesturing towards the Elysian Fields beyond my front door and one for my old, wrinkled hand. 

“Was I a good father?” I ask.

“You sure were, Thomas,” it replies in a soft whisper.

With that, we left behind the realm with which I knew so long, conclusively content with the role I played.

  No one really knows what happens inside a criminal’s head, I think. The smartest psychologist of course can theorize, but do criminals really think like the rest of the crowd? A million dollar question. 

    What if I told you that I shared fifty percent of DNA with a class-A criminal? Looking at me, would you believe me?

I’d like to think that I know what goes on inside my brother’s head. I like to think that I’m the only one who knows him, that I’m the only person he cares about. I’d like to be able to say, scream, yell, shout, you don’t know him like I do, you haven’t seen him, you don’t share the same blood, shut up about my brother! Bro. Big brother. Best friend?

Perhaps I should say I’d like to pretend, not I’d like to think. I’d like to think shows that I have a chance with these things, in the near future, he’ll come back, hug me with hands I know are blood-free, whisper, Apple! How you been? But I’d be lying to you, I’m sorry. 

I’ve never seen my brother, he began his criminal career before I was born. He’s probably forgot my name, forgotten he still has a home here, I don’t care, it’s fine. But maybe I’m exaggerating. I’ve talked to him, talked to him on those dramatically grim, little phones you see in those prisons in Hollywood movies. But after I turned ten I was never allowed back. It’s not a good place for you. I could barely understand my mom through the heavy traces of a Chinese accent, but the way her finger stroked my baby soft cheek and used her sleeve to wipe my runny nose, running it over the arch of my eyebrows, I felt the impact of her words. 

I’m sixteen now. In six years, a lot happens. From ages zero to six, you grow from a small pea to the size of a tiny human big enough to sit in a desk to read, write, speak. From ages ten to sixteen, who’s to say what can and can’t happen? 

***

At some point in the six years between age 10 and age 16, my brother sent me a greeting from prison; I first saw my dad was holding it in his right hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. I pretend like every paper that mentions him is a message he sends me, everyone can see it, but only I’ll understand what it means. 

This time, he left me a message telling me he was getting on death row for first-degree murder. 

Behind the island, my mom laughed, out of derision or disbelief, I couldn’t tell. My brother was a longtime enigma in the family, my dad called it a mutation, my mom said they picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. 

“No, no, no. Do not say my brother, just say a man. He is stranger to our family. We do not birth disappointments,” my mom would always reprimand me. 

He shares our last name, I’d rebut, he’s ours. I don’t know why I owed it to him to defend his honor, or whatever of it he had left, but it came naturally to me. Perhaps I just always wanted the idea of a big brother, this was somehow the closest I would get and it felt nice to have something to protect.

“Will we have to watch his execution?” I waited for the reply that seemed to never come. 

***

    We decided, or rather, my mom decided that we would go visit him once before his execution to see if he was “worth paying respects to”. How do you pay respects to someone writhing around in a chair, only stopping when the chemicals seize the life from his heart? I want to know.

    When we arrive at the prison, I’m nervous. The kind of nervous where you’re about to give a presentation in front of a judging crowd but you forgot the words. 

***

    I see them leading my brother to us by the elbow. He looks no different than how I expect him; he’s got my mom’s sly, almond eyes and the rascality of my dad’s flat nose and drifting upper lip with the classic spiky hair of Chinese boys. Seeing him in his cliche prison jumpsuit and handcuffs, I feel so fake, so confused, expecting a director to jump up and yell cut and everyone will instantly relax, laughing and talking about how his acting was so good and he’ll unclick his handcuffs and unbutton the jumpsuit, saying Apple, how was my performance? Did you like it? And I’ll respond, yes big brother and give him a hug and we’ll go home and perhaps we’ll learn about other criminals on the news, but none of those criminals will be my big brother. He’s not a criminal, is he? I don’t want him to be. 

    My brother arrives in front of us, sitting squarely in front of the shatterproof window, eyeing us hungrily, not like a predator and prey but like a woman window shopping; everything he wants and cannot have. Maybe the director fell asleep, he forgot to yell cut. Please let this scene be over, I pray. 

    He initiates the conversation.

    “How are you, Apple?”

    Hearing my name in his voice, so deep, unique, the kind you could instantly hear and know who it was, struck a chord with me. I should never have doubted that he would forget my name. I placed my fingertips on the glass and if he finds it odd, he doesn’t show it. He just smiles. I see and sense no malice in the wrinkles of his face. 

    “School is hard. But I’m going to graduate soon,” I force, should I feel bad for talking about my accomplishments when he has no more chance to accomplish? He just smiles, a sadness in his eyes. Maybe he wishes he could see me graduate. 

    “You must be excited,” he says. “At least you can do what I never did. I’m the proudest big brother in the world.” 

Perhaps it’s a joke, I think, seeing the way his upper lip lingers in the scoundrel smile of his, beaming. I just smile. I wonder what he'll eat for his last meal. Maybe he'll request dimsum. Or some classic steaming white rice, like we would eat around our wooden dinner table if we were a normal family.

    Oh god, please, director, where are you, yell cut already. I can’t take this.

***

    A month later, my brother’s verdict has been confirmed. His life is officially over. I used to say my life was over when I brought home a B-riddled report card home. I vow to stop.

    I know it when I’m in the cafeteria at lunch. I know when people make a wide berth around my table, like we’re magnets of the same charge and they simply can’t break the barrier surrounding me. 

    In front of me lies my cardboard lunch tray. On the right, I have mac and cheese, the powdery slop dished out from metal trays. On the left, I’ve got a small paper boat of celery and carrot sticks. I’m drinking chocolate milk from a straw. This reminds me of my brother's last meal. I pretend like I'm him. First I sip the chocolate milk, thinking about how my big brother would savor it. Would he eat the vegetables or mac and cheese first? I don't know, but I pretend I do. How do you eat knowing your death is minutes away? Maybe I should inspect every particle before I swallow; relish my last moments with my bodily functions. The rest of the cafeteria becomes silent as I block them out, it's just me and my brother and our feasting together. 

Oh, big brother, what are you eating for your last meal? 

His love was cotton candy at the circus 

The first boy I thought I loved

It came bagged and artificial

But its sweetness numbed all other senses

His cotton candy devoured me

I lost myself in his sugar-sweet words

I let them wrap me up in the fairy floss

Only to fall through when it dissolved on his tongue 

He left me to clean up the trash 

When our cotton candy ran out

The circus left and so did he

But I still waited for him with the clowns 

His love was cotton candy at the fair

The second boy I thought I loved

It came bagged and artificial

But I fell harder and faster for this one

He only let me eat it at night 

The darkness hiding us from anyone we knew 

I devoured so much my mouth turned blue

And he got scared my tongue would give us away

Each ride took us up and down 

Cotton candy churning in our stomachs 

It came right back up after we got off 

Seeing his face still makes my stomach sick

My love was cotton candy at the candy store

For the first boy I ever loved 

When I fell in love with you

Nothing ever felt real

When you’re cotton candy dissolved 

You showed your love with other sweet treats 

No one had loved my like that before 

To try and give me all I could ask for

All I knew was cotton candy love

So I gave you that kind of love in return 

I tried to care with sugary pinks and blues

But it all dissolved in your mouth

His love was cotton candy anywhere 

The boy I used to cover the hole of your love

He didn’t care about me

Or about who knew he didn’t care

He took me to the fair and the circus 

All for cotton candy love

And when he thought I’d had enough to eat

He fed his cotton candy to other girls

I let his love dissolve in my mouth 

And I let him keep feeding it to me 

All the while I kept my eyes closed 

And I imagined he was my candy shop lover

Moments. Years. Laughter. 

All meaningful and meaningless words, left unspared as the merciless departure of life looms on. 

“Honey, I’m sorry. Your friend who has cancer-” 

My head hurts, my soul hurts, 

“...the doctors made a mistake, she died just last night” 

She finished her sentence, unaware and heedless to my inner turmoil that is begging, pleading, shouting for her to stop, just stop.

I did not want to know.

After all, things were just so much better if they were left untold.

Ignorance is bliss, they say.

And bliss is something we all need, sometimes.

I can still picture her poise, her grace internally and physically, 

her natural confidence that drew people in. 

She always had been surrounded by people, 

Said she couldn’t stand the emptiness of being alone. 

Alone. Alone to face her fears? Her worries? 

She hadn’t had anything to fear or worry about. It was elementary school for goodness sake. 

Too early. 

Much too early. 

We all failed her, didn’t we?

Failed because in the moments when she was left all alone,

She became no more.

The chorus concert came a month later

We sang Count On Me, for her,

Until tears overflew and we could sing no longer

Because she counted on us and it was all that we could do to treasure her memory.

But cancer seems so inevitable,

So darn irritable and selfish and overwhelmingly headstrong

We are just chess pieces in the game of life, aren’t we

And we plead for mercy, no more, no more,

But more pieces are knocked over, down, d o w n 

Not a year later, another one leaves.

Death, it seems, is ever more ruthless when it battles the strongest people.

I hadn’t liked her very much at first. 

She had taken my bracelet away,

Said it was distracting me in class.

I hated her for it.

What right did she have,

To judge whether or not I was being distracted in class

And yet perhaps she was right, my teacher, that is

Within a month, 

She understood me and I, 

She came to my Carnegie Hall concert,

Sitting at the front row, with her young sons, (oh god they had been so young, and she as well)

Beaming, clapping, right in front of me and my piano.

In her life, it was all about explosions

She loved to spin tales about a frightening hornet,

A terrible monster threatening to sting and fight her mind and heart

And we would all listen, entranced

As far as my memory reaches, I’ve been

obsessed with noise&fire&laughter

Her stories, needless to say, had never been disappointing.

and it was everything,

noisy, lively, filled with laughter, in her class.

She told jokes, weaved stories.

Anything.

as long as everyone was laughing.

Ironically and improbably, 

cancer took her the same way as it had claimed my friend,

Silent. On a hospital bed.

A l o n e

Alone and yet 

not alone because,

because these memories, 

these brilliant sparks of something bigger, something brighter than death,

They can’t be destroyed,

Not when the sturdiness in our minds and stubborn hearts within us remain strong.

And we all remember.

We all pray and cry and laugh and remember

Because people like them,

They don’t disappear,

They glow

Forever in our souls

“Honey, what are you carrying?”

Mom smiles at me, as I stumble with an armful of book out of the library,

“The Anatomy of Hope”

He was lying in his bed, dozing off just as he finished reading the last paragraph of his book. Hunter, just over twenty-six years old, was intelligent and kind. He loved reading books and he valued his parents’ opinions before his own because he wanted the best for his family. Hunter was their second and only surviving child: their first had died from pneumonia, long before Hunter’s birth. Because of this, Hunter didn’t want his parents to be in pain again. Covering the only window in his room was a bookshelf filled with books he had already read. After reading the epilogue of his novel, he carefully placed it on the side of his bed and walked out of his room, picking up a few of his sports gear along the way. 

“Mom, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to the field to practice,” he yelled towards the kitchen as he closed the front door.

The field was only a few minutes away from his house. The neighborhood was small, but housed many decent families. Education was fine, and Hunter graduated near the top of his class in high school. On his way to the field, Hunter wore his sports gear, looking at his reflection on buildings. His hair was hazelnut brown, coming down onto the sides of his neck. His height was taller than average, and he was known for being brawny and handsome. All the girls knew him and whispered to each other when he passed by. However, the girls knew that they wouldn’t have a chance with Hunter - since he already had a girlfriend. 

Scarlett was not an average girl who lived in Hunter’s neighborhood. She lived in another state, but didn’t have a problem meeting him everyday since she had a private jet available to her anytime. Just twenty-five years old, she was making millions of dollars every month. She worked as a part time model, interviewer, and got $500,000 as part of her allowance. Modeling was just something that went into her daily routine naturally, thanks to her luxuriant, sleek blonde hair which caught the attention of many. She was a model for many designer brands like Gucci and Louis Vuitton. 

However, Scarlett wasn’t easily able to obtain this flourishing life. When she was younger, her brother was favored by her parents, more than herself. Her younger brother was their priority because of his talent in playing soccer. He was spoiled, loved, and given everything he wanted by his parents. Wanting the appreciation as well, she found herself trying to work at small restaurants as a waitress or cashier. It wasn’t easy and it took a lot more work than she expected. Many people had previously told her that she was perfect for being a model and Scarlett eventually took their advice. She earned enough money to travel and audition to be a model. During her third year of high school, Scarlett was requested to be the model for many brands. Like this, her parents slowly recognized the ability of their daughter and gave her the attention that they gave her younger brother.

Scarlett first met Hunter in middle school. Hunter took care of Scarlett, wanting to make her feel comfort from him. They would walk to and back from school everyday while Scarlett talked about her problems at home. Hunter cheered on Scarlett on her modeling journey, desperately wanting her to succeed. Unfortunately, after Hunter and Scarlett starting dating, Scarlett became one of the more popular students at her school which made her distance herself from Hunter. Although Scarlett’s personality did change - from an innocent, hard-working girl to a popular, vain high schooler - Hunter needed Scarlett because her family was able to provide what Hunter’s family always wanted. His parents had always struggled economically, so Scarlett was their ticket to a higher reality.

Later that day, Scarlett came to visit Hunter in her private jet with her mom, dad, and younger brother. She swung open the front door of Hunter’s house so aggressively that Hunter was able to sense her arrival from his room. She marched into the kitchen and roamed around the living room before running upstairs to Hunter’s room. She embraced him and presented Hunter with a bag full of new, designer clothes. Scarlett chattered enthusiastically about her life at her private school and the drama she had with her friends. Hunter was barely listening, as he was thinking about which book to read next. He just nodded his head while staring across Scarlett’s shoulders. Before Scarlett could finish talking, Hunter stopped her and suggested going outside for a walk. Hunter went outside first and sat on the front porch while he waited for Scarlett to put on her makeup and change to clothing that would be more suitable for the humid weather. Outside, Hunter was daydreaming when a humble, red headed girl passed by.

She wore very ragged clothes with holes in her shoes. Her messy, braided hair ran down her back and the vibrant red was visible from miles across. Her face looked pure and innocent, with freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. She was very thin and looked like she might tip over if someone bumped into her. Hunter knew from her physical appearance that she must be very poor, but the redhead managed to give back a vibrant smile when her eyes met that of Hunter’s. Even after the girl turned her head away from Hunter, he could not stop following her with his eyes. She turned around the corner and Hunter remained sitting. If he were not waiting for Scarlett, then he would have followed the young lady around the corner.

Scarlett came out wearing a blue blouse with Gucci sneakers and Chanel bag. She tapped on Hunter’s shoulders to get his attention. She came down, eye level to Hunter and asked, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you? Should we just stay inside?” Hunter shook his head no and stood up, putting his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders. The two then walked around the neighborhood and came home just as the sun was setting. Even after being left by the redhead long after their first encounter, Hunter could not get that girl out of his head. He knew that it was more likely that he would not find her, but he wanted to try anyway.

Scarlett and her family were sleeping downstairs, so Hunter knew that he would end up waking them up if he went out the front door. Instead, he changed into warm clothes and snuck out through the window in the upstairs bathroom - the window in his room was covered by a bookshelf. Thankfully, there were ridges on the walls of his house, so he carefully stepped on each of them. When he was about three feet above the ground, he hopped off onto the soft grass. He had no time to waste; It was 4:39 AM and his parents woke up at 6:00. With a cross bag around his arms, he ventured out into the neighborhood. 

He first headed towards the corner where he saw the redhead turn the day before. Before he even got close to the block, he saw her. She was looking out into the city lights, sitting on a bench on the apex of the hill, with her hands carefully laid on the fence in front of her. The red from her hair was vibrant and clearly noticeable even in the barely rising sun. Hunter slowly and quietly made his way to the girl because he did not want to distract her. When he got to the bench, he adroitly sat down next to the girl. The girl was startled, but she did not ask any questions.

“Hey, you’re the girl I met earlier in front of my house porch right? What’s your name?”

The girl slowly turned her head towards Hunter. She stared at him in his eyes and answered, “I’m Eden. And you’re Hunter, I assume.” Her voice was modulated and soothing to listen to. 

Eden then stayed quiet and did not talk anymore. They stayed like this for a while before Hunter asked, “Don’t you wonder why I came back to find you?” Eden didn’t answer. The only thing moving were her eyes, which were wandering around the lights. Hunter continued, “Because I like you. You’re not like any other I have ever seen before.” 

She stayed quiet and just stared past towards the sunset. Many questions and thoughts crossed her mind - she was not sure how to respond. Her past was very complicated and she was born into a poor family. Gifted as an artist, she submitted many of her drawings to contests, but -- partly because she lacked quality art supplies, never succeeded in winning the top prize. Instead, she spent most of her time drawing caricatures for passersby. Eden also had no support from her family members. She was abandoned as a kid and was eventually left with her uncle - who cared little about Eden. She earnestly wanted the love from Hunter and wanted to be with him, but knew that that would not be kind of her since Hunter was already in a relationship with Scarlett. She did not want to take him away from her.

Later in the afternoon, Hunter was lying in bed, thinking about what had happened earlier that day. Scarlett knocked on his door and entered the room before Hunter could even utter a word. “You know tomorrow is Dinner Day right? I can’t wait for what you’ll prepare for me.” Hunter had totally forgotten about Dinner Day. It was a tradition for men to surprise a women they care about with a specially prepared dinner. However, for Hunter, his parents planned to also make Dinner Day Hunter’s day to propose to Scarlett. Hunter had promised a few years ago that he would take Scarlett to Dinner Day and would marry her. Hunter’s parents desperately wanted Hunter to marry Scarlett because of their financial problems. Without marrying someone so rich, Hunter and his family would barely be able to find the money to feed themselves. When Hunter was just fifteen years old, he brought home a girl from school he wanted to hang out with. Hunter’s parents were perplexed with Hunter’s act and were afraid that he would like the classmate better than Scarlett. Hunter’s parents threatened Hunter and had him transfer so he wouldn’t meet the girl again. After this experience, he knew that he would not be able to hesitate when choosing who to take for Dinner Day.

Scarlett was definitely excited for Dinner Day, but she did not know that it would be the day Hunter would propose to her. However, Hunter was going through a dilemma. He truly cared about Eden and wanted her to receive the love she had never gotten before. He imagined the scenario in his head, thinking about the life he would live if he were with Eden. He knew that it would be financially risky, to meet someone who did not have money, but Hunter loved Eden’s calm and quiet personality. On the other hand, he wanted to respect his parents’ advice, which was to marry Scarlett. Marrying Scarlett would give many benefits not only to Hunter but for Hunter’s parents too. Hunter decided that he would deal with this conundrum later. 

Hunter spent the rest of his day with Scarlett and her family. They went to a fancy restaurant and discussed the couple’s future plans. 

“Hunter loves being with Scarlett,” Hunter’s mom remarked. “There’s no doubt they will be a loving couple in the future,” she said slyly, signaling the secret event that would happen the next day. 

Upon hearing this, Hunter thought about Dinner Day once more. He valued what his parents thought and knew their only wish was for him to marry Scarlett. Hunter himself had been dreaming of the moment he would be rich and living a perfect life with Scarlett. He had just met Eden after all. She was just an attractive girl passing by his house and now he had suddenly fallen in love. His parents didn’t even know about Eden so why would they give him a chance with Eden anyways? Hunter knew that the situation was nonsense and it would be reasonable to be with Scarlett, but ever since Eden entered his life, he wanted to know more about this unique, quiet girl.

Scarlett’s family paid for the dinner and they all made their way back to Hunter’s house. The two families rode in silence - the red, cloudless sunset illuminating the road laid before them. Throughout the way home, Hunter kept thinking about Dinner Day. He didn’t know who would be better to choose. The day was not even 24 hours away, so he had to make his decision quickly. 

Hunter ran up to his room and looked into his closet to find the ring his parents had hidden. The ring was pure diamond and it glistened even in the dark. The inner part of the ring had Hunter engraved in it and small pieces of jewels covered the outer part. The ring was placed on a small piece of foam which was in a purple box. He hurriedly put the box in his pocket and slept, ready to propose early in the morning. 

Hunter woke up at around 8:47 AM and wasn’t surprised to see that all the ladies had already left the house. He had to hurry. He had finally decided on who to go out with to Dinner Day - and also become his future wife. He quickly grabbed his coat and put his hands inside his pocket to make sure the ring was there. He felt the slight rectangular bump and ran out the door. He walked in quick, large steps and checked every face to see if any were hers. 

Not too long after, he saw her. Her back was facing Hunter and she was enjoying the morning breeze. Her hair flowed as she walked and her steps were light and quick. She was conspicuous from her physical figure and Hunter didn’t hesitate one second. He ran in front of her and kneeled down, holding out the ring. 

After the deep thoughts, would the girl that Hunter had chosen be Scarlett - ensuring his parents’ future - or Eden - what people would call his “love at first sight”?

(I am resubmitting for this contest because I made some changes to my story. Please disregard my earlier version and use this version instead.)

The day started out normal. Molly woke up to her alarm beeping loudly in the bright, sunny morning. She got out of her bed and got ready for school.

Molly was an ordinary, middle school student who attended Whismore Junior High School. She was very diligent in her work and everyone knew her for her caring personality. Her heart was always willing to help others. Molly might have a big heart but lacks confidence. Compared to the kids at her school, she was very timid and quiet. Despite her bashfulness she would do anything to stand up for the people that she cared about.

“Molly, it’s 7:30. Come down and eat.”

“I’m coming, Mom!”

After she was all done, she rushed down the stairs to eat breakfast. Looking at the time, she quickly consumed the food that was on the plate and headed out the door. As she walked to school, Molly saw Lily. 

Lily was Molly’s best friend. As a child, Lily grew up in a poor family. When Molly’s family stepped into her life she was happy as ever. Molly has always been there by her side whenever she needed anything. She did not want Lily to struggle anymore. Molly wanted to take action and build her up to be a stronger person. 

When she approached her, she noticed that Lily’s expression was very downcast. 

“Are you ok, Lily?” Molly asked worriedly. 

Immediately, Lily plastered a smile onto her face and replied, “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine.” 

Molly was very confused by Lily’s actions. They had been friends since birth and she had never acted this way before. If they had a problem or anything, they would always be there for each other and help each other out. Molly tried to let it go because it was clear to her that Lily did not want to talk about it. Putting that aside, they continued on with the school day. 

After hours of working, it was finally lunch time. Molly and Lily headed out the door and walked toward the lunch tables. Molly was very distracted because she kept thinking about what happened in the morning. All throughout the day, she noticed the depressed look on Lily’s face and her drooping shoulders. 

“Lily, are you sure you are ok? You can tell me if there is something wrong. I am always here if you need to talk?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Reluctantly, Molly said, “Ok, I’ll be right back.”

She stood up and went to the restroom. When she came back, she looked towards the table where she was sitting and saw that Lily was gone. At that point, Molly was so confused. She did not know what was happening and was determined to find out. Molly walked all around campus but she was nowhere to be seen. Molly thought about where she could have gone until she turned around the corner of a building. Behind the building, she saw four kids being surrounded by a group of students that looked like they were spectating something. Out of her own curiosity, she walked towards the crowd and froze in shock. In the middle three of the kids were bullying...Lily. She was startled and could not believe what she was seeing. Lily was getting teased and bullied. 

The bullies were no ordinary kids. They were the most feared students at the school. They were the Savage Trio. The three kids-- two boys and one girl-- were known for their cruelty. Every year they picked on a person or two and that was their method of entertainment. This past month Molly heard rumors about Lily being next on the list, but did not believe it was true. Who in their right mind would do that? However, witnessing it herself, Molly realized that the rumors were true. 

When she looked at Lily, she instantly felt weary and just froze in shock. Seeing her friend hurt was distressing her. How could I have not known! I need to help her, thought Molly. She had always been there for her and she could not let her down. Molly was just bewildered by the fact that Lily did not tell her. Before going up to the front, she thought about what she could do, but her mind was blank. She was not able to process the situation that she was in, but no matter what, she was not going to give up. 

Seconds after, Molly started to walk through the crowd to take action. She was burning with anger because those cruel people were intimidating her friend. She was ready to stand in the middle of the crowd and tell them to stop. Right as she reached the front, her eyes met Lily’s. Lily had an expression that Molly could not decipher. It was something Molly had never seen before. Her face looked bland on the outside yet her eyes were filled with so much emotion. Molly could not stop looking at her friend. She saw Lily open her mouth, as if she was going to say something, then immediately closed it. Molly was confused. She did not know why she opened her mouth in the first place. Was she too weak to ask for help? Or did she not say anything because she wanted to do it on her own?

Molly stood still, wondering what to do. If she was trying to ask her for help, without a doubt, Molly would step up and stand up for Lily no matter what happened. They would go through it together like they had always done. Molly had always been there for Lily. 

But what if she didn’t want my help? She might want to fight on her own. Molly thought about what Lily was really trying to tell her. Did she want to do it on her own? Molly knew Lily was a strong and courageous girl. She knew she could fight on her own and still win. Maybe she wanted to show that she is strong and can deal with things on her own. She was thinking about the past and she realized it was always her helping Lily. Molly thought about Lily’s current actions and realized she had changed. Lily has become more independent, often wanting to do things on her own. She was not the way she was before. She was tougher and stronger. 

Lily might have wanted to prove that she can do things on her own. She might be testing herself to persevere, Molly thought. Then all these outcomes flashed through her mind. What if she can’t make it? What if she falls into a deeper pit of darkness? Molly started to worry, but she wanted to do what Lily wished because she respected her thoughts and opinions. If only she knew what she was trying to say she could have instantly made a decision. 

After all these thoughts, she looked back towards Lily. Molly wanted to do what Lily thought was best. She trusted Lily to make the right choice. As her eyes met Lily’s once more, Molly made her decision. 

What did Molly do? Did she stand by Lily’s side, as always, or did she trust Lily to stand up for herself?

I make my way down the street with my hands in the pockets of my jacket, bracing myself against the wind. What had started as a pleasant fall breeze is now uncomfortably biting, and chills the evening air. Leaves and debris swirl across the road, brushing the ankles of commuters hurrying home. A few familiar faces greet me as I pass them by on the sidewalk. One is bound to run into the same people in a small college town like this, especially when traveling a regular route.

Suddenly, I trip, and my backpack flies out of my hands. It’s a ratty old remnant from high school, but it is one of the few pieces of home I was able to bring with me and I staunchly refuse to throw it away. To my horror, it rips open and spills its entire contents out onto the pavement. Pens, textbooks, folders, and the two muffins I had filched from behind the counter after my coffee-shop shift was over for the day all come tumbling out. To make matters worse, a chemistry paper I had been working on is caught up in a gust of wind. As if mocking me, it floats daintily away and is lost to my sight behind a street corner. I gather my belongings back into the bag as quickly as I can and scramble after the paper, but in vain. Dejected, I give up and turn back for home. 

I shrug wearily out of my jacket as soon as I enter my apartment, locking the door behind me and tossing my traitorous book-bag onto the couch. By the sounds of it, my roommate is already home and in the kitchen.

“Hello!” he says cheerily as I stroll into the doorway, looking up from his dishwashing. “How was your day?”

“Good, thanks, Brian,” I reply, giving him a tired smile. “Lost my chem homework though.”

“That sucks,” he says, pouting. “Maybe it’s online? Or, if you remember when you saw it last, I can try and find it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just get it from online and restart my work,” I tell him.

“Well, good luck! I’ll make dinner for us tonight then, you focus on your homework.”

I thank him and walk down the hall to my room. Sitting at my desk, I turn on my laptop. After changing into pajamas, I print the sheet out and get rewriting. Once I finish my chemistry homework, I turn to my personal research and start taking notes.

190 g of KCl = LD50 for 165 lb person if ingested orally. Potassium chloride overdose stops heart. Is hard to recognize as ‘killer’ since found naturally in body, so cause of death will be listed as heart attack. 190 g of KCl = around 0.8 cups. Usually takes hours to show effects.

A little while later, Brian calls out to me that dinner is ready. We share a quiet meal while listening to music, and I pack up my work and turn in fairly early. I’m too exhausted to do much else that night.

The next morning, I feel much more energized and refreshed. Brian is already gone for his Friday 8 A.M. class when I wake up, but in his regular fashion he has left me a bowl of sliced fruit on the kitchen counter. I vow to remember to bring him back a muffin as I grab the fruit and head out the door with my bag.

Chemistry is my last class of the day, so afterwards I head straight to my part-time as a barista at the coffee shop downtown. Pulling on my apron and fastening my nametag, I set my backpack down next to the espresso machine with the top slightly unzipped. An assortment of science materials peek out from inside. 

 As expected, my first customer is elderly Mr. Zimmer. 

“Hi, Mr. Zimmer! It’ll be the usual, right?” I ask. He smiles and nods in the affirmative. Zimmer seems to have no close family or friends, and comes in like clockwork every day at 3:30 P.M. for the same exact order. He’s a sweet old man and an avid latte drinker whose existence seems utterly commonplace and ultimately forgettable. I shouldn’t have thoughts like that, but it does help me justify my actions. Speaking of which, today seems like the day to start my research project. I’ve been suffering from boredom and a lack of energy lately; perhaps an active pursuit will perk up my spirits.

“Four cups, right?” I ask Zimmer, grinning.

He gives a soft, apologetic chuckle. “Yep. I’m a hard-and-fast coffee addict by now, you know that.”

Oh, I know.

I prepare his first cup meticulously, blocking off the world from my position at the espresso machine. When I finish the order- which only takes a little longer than usual- he drops a dollar in the tip jar and gratefully accepts the drink I hand him.

“Hm, it’s a bit sweeter than usual today! In a good mood?” he asks.

My eyelid twitches imperceptibly.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

“No worries! It’s actually a pleasant change.” With this, he takes up his usual seat next to a window in the corner of the coffeeshop and pulls out a novel as thick as my chemistry textbook.

Within the next two hours, Zimmer has worked his way through half the book and all four cups of coffee. I’m not sure which is more impressive. Most of the other customers have left and it is time to close up shop, so I put everything away and flip the sign hanging in the window to CLOSED. Zimmer takes the cue and gets up, pushing his chair back into place.

“See you tomorrow!” he calls out, giving me a wave of his fourth coffee cup as he leaves with a tinkle of the doorbell.

“Goodbye,” I say, returning the wave and not meeting his eyes.

. . .

When it is 4 P.M. the next day and our most regular customer still has not shown up, I turn to a girl in my World Mythology class who also happens to be manning the cash register.

“Hey Sophie, have you seen Mr. Zimmer today? He’s, like, never missed a single day here before.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” she answers. “Maybe he’s sick? I dunno.”

He isn’t there the next day, or the next after. On the third day, it finally makes its way around that Leonard Zimmer has passed away at the age of 76 from a heart attack. He was found two days ago at home, where he lived alone, by the cleaning service that visited once a week.

I am tasked with writing and putting up a small tribute to him in a window of our shop, since he was a loyal customer to our establishment for over seven years. I pen a lovely piece, if I do say so myself, and feel strangely moved when the little handwritten sign is hung in the corner where he used to sit.

Two days after that, I am arrested. At the bottom of the fourth coffee cup was a note thanking Zimmer for being the first test subject in my new research project. In a moment of reckless abandon, I had placed it there, intending for it to be a sign-off to Zimmer, something he would see after drinking up the last dose of potassium chloride. The cup was found by the cleaning service and turned in to the authorities, who worked their way back and matched the handwriting to the sign in the window. The final piece tying it all together was a half-done chemistry worksheet they had miraculously found on the street just outside the coffee shop.

The announcement was in the paper that morning. Everyone saw it. Town Hall Meeting! It read. Fate of Young Anthony Long To Be Discussed. The news didn’t need the paper to spread, though. In a town the size of Lowe, Oklahoma, if one neighbor told another, the whole county knew by nightfall. 

The people spoke of nothing else for the days ahead of the meeting. Gossip had never been this bad, but it had also never been this interesting. For the three hundred people who called that town home, this was bigger than the last war. Seventeen-year-old Anthony Long was dead.

It was a sad affair, many said. But not an unexpected one, others countered. Those who had known him missed him terribly—and those who hadn’t were glad he was gone.

“Just another delinquent gone,” said William Abernathy, a popular figure in town, and owner of its only bar. He tossed the paper on to his kitchen table, front page up. His wife bent down to read what it said. 

“‘Anthony Long, born January 3rd, 2002, killed by a drunk driver while crossing the street on Tuesday, April 9, 2019.” She read. “A kind soul who only wanted the best for what he loved, he-’”

“Aw, don’t listen to all that nonsense!” complained William. “He was a good-for-nothing, and I’m almost glad he’s gone.”

Mrs. Abernathy looked up from the paper briefly, a hint of shame in her eyes.

“‘He always did what he thought he needed to do for his family,’” She continued, “‘And never once complained.’”

“I think it’s a very nice little eulogy, don’t you?” She asked her husband.

“Hmph.” Was all that came back.

“Well, either way, I’m going to the funeral. It’s today, you know, right before the meeting.”
“You didn’t even know the boy!”

“I knew his mother,” Mrs. Abernathy shot back, “And Aurelia Long is going to need someone to help her through this.”

“You only went to high school together,” grumbled Mr. Abernathy.

“We did,” Mrs. Abernathy stood tall, her chin in the air, “And she needs friends. If you won’t be good about this, I’ll do it on my own.”

“Listen,” he tried. “It’s not our fault she got with that—”

He faltered, finding one of the most angry looks his wife had ever given directed straight at him. She turned back to the paper, which listed an address for the wake. William reached for it, to finish reading the news, but she scooped it up before he could touch it. 

“Give that back!” He tried to stand up, but ran into the table before he could. He fell back to his chair rather bodily, causing the whole thing to shudder. Mr. Abernathy was no small man. 

“I’m going to need this to find the address,” Mrs. Abernathy snapped. This wasn’t true, but she felt the need to do something to get back at her husband. She pulled on her coat, and took the keys to her husband’s truck. He didn’t need to be at work for some time to open the bar, so he didn’t say anything more when she left.

Mrs. Abernathy got to driving, trying to take her mind off her husband. Their marriage had started off happy, but as the years passed, they found that they had too many differences. Their dealings with the Longs had been one such thing.

She arrived at the Long home just a few minutes later, but it was enough time for her to calm down. She parked in the small driveway, her beat-up truck looking brand-new next to the Long family car. She stepped down from the cab, and pulled her coat tighter around her body as the wind blew. Blond hairs blew across her face, and she noticed, once again, a few gray streaks. She strode purposefully down the short walkway, preparing herself mentally for what she might find inside. She had only knocked twice when the door flew open, and a small, pale woman dressed in black threw her arms around her.

“Oh, Mary!” the woman cried. “I can’t thank you enough for coming. I was afraid. . .” she pulled back, but held onto her hands.

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Mrs. Abernathy had noticed: There were no other cars in the driveway. She was the only one there.

“It’ll be fine, Aurelia. Come, let’s go inside.”

Once they had come in, she got Aurelia sitting down. She sobbed into her hands, leaning heavily on the dining room table. 

“I just—he was my son. My only son.”

Mrs. Abernathy held her hand, saying nothing. She had lost her father recently, and knew that talking might only make it worse. The best thing she could do was be there for her friend.

Aurelia continued to cry, as Mrs. Abernathy stood to get them some water. As she was headed back to their seats, however, a knock rang out at the door. Aurelia began to get up, but Mrs. Abernathy ushered her back into her seat. She handed her the glass. 

“Here,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

She moved to get the door. The Long’s were an unpopular family, and she couldn’t imagine there would be many more people.

Her curiosity was unresolved, however, as the person at the door was unknown to her. It was a girl of about seventeen, wearing tight fitting black pants and a black jacket, with a white blouse. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Her posture was slouched, like she could barely stand at all, and there was a picture frame under her arm.

“Hello,” the girl said miserably. She sniffled, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, and she kept rubbing her nose.

“Come in,” Mrs. Abernathy said gently.

The girl stepped inside tentatively, then with more courage. She walked into the small living space, and face tightened when she saw the picture of Anthony on the wall. Mrs. Abernathy paused to look at it too. It was a class picture, with the standard mottled blue-and-white background. Anthony was smiling happily, like something wonderful had just happened. His coffee skin stood out against his white teeth, and his dark eyes sparkled. His hair was tied into thick dreadlocks that were held to one side. Mrs. Abernathy couldn’t help but think about how happy he had looked just a few months earlier.

The girl sat down across from Aurelia, keeping her head down. She seemed rather ashamed to have been there, though why Mrs. Abernathy couldn’t tell. 

“Kate, right?” Aurelia said, her voice gentle.

The girl nodded mutely.

“Thank you for coming,” she continued. “It would have meant a lot to him.”

The girl sniffled. “I, um. . . I brought this.`` She placed her picture frame on the table.

Mrs. Abernathy recognized Anthony: laughing, sitting on a fallen tree. The girl next to him had her arm out, like she was holding up the camera. She was pretty, tan, with long, straight brown hair pulled into a ponytail. It took her a few seconds, but eventually she realized that it was the same girl before her.

“Oh, Kate. . .” Aurelia took her hand.
They began to cry over the picture. Heavy teardrops fell onto the glass. Mrs. Abernathy stood to one side, unsure of what to do.

“Were you his, um, girlfriend?” Mrs. Abernathy asked tentatively. 

Kate nodded, her body shaking with thick, heavy sobs.

“Oh, you poor dears,” Mrs. Abernathy said quietly to herself. She wanted to comfort them, but she didn’t know how. She could only watch as they sat and wept.

Later that day, the three of them arrived at the town hall. It was a small place, with room for maybe forty or fifty people. It was well over full. They were a few minutes late, but everyone moved out of their way, perhaps out of respect, or perhaps because someone had told them to.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it, Aurelia.” Came a gentle voice. “I had to prepare for this. If I had known today was the wake, I would have changed the date, but it was too late.”

 Mrs. Abernathy turned. It was a tall man, maybe fifty, wearing a dark suit. She recognized him briefly as one of the town’s three main officials: Mayor Johnson. He was a popular figure, but he couldn’t do much for what was going to happen next.

“Attention, everyone!” called a deep voice from the front of the hall. “If we could get started, please!”

The mayor bowed his head apologetically, then moved to the front.

The three of them took seats in the front row. A short, portly man in an ill-fitting suit began to speak:

“We are to today to discuss the killing of Anthony Long,” He said, his voice ringing out over the last beats of conversation in the room. “We have some opening statements, and then the stand will be passed to the people.”

First to the stand was Mayor Johnson: “We, as a town, have no police. We, as a town, have no judge. The only reason I have not called the state police for this is that I have been told that this would be an unwise move.” He shot a look at the short councilman, who scowled. “This event has struck at something rather deep-seated in our little town, and I believe that it is time that it is addressed. I am calling for the arrest of the man who hit Mr. Long, and a trial, at which point we will determine whether or not he is guilty for his death. However, I have been vetoed by the town council, who disagree with me, and have seen to it that the man has not been apprehended, and is not here today. I ask that you, the people, explain to them why this is foolishness, and overrule their decision.”

There was a great deal of murmuring at that. The short man stood next.

“We, as your duly elected council, have made this decision for the good of our own town. This is an internal affair, with no need to bring the state police to interfere.”

“‘An internal affair,’” Kate growled. “That man was from out of state!”

The man gave her a pointed stare, and Mrs. Abernathy motioned for her to remain quiet.

He continued:

“As a people, I implore you to consider that this was, in fact, not even a crime. It was, at the worst, an accident, and, at best, a suicide.”

“Suicide!?” gasped Aurelia.

That earned them another glare.

“The town council has looked into the affairs of young Anthony, and has seen that, firstly, his home life was less than pleasant. His father has been absent for almost his entire life—”

Aurelia choked down a sob.

“—and their income was less than desirable. We have agreed that this most likely led him to believe that there was no choice for him but to take his own life. Even if he was accepted into college, which was doubtful, due to his, shall we say, personality, he never would have been able to afford it. He likely saw this as his only solution, and thus, there is no reason to waste taxpayer money on a lengthy trial.”

A man stood from one side and called in a loud voice, “Now accepting comments from the public!”

A short line formed. Several of the men in the town got up, and Mrs. Abernathy was surprised to see her own husband get in line. The first man stepped up to talk.

“I think,” he said, his accent making him draw out every word. “That young Anthony did off ‘imself. I mean, look at the boy. Ain’t no future for someone like that.”

“Be respectful,” growled Johnson. “His mother is here.”

“Sorry, Mr. Johnson, but that’s just the truth of it. He weren’t goin’ nowhere, and I think we all knew it.”

He returned to his seat, bobbing his head to Ms. Long. He ignored the evil stare Kate gave him.

Next was an old, balding man in a mechanic’s jumpsuit. He looked around briefly before he started.

“I didn’t really know Anthony,” he began, “But I just wanted to say—and sorry about this ma’am—” he inclined his head to Aurelia. “I think he may have done us all a favor. You all remember what that boy's father was like. Always causin’ trouble and makin’ life tough for the rest of us. What if he turned out like his pops? It’s like they always say, ‘Chip off the ol’ block.’”

That got a few choruses of “that’s true,” and “I remember”. Kate was fuming now, and Mrs. Abernathy was starting to understand how she felt.

A few more went, voicing similar thoughts. Before long, she was nearly as mad as Kate, but she kept from acting out for the sake of Aurelia, who was sobbing at each word.

“If you ask me,” said a familiar voice. 

Mrs. Abernathy’s head snapped up, and she made direct eye contact with the man speaking—her husband.

“He did something wrong. He killed a boy. But it’s not like it’s a murder. I say we find the guy, give him a warning, and let him go. That’s what they do in the cities, right? We’re always hearing’ stories of how someone did something like this and gets a warnin’. So I say that’s what we do here too.”

At this point, people had become quite vocal in their responses. Several shouts of “Yeah, I like that!” and “Preach it, Billy!” rang out. Mrs. Abernathy turned her most evil look upon her soon-to-be-ex-husband, so bad it made the one that morning look like a loving smile. He hung his head and scurried to the back of the building. She was so engrossed in this, however, that she failed to notice Kate had gotten in line.

“What are you all thinking!?” She cried. “Anthony’s dead, and that old rich guy killed him, and you don’t want to do anything about it?”

She stared at all the people there. None would make eye contact with her. 

“That man deserves to go to prison. He couldn’t even drive straight! He hit Anthony and you’re all acting like he ran a stoplight!”

She left, then, shoving her way through the crowd.

Aurelia began crying again, and Mrs. Abernathy began to console her. She was so engrossed that she hadn’t even realized that the vote was beginning. 

“All in favor of giving the man a warning?” asked a councilman.

Nearly every hand went up. The mayor abstained, as did a few scattered throughout the crowd.

“I don’t even think we need to count,” the fat, short councilman said.

 Aurelia Long collapsed into herself, sobbing.