Sarah Bradley knew she didn’t stand a chance in the Monroe High singing competition now that Lana Debrev was the new name added to the sign up list. Sarah really loved to sing more than anything in the world, but she for sure didn’t get her taste in music from her parents. Her mom was one of the top doctors at St. Joseph’s hospital and her dad was a very well known lawyer, one of the best in the state. Sarah didn’t know where she got her passion for singing from, but she knew from the second she entered her first singing class that she wanted to be a singer when she grew up. That’s why she signed up for her high school’s singing competition. The prize for the winner was a 10,000 scholarship and ever since the sign up was posted, she practiced for hours and hours, days and days, months and months. This is what it all came up to; tomorrow was when she would know if all her hard work would pay off after all. The only thing that was in her way was the one and only Lana Debrev. Lana beat Sarah at the States singing competition, only by one point, but since then, Lana was known as the best singer at her high school. Sarah wasn’t going to give up so fast yet though. Not after all the hard work she put into this. She went downstairs and sang for hours until her throat felt like cotton. The song she would be singing tomorrow was “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. Sarah went to bed early so she would get enough sleep but only two things were in her mind that kept her awake: the singing competition the next day and her Sweet Sixteen.

The next day at school, the mystery judge was revealed. The Monroe High singing judge was a mystery judge and ever since, everyone was wondering who it was. Now they knew. It was Rocky Port. No one could stop talking about this. Sarah couldn’t believe that the Rocky Port was going to be the judge of the competition. Rocky won so many awards and her songs are always chart breaking. This made Sarah feel so nervous that she had a garden of butterflies growing in her stomach. The competition was in one hour so Sarah had to head backstage to get ready. She was the third performer. As she was getting ready, she couldn’t help but overhear that Lana was so confident that she didn’t even practice her song. Before she knew it, the competition started. First, Amy went and Jane went second. Before she knew it, she stood before her whole school and Rocky Port. Sarah took one deep breath before she cued the backstage crew to start her music. She was a little nervous at first but her hard work showed off through the whole song. “Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on, Once more you open the door, and you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on.” Once the song ended, everyone in the crowd stood up and clapped, even Rocky Port. Once the crowd sat back down, Rocky’s feedback to Sarah was, “That was so perfect. You started a little nervous in the beginning but you got rid of that very fast. The high notes were spot on, almost as good as mine. Great job, keep it up!” This surprised Sarah a lot. “Thank you so much, you don’t know how much that means to me.” Sarah replied as she could feel tears threatening to slop from her eyes. When she got backstage, she was so excited, but she knew it wasn’t over yet. Sarah was waiting for Lana’s performance. She was the last one and Sarah could feel her heart beat getting faster and faster. When Lana sang, it was obvious that she didn’t practice much since she even got some the lyrics of her song wrong. From there, things just went downhill for her. Sarah couldn’t help but feel relieved. 

Once the performers were all called up to the stage again, the winner was announced. “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The winner of the competition and scholarship is… Sarah Bradley!” Sarah was so happy that all the hours finally paid off. The next week was a blur: cameras, shows, and her moments to shine. She remembered how even people who never talked to her started talking to her all of a sudden. She went from the shy girl to the most popular girl at her high school. She almost felt like she didn't even know who her real friends were anymore. Sarah knew who were her real friends and didn't ditch them. She's been so busy lately, having to go to so many events and school. Once, cameras even showed up to her school to interview her. This is how that week went for her. Next thing you know it was her sweet sixteen. She couldn’t believe the past week, it was so surreal. Sarah felt like she was living a dream and waiting for someone to pinch her and wake her up, but that just never happened. All her friends came to her sweet sixteen and it was perfect. In the middle of her birthday, her parents pulled Sarah over to tell her something very important. She was a little confused as she followed her parents into a private room, far away from where the party was. Once the door opened, she faced Rocky Port. “OMG! I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing here?” Sarah said, all her thoughts spilling out a time. “We need to talk about something very important. I need you to understand that no matter what I will always love you. Can you please be considerate with what I’m about to tell you?” Rocky asked. “Okay?” Sarah replied, even more confused than before. “Okay, so I’m your real mom. I know this sounds crazy and that this might seem like a prank, but I assure you, it’s not. If I had a choice, I would’ve kept you, but I didn’t. After you were born, a group of people who attacked me once threatened to kill you if I didn’t meet with them in Switzerland. How crazy is that? I knew I couldn’t meet with them since my security found out that they were planning to kidnap and rob me. I didn’t want to put you in danger so I put you in safe hands with the Bradleys. All these years, this group was never found since they hid their tracks very well, until a few weeks ago. Once I found out that it was safe for me to come and get my daughter again, I knew I didn’t have a moment to waste. My manager told me about the competition you were in and I knew I had to see how good you were at singing. Sorry, that was a lot of talking I did there, what are your thoughts, hon?” “Wow, this is so much to take in. Is this true?” Sarah asked Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. “Yes, we wanted to tell you but we knew we couldn’t. We will always love you like our own.” “Do you want to move in into my house?” Sarah’s mom asked. “Of course, I’d love to.” Sarah replied.

            Sarah was overwhelmed, in a good way. She had to admit, it was pretty cool to be Rocky Port’s daughter. As it was time to cut the cake, Sarah noticed that some of the people from the other “party” were undercover paparazzi. Once Sarah found out about her real mom, the undercover paparazzi walked in. It felt really nice to have all the people who cared and loved for her on her birthday. Then, everyone started singing, including the paparazzis. “Happy birthday Sarah!”  

I dreaded this night for a while now. Halloween is a stressful holiday for my family. Since I have to shop and go trick or treating with my mom, we try not to talk. We never get along, sometimes I feel like we don’t even have a connection. But this year, I get to bring my friends with us. I will just try to talk to them more to avoid having to talk to my mom.
   I heard the doorbell and ran down stairs. I yanked open the door, breathing heavily. We all decided to dress as zombies, but some of them dressed as mummies. I guess it would be cool to mix it up. I was about to call my mom to tell her that we were ready, but a delightful smell traveled through the house. I followed the scent to my kitchen, where it was really strong. I looked around and my mom came in. 

   “What are you making?” I asked her. “We never make a big meal for Halloween.” 

    “ Yeah, but since your brothers visiting I decided to make something that he will love, and he loves turkey and cranberry sauce. I know its not Thanksgiving, but it would fill you guys up. I might even make some pumpkin pie.” She said in a very cheerful voice. I almost forgot that my brother was coming, I was so excited to finally go with my friends, but now I’m even more excited.

“ Well, we’re ready when you are. We will be waiting at the door.” I ran out of the kitchen and looked out the window, hoping that my brother would magically appear. We just moved from Texas, and he stayed. He always wanted to come to Florida, so he decided to come for the weekend. Now I wanted to jump around and scream, but my friends would probably leave. I just held my excitement in.
  My mom came to the door and we darted out, assuming that she was ready. She slowly came out and locked the door, but we were already across the street banging on the neighbors door.
   

 “Trick or treat!” we all screamed. We were grinning from ear to ear. He was an old man, and he put his cane by the door and walked to another room. We didn’t really know what he was doing, so we didn’t know what to do. We just waited silently. He didn’t come back for thirty seconds, and we were about to walk away, but we heard his shoes clomp on the wood floor in his living room. He came out with a few mini candy bars, and we said thank you. Before we left he whispered in my ear. I just looked at him with an awkward smile on my face and left. I tried to catch up with my friends, who were already next door. 

 “Guys, that old man at the other house said that there’s a haunted house around here. He said something about a cornfield and a graveyard, too. I don’t know if those were directions or not.” I was out of breath. A man dressed as a vampire came to the door.

 “Trick or treat!” they screamed, but I just stood there, looking nervous.

“ I know which house he was talking about!” my friend whispered. We slyly ran away without the rest, knowing that they would tell my mom, where ever she is.
  

We ran down the streets to get to the cornfield. We were getting tired and stopped. We put our hands on our knees and a little kid dressed as a goblin came up to us and tugged on my torn zombie costume.

 “Rawr!” he yelled. I didn’t really know how to respond to that. We heard our friends voices in the distance, so we ran as fast as we could, and we accidently knocked him over. I didn’t have time to stop and apologize, but his parents walked over and helped him up. I smiled at them and mouthed the words, “sorry”, but they gave me an evil look. Now I have even more people to hide from.

We finally found the corn field and ran through. I was worried that we would get lost, but my friend that she knew her way through. After a while, I smelled a faint scent of food, it smelled delightful.

 “ I think there’s a house near by, do you smell that?” I asked her, but she didn’t respond. She looked through the corn fields and just ran. I followed her, assuming that she smelled it, too. We made our way out of the corn fields, but we didn’t see a house, all we saw was a dark graveyard, its only light was the moon.
 We walked through the grave yard filled with fake skeletons that someone put on top of the tombstones. My friend and I slowly creeped through.
   A family of owls searched for food in an oak tree that hung over us. The red and orange leaves were beautiful. There were fake bats hanging from the branches, and fake blood was splattered on the trunk. Well, I hoped it was fake. 
   

“This is going to take forever. This graveyard is huge! Im not even supposed to be here, my mom is probably looking for us.”

“Relax. She can’t be that mad at you.” She said. 

I narrowed my eyes. “Can’t be that mad, huh? We’re in a graveyard for crying out loud! I was supposed to stay on my block!” I cried. I was worried that my mom might be looking for me, or even calling the cops. Hopefully we haven’t been gone that long and she won’t even notice that I’m gone. I sat down on a bench with black roses engraved into the old, chipped wood. I looked at my shoes, trying not to cry.

   “It’s ok,” she said, “ We will hurry. And if you don’t feel comfortable, we can go.” She sat down next to me and smiled. 
   

 “It’s fine. We couldn’t of been gone that long, we still aren’t really far and we ran the whole time.” I stood up and held out my hand to help her up. Even though she smiled, I knew how badly she wanted to go, and she would do the same for me. She smiled, took my hand and we ran farther.
   We walked a little farther, and I heard music in the distance. We looked at eachother and ran towards the music. We saw an old mansion with fog on the outside.
 

 “ So…do you think that this is the place?” I asked her sarcastically. 

 “ Well that’s where the music is coming from, but its not scary music. Haunted houses don’t have upbeat music.”

She was right. Haunted houses have scary music, not music that makes you want to dance.

“ Well, they might be giving out candy. We have to hurry, though.” I told her. 

We walked up to the house and knocked on the door. The music stopped. We were just standing there, waiting for the king sized candy bars to fill our buckets. A tall woman dressed as a witch answered the door. 

“Trick or treat!”we screamed. She just looked confused.

 “Um..” I whispered. “ Maybe we should go. I don’t know what to do.” I told my friend.

I looked behind her. In her living room I could see a bunch a people in costumes, who were also staring at us with a confusedlook.

 “I think that it’s a reserved party. Lets go.” We started to walk away. I turned back around and she was still looking at me. I gave her a fake grin and she shot one back. I turned back around, heard the door close behind me, and continued walking. After we were a few feet away, the music starting blasting again. 

 “ Well, that was a waste of time.” I said in a depressed voice. “ Now I’ll get in trouble for nothing.”

“ It wasn’t for nothing. We had an adventure, and it was your first Halloween with me.” She said, smiling.

 “ Yeah, but my mom and I are going to have an argument and she’ll be mad at me. I’ll be grounded while my brothers here. I wanted to be closer, but it’s too late. I know I said that I wanted to spend Halloween with my friends, but that was before I realized that I wouldn’t of been closer with her if I had stayed. Lets go, I want to get it over with.” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. We just slowly walked home. 
 Going through the graveyard and cornfield seemed a lot quicker then the first time. We made it to my house and I saw my mom sitting on the porch. She was looking around and our eyes met. She gasp and her eyes widened. She got up and ran towards me. I was as stiff as a board. She got closer and my friend ran away. I took one step back, and she just hugged me as hard as she could. I sighed in relief and hugged her back. 

“ Where were you? No one could find you! You are so lucky that I didn’t call the police yet!” she screamed. She was staring at me waiting for an answer. I barely opened my my mouth and she just hugged me again. I explained what happened, but throughout the whole story she just kept hugging me. 

 “ Never do anything like that again. I was worried. I love you.” She whispered. I looked at her surprised and told her that I loved her too. A few seconds later, my brother pulled into the driveway and we ran over to him, side by side. We hugged him a thousand times, then went inside to eat. I was the last one in since I was holding the door open for my family, but before I entered I turned around when I thought I heard someone call my name. I saw my friend standing on the side walk giving m a thumbs up. I smiled and she smiled back, then we both walked away. 
  We all ate dinner together, and I sat next to my mom. We were talking and laughing the whole time. What I thought would be one of the worst nights of my life turned out to be one of the best. I will never forget this night, the night that everything changed.

What scares you most, sends chills down your spine and makes your pulse race causing your adrenaline to kick in? Could it be the shadows that dance on the walls of a decrepit basement, or the fact that you still do not know what lies beyond the door you have yet to enter? Fears that cause the imagination to run wild can live within our subconscious minds, making it difficult to differentiate between reality and a dream. Some dreams can take us to a whole new dimension, as all of your stresses and anxieties spew forth detestable images of a taunting, soulless underworld. What makes a dream so horrific is the thought of never waking up, or having to live through the terrifying life that comes with the dream, that is, if you do not die in the process. All of the unknowns tend to build up a tension like no other, a feeling of pure shock that you are unable to control. This blood-curdling experience is known as a nightmare…

            When I opened my eyes, the room was illuminated by the single light of a candle. The horrific odor of a decaying corpse assaulted my senses, causing my eyes to tear uncontrollably as a strong wave of nausea took over the contents of my stomach. The sheen of a metal table caught my eye. Lying flat on the table, covered in gangrene, a human hand sat sprawled across the table, with its fingers spread in an inhumane position, each nail filled with dirt to the cuticle. From that moment on, I knew wherever I was, I needed to escape, or I would fall victim to the horrific killing that awaited me beyond the double bolted, metal door south of the table. As I attempted to move, I felt a sharp tightness spread over my muscles. Something was not right, as my limbs lay unresponsive to my desperate attempts of escape. Then, I opened my eyes and realized the severity of my situation.

            I was sitting in the fetal position and I was trapped behind metal bars. My spine longed to be standing, but my restraints did not permit it. I was a caged animal, desperate to stretch my limbs and break free. My mind was flooded with the possibilities that awaited my near future. The suspense was almost as agonizing as the physical pain that consumed my body, and in my intense agony, I spotted a figure from the corner of my eye. Within seconds, its steps grew closer and closer, but I was unable to identify distinctive facial features, as the being was concealed by an obstructive gas mask. I looked down and fear shot through me like a bullet passing through my brain. Clenched in the person’s hand was a tall gray bucket oozing to the top with live centipedes. Hundreds of legs escaped the uncovered bucket as insects by the masses fell to floor and the bucket swung to and fro like a pendulum. Before my mind registered what was going to happen next, I screamed the most deafening scream, sobbing heavily from the pure horror of being attacked by my worst nightmare. Fear was a stalker out to get me; I was its only victim.

            As the mask got closer, its monotone expression shifted to the nefarious face of twisted delight. The sound of footsteps gliding roughly against the hardwood floor mocked me as I began to plead my last will to my tormentor. Slowly, he raised the bucket building up the unsettling suspense that would begin my worst nightmare. One by one, he picked up the creatures with a gloved hand and tossed them into my cage. I went into a state of panic as the centipedes were flicked carelessly onto my cold flesh. Their tiny legs scraped against my skin pricking me with their rapid movement across my body. Adrenaline spiked through my veins and I shook uncontrollably by instinct in an attempt to rid the creatures of my presence. Two by two, three by three, soon the bucket went over my head, coating my body in disgusting layers of centipedes, covering every inch of me making it difficult to breathe. My hair itched with the prickling and tickling of bugs gliding through my long tresses and embedding into my scalp. I tried to open my eyes, but I could only see gray, the color of their putrid skin. I could not scream or cry, in fear the animals would take over my insides. I was a corpse buried alive; I would cease to exist from pure fear of my state of being.

            Only two thoughts consumed my mind: would I live through this experience to see tomorrow and could I find a way to escape? I scratched at the bugs like a cat pawing at a ball of yarn, except this was no fun and games. I was in it to win it in the fight for my life. Conquering my fear, I took the bugs in my hands one by one and violently ripped them apart with my hands like a barbarian. I had to shift them out of my line of vision so I could assess my surroundings. Miraculously, I was able to see the objects I had seen before and could make out the metal table with the rancid smelling human hand, the stained hardwood floor, and the single candle that illuminated the room. The metal door was rid of its bolts and it stood open, encouraging me to enter through to the other side; if only I could escape my confines.  I pushed at the metal bars and by chance, two of the bars came crashing to the floor leaving me enough space to exit my tiny chamber. I crawled out as fast as I could and shook off the remaining centipedes that had attached themselves to the fibers of my clothes. As I bolted for the door at lightning speed, something came over me causing me to see stars and collapse to the ground.

The room was spinning in all directions. As I tried to make sense of what had just happened, my eyes began to give out and I struggled to keep them open. “This was it”, I thought. Never again would I feel the serenity of my home, or hear the laughter of my friends, or experience my next birthday. This was what death felt like. Unlike peace or contentment of going in your sleep, this death was a garble of fear and confusion; distorted images of trickery that would haunt my soul. Where would I go? Would there be an afterlife awaiting my arrival or would my soul take the place of a nomad, wandering aimlessly through the gray areas of life? Or worse, could this be my final fate? If I truly could not make a second appearance in any world, I refused to let this be the way I would go. I had so much to live for and ending a fulfilling life with an unfulfilling death would not be how my life ended. Finally, no longer able to fight, I blacked out.

My ears were ringing with the sound of silence as sunlight streamed through my window; its pure white light piercing the demonic images my eyes had once seen. It was almost as if I felt a strange euphoria wash over me but where was I? Had I really made it to heaven? My eyes opened and I awoke to the comfort of my own bed; the creatures seemed to have faded out of existence and I felt as if the whole situation had never even happened. I was utterly shocked and surprised that my ordeal had not really happened. Still shaking, I was grateful that my dream had ended. The familiarity of my room eased my nerves and that is when I realized, it was all just a nightmare.

Fire. Red, orange, yellow fire, dancing across the plain cellophane. Fire, itself a warning, a large red flag.  Red, like a stop sign, or maybe a fire engine. Telling me to stop. Telling me it’s the wrong choice, warning me of the dangers ahead. I ignore the danger. I ignore the red signs. I step right into the fire, into its tendrils, into its embrace. 

He compels me. I should be compelling him. I should be his master, a human being to a mere object. However, he seems to compel me instead, that burning, red firework between my lips, one after another. I am a slave to him. The red warning signals blast all around me, screaming at me to stop. It’s not too late. But they don’t understand the complexity of this desire. They don’t realize that I am not allowed to leave. That I am not chained down by him, but by myself. Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot snap out of the allure. I cannot leave. He entices me, entices me the way fire entices a fur trapper in the artic. The heat is seductive, so seductive. In spite of all the warnings about not getting burned, one cannot help but advance closer and closer, and the fire gets hotter and hotter and even more irresistible. Even as the flesh catches fire the pleasure does not stop.

Crack. He explodes as he hits my tongue. I wince as the familiar pain courses through my mouth, across my tongue. The flesh still throbs, a burning patch of red staining the area where he hit me. Soon I will be screaming in pain, begging for him to stop, but he won’t. Or maybe it’s me who won’t. But for now, the searing pain fades with a small sizzle and I want more.

My palate is tainted. The once tasteless flesh now simmers with the remains of him. He is over. With a mere snap of my jaw I vanquished an entire existence. He screams, a crunching, sickening sound, as he disappears forever.

I look in the bag. There’s more. He’s not over, I realize. He is never over.

It would be so simple for me to deny him. He cannot move me. He cannot move even himself. Alone, he is incapable of causing me harm. I am the one who gives him permission to harm me. I am the one who allows it to happen. Who wants it to happen.

Sometimes I think about him when we’re not together. I realize the pain he causes me. But I look forward to that pain. I yearn for it. It feels so good to hurt. To burn. To be alive. Sometimes, driving home, I race past the speed limit, frantically scrambling to be with him just a few moments sooner. The thought of it sends chills down my spine. Without him, I would be uneasy, untouched, my tongue unhurt but tingling, needing those cracking blows.

Crack! He hits me again, and this time the pain intensifies. It’s the same spot, over and over again. As he keeps hitting me, each blow brings more and more agony, more distress.

Why not another spot? I wonder. Why not an unharmed spot, one that would feel the same slap but not the same pain? Because I know, I know that only one spot can feel it. He can touch any other part of me, but none will feel it like the taste buds do.

            The swishing sound of the water bottle is nearly a tangible one, making a small splashing sound as my mouth floods with the bottle’s contents. I swish the cold liquid around in my mouth, hoping for it to soothe my injuries. I read the label, perhaps to distract myself from the pain. The water merely glosses over my tongue, though, and I’m left with the burning feeling once more.

            He waits for me, quietly. Very quietly. He doesn’t say a word as he watches me try to recover from the pain he carelessly inflicted upon me. He’s only waiting. Waiting to hurt me more, to hurt me harder. I know the slaps are going to be even harder next time.

            Do I want to do this? I think. I don’t know if I like the pain. I hate pain. I hate the pounding, stinging, crackling, burning. I hate the marks he leaves on me. I hate him. I detest him.

            And yet I love him. I revel in the hurt. I relish the burns and cuts and bruises. I feel my taste buds buzzing. I feel my whole self buzzing.

            I turn and face him once more.

            He looks at me, almost tauntingly, as if to say, You’re mine now, my dear.  

I want to stand up. I want to tell him to stop. I want to flee.

            But I can’t.

He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to cause me pain. But I do. He doesn’t need me, and yet I need him.

            Crack! Another slap, harder this time, more loaded, more powerful, more of the strength that dusts each part of him, fiery red chili powder. I scream out in pain. Before long I am panting, catching my breath and trying to cool my burns. I suddenly feel lightheaded.

            He strikes again. Crack! Tears sting my eyes as the pain peaks near my threshold.

            It feels good. Can I take any more? I don’t want to fuel the fire that burns me. I don’t want to be slapped anymore. But I do. I really, really do.

            So can I handle another strike? There is only one way to find out.

            Crack! He hits me one more time, and I cry in pain, in hurt, in anger. Anger at him and at myself. I immediately regret my decision to take another beating. But it doesn’t even really feel like a decision I am free to make.

            Finally, I realize that I am unable to take any more of this abuse. I scream at him, yell at him to stop.

And he does.

But he does not stop taunting me, with his open availability. I see the glow of the embers reflected in the clear silver.

            I want more. I want more. I want just a little bit more. I can allow myself a minuscule amount.

            No, I can’t.

            Grabbing him and lifting his body up, I choke him, harder than I’ve ever done anything in my entire life. His neck gives in readily, crumbled and crushed by my grip. I am soon holding his crumpled neck in my hands, his body limp, hanging there as the contents inside are cut off from air, from particles, from bacterial exposure. From me.

            Grabbing the pink binder clip that rests just a few inches away, I take his crumpled neck in my hands and clip him shut. Tossing his body into the snack cabinet, I am finally able to break free from his grasp.

            I am still panting, still crying, and the pain on my tongue lingers. Even without the fire, the burn has somehow intensified and spread through me. It is a rough kiss, a tender embrace. No, it is more than that. Worse than that. It is a too-tight hug, the kind that crushes your bones and pushes your ribs towards your lungs but is still injected with so much love, warmth, tenderness. His slaps are a necessity to me. I need them. Yes, I made the choice to stop him from hurting me, yet a part of me still wants him to. I want him to bring me pain, bring me the sensation that harms me but also reminds me that I am alive, that he is alive, that together we can have anything. Everything.

            I cry a bit over him. At least, I think I am crying over him. Maybe the wounds are getting to me. All I know is that I am lost and heartbroken. I miss him already. Not just his fiery slaps and punches, but his presence. I miss knowing that he’s always there for me, there to beat me, to torture me, in order to console me after I face hardships, heartbreaks, and disappointment. But at the same time, it feels like a liberation. I feel like a skydiver. Maybe I will live, maybe my parachute will fail me. I don’t know how I’m going to do on my own. But there is a certain thrill to not having the diving instructor’s reassuring hand by my side. Still, I wonder if I had made a grave mistake.

Maybe I can take him back?

            No, I cannot. I have moved past him. I know that wanting him is an evil, that he is an evil, That his touch feels like hellfire. I want to be with him again, feel his touch, his burn. But I can’t. That’s like wanting to light myself on fire again.

            Maybe some other naïve young fool will come across him in the future. Maybe she will find him, limp and harmless-looking. An inviting, blazing red. Maybe she, curious, will reach out for him, something she may always regret, or never regret. I don’t know.

            I so know that he will hurt her, whoever she is. I know that he will hurt her in the same way that he hurt me. He will beat her every day, and she will cry in pain and scream in agony, but she will not be able to stop letting him do what he does best. She will frantically suck the water bottle dry, just as I used to do, but it will not help her. Nothing will help her, not even herself, because she will never be able to stay away.

            I know this because I know him. I even knew him as a child. We grew up together. I know that he treats everyone the same way, hitting them, burning them, wounding them, inflicting repeated injuries upon their most vulnerable places. I know that he is still out there doing this, not just to me, but to people around the world. And yet, at the same time, he reposes calmly, without regret, confined by the mahogany painted doors of my cabinet. Confined by himself, really; unable to speak or move or know anything.

            It’s funny, in a way. He is an inanimate object, who doesn’t even know who he is or who I am. And yet, he is so abhorrently violent, causing me more distress than every other traumatic experience combined.

            I know it will be the same for the next girl. I am sure of it. There is no doubt in my mind that he will harm her, maybe even more than he has hurt me. Maybe she too will find herself tentatively drifting back to him every day, lusting for pain but also fearing it. Maybe.

            There is a lot I do not know. But I do know one thing. Whoever this person is, she will never feel the same way about him that I do. She will never harbor such a burning passion, such an intense desire for him, as I do.

            I glance back at the snack cabinet. He is in there, calling for me. I want so badly to go to him. But I know that along the way I’ll get stopped by some prison guard, whether it’s reason or logic or a knowledge of myself and what he has done to me before. I know for certain that I will not be going back to him today.

Today, at least, I am free of him.

            Still, I look up at the small cabinet. The unremarkable, humble cabinet. Though made of wood, it does not burst into flames. If you didn’t know what was inside it, you would never guess it holds a fire inside. A blaze. A scorching supernova.

The only thing I could think about were the dinosaurs.  Don’t stop they’re right behind me I told myself as I pushed my body to the limit.  Sweat rolling down my shirt on this cloudless sunny morning as I run for my life.  There right behind me!  Dont look! Keep running!  I kept telling myself, but as I turned my head back it lept.

All of a sudden I was there, 11 years old, my mom got the letter that would tell us my father died in afghanistan.  As she opened the letter she began to cry, and I pried it out of her wet hands.  As I read, I sank to my knees and also began to cry.  

Then a flash and I was in junior high watching a puny kid getting beat up by a broad square jawed boy named Bill.  Bill threw the puny kid on the ground.  Anger rushed through my body as I started sprinting towards them.  Just as I go to tackle him there was another flash.

 I was bound up with a blindfold on my head.  Then a cold agitated voice spoke ”its time, its been an hour kill a hostage” There was a sudden jolt of someone pushing me forward.   I thought, be brave i’ll be the first, someone else can survive,  then a distressed high pitched voice came out that I knew to be my mom’s “NO! TAKE ME! TAKE ME INSTEAD!  Then I heard footsteps running toward me.  I yelled “NO!”  Then BANG!

I was lying flat on the ground.  Something cold and scaly lay on top of me.  Then I realized I had a sharp pain in my shoulder where a claw was sticking in.  I looked to my side where an old scrawny looking man was standing. He was wearing a yellow jacket and right beside him a really strong looking man wearing a bulletproof vest took the gun from the scrawny man and yelled “I TOLD YOU THAT HE WASN'T WORTH SAVING!” Then the scrawny looking man replied,  ”DID YOU THINK I WAS JUST GOING TO LET HIM DIE JOHN!” John looked infuriated and grabbed the scrawny looking man and said, ”you're more important than him Vince.” As he pointed to me. I tried to get up but failed and Vince broke free of John’s grasp and ran to me.  Vince said,”You’ll be alright if I can just get you somewhere safe”.  Vince pulled the claw out of my back and the pain was excruciating. Then Vince muttered “ Velociraptor” then “There are going to be more they don't hunt alone” He pulled me up and I wrapped my arm around him, and said “what is going on?” Then he said “A better thing to say would be your name.”  Then I said, “ It’s Michael” Then he let out a deep sigh as we got back to John.  

John said, in a angry voice,”Were not taking him”. Then Vince said, in a if possible even angrier voice,” You want me to just leave him”. John replied,“No, I’m telling you we must leave him.”

Then Vince half carried me inside a house and set me down on a sofa and said, “I'll explain as much as I can while I patch you up” Then Vince went into the next room and a moment later came back carrying a backpack.  He put it down beside me and pulled out some alcohol and gauss then he said, “ This is going to hurt” He poured the alcohol on the deep cut and I put my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. He started to bandage it up with the gauss and said, “ okay this is going to be hard to explain but I’ll give you the just” he explained as he was wrapping the gauss around my shoulder.”

Basically there has been a rift in time that the dinosaurs are coming through to get into this time period” he said as he cut the gauss finishing then said, “ you're good, but I still have to check if your infected” as he bent down drew up a small machine and a long needle. When I saw the needle I jumped back over the sofa and ran to the corner as vince said “ its just a needle michael”. Then I said, “ theres no way you're gonna stick me with that”.  Vince said half laughing “ you just got slashed by a velociraptor with three inch claws and you're worried about this little needle”.  Then I retorted, “ well it looks like you're enjoying yourself.”

“Look I just need some blood to see if your infected or you’d been infected by that velociraptor. I was going to explain just before you had your panic attack that there is a highly intelligent disease that the dinosaurs brought.  It attaches to your central nervous system and takes over your body.  The only thing these infected do is eat anything living in site, now will you just come over here and let me sample your blood.”

It came as a shock, “ do you mean like zombies”.

Then vince said “yes yes now let me get a sample of your blood” I held out my arm then the needle went in and extracted blood. A green light flashed on the machine when vince dropped the blood into it.  Then vince said, “you're good”.

Then I said, “ if there is a zombie apocalypse then why haven't I seen any”.

Then vince said, “ it,s because we’re too far from any city John and I are heading towards a safe zone set up by the military when this started”.  “It’s a little ways away, but we should be able to make it by nightfall.”

Then there was a gunshot from outside and Vince sprang to his feet and ran out the door and I followed.  As I looked it took me a second to see what had been shot. But, it was lying there, about six foot tall, scaley and razor sharp claws and jagged looking teeth.  Vince identified it to be a velociraptor.  Then a lizard like  foot with a three inch claw came prowling around the corner and it dawned on me that this was bad by the look of sheer terror in Vince's face.  The velociraptors leg came around the corner and it was the scariest thing that I had ever seen.  I was frozen with fear until John grabbed Vince and bolted through the house.  My first instinct was to follow, as I did, I grabbed Vince’s bag and ran after John and Vince.  

The backyard was flush with grass and had a wooden fence lining the area.  Then I saw him. He didn't look alive, but he was moaning and eating a woman and a child the sight of them made me freeze. Then he turned around with a moan and started to shuffle towards me. I stood there frozen until it was right in front of me. It had a slack face and had a slash down his face that was covered in blood from eating that woman and child.  It was getting closer, I couldn't move then the zombie fell on top of me flailing its arms.  Its mouth was close to my neck. It was trying to bite me. I pushed with all my strength then vince came crashing into the man and his head hit the stair it didn't move for a second. Then with a moan it started to move again this time towards Vince. Then John’s foot came slamming down into the mans face completely crushing his head off.   I got up completely dazed and for a brief moment forgot about the enormous lizards chasing us.  John pulled Vince up and Vince said, “that is what I call an infected” at that same moment John was pulling Vince across the yard. I followed but my heart stopped when I heard that loud screech.

I stopped in my tracks and turned my head and saw it standing there. It had saliva dribbling from his open mouth and blood red eyes that a lens retracted from to show cat like pupils.  Then I bolted and leaped as high as I could to jump the fence. I could not make it but I pulled myself over with dire urgency.  I fell onto the ground and when I got up I was face to face with a large group of infected.  Although, most of them were worried about Vince and John ten feet ahead of me, a few were focused on me.  I ran to catch up but John and Vince weren't slowing down.  I could hear the lizard behind me. Its feet were pounding the ground.  I looked over my shoulder and saw the infected stumble into the giant lizard behind me, and it toppled over.  The large group of infected behind me made it impossible for any of those lizards to follow, but the infected were catching up turning from a shuffle to a slow run. They were catching up with me.  I just realized how many there were, one hundred at least.  I turn my head right and just focused on running.  My legs were burning as they slowly turned to jelly.  My lungs were on fire, every breath felt like it was going to be my last until I gasped the next one in.  My eyes were watering now.

Ahead of me John and Vince turned into a house.  I ran through the house. The infected are behind me and I can hear them going through the house.  As I get to the back door, I flip a table over the door and close it. I look around and see a hatch. Vince is getting in with John’s help.  I run over to the other side of the yard and stick my foot in  as John is closing the hatch.  

The pain makes me wince but I have too much adrenalin for it to affect me.  I squeeze through the hatch and tumble down a small set of stairs maybe six or seven.  I roll out on the floor close my eyes and gasp.  Large sweaty hands clasp my neck and slowly pull me up. I clenched my eyes shut as my feet leave the floor.  No air can escape my throat as my back slams against a cold wall.  This is it I thought as I dangled . This is how I'm going to die.  Not by infected or a giant lizard but by murder.  I open my eyes to see John with a murderous look in his eye, and Vince trying to pull him back.  I see patches of light, my vision is fading, and everything goes black.

When I gained consciousness again I was lying in a bed that felt like a rock.  I decided to go through the good things in my mind like how I wasn't dead, or how my lung pain had diminished.  Then I remembered this world I lived in, and it didn’t feel good.  I opened my eyes and peered around the room.  There at the opposite end stood John sharpening a bowie knife.  Then just a bed to the right of him, Vince sat with his hands in his face.  I tried to sit up and succeeded.  John gave me the nastiest scowl you could imagine. Then turned back down to his bowie knife sharpening it harder than ever. I turned my attention over to Vince.  He wasn't crying, but his hands were in the position as if he was weeping or hiding his face.  I said in the softest voice possible”Vince what's wrong”  he didn’t move for a second then hesitantly pulled his hand’s from his face.  Vince looked up at me. He had a mark that followed the socket of his eye.  It had turned black.  This was the first time I got a good look at Vince. His bright blue eyes were full of fear. He had wrinkles on his face, but not many. His silvery grey hair was combed and went down to his eyebrow.  I frowned at him and said “ what happened”  then when he spoke his voice cracked  like he was afraid someone was going to hurt him if he said the wrong thing. “I… I got hit by john… it… it was an accident but...” he got up and started to walk in my direction. “I guess he stopped choking you so thats a plus,”  he patted me on the shoulder and sat on the bed opposite of me.  He looked at me wearily and smiled. He would glance at John every other second.  I could tell something was wrong.  They just stared at each other for a second.  For an old man, Vince seemed intimidating, his shirt was torn and he had a bandage on his side where the shirt was torn.

  I asked “what happened” and gestured towards the shirt.

Vince said very quickly”nothing”  he probably saw how sceptical I was so he said “it was a piece of metal sticking out of the house, it scratched me, I’m alright”.  Although I didn't quite believe Vince I didn't want to argue more.

So I just said two simple words “what's next.”

The next words that came out of Vinces mouth were full of confidence, but didn’t compute. “ We’re charging them,” then I glanced at him, my mouth half open.

I managed the sputtered word ”w-what”.

Then John said in his deep low voice that projected, “you heard him you imbecile.”  I stared back and forth between Vince and John in disbelief. Then he packed his voice with fake confidence and said “lets do it.”

 Vince took some canned corn out of his pack and tossed it to me and said “ you can be corn fed Jr.” “ John is corn fed. “ He leaned in closer and said, “ thats how he said he got so big”.

I laughed, it felt good.  It felt good to feel normal again.   I scarfed down the corn quickly and stood up.  I felt better to have something in my stomach, but I didn’t know how long that it would last.  I felt queasy and had butterflies churning.  I stood up and looked at John.  John looked at me as if sizing me up. Then he threw me something that was laying under his bed.  It was a samurai sword.  Oh my gosh! It looked amazing! It has an ivory handle that is engraved with some japanese marks.  I had so much confidence now I said “ lets get this done”. To my surprise Vince and John grabbed their stuff and headed towards the door and  up the staircase that I previously fell down.  When they got to the door Vince said, “were going quick, nobody stops for anyone else,  this is our final dash to either success or a painful death.”  “ARE... WE… READY!”  

John and I yelled back in unison “YEAH!” Then we high fived. That’s the first time I actually bonded with the brute.  Then Vince pushed the door open and bolted. John followed after and I ran behind.  We ran like there was no tomorrow. I played the eye of the tiger over  and over  in my head.  There was nothing there, something must be wrong, but they ran for about fifteen minutes slowing down after the initial sprint to a jog.  The woods were thick on each side of us. The trees must have been ten feet tall.  We ran and approached a horde of infected.

I thought I was going to run around like the other two, but something caught my eye.  I saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.  She was surrounded.  Looking at her made my heart thump and beat.  I felt like it was about to pump through my neck.  Then my legs guided me.  I lifted my sword not knowing what I was doing or why.  I unsheathed it and with some new found strength I cut straight through four infected.  I continued the pattern straight to her. I saw her eyes out of the corner of my eyes.  They were hazel brown and she had long dark hair that went to her shoulders. She had a few freckles scattered across her face.  This has got to sound crazy, but this girl made me want to fall over and pass out.  If my heart got any faster I was going to have a heart attack.  She looked at me and yelled in the most beautiful voice that has ever entered my ears,” are you going to help or what samurai”. I regained my focus. I found some sort of new strength inside me. I grabbed her arm and pulled and swung at the infected carrying her towards John and Vince.  When we got out of the herd. I realized how lucky I had been.  I found myself staring at her with her white face covered in earth.  I dragged her towards John and Vince. They had taken a dirt path into the woods. I said to her,  ” please just trust me, come with us to safety.”  Hearing those words she stopped struggling against me and followed.  We just ran for thirty minutes following John and Vince. Then I saw it!  It had walls fifty feet high with spikes jutting out.  I turned my head and saw a blur of colors and out of it was some sort of lizard with spiky frills.  Tt was four times the size of the trees and it wanted us dead.  I just pulled her running, 10 feet, 2 feet, then we fell in the door. The wall shuddered as the giant lizard hit it behind us. I looked into her hazel eyes and said “we made it” .          

Green Light

“But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone-he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward-and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock.”

 -         

F. Scott Fitzgerald

                                                      The Great Gatsby

                                             ***

I think there is within us a certain desire to be fixed. Of all the broken crumbling things we collect, there is an instinctive desire to be healed. Somewhere within all of us there is a small wasteland of sins eating that unsettles us; then discomposes us slowly, slowly, slowly until we succumb to its dark erosion.

All of us struggling with ourselves, tearing at phantom hands that seem to harass us, only when we turn around, there’s nothing there but a reflection. There’s nothing there but our own ghastly images that seem bent to destroy us.

I am by no means refuting such a truth. I only serve to bring up one that is just as valid.

                                                                                                                     ***

A sea of paper surrounds us and the hazy glow of the study lights casts a lethargic trance. We’re at Jordan’s house working on our English final. The prompt goes as follows:

Choose a collection of three American novels that point to one underlying thesis. Provide sound support and conclude with a final paper that numbers around three pages, correct formatting of course, due Monday for final grading. You may work in groups of three at the most.

As per her request, we chose three books: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, and The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald and by the witness of several cups of steaming coffee, led a solemn academic vigil to determine what our grand thesis would be. Taylor was assigned to The Bell Jar, I to Of Mice and Men, and Jordan to Gatsby.

Jordan is gnawing on the end of her pencil as she annotates something within the pages of Gatsby and her long hair falls over her face. Taylor is tapping her foot and clutching a can of soda in her hands as she skims the prompt again.

Jordan and I engage in discussing how incredibly depressing the news has gotten. Taylor rolls up her sleeves absentmindedly and there is a sudden silence that fills the room.

She glances at us wondering why we stopped and then looks down at her arms. She quickly pulls her sleeves back down over the scars that adorn her wrists in angry red slashes. Angry, hateful slashes. She holds the ends of her sleeves down pulled over her wrists in her palms, defensively, a terrified defensive, “How about we just go back to the project,” she mumbles.

So we do, because we don’t have much of an alternative and feigning normalcy might defeat the suffocating silence.Taylor’s had a rough past. She tries not to talk about it much because it pains her to remember some of the stuff that happened to her, so we try not to discuss her wrists because it might hurt her more.

I break the silence first.

“Of Mice and Men is about a man named George and his friend Lennie who dream of owning their own land. George is a very strong, big guy, who isn’t very bright. They go to earn money at a ranch only then George accidently kills the owner’s wife. George panics and runs away and everybody back at the ranch plan to murder him. Only then, Lennie finds George first and kills his friend so that he wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of the other ranch hands.”

Taylor follows.

“The Bell Jar is about a girl named Esther who becomes depressed after experiencing a bunch of messed up stuff in New York at her internship. She becomes depressed, and then suicidal, and tries to kill herself multiple times. She is sent to a mental institution where she eventually recovers but still carries the effects of her depression with her.”

Jordan is last.

“Gatsby is a man who gets filthy rich illegally in the roaring twenties and he’s obsessed with this green light he always sees at the end of the dock. He has a huge mansion and always throws these grand parties in hopes that one day the woman he first loved will wander in. Eventually he meets his first love only she’s married, but he doesn’t really care because he’s so in love with her. They get into a car crash where they hit and kill a person when the women he loves is driving and he’s in the passenger’s seat, but he covers for her so that she won’t have to take the blame. He gets shot by the vengeful husband of the person they ran over because he thinks that Gatsby killed his wife.”

“What’s the green light?”

“It’s this thing that Gatsby obsesses over. It symbolizes his dreams for the future.”

“What was his dream?”

She pauses for a second, “It was love, his first love actually. Her name was Daisy and she was his happiness.”

Then we’re all quiet again and Jordan asks if we want more food. We say sure and she heads for the door to go get some downstairs. At that moment we hear a deafening crash on the first floor and loud voices, screaming voices, a man and a woman. Jordan hurries out, shutting the door behind her. Taylor and I exchange looks. It was pretty common to overhear bits of hostile conversation at Jordan’s house, but today, things seem especially heated. The voices scream at each other, angry, attacking screams.

She returns with some bags of chips, “Sorry, things have been rough around the house lately, why don’t we head outside, it’ll be quieter there.”

She seems shaken.

So we abandon the room for a spot outside. It’s late afternoon, and the sky is streaked shades of oranges and pinks.

 “You know what’s the same,” says Jordan, “Here’s what’s the same. They all fail. They never reach happiness. They’re all like Gatsby in the end, reaching for the green lights they’ll never find.”

“Never said that in the Bell Jar”

“Actually, the Bell Jar was somewhat of an autobiography and it’s most likely that Sylvia Plath committed suicide,” goes Taylor.

I remember thinking how ironic it was, all these grand novels, all so cherished, and yet they all pointed to the same defeating truth.

Jordan nods a disconnected nod as she traces circles in the grass.

“Hey, you okay?”

She nods, but the look in her eyes tells me otherwise.

 “How’s your mom,” she asks me.

I pause for a second. “She’s stressed. You know, her boyfriend died a couple months back, and she needs surgery for her back.”

“Sorry about that.”

Once again, silence descended like a fog over us and filled the spaces where no words could be said.

There was a profound feeling of brokenness that surrounded us, I realized. Here we were, broken people examining the lives of fictional people who were still just as broken. Under this sun wasn’t there a single soul who was unaffected by pain? This pain that seemed to perpetuate everything it touched and left things empty, and crumbling, and dead inside.

Night was falling quickly and it was dark save the streetlights that illuminated a nearby field. We decided to go to the field, towards the light.

We lay down with our eyes looking up. Stars glistened overhead, stretching right alongside the darkness that seemed to want to swallow their glow.

Jordan speaks up with a quiet, reminiscent murmur.

“You know what my green light was? I used to tell my parents when I was young that I wanted to be a star. I use to tell them: I want to be the kind of star that people mistake for a satellite,” she points her finger towards the bright speckled heavens, “the ones that are so big that people think it’s some kind of airplane because it’s so grand, but it’s not. It’s a star, and that’s what I wanted to be” she says with a child’s smile. The big black sky above her smiles back, and the stars might’ve twinkled just little a brighter in that moment because they were performing for the little girl stuck on the ground, in her head, who wanted so badly to be where they were.

“I wanted to laugh all the time,” says Taylor. “I wanted to live every day making people happy, like a superhero that vanquished all kinds of villains,” she touches her wrists subconsciously, “When I was younger, I thought I could do anything. I really did truly believe nothing was impossible and that people were good.” Her voice wavers at the last part.

A cold breeze brushed past us and the night air trickled into my lungs, heightening my senses to an alert euphoria. Nothing but the sound of crickets disturbed our talk of green lights and the past.

I gaze at the stars above, “My dream is to live. See, there’s this thing inside of me like a trapped tiger that drives me crazy.” I trace phantom constellations in the air with my finger. “I listen to it every day pounding ferociously, trying to free itself. And I have a feeling that it’s going to kill me or drive me to live; live like I’m supposed to. But until then I’m here trying to walk the line between brilliance and insanity”

Once more, silence overtakes us, but this time it’s not a sad silence that swallows up words of comfort. This time, it is a silence that is the music for our words to dance, to bask in the light of the stars that run right alongside darkness until forever.

Here by the witness of the black sky, spotted with light, we held vigil to search for the parts of us that we had lost and to catch them and love them again.

Alongside the ghosts of Gatsby and Plath and George we stood professing our dreams and joined the ranks of humans who had once stood under this same sky and done the exact same thing.

What was this strange capacity for wishing, for dreaming? What was it that allowed us to bravely drive out all traces of brokenness and keep on hoping, that inspired such unshakeable strength but just for a second?

It was cruel; it really was, for it was this feeling that caused us to continue to crash ourselves up against the sharp rocks of defeat, inevitable defeat, by death or sin or by unmentioned dark things. That moved us to crash like waves upon an empty shore only to be swept back out to sea again.

For in such moments, such brief fleeting moments, we are inspired once again to look deeper within ourselves and produce a capacity to carry on even when the torrential storms of circumstance rage, leaving nothing behind but the memories of silent screams and cries for help, of broken glass that reflects nothing but a shattered reflection.

It is these impossible moments of faith that keep us alive.

These are the moments that we remember for a lifetime, and then carry with you somewhere inside our spirit for all the time after that. 

The S.O.S.

The sky was black and frothy with stars. I lugged my telescope onto the front lawn, settling its three legs into the ground. The grass was dry as paper, prickling under my bare feet. I pressed my eye to the rim of the telescope and pointed my gaze skyward. The constellations were spattered across a moonless tarp, glinting like a mouth of teeth. Mentally, I traced their lines, seeing their shapes as clearly as though they’d been chalked onto a black slate: Draco, Hercules, Norma, Cassiopeia. I chanted their names under my breath.

Around me, the night was hushed and solemn. The cornfields rustled out for miles. The crickets were quiet and grim. Bobby and Grandee were asleep in the farmhouse. I jotted the placements of the constellations onto my star-map, plotting them as I assumed an astronomer would, though I had no experience. Their dots winked at me from the paper.

I started stargazing after my brother, Bobby, crashed his fighter jet and woke up brain-damaged. I think I wanted to live outside of this world, to funnel my attention into something larger than myself. As Bobby relearned talking, and my grandfather grew too weary of the world to even leave the house, I devoured all the astronomy books I could find. In the face of the boundless universe, it hardly mattered if my big brother couldn’t tie his shoes anymore, or if he cried all the time, or if he was never going to get better. I felt inconsequential in a way that once would have frightened me, but was now a comfort.

As I peered into the telescope, something lanced across my vision, as thin and bright as the edge of a coin. I rubbed my eyes and stared. Something like a spit of lightning struck the cornfield, then retracted back into the sky, leaving only silence and darkness in its wake. I wrinkled my brow and straightened up. The streak had certainly touched down in the cornfield. The tang of ozone tinged the air. A thrill of excitement raced up my spine.

“Sal?” The resonant baritone came from behind me.

I felt myself stiffen all over, my shoulders creeping toward my head. “Go back into the house, Bobby,” I said.

“Why?”

I forced myself to turn around. Bobby was wearing his old college tee-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, the legs too short. His blond hair was pancaked to his cheek, his eyes puffy with sleep. He didn’t have any shoes on.

“Go back to bed,” I told him. “I’ll be right in.”

His lips parted in confusion. Bobby used to have an intelligent face, always funneled into a book, but now, it was as empty as a baby’s. He didn’t even know how to read anymore. I couldn’t look at him any longer, so I pointed my eyes at my feet, which were scabbed over and powdered with grime.

Bobby waddled down the porch steps, his hands outstretched. He had chapped, calloused hands, leathered with false maturity. “Don’t go, Sal.” His eyes were empty and his mouth was open. He didn’t look like my brother anymore.

I wanted to shake him, to revert him to the way he was before. Of course, I had no right to be angry with my brother--none of this was his fault. Bobby was a hero--all the papers said so. The brain-damage was only further proof he had been braver than I could ever be, even if he had lost himself in the process. My anger charred into sickening guilt.

“Fine, you can come with me,” I told him. “I’ve just got to check something out.”

The two of us walked into the cornfield. I pushed through the cornstalks, Bobby bumbling along behind me, occasionally making confused squalling noises. The further we moved into the belly of the field, the more restless he became. No doubt he feared getting lost. Eventually, he stalled and refused to go any further, planting himself mulishly into the ground. His bottom lip wobbled.

“Don’t cry, you big baby,” I muttered, stretching onto my toes to lay a hand on his shoulder. The seams of his shirt were puckered from the strain of containing him. His college logo smirked out from his chest. “Come on, bro. Just a bit more.”

Suddenly, we were deposited into a vast clearing. The corn had been erased, leaving a perfect circle of dirt that hadn’t been there yesterday. An uneasy feeling took root in my stomach; the tangerine dawn became foreboding. My heart began to thunder in my chest. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled. My hand tightened instinctually around Bobby’s, searching for some long-gone sense of safety in his presence. It was like squeezing a dead fish.

“What is it?” Bobby asked suddenly, loudly. His voice expanded in ripples. “Sal?” His voice was too large for the emptiness.

“Bobby,” I hissed. “Bobby, sh--”

“What is it?” Bobby repeated. He stamped the dirt down with his foot.

“Come on, Bobby, be quiet.”

The flattened dirt of the circle bored into me like an omniscient eye.

“Who did it? What is it? Why--”

“Bobby, shut up!” I yelled.

Bobby lapsed into shocked silence, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. I swallowed, abashed. In all of my irritation, I had never resorted to shouting at my brother before. It was too cruel. Bobby never would have yelled at me, had our positions been reversed.

Bobby’s eyes swam with tears; he looked as if I’d smacked him.

“Bobby, I’m sorry,” I said. “Please don’t--”

It was too late. Bobby detached from my hand and plunged into the corn like a man on fire, limbs flailing, tears sluicing down the cleft in his chin. As I gave chase, corn stalks slapped my arms and face with welting force. I kept my eyes trained on Bobby’s retreating form.

Then, with a cold sensation, I found myself back in the circle. The space was patterned with our footsteps now. Bobby stopped in its center and slumped to his knees. I crossed to him, feeling vulnerable in the blankness of the circle, and laid a hand on his shoulder. The gesture felt foreign to me--I wasn’t the maternal sort.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it, Bobby.”

Bobby just looked at me. “Why am I crying?” he asked. Tears leaked from his eyes and down his face.

My brother’s crying spells didn’t have any logic; his tears persisted long after the inciting incident was forgotten. The brain-damage affected his control over his emotions, the doctors had explained. To me, however, his tantrums seemed to be an expression of grief; perhaps part of Bobby had some inkling of what he had lost. Before his accident, I’d never seen him cry--he’d always been the stoic one. After my mother died, Grandee cried for days. Bobby didn’t cry once.

I willed myself to see Bobby in the stranger sitting in front of me. “It’s okay, bro,” I told him. “It’ll all be okay.” I clenched my jaw, rolled my eyes skyward, and rubbed my hand in small circles across his back. Around us, the corn shuffled and sighed.

The circle had lost much of its eeriness; instead, I felt a strange sense of safety. This circle had come from something bigger than myself, as big, perhaps, as the night sky. My head was filled with the bright, inexplicable light that had forked across the sky, seemingly in defiance of nature. I felt as if I wasn't alone.

Eventually, I managed to haul Bobby to his feet. For a moment, he rocked in place, swaggering like an inebriated pirate. Tears made tinsel stripes down his cheeks. “Grandee?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re gonna get Grandee,” I said. I wrapped my hand around his forearm, which throbbed with ropey veins, and pulled him back the way we had come.

Bobby and I came out of the cornfield in silence. I tried to swallow the hope that had swallowed me whole. The farmhouse loomed up before us, its hazy windows staring out like a blind man’s eyes. My telescope was still planted into the lawn, its cycloptic eye ogling at the stars.

I took the porch steps two at a time, knocking the screen door open. The inside of the farmhouse was dim and unclean. Dust motes wafted through the air on shafts of starlight. The silence was complete, aside from the ticks of the grandfather clock, which wriggled in the air like koi fish in a pond. The family portraits on the mantle were turned toward the wall, showing only the backs of the frames. Grandee’s door was closed, rags shoved into the crack to expunge any light.

I knocked twice. “Grandee? It’s Sal.”

A shuffling came from within. The door was unlocked; I turned the handle and let myself inside.

The room was almost pitch black, garbage bags taped over the windows. The air was permeated with the smell of sweat and alcohol, and I had to resist gagging. Grandee slumped in his bed, his ancient face turned toward the ceiling as smoke trailed from his mouth. He was small and narrow-shouldered, his face wrinkled as a prune. His white hair, which grazed his shoulders, shone in the darkness.

“Do you need money?” he asked. A sea of empty bottles winked at his feet.

“What? No. It’s just--”

“Did the boy get into trouble?”

Grandee stopped calling Bobby by name after the accident; as far as he was concerned, Bobby died in that plane. I didn’t argue with him.

“He didn’t get into trouble, no,” I said. “I found something in the cornfield. This circle. It just appeared--”

Grandee laughed, a harsh, abrasive sound. “A crop circle? As in, aliens?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I felt as if my hope were a neon sign, flashing in the darkness. I squirmed with embarrassment. “There was this light--”

“Lightning,” Grandee grunted.

“No, it was something else, I promise!”

“You’re thirteen years old, Sal. Too old for this. Shut the door on your way out.” Grandee propelled a blip of smoke in my direction.

In the next room, Bobby was singing tunelessly. I stood in the doorway a long time, watching Grandee suck smoke into his lungs and spout it from his lips like some ancient, cracked fountain. He didn’t look at me, though he knew I was there. Eventually, I closed the door.

My heart pounded. If Grandee didn’t believe me, I had to show him. I had to bring them back.

Bobby was sitting on the kitchen floor, a colander balanced on his head.

“Come on,” I told him. My brain sparked, electrocuted by desperation. I snatched a box of candles and a pack of matches from a kitchen drawer.

“What’s wrong?” asked Bobby, his voice echoing mournfully within the colander.

“We’re going to get them to come back.”

“Who?”

“The aliens, Bobby!” I stormed down the porch steps and onto the lawn. The grass crunched audibly beneath my feet. I ripped the matchbox open with my teeth and began to lay the candles out on the grass. I felt as if there were a hand squeezing around my windpipe, fingers tightening and tightening.

Bobby trailed me like a bungling satellite, flapping his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked, over and over.

“Sh,” I told him.

Finally, the formation was finished. I lit each candle, then stepped back to admire my handiwork, spread out in large, sprawling letters across the lawn: S.O.S. Surely, they would come now. They wouldn’t leave me if I needed help so desperately. I had to believe there was some benevolence in their hearts.

Bobby goggled at me as if I’d lost my mind. The candlelight threw an orange cast over his face, rendering his eyes as black sockets.

“I’m asking them for help,” I told him. “So they’ll come back. They’ll have no choice.”

“Help?”

“Yes, Bobby,” I said, trying to conjure up our mother’s soothing tone. “Help.”

“I can help.” His face was utterly sincere.

“No, you can’t.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “You were just too brave, Bobby. That’s the only reason this happened to you.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t remember, but you were the bravest there ever was.”

“Brave,” he marveled.

“When your plane went down, you made sure the other pilot got out. You went back into the fire and pulled him out yourself. That’s how brave you were.”

Bobby smiled an uncomprehending smile. It was enough.

My S.O.S. burned in the grass like a dying sun. I laid on my back in its center, my face turned to the stars. I closed my eyes and allowed them to imprint themselves on the backs of my eyelids. After a few minutes had passed, I felt Bobby lie down next to me, his shoulder brushing up against mine. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes drank in the stars.

Long minutes passed; Bobby closed his eyes and drifted into sleep. I was wide awake, my eyes funneled into the stars as I waited. I traced the constellations with my eyes, naming them silently: Cygnus, Apus, Corona Borealis. Somewhere among them lay my companions. The candles burned down and began to sputter, their skinny flames snapping with the slightest breeze. One by one, they dissipated into smoke. My certainty ebbed away. Sunrise bled into the sky, traitorous reds and oranges.

 Something acidic crept up my throat. The aliens weren’t coming, I realized. My face boiled with disappointment. I stared at Bobby’s sleeping form, profiled in the milky darkness. Asleep, he looked like himself again, as if he would wake up at any moment and offer to make me pancakes, just as he used to. I could imagine Bobby would come downstairs singing at the top of his voice, and Grandee’s face would be buried in the morning paper, and we would smile and say “good morning” to one another, like a family.

Most of the candles were unlit now, and the sight of Bobby like this, so ordinary, was almost too much to bear. I swallowed hard, then reached over and shook his shoulder.

“Wake up,” I told him.

“Huh?” His eyes opened, and he squinted at me in the brightening morning.

“They’re not coming.”

“Who?”

“The aliens.” I swallowed. “They’re not gonna show.”

“Oh.”

The hem of the sky bloomed into a kaleidoscope of colors, all of them horrendously beautiful. I fixed my eyes on the last shred of night sky, which cowered at the edge of the horizon. Only one candle still burned, its skinny flame spitting skyward. I leaned down and blew it out; its birthday-candle scent wafted upward and dissipated.

New-morning hush hung over the cornfields, fresh and membranous. I stood, dusted off the backs of my legs, and prepared to head back to the farmhouse.

“It’s okay, Sal,” said Bobby, his large hand encasing my shoulder. “Don’t be sad.”

I let out a deep breath. “It was stupid, anyway.”

Just then, something white streaked across the corner of my vision. I turned my head to the horizon. Shoots of light unfurled onto the cornfield, anchoring to the ground like the tripod of my telescope. They sizzled against the rising sun, creating a dome above our heads. Bobby gaped. A wild grin stretched across my face.

“What is it?” Bobby asked.

“Just look,” I told him.

He looked.

A moment later, the lights had gone, sucked back into the belly of the sky. Silence expanded in the air. Even the wind seemed to stand still. I took a deep breath.

“Let’s go,” I said to Bobby, turning to smile up at him. “I’ll make us pancakes.”

I walked back into the farmhouse with Bobby beside me. The stars had blinked from view. Only the new day remained behind, innocent and wondering.

Over the Horizon

Once upon a time there was a girl with whom laughter abided day and night. One morning, Joscelyne, for that was her name, did not hear laughter. She only heard Slunke. Slunke was a legend she had thought long dead. It sounded like crying. She wasn’t sure from where it had come. It seemed to approach in snake-like warm fog, wrapping tighter and tighter till the laughter was squeezed out.

The next morning Joscelyne heard Slunke suffocating the entire forest, the Lacia Forest a mere shadow of what it had been. When the songbirds were scarce to be found, with laughter all but eliminated, Joscelyne officially decided to leave her only home.

Joscelyne travelled east, for past the horizon there was a fabled beautiful land where all dreamed of going someday, where laughter would be safe. At the edge of her beautiful wood of green lace she saw a lone songbird rising in flight. “Wait! Where are you going?”

The lightly blue colored songbird slowly turned in flight and regarded her, whistling a slow sorrowful tune. “The songbirds have escaped with laughter. I too, am about to follow them.”

“ I must also find laughter. How can I?”

“All you have to do is listen carefully and you can hear the bare remains of laughter trailing through the air.” With this the bird again lifted in flight and began to leave.

“But wait,” Joscelyne called, “what is your name?”

The bird answered in a chirp, “They call me Mochni.” So Mochni began to flap toward the horizon as quickly as he could.

The girl was not just going to let Mochni fly away. She shimmied down the tree and began to run as fast as her small legs could go. As she ran she stopped and listened one last time to the sound of Slunke. It seemed to grate down on her ears, so Joscelyne quickly ran on.

The girl arrived in a grove of pine where Mochni had stopped. Joscelyne heaved an exhausted breath and collapsed on the ground. She shot up a couple seconds later when she felt the beautiful flowers blooming all round her… flowers like she had never seen! The stems were pure silver, and the flower had four petals with deep purple on the outside and rosy pink in the center. Each of these four petals connected on top where four other mini petals were placed as a sort of crown. Joscelyne was so enchanted by these that she began to pick the flowers, weaving them into her plain green dress. The flowers looked so beautiful and regal that she decided to pick a name as regal as they, The Forest’s Scepter.

No longer tired she began to dance through the pine trees singing of the joy in her life, feeling as if laughter was encircling her, chasing away all signs of Slunke.

Mochni was confused. This girl was singing and dancing? Slunke began to surround him as he considered using her for his own purposes.  

He whistled, “Would you be able to carry me over to the rest of my flock? I am exhausted. ”

Joscelyne smiled and looked at Mochni, “Of course. Will you help me follow you songbirds to laughter? I love laughter too.” She looked so innocent and sweet that Mochni, against his better judgement, agreed.

“Promise,” Joscelyne asked again. At this point the bird should have remembered, remembered where laughter was going and what they would have to do to get her there. He didn’t.

Joscelyne began to run. She ran so fast that even the wind could not comprehend that she was there. She would find laughter! In her speed she did not notice the Slunke lurking around Mochni, thinking it only the lingering remains behind her. She stopped on the edge of a wood where the birds perched. All of the birds flew down in an explosion of color and began to greet Mochni, twittering in a language so fast that Joscelyne could not understand.

Anxious for laughter, she queried, “How will I get past the Great Chasm that separates us from the land past the horizon?” Her light blue eyes were bright as she stared at the birds, completely innocent.

Mochni began to fidget, as did all of the host of feathers around him, the heat of Slunke pressing hard. Finally he answered, “I do not know if there is a way for you to pass over the Great Chasm.” Now that this girl had mentioned the Great Chasm, Mochni remembered, and realized his mistake. Laughter departed even farther.  

So Mochni turned and was about to fly away when Joscelyne called after him, “But you promised to help me stay with the songbirds! You promised! I call on you to fulfill your promise to me. If anyone of you noble and glorious songbirds birds thinks this promise should be fulfilled, bring Mochnito me!” The sound of Slunke was so loud that she couldn’t even hear the songs of laughter. It was strangling her till she could hardly breathe.

The birds shifted till one brought Mochni forward. For if what this girl said was true, than Mochni must be brought forward. An unkept promise disgraced the bird and tarnished the flock.

Finally one of the songbirds asked in a slow and hesitant warble, “What did he promise?”

The little girl stood big and tall, her thin frame shone in the shadows made all around her, outlining the tears slowly dripping down her face. “Mochni has promised to help me stay with you songbirds as you follow laughter.”

The birds began to chit-chatter, twittering here and there as they discussed this controversial matter. Finally one bird piped up, “How do we know that you didn’t just make up this story to get to that beautiful land over the horizon, the land of dreams?”

Joscelyne tried to yell the truth but Slunke had woven itself through all the birds tangling them in its coils.

At last the birds stopped their muttering and one fluttered forward to answer her.  “It has been decided that since there is no proof for you, or against you, you must prove yourself by following us all the way to the horizon. If you can make it to the edge we will carry you over the Great Chasm to the land beyond.”

Joscelyne had known they would not honor her,but it still pained her. She fell to the grassy ground, surrounded by flowers, and cried herself to sleep.

Joscelyne woke rubbing the sun out of her eyes. The sun! She jumped up and began to frantically glance around, but the tall trees loomed over her, standing tall, preventing her from seeing anything. Finally she realized, the birds had all left!

As she sat on the ground, doing nothing, she heard something rustling in the bushes. Afraid of what she could not see, she backed away, trying not to think of the monster that it could be.

When the thing came and jumped on her Joscelyne screamed. Something was on her and she was so scared she closed her eyes for many moments. When she eventually opened them she saw a giant tongue licking her face. It was a dog! Joscelyne began to laugh as her face got layered with drool. “Stop! Stop!” She finally began to cry as the drool was becoming a bath. When this shaggy mound of fur finally sat down and looked at her, she wiped her face, laughing. “What is your name?”

The dog said quite simply, “My name is Blythe. I am happy.” The world seemed to brighten in the world of Joscelyne, and the familiar ring of laughter began to resound in the distance.  

After thinking for a bit,  Joscelyne finally blurted out, “How can you be so excited? We are close to the Great Chasm and its depression, and Slunke has maybe overcome us.”

Blythe looked at her quizzically as if confused. He then responded, “Why not be excited? I still have food to eat, mud to play in and flowers to smell.” He turned away as if the matter was closed. The sound of laughter seemed to be increasing each minute the dog was there.

Even before the dog had finished saying this, Joscelyne had a beautiful glimmering idea. “Could you track some birds I need to follow?” Blythe nodded, sniffed a feather, and began running. So Joscelyne followed.

Instead of the frantic run of yesterday, she skipped and sang. Somehow even by doing something that would seemingly slow her down Joscelyne was going faster than ever before, keeping up with this dog as it galloped over the landscape. She now understood the dog’s excitement. There was an echo as she thought she heard laughter urging her forward toward it. She smiled.

All day Joscelyne skipped barefoot through course yellow grass waist-high with its grass itching terribly at her skin. The heat of the sun was getting stronger every moment and Joscelyne felt the heat beat down on her and drain her of energy. Just as the sun came down, the pair came upon a muddy ditch that might have once been a water-hole. Joscelyne was overjoyed as both she and Blythe had the same idea. They both jumped into the mud and rolled until they were thoroughly plastered in the mud. Giggling and splashing Joscelyne finally got up to see the songbirds staring at her in wonder from a nearby tree. She had not even noticed them till now. She didn’t care, for laughter was with her.

The birds left even earlier the next morning, before the sun had peeked its eyes over the horizon. Joscelyne was up as bright-eyed as ever, playing with Blythe as the birds flew overhead. That day there seemed to be a short span of beautiful meadows, dotted with flowers of all colors. Whenever Joscelyne came upon a kind she liked, she picked a bunch and wove them together through her hair and dress, along with her Forest’s Scepter.   With each flower she felt another step closer to laughter.

The first thing to change was the terrain. It became rocky, with the flowers barely poking through the ground. Then Blythe began to bark. At first she saw nothing, just the normal blue sky, and the sound of laughter resounding in her head. Suddenly something else began to sound. Slunke was pursuing them! She could hear its awful racket approaching. She turned and saw the mists of Slunke transforming into terrible coyotes before her eyes. They were big enough to easily eat her as an appetizer.

She dropped her flowers, and her song stopped. She was terrified and began to run over the rocks that were stabbing her as hard as they could. The songbirds overhead picked up their pace till the peaceful rhythm of their wingbeats was a frantic cacophonous roar. Where had laughter gone? After feeling so close, it had suddenly abandoned them!  

Joscelyne ran through the rest of the day and into the darkness of the night, trusting Blythe and the birds to lead her. When morning began to show its fingers crawling up the horizon, Joscelyne was about to collapse. The mud that had cooled her earlier now smeared and itched. The birds still seemed to be going up, and she couldn’t stop, laughter was so close! She must find it soon.

Blythe poked his wet nose into her fingers, helping her push through her exhaustion. There! Up ahead she began to see the beginnings of a forest. As she neared the forest she began to question her excitement. This forest was unreal! It was dark and burnt. The claws of the trees were reaching out to her. She ran ahead into her fear. The dark came, the coyotes howled in their pursuit. The darkness of Slunke settled like a cloak lined with burrs. She tried to push it away, but Slunke stabbed at her mercilessly.  

She ran this way and that, looking for a place of refuge. After her feet began to ache and bleed with all of the wounds of running she saw her only hope, a bramblebush. Joscelyne ran towards it with all her might as the coyotes’ shrieks seemed to surround her. As the bramblebush was nearly on top of her she grabbed Blythe by the scruff of his neck and slid on her back beneath all the brambles in a miraculous way that could never be explained. So she and Blythe slept, frightened and beneath a blanket of thorns.

When the Joscelyne woke she could barely make out the remainder of the day’s light leaving. She must get out of here before there was no light. She could not be here in the dark. When she scurried out of the bramblebush with Blythe, she saw a furious battle. There were birds darting everywhere so fast all she saw was a mess of feathers. Then Joscelyne saw blood. Blood dripping from the mouth of a coyote holding a songbird.

Joscelyne then got angry that any animal would dare to hurt a songbird, with their beautiful songs. So she stomped out of her hiding and slapped the coyote on the nose so hard he dropped the bird. Realizing what she had done and where she was, Joscelyne grabbed the bird and scrambled around till she could shimmy up a tree. The songbirds all gathered around her.

Than Joscelyne heard a frantic yelping and remembered Blythe. She pleaded help of the birds and they complied. All Joscelyne saw of her friend is the vague image of him being carried off toward the horizon. She got teary-eyed and asked of the nearby birds, “Where are they taking him?”

One of the songbirds answered, “They are carrying him over that Great Chasm to the land beyond.”

Joscelyne began to grow excited, and said, “So are we at the edge? Take me across. I am ready to be with laughter. ”

The birds fluttered nervously till one answered gravely, “We cannot. In our deal it was agreed that you must make it all the way there yourself.”

Joscelyne nodded in agreement, still enthusiastic, “Then how much farther is it? Let me run there, so you can fly me across.”

At this her face took on a look of such pure bliss that the birds were afraid to respond, till the bird in her lap, Mochni, answered, “There is still a days worth of desolate land where the raw rays of the sun have burned away all life. At the edge of this is the blackened and scorched edge of the Great Chasm, where all good things leave and despair lives unopposed.”

Joscelyne stared ahead, trying to see this land, but all she could see was the black mist of darkness and smoke. She listened for laughter, but all she could hear was Slunke wailing. She turned back to the birds and nervously asked, “You sure that there is only one days worth of...that?”

Another bird quickly flew on her shoulder and replied, “Yes. We birds have less to worry then you for if we fly high enough we can escape the abomination of the black mist. For in this area you are not only deprived of the physical means of life, but the black mist deprives you of thought and hope of life. The only thought you can have in that black mist is despair. There is no one who has made it through that land of forsakenness.”

Joscelyne began to realize what was happening and whimpered, “Then how shall I make it.” This was not a question but a statement of pure hopelessness. Tears began to drip from her eyes, smudging the mud previously smothered on her. The birds grew sad, and some began to whistle a mournful tone till the wounded bird on her lap, Mochni, trilled high and shrill till all other sound stopped. “Excitement! Joy! Be the opposite of that place. Be life!”

Joscelyne looked at this bird in wonder till she got an idea. She whispered to the birds and they flew off, bringing back bunches and bunches of flowers. Joscelyne began to fashion them to her in the way of a dress till she looked even more colorful than the songbirds themselves. As she did this she began to hear laughter, first quietly but growing louder every moment.

As the pink dawn rose and scorched the land before her Joscelyne saw for one instant the land she would have to travel. It was barren and forsaken, a land covered in black coals and blackened rocks. Joscelyne feared for a second, but then she remembered her songs, and heard the sound of laughter reassuring her.

So she dropped to the ground and began to skip and sing as she had done before. The birds accompanied her with their own descant from above, reminding her that she was not alone. The Slunke  coyotes dared not follow her, and their  sound slowly faded into the background. Soon her feet began to blister on the hot coals, and her clothes began to tear and blacken beyond recognition. Still she skipped. Her eyes began to water and she coughed from the smoke till she could barely breathe. Even though her voice grew smaller and smaller she still heard laughter, ever growing louder and louder, urging her to go on. She crawled over the last ridge and looked down into the deep abyss of the Great Chasm, where some said was the entrance to the dark world below. The last note of her song trailed off her lips. She collapsed, but on her face was a smile as she heard laughter.

When asked later to recall what it was like to fly over the horror of the Great Chasm and into that magnificent land beyond, all she would ever say was, “I do not know what happened, all I know is that it was wonderful.”

            The Oak Chest by Abigail Morris

    Long before the luxuries of modern marvels, life was simple and hard.  Slave girls, Adonia and Dorise, began their morning ritual of chores by making greek pots for their masters.  Adonia was a slender, dark complected girl with blonde hair.  Dorise, slightly taller possessed the same beauty.  Adonia and Dorise were both dedicated to their Greek roots.  Adonia believed in strength and wisdom, thus, worshiped the god Athena.  Dorise choose water over land and paid tribute to the god Poseidon.  Even though Athena and Poseidon were sworn rivalries, Adonia and Dorise were the best of friends.

    While their early morning tasks baked in the harsh golden sun, Adonia and Dorise decided to cool off in the crisp cool water.  After washing off the black and orange pottery paint, “let’s go on a walk”, Adonia suggested.  “Sure, can we take this path?  I don’t remember seeing it here before,” questioned Dorise.

    Strolling down the dusty path, Adonia and Dorise stumbled upon a peculiar stone.  Adonia reached down, “this looks out of place”, she said.  The oddly shaped piece of mason was smooth and strange.  Dorise spoke up, “this color is unnatural and almost mesmerizing”.  BANG!  The stone exploded and silvery dust burst everywhere.  When the air cleared, there was a figure standing in a cloak of light from the sun before them.

    “Hello, I am Hestia, the Goddess of hearth and home”, the silver figure explained.  Looking down upon Adonia and Dorise, Hestia spoke, “I have been waiting so long for someone to find my stone and that will retrieve my precious oak chest.  I do have a favor to ask”.

    “Y-y-yes my lady.” Adonia said.

    “I need you to retrieve my oak chest from high above on Mount Olympus”, Hestia said with remorseful sigh.  “The all powerful  Zeus wont let me back into Mount Olympus since I gave up my seat for Dionysus,” Hestia said.  “Dionysus is not only the god of wine, he is not the beloved favorite  son of Zeus”, Hestia continued.  “Zeus has never forgiven me”,  Hestia whispered to herself.

“Yes, my lady, we will do it” Adonia told her.  Adonia was thinking of Athena and how Athena would never back down out of challenge.  Dorise calculated to herself what tools they may need for their journey, whether it is on land or by sea.

Hestia engaged Adonia and Dorise on a quest.  In order to exchange her oak chest, Adonia and Dorise needed to pick one of the juicy golden apples from the hidden groves  that surrounded the Parthenon. The Parthenon is a huge stone building dedicated to honor the goddess Athena in Athens. The apple groves are a safely locked away in secret.  In order to find the hidden grove they would need to answer Athena’s riddle.  If they failed by answering incorrectly, Adonia and Dorise would never return.  After a moment of deep reflection,  Adonia and Dorise accepted Hestia’s quest.

Adonia and Dorise were very aware of the jealousy among the gods on Mount Olympus.  The greeks knew when Zeus was angry from the rainstorms that washed out their lands.  Poseidon had a temperament to destroy fishing vessels.  Even Hades, who rarely entered Mount Olympus, had a tendency to open the ground just for fun.  The slave girls decide they would not tell Athena of Hestia’s quest for fear of recourse or even death.

Traveling the long treacherous route across Greece, Adonia and Dorise walked down many winding roads until they reached the Parthenon in Athens.  Athens,named after the greek goddess of wisdom-Athena, sat high upon a mountain top.  Adonia and Dorise approached the massive stone gate with apprehension.  The gates were solid and still with a golden stone lock in front.  The trees beyond were twigs with wilted leaves.  “I don’t see any trees with large juicy golden apples”, exclaimed Dorise.  “Maybe we were tricked by the gods”, Dorise continued.   “Do we need a stone key?  Sometimes we can’t see the truth with our eyes” proclaimed Adonia.  At that moment Athena appeared to them, “hungry?”, she said in a coy manner.  

Adonia and Dorise knew once they met the goddess, there was no turning back.  Knowing that Athena was very wise and she could not be tricked into giving them one of her beloved juicy  apples, the slave girls approach cautiously.  Adonia and Dorise began their encounter by complimenting Athena on her wisdom and beauty.  Adonia impressed Athena by her own knowledge of Athena’s history of quests.  Athena was delighted to have met someone who worshipped her for her talents and not just her beauty.  Feeling comfortable, like she had made a new friend,  Adonia asked Athena if they could have just one of her juicy golden apples.  

The idea of owning two new, young servant girls appealed to Athena.  After thought and consideration, Athena answered quickly agreed, “you may have one of my juicy golden apples, and only one of my juicy golden apples, IF you answer my riddle correctly.  IF you answer incorrectly, you must and will work my golden apple orchards everyday for for the rest of your lives”.  Adonia and Dorise mulled over Athena’s request.  The thought of maintaining an orchard of dying twigs with littered with brittle leaves was not appealing.  The slave girls wondered what Athena would do if they were not successful in her dry and unkempt grove.  Reluctantly, Adonia and Dorise agreed to Athena’s challenge.  Athena amusingly smiled.  

From what seemed like thin air, a wooden table appeared before the three women.  Placed upon the table perched a basket woven from golden branches of an olive tree.  Inside the golden olive tree basket were five of Athen’s juicy golden apples.  Mischievously pointing to the basket, Athena stated, “ this basket contains five of my juicy golden apples, divide them among five meaningless demigods so that each one of them has only one apple, but, one apple must stay in the basket.  You shall have three minutes to figure out the riddle before you begin your work in my beloved golden orchards”.  Adonia and Dorise walked over to the massive stone gate contemplating their answer and their fate.  Adonia and Dorise whispered quietly to themselves trying to figure out Athena’s riddle.  After squabbling amongst themselves, time seemed to fly by,  Adonia and Dorise went quiet.  When time was almost up, Adonia shouted, “I have the answer!”  Adonia turned to Dorise, “do you trust me”.  “Trust means nothing when you are out of time”, Athena said triumphantly.

Facing herself to Athena, Adonia  stated, “to answer your riddle Athena, you must give each of  the demigods only one of your apples, but, the fifth demigod must hold his apple while it is still in the golden olive basket!” Athena made a sour look upon her face, she looked as if she had just eaten a sour apple.  Hesitantly Athena proclaimed, “Adonia, you are a worthy opponent.  You have answered my riddle correctly, you may have one, and only one,  of my juicy golden apples”.   Magically, at that moment the massive stone gates turned to gold and floated open.  The desolate looking grove metamorphosed to a  lush and fruitful grove.  The garden of juicy golden apples was breathtaking.  Before Adonia and Dorise walked through the golden oasis they both secretly agreed to pick the biggest and juiciest apple they could find, worthy of Zeus.  Athena looked at them quizzically, “why are you taking so long?  Are you planning to stay and work my orchards even though you answered my riddle correctly?”  Worried that Athena may ask more questions about their intention, Adonia and Dorise picked one of the juicy golden apple.  Adonia and Dorise thanked Athena and vowed to make an offering at her temple.  Now the must hurry back to Hestia.

They found Hestia sitting under a willow tree.  Hestia was so thankful to Adonia and Dorise that she granted permission for them to travel togheter to Mount Olympus.  Zeus was not pleased to see mortals stand before him and threatened to strike Hestia and her companions down with a bolt of lightening.  Hestia blocked the lightning path, taking responsibility for Adonia and Dorise.  After begging for forgiveness, Hestia presented the juicy golden apple as a gift to Zeus in exchange for her precious oak chest.  After deep contemplation,  Zeus was pleased with his token and allowed Hestia to retrieve her beloved oak chest.

 Blink

    Her eyes were yellow slits, dull from the years of torment, but harsh with a burning neon fire  that lay vaguely concealed. Her words were always carefully coordinated, secretly scripted, dancing around the truth in a way that she knew was safe for her. She knew she couldn't let anyone get too close.

Blink

    Her sleeping form lies in a different part of the hospital for once: the part for normal people. She breathes like she is afraid to, her unconscious mind telling her that there is something to be feared here. It's only me.

Blink

   Her boney legs swung around my waist, planting her hips just above mine, her hands innocently touching , though her eyes gave way to something less than innocent. Her unblinking eyes fierce, cocky, lit with something more than the true reality of her unfair life. She smirked in that beautiful way of hers.

   "What's the matter, love?"

   She was mocking me, I knew, but I didn't really care.

    I smirked back up at her, gripping her waist as I leaned towards her bright eyes.

  "You know exactly what the matter is, sweetheart."

   I stared at her lips. Her eyes softened for a moment, just a moment, before closing into mine. Her lips were always soft, her kisses were heaven, but she didn't love me. I loved her, but I knew, she would never love me.

Blink

  She's scary like this. No matter how violent she had been rumored to be, I was never afraid of her. Now, her blood being feed to her through a tube, her skin flaky, her lips that were once so soft were dry, cracked, I was terrified of how damaged she now was- damaged because of me.

Blink

   Our laughter echoed through the dim hallways as we ran towards nothing.

  "If you really think I can't catch you, then you're going to be sorely mistaken!"

   She giggled as I tried desperately to catch up with her skinny legs. She was about to turn a corner when she suddenly ran back and grabbed my hand. Still in shock, I was pulled into an empty room as she quietly closed the door.

  "It's a doctor. We have to be quiet or we'll get in trouble."

    She was still holding my hand. I looked at our intertwined fingers like an extinct species that was just rediscovered to be alive. She looked too, but didn't pull away. I lifted her knuckles to my mouth and gently placed a single kiss on her pale skin. She could have pulled away. I was stronger than her, but I would've let her go. She didn't even try to pull back. I should've known then.

   "I don't do love, never have, never will."

   It was a whispered confession, too small and frail to have been true, but I believed it. I should've known then.

  "I know."

   Except I didn't.

Blink.

   I sat on the edge of her bed slowly. It cracked under my weight the same way she probably would. Her eyes refused to open. Her mouth refused to form the words I so desperately needed to hear. My thumb traced her lips lightly, ghosting across the bumpy flesh. Blood trickled down her chin, she didn't feel a thing.

Blink.

   We stood in single file line behind the rest of the occupants that had made this asylum their home. A few people ahead was a  girl our age, brown hair, pale skin, blue eyes. She drowned her cup of pills in one gulp, showed the nurse her tongue and walked away. She was pretty enough,  but nothing compared to the girl in front of me.

  "You know she's schizophrenic too."

  She had caught me staring at her.

  "Really? Small world, I guess."

   She didn't look at me. I remember thinking about my outburst that morning. Jake had been in charge of that lovely incident. My demons were Jake and Paul. Hers were Cindy and David. In all my time there, I had never seen a single outburst from her.

   "Hey... how come I've never seen one of your episodes?"

   She wouldn't look at me.

   " I keep some things to myself."

   "So....you're saying that if you did see them right now, no one would know?"

   "Exactly. That's why I'm denoted as safer and you're denoted as crazy. It's the same thing, I'm just not a bitch about it."

   "That's stupid, dude. You can't just not tell people these things. What if you were hurt, for instance? What would you do then?"

  She stopped, looked up, breathed out slowly.

   "I would die."

Blink.

   They told me that it wasn't my fault. The same doctors that I had despised all the time that I was here were comforting me. They said that one of her demons probably told her to do it. They said that she couldn't hold in all the pain that they were causing forever. They said she didn't even know what she was doing. They didn't know her. They didn't talk to her. They didn't love her. They didn't know what I had done to her.

Blink

   "I need to speak to a human, for once! I can't handle the guessing games, the constant wondering if you and I could ever be something, if you're even more insane than I am! You said it first, remember? You don't do love, never have, never will. So fine, don't love me and I won't love you."

   I turned away from her. I missed seeing the tears flow down her cheeks. It was the only time she had ever cried in here and I didn't see it. I didn't know. If I had known, I would have turned back and ran to her. I would have told her the truth. I would have told her that everything I had said was a lie, that I thought it would be best for her, that I really did love her, but it was too late.

   I walked away without knowing that I had  broken her heart, without knowing that she had loved me and that I had just done the one thing she always knew would happen.

Blink

  The beep of her monitor brought me back to life, but it did nothing for her. A dull reminder that she was still alive, for the moment, nothing more. It wasn't a bright and glimmering symbol of hope for a new day, hope that she would wake up and everything would be fine. She would jump into the air, thrilled to be alive, and kiss me. She would forgive me and say we could start over, start a new life. We would eventually get out of here with bright red smiley face stamps on our documents and be finally free to live the way we were never allowed to before.

    It sounded wonderful, but... looking at her ashen face, her chewed nails, her stringy hair, I knew that that could never happen. The girl I knew would never have done something so stupid and risky. The thought would never have crossed her mind, but this girl laying here, the girl who destroyed the optimistic ball of perfection that I once knew, this girl would never forgive me.

   This girl would wake up defeated that she had failed at her final act of self destruction. She would look at the same walls and floors that had been her home for so long and she would see a prison. She would be escorted to a more secluded room with security and less visiting rights. She wouldn't care. She would slowly become what she never had let them label her as: crazy.

   I used to marvel at her unblinking eyes, but now I wished that they'd blink, just once, and show the fiery eyes I once knew. That won't happen. She'll never be the same, she can't be. She wants to die and she's not dead yet, a dreary existence.

   The doctors will come in soon. I can just picture their horrified faces at their mistake of leaving me alone with her, but it'll be too late. I love her and if this is what she wants, then she can have it. I can hear the panicked screams of the nurse who left me alone finally realizing where I am, but all I hear is her strangled breathing and the ghost of her laughter singing in the air.

    I lean down to kiss her one last time as I finish what she started for herself. The doctors frantically run in to stop it, but it's too late. I smile and blink.