He's tugging at the cord.

Sorry—neither of us can come to work today.  Don't worry—we'll be at the meeting tomorrow.

He hangs up the phone. He moves to the sink with a glass. Looks at me.

Don't worry baby—Everything will be normal again.

I can't hear him over the water. The water—filling the cup.

Baby we'll be happy again.

He turns the water off. He sits in the other chair and pushes the glass toward me.

Okay?

I want to make you… happy. I want to see you… laughing again.

Talk to me.

He's reaching over—rattling bottle—he's opening them—rattle—he's putting the pill in my hand.

Come on.

Don't worry. I'm sorry. 

Take it

In an irrelevant distant kingdom lived two princesses, Mia and Mora, one of them was destined to overthrow their tyrant of a father. He was the king and he micromanaged every aspect of life in his kingdom. He made everyone become monotheistic, he decided he wanted everyone to share his religion. He also believed it impossible for either of his daughters to overthrow him. Believing they were incompetent due to the fact they were girls. But thanks to his assumptions, he underestimated them. 

The girls toppled his monopoly of power, through burning and stealing all his supplies, and giving them for free to the people. This brought the people completely over to their side. Living in the kingdom felt like you were constantly under a microscope, because of this fact, the majority of the people were on their side to begin with. The girls, who had been learning to fight, stormed the castle with the people by their side. They won the battle for the castle, and ruled together for many years to come. They realized that one of them could overthrow their father, but they could also do it together, and rule together

“So, what should we eat?”

“Cookies!”

“For lunch? No way!”

“Then what should we eat?”

“Can we have waffles?”

“How about we eat at that restaurant down the street?”

“No, it’s too expensive. I say we eat cookies!” 

“Who eats cookies for lunch?”

“Everyone! Tell her Max, doesn’t everyone eat cookies for lunch?”

“Um, I--”

“See! Even Max agrees!”

“He didn’t even say anything, you dummy,”

“Who are you calling dummy, dummy? 

“You’re so annoying! Seriously, not everything revolves around cookies!” 

“How could you say that? The Earth orbits a giant cookie!”

“You mean the sun?”

“No, I mean a giant cookie!”

“You seriously don’t know anything do you?”

“I don’t know anything? I actually know really important stuff!”

“Oh yeah, so do you know what serves as a better meal for lunch, cookies or a full meal at a restaurant?”

“Cookies, obviously!”

“Wrong!”

“Well, at least cookies aren’t rude like you!”

“Cookies are  food!”

“No, cookies are far greater than food, they’re...cookies!”

“Oh really? I never would have guessed,” 

“Fine, you can keep being a sarcastic cookie hater, but I’m going,”

“I will, and I’m going too!”

“Fine! Go!

“I will, bye!”

“Bye!”

“Wait...what about the waffles?”

The air was dirty and felt like a heavy cotton blanket. A musty feeling clung to my body. I walked down the street and into the little shop with rows of juicy, refreshing-luscious fruits. The sight brought joy to my eyes. 

A short, plump lady came to the front of the shop. 

“Anything for Miss Chang? Everyone is too scared to even step out of their homes these days,” she sighed as a disappointed look hung on her face. “Business is hurting.”  

“I’ll take two pounds of the lychees, please.” I muffled through my mask. As she rang up my purchase, a raspy cough came from deep inside the shopkeeper. I looked up in surprise. 

“Ma’am, you look a bit pale.” I exclaimed. Her whole body shook as she tried to suppress the wracking cough. I slowly backed away and dialed 120. The ambulance came directly after.  I said a silent prayer as they took her away on a stretcher. The neon red and blue was the only thing I could focus on as the woman wept frantically. 

One rotten lychee sat in front of me. I left the money on the counter and walked away.

Violet didn’t mind sitting by herself--she liked the extra space to pile her books. She scrolled through the Jolyn website. I should buy one, or else she’ll be suspicious. She chose a violet bathing suit and pressed “Buy Now.” 

When her mom picked her up, Violet repeated her rehearsed speech: “It’s a pool party on Saturday at Annabelle’s; she invited me and the other girls.”  

“Oh! That’s so nice!” her mom squealed. She was excited for me. Maybe a little too excited.  Violet ignored her and went upstairs to her room. She was that mom. She was always asking Violet about her social life.

“You’re not going to wear that faded yellow suit, are you?” 

“No, I ordered a new one.” 

Beep! Beep! It was Saturday morning, the day of the party. Violet woke up and got dressed, remembering her book but almost forgetting her suit. “Violet! Come on! The other girls are probably already there!” She sighed and ran down the stairs. Her mom was thrilled: the day her daughter was finally invited to a party.

Once her mom dropped her off, Violet skipped off to the park for another delightful day of reading.

People are being taken over by their fears. 
I could see them. Through the window in the streets. Clowns. Snakes. Spiders. Dolls. 
Their screams echo through the night.
A cold hand grips my heart as I huddle in my closet, jumping at every tiny noise.
I’m waiting. Waiting for my Change. Everyone that I love is already gone. 
So why am I still here? Hearing the shrieks. The cries of desperation. The dying wails of 
those who hadn’t Changed, but had been found.
I’m waiting. Waiting for my turn.
A searing heat rips through me. My back arches as a cry is wrenched from my lips.
This is it. My Change. I’m done waiting. 
But the fire sizzles, the dies, not catching. 
And I’m still here. 
Why?
My eyes grew hooded as the realization grows heavy with the borne fruit of despair.
I wasn’t afraid of clowns. Not snakes. Not spiders. Not dolls.
I was afraid of myself.

Vermont. September. A crisp day, refreshing and cool with a shivering breeze. The trees are ablaze, flaming branches reaching futilely for the cloudless sky in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Those leaves will die a brilliant, colorful death before returning to the ground from which they came to repeat the process next year. The ground withers beneath my feet, the green of the grass slowly bleeding out until it’s as brown as the dirt it will soon return to. In the distance, a fading red barn sags with the weight of its own existence. Battered down and fatigued, rotting and tired, the barn is scarred with the visceral memories of countless owners, harvests, and famines. It slowly falls towards extinction, an inevitable victim of attrition. The thoughtless sky, emptied by the massacre below, lies silent and serene, simply an innocent bystander of autumn’s slaughter. So blue, it seems to be mocking the carnage that lies below. This world is destined to die, smothered, crushed by a blanket of pure white death. On that empty sheet of desolation, nature will design its glorious rebirth.

Endless rain falling on top of my head, soaking my hair, the droplets clinging to my eyelashes, darkening the gray t-shirt, fogging my glasses. Endless rain up to my chest as I walk down the street towards the street lamp, the level of rain rising with each step. It’s monsoon season and I can’t keep the water out. I’m drowning. The water reaches my eyes and I stop trying. I don’t need to swim to the top. I can just submit to the water, let the calm silence of the water take me, the thousand prickings of the cold November rain drizzled down to a murmur inside the water. It’s the silence and the oblivion that prevents me from trying to swim back up. It’s so much better here. It’s finally silent. 

A choice. Whether its outcome means life or death is unclear. But I’m guessing it does.

A single glass sits on a table.

White walls around us, the glass and I.

There’s a door I learned was locked through my attempts to escape.

So I sit, facing the glass.

To drink or not to drink, I doubt that even Shakespeare could get me out of this one.

It’s clear. Any ordinary person would say it’s water. Still, am I an ordinary person?

So many things are clear. There’s the cry of a newborn. The thin breeze in my hair on the first day of classes. The joy I felt soaring on my new bicycle. But also, the pain my parents suffered when on the first day of third grade I did not return home. No gap-toothed smile telling about its day. Only a letter, informing my recruitment to help society. Help it do what? Who knows. Regardless the reason, my mother did not take it well. She continued life in agony. Until she didn’t. That is clear.

So now I stand. And take the glass.

Just one sip.

And I go to join my mother at rest.

He slowly ambled around the circle while she craved for their collision, where he would touch her head and say: duck. The blunt ‘d’ sound and the crispness of the consonants ‘ck’ hovered above her like soft sunbeams filtered through stained church windows. Soon, the caress of his voice ripped away to grant an equal portion of a-duck-and-a-tap to the next player. Some people, still reverent to that old pun, took it in the literal way and ducked their heads. He hadn’t moved several steps until: ‘GOOSE!’. Like a pile of dried leaves spun by the sudden swirl of wind, heads wheeled around and bobbed up and down to follow the running pair.

People continued to pat me and say ‘duck’—ahhhh, the acknowledgement of my existence rang out in the room! I watched them all to be aroused and knighted as ‘GOOSE’s. I wasn’t though…am I still playing in this game? Maybe I—ahhh! A-duck-and-a-tap! I express my deepest gratitude to you, miss! I am still playing! Okay, okay. 

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she plays her favorite game, waits for someone to tell her that she’s present now, to tap her head and say: hey, it’s okay.