when you asked if i wanted spice on my rice and chicken,

how could you have known, really, that i was born

with a rich Afghan heritage and spice practically in my back pocket,

dad kept in the car just in case

it was forgotten on fast-food road trips, not that we’d ever

eat something other than mama’s home-cooked cuisine,

but just in case, a precaution, just in case we awoke

one morning to the sound of burning fireworks

just outside the window, and the car had spices in the cupholder,

nothing else needed. that night

i crouched in the backseat and the spices made me throw up,

lost the last memory of home i had, how could you have known

no spice please, i’ll take it plain.

I am the last human on Earth. Nuclear War and Climate Change were the substances that killed us; into inevitable extinction. They used to say that we humans were blessed by brains, blessed to be the smartest in the universe. Those very brains were the instruments that paved the way toward extinction. Perhaps we could have used a tad more honor and a touch less brains. First came the nuclear wars, destroying the Earth and killing billions as we know it. When the Treaty of Paris was signed, it was too late. The future in which every being on the planet condoned, was here. All the glaciers melted- only the largest volcanoes and mountains stayed afloat. Then came the humans- fighting over these minute land masses and artificial islands. Another nuclear war. I wasn’t the only one that survived- my sister died of an unknown disease only a year after. After she died, I went crazy. Survivor’s Guilt, hallucinations, they were all common to me. Now, I have a plain life. Same routine. No feelings. No company. Knock Knock. There’s a knock on the door. I’m not excited or surprised- I have been waiting for this moment.

I want to feel strong.
When I wear jacket over jacket in layers and let my hair fall in twists and curves of color to cover my face. When I fold myself into a corner where no one can follow.
But it doesn’t make me feel strong. I use my steel as armor, not knives. It makes me feel like I will not let anyone break me, but there is more to strength than that. For right now I am alone, safe in the only way I know how. But I want someone to be there, to step forward when I fall and offer to help me up. Maybe a friend would just be more armor between me and the harsh world. But maybe not. Because if I can share burdens with someone, if there is someone who will come after me, and have someone who I can trust my secrets to, I feel more than protected. I feel more than strong.
I feel like I don’t have to be afraid.

The excitement and fear coursed through her veins as she hit send, and now all she could do was wait. Anxiously twisting her hair waiting for the light to shine and the accompanying sound to fill the room. That sound would mean that he had responded, that Matt had read the text she so carefully constructed. Twisting and twisting her hair some more, the phone’s silence grew. She considered the hours she spent finding the words to tell him how she felt. She remembered the interminable hesitation deciding to hit send, and the rush of adrenaline as she took the leap of faith... 

The room lights up, and the bell chimes. With shaking hands, she reaches for her phone. This was it, the moment she had dreamed of. Reading the response, her excitement sours to fear. Her heart freefalls, and any trace of a dreamy smile disappear into a heady fog as her eyes try to make sense of the name “Mark.”

 She opens her phone to read the message, only to realize she had confessed her love to the wrong boy.

My hands hover over the dancing flame, barely grazing the heat. Someone sits across the fire. The wind shifts from a light breeze to a harsher pre-storm wind as tension grows between us.

“They can’t come now.” 

“I know,” I answer instantly.

“Then why do you sit with stress on your face?”

“Who’s that then?” He strains his head to attempt to see what I can see. I see a black shadowy figure in the fog.

“I see nothing.” A claim made at first glimpse. The staring continues with a squint of the eyes until he turns back to face the flame. In all mistrust, “liar” is the word to come out of his foolish mouth.

“The breath of a witch is near.”

“Silly, selfish Augur.” As he lets these words out, the figure moves closer to us. I stand.

“It's here.”

“Sit.”

“No” I inch toward the thing.

“Such things don’t exist if you’re the only one to see it.” The figure is closer, barely visible in the night’s shadows.

“Leave!” I command it. but that’s not enough. 

In one inhale, the figure is gone. I cough. Then there’s nothing but a small flame in front of me.

Every now and then, there's a small feeling that I am not alone. Within this small, cozy wooden cabin, there's a breeze. No windows are open, but there’s just a small warm gust of air. Sometimes I feel it creep upon my neck, sometimes it tickles my leg. Other times it’s just there, but I still feel it. The lake that lies behind the cabin doesn’t make my lessen my fear. From time to time, I hear laughter, devilish laughter. Maybe the lake and what is within these woods are not so bad, maybe I’m just being paranoid again, endlessly.

My instincts tell me that I shouldn’t, but I should. Without me doing anything, my legs begin to move. One foot in front of the other, one following behind, one leading. The warm breeze from the lake hits my dry face. I allow myself to rest on the dock of the bay. To left my feet dangle in the lake. The warmth from the lake feels so good, but I do not want to get in. I will not allow myself to fall into this trap, knowing that I shouldn’t be allowed to feed into my instincts. But eventually, I do. 

As I allow myself to fall into the big, warm, full water, my limbs are slowly taken away from me. I can feel my hands ripping away from my arms. I feel my breath slowly being taken away. I feel my feet fading away. This unknown presence slowly takes over me, while becoming smaller and smaller. Why do I still feel overpowered? I try to fight off this overwhelming feeling, but they’re still becoming greedier. As I add water to the fire, this feeling becomes gentle. Gentle like the wind. There’s something beautiful about this. All of my pain subside into something appealing — I’m attracted to it. As my limbs began to fade away as one. He blinds me. He blinded me with my own hands, breath, and my feet.

The city is a dark and busy place. I take my everyday stroll down south street and hear a high pitch scream ahead. My instinct is to investigate to see what is going on. I walked past the noisy alley and saw a tall man with a small girl. The piercing sound from the child alarmed my senses to help. Running between the skinny brick walls as fast as I could.
*BANG*
A low scream came from the man as he let go of the child falling to the floor in pain. Blood staining the concrete more and more every second. The little girl ran as fast as her small legs could take her. The man grasping his stomach in pain yelling for help.
Men in black uniforms came running to help the man. But all I could see was white.
*BANG*
The city is a dark and busy place.
A dog was put down for first degree murder and a danger to society.

The year could not have been worse, although it is just the beginning of March 2072.

The worst and scariest part is that I haven’t received any message from Shikra since the last five months. We have been email pen-pals for three years but we never got the chance to meet each other. What formed the bond between us is the Announcement. Both of us were born on the day it was made to the whole world, twelve years ago. Half of the biodiversity that had existed on Earth in 2020 is extinct today. It crushed most people’s spirit for survival.

Anyways, Shikra wrote to me regularly. She missed only when the weather in her country was good enough to play badminton, which is quite rare. She had even set her heart on the Olympics 2080, but the worldwide preparations for this year itself were drab.

The media and social networking sites are so muddled that I can’t find anything about her country. Everything is being censored and there are climate refugees everywhere.

I just hope that the weather is so good that Shikra is on her game, even if it is like hoping against hope.

Malibu, California is always sunny, with families filling the beaches, but that day was different. That afternoon the clouds were dense, the air was heavy, the breeze chilled the skin. The day seemed so gray that the children didn’t play. The beaches were filled with nothing but hungry seagulls. I thought of it as just a rainy day. Until, I got the news. Xander died early that morning. A car accident on Highway 1, the hospital told me. We had gotten into a fight the night before; I was petty and ignored him.
 

Jaywalking

“Cmon let’s cross!” She yells over the sound of traffic. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I continue walking to the crosswalk, “It’s illegal! What if we get caught?”

She puts her bag down, “Everybody does it there’s no way we get caught! And plus, there’s no way I’m walking all the way down to the end of the street. My feet are killing me!”

“Well, you should’ve thought about wearing different shoes before we took a walking tour through New York City!”

“True, but it’s too late. We have to cross now! The traffic is at a red!”

I turn around, finally giving into her pleading, “Fine, but you owe me a pair of shoes.”

“Deal.”

And so, I began walking across the six lanes between us and the sidewalk. Sure, a singular pair of shoes may have not been worth it. But in my 14 year old mind, it was gold.

Suddenly, I felt a light shining on me, “Bro what are you doing with your flashli-” I turn to my left and realized then, that it wasn’t my sisters flashlight. All for one pair of shoes.