Tragedies

She sat on the wooden stairs leading to her home.
Her small fingers tapped the dark oak wood and she began clicking the toes of her Mary Jane's together.
She was so used to this place, for she grew up here.
Or, she grew up to her age now.
Which, seeing her short stature and little limbs, a person would assume she would be roughly eight years of age.
Which would be a proper assumption.
This little girl knew every nook and cranny within and outside of this house.
She knew the dark forest green paint chipped every summer and that he papa had to repaint it.
She knew that the wooden steps that she sat upon creaked no matter how little a person weighed.
She knew that when you walked through the bright white door you were hit by the steep staircase- also old dark oak, and when you got to the second floor and made an immediate right her room would be there.
She knew that if you decided to take a left there would be a bathroom.
And if you decided to keep going left there would be her parent's room.
She knew if you walked into the kitchen there was a loose floor board exactly six steps forward and three right, and under this floorboard was enough room for a little eight year old girl to hide during hide-and-go-seek.
She knew that in the endless forest backyard there was a 'cave' made out of logs and dead trees that she never did figure out how it was made before she--- ran out of time.
Her attention snapped away from her thoughts and she pulled the hand that was playing mindlessly with her long dark hair away from her face.
She never did find out what she looked like.  Oh no, see, mama had a belief about vanity evolving from when you were a young girl, so she wouldn't let her daughter look in any mirrors.
But her parents told her how lovely and cute she looked every day nonetheless.
Because compliments don't cause vanity.
She moved her hands from her sides to her dress, which was speckled with ash for some reason.
A reason she couldn't remember.  But she found it curious nonetheless.
The little girl's blue eyes looked in front of her now, as she watched a mother and father drive up to her home.
Curiosity spiked within her again as she watched the bug-looking car pull up the gravel road.
The car was a pale blue with silver trimmings.
She thought it looked rather boring.
Blue was such a common car colour at this day and age.
But maybe they'll make better cars with better colours.
Come on, Susan.  The man spoke.  She thought he looked rather dashing.  Slicked light brown hair with what seemed to be deep brown eyes.  Hm.  Handsome.  She had decided.
I'm coming, James.  Oh my... it really is in rough shape ain't it? The little girl decided the woman was Susan.
The little girl looked up at her house.  Rough shape?  Never.  The paint was just re-painted and everything seemed to have an unearthly pale glow to it.
She looked back to Susan and James. Susan seemed to hobble from the car, and as soon as she got on her feet she caressed her bulging stomach.
She was pregnant, the little girl decided.
She was a very pretty pregnant woman.  Her dark blond hair was braided into a bun and even though the little girl couldn't see Susan's eyes due to the large bulbous glasses she was wearing, she decided her eyes were as blue as the darkest pits of the sea.
She clicked her Mary Jane's.
Well the family before us... well I told you already.  It was devastating.  This was James.
Susan cleared her throat, I am not too sure about this, darling.  It could be haunted. 
But James scoffed and held out his hand for his darling wife and led them up to the oak stairs leading to the little girl's home.
 They paused, admiring the home.  The little girl watched them.
Susan was much prettier up close.  She had fleshy pink lips that seemed a bit too large for her face and a petite nose that kept her sunglasses up snobbishly.  But she was a very pretty woman, the little girl decided.
It'll take some work hon, but my gosh will it be worth it. James was glowing now.
Susan gasped suddenly, reaching to her stomach.
What is it?  What's wrong?  Is the baby okay? James lurched towards her, bringing her close to his body.
Susan's sunglasses fell off.
The little girl lifted the corners of her lips.  Her eyes were as blue as the darkest depths of the sea.
Black.
Yes, yes... it was just flailing.  Oh James, I don't know about this.  I feel really uneasy.  Like someone is watching us... As Susan said this she looked at the little girl sitting in front of her.
The little girl looked at her ebony irises.
And didn't blink as the woman and the man walked up the steps through her after the man cooed her into entering the home.
But when the little girl did blink and look at her home, the dark green paint was splattered with broken windows and beams that had collapsed.  The pristine exterior was black and burnt up.  The roof had half fallen off, leaving a large wooden rubble pile on the side of the house.
The little girl stood up slowly.
And she looked at her home.

A bright flash crossed her eyes and suddenly she was in her light blue nightgown, sleeping in her bed with light blue bed sheets.
She was very calm.
She was wide awake.
She heard it first.
A strange crackling that was unfamiliar to her, but familiar at the same time.
It was loud.
She shuffled out of her bed after pulling the covers off of her.
She leaned her ear against her ivory door and listened.
It was loud.
Carefully, in a confused state, she opened her door.
And was hit by a thick billowing column of smoke.
Startled, she leaped back, not shutting her door fully.
She could see the bright red flames licking the wooden floor.
And she realized why it sounded familiar in its unfamiliar state.
It sounded like the fireplace at Christmas time.
The little girl smiled a bit then, thinking about Christmas.
How, she won't get Christmas this year.
But how she hoped her mama and papa would get one.
She went to the wall furthest from the door and slid down it until she had her head in her lap.  She was coughing a lot now, as though her lungs were burning.
She was getting tired now, and the room was spinning.
The little girl brought her head against the wall, staring at the whirling ceiling.
It was a pretty ceiling.
A pretty home.
Her pretty home.
Then she saw a glint of something, and noticed the window.
Why hadn't she thought of the window?
She opened her mouth, only to be greeted by the smoke.
She was really warm now.  She had a thick layer of sweat consuming her.
She tried to get up, placing her hands on the floor to push her up.  But her arms gave and her knees buckled, and she lay on the floor.  It felt so cool.  She wondered if it would cool her down.
Her cheek was on the dark oak floor, and she could see the flames licking the ground around her.
She was hurting a lot now, she knew what was happening and she wanted it to end now.
She was closing her eyes now, thinking about how thirsty she was.
She tried to mover fingers.  It hurt, but she still had them.  They still moved.
And as she fell asleep she closed her hand around her pretty home.

Another flash crossed her vision.  She parted her lips, and she noticed how she wasn't thirsty anymore.
As the couple opened the door she could see the stairs stained black from the fire that hurt her.  From the fire that hurt her home.
She felt attachment, but understood what happened and understood what was to happen next.
She was closing her eyes, picturing her pretty home with the dark green paint and dark oak floors and light blue decor.
And she thought about her mama and papa and knew where they were they were okay.
...What did they do with the... bodies? Susan's high pitched voice broke her thoughts.  And she kept her eyes open long enough to hear James' reply.
The mother and father were saved in time, but the little girl-- Viola, the fire damaged the way to her room.  They couldn't get her in time.  They say she died from carbon monoxide poisoning before she was... too injured.
Viola felt herself smile and she closed her eyes.
Mama and papa have another Christmas.

An Undead Tale

Panic struck me as I rolled over, pulled the safety off my hand gun and was deafened suddenly by the three quick shots I released.

The body dropped on top of me, the hundred-and-eighty-something pound man pinning me to the ground.  His rotten smell enveloped my nose causing me to gag.  But I knew I had to hold it down, otherwise I'd suffocate in my own stomach waste.  

I shimmied my left hand into the inner side of my pant waist, tugging out a worn dagger and stabbing the man's gut to push him off.  

With great strain his body slowly slumped to the side, allowing me to turn over and hurl. 

What little that was in my stomach was now under me, and my body felt exhausted. 

That was the second close-call in the past day that almost sent me to my own immortal death. 

"Fuck!"  I spat, punching the cement beneath me, "Fucking fuck!"

I gasped and sat on my heels, looking up at the setting sun.  There was a stale taste in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste the water I had to rinse it out, so I pulled out a cigarette instead while adjusting myself to be able to see my ankle.  Or in other words, the ankle that the man had grabbed. 

Relief filled me as I realized he hadn't broken my skin with his filthy nails that were filled with this disease. 

I remember sitting at home with my brother when we were younger saying how the world needed something to purge people.  I know that's awful, honest I do, but we were young and heard all about over population issues and all of these terrorist threats.
When the virus hit the news, it seemed like a blessing.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't a blessing because it wasn't natural.
A blessing is something from the natural world that brings a person luck or sense of calm.
This was neither.

I pushed myself up, setting into a steady jog across this street.  All the doors of the large houses were bolted down with wooden planks, metal poles and simple cardboard.   As the sun kept setting, my panic was returning.

I remember when it was the sixth night when the disease started, we weren't too scared because media hyped things up, we knew that.  We knew that.  But when I was in bed, the front door started banging.  Really, really aggressively.  It woke my fifteen-year-old self, as well as my older brother.  Mum and dad were already up, they were always arguing and for the past few days they were arguing about whether to stay at home or visit our grandparents.  But I was really scared. Adrenaline hit me, see?  And my heart was racing.  My brother's room was right next to mine, and I rushed into his room full of fear, to see that he was in his clothes, a backpack on his back and his sword on his waist.  He got that sword for his ninth birthday.  He loved Japanese culture, so a family friend got him an antique katana.  He looked at me when I walked in and asked if I was okay.  I hugged him.
Dad when to check the door.
That was the first mistake.
That was the first damned mistake.
The thing lunged at him.
It didn't bit him anywhere.
It tore him a part.
Drove its hands into his chest with its nails.  Mum ran down to help him, but they travel in packs.  They're smart.  They're very smart.
My brother and I stayed in his room.

My breath was coming quicker, I was running faster.  The sun was almost gone.  I finally saw the lighthouse.  Thank fuck.

But like I said, they're smart.  This disease... I know people would call them zombies.  I know people get angry when shows call them 'walkers' or 'undead' but I can't use the term zombie.  The disease is a strain of rabies and tumour cells.  The people who made it thought the two could cancel out one another.  But it made a mecha-virus.   A terrifying virus.  The cancer cells multiplied muscle cells and tissue as well as rapid brain cell growth.  It protected their minds while giving increased strength and longer limbs.  Then the rabies... it made them crazed.  Rapid movement,  sharper teeth and longer nails.  It shut down the analytical mind and amplified the murderous, kill-or-be-killed.  Then once they began eating flesh like cannibals, it warped their sense of sanity to the extreme, just like how cannibals are affected.

As I reached the water to the lighthouse I dove in without hesitation, swimming to the little island.  And by the time I made it to the door, the sky was purple.

My brother was always into dressing up as a superhero- spiderman, batman-- even as a Jedi master.  He had his sword ready as I quivered behind him, we both were watching the door.
We heard and saw the door shaking.  I felt tears forming.  He was sturdy.  Finally, the doorknob began turning.  Really slowly.  I thought about how in movies they did this to create suspense, but it was the killer toying with the prey.  The door shot open and the thing jumped at my brother.  I remember screaming as he swung his sword against the man's head.  It was rusty, but it cracked his skull and he dropped.  My brother was heaving.  More were coming through the door and he was slicing them.  When there was a break he shoved me, his backpack and something I didn't see under his bed, and he pushed several dead bodies over the bottom so I couldn't be seen or smelled.  And I was trying not to cry.  I was confused as to why he wasn't hiding with me.  But I waited under the bed for days.  Waited for him to get me.  Waited for me to stop being afraid.  But finally, I pushed out from under the bed, and stood up.
My legs were sore, as well as me back.  I tucked the little package he left into the bag and looked around and grabbed what I could.  I also checked around the entire house for useful items.  By the time I got to the front door, I noticed that mum and dad were tucked on the couch, looking like they were asleep, and the front door closed.  I sighed and opened it while saying goodbye to mum and dad.
I threw my shoulder against the door, falling into the lighthouse.  Up, up, up I went.  Finding my little sleeping ground by the rotating light.  I sat on my sleeping bag, looking through my backpack.  At the bottom was the little package my brother left me.  
I added another day to my journal.
It had been Seven Hundred and Eighty-Two Days.
Just over two years.
I sighed and pulled out the package.  He would be Twenty today.
I opened the package for the second time and reread the note inside of it.

Keep going, Isabelle, I'm out there.  I love you.  I'll find you by grandma's as soon as possible.  When you get there, wait for me.  I'll be waiting for you too.  But you need to get to -----

I dropped the package in water before I read it.  But I'll get there.  The sentence after talks about me meeting someone.  Someone by town hall.  The lighthouse is a thirty minute walk to town hall, and I sit there all day, and come back here to sleep.  I've been doing it for two years.

I heard the Lighthouse door open, fear slicing through my skull.  I grabbed the knife and huddled against the wall, waiting. 

Matthew

I first met this boy when I was living in the tiny shack that my mum excused for a house.  This house had one hallway when you open the sliding glass door to the very minimal space meant for a living room couch.  I guess it was more like an in ground trailer.

     The living room had somehow managed to fit an under stuffed deep red plaid couch that had frayed holes along the arms.  And if you stood behind the couch, you were already one step from the kitchen.  It held a mini fridge and a toaster oven.  And that was how we cooked.  

     But of course I didn't care then.  I was a six year old little girl who simply adored sprinting up and down the single hall way.  The single hallway that lead to two rooms.  As you walked down the narrow ply wood hall, to the left was the snug office.  Surrounded by a book shelf that lined the entire room, and was stuffed with a book in every space.  On the furthest side a desk was placed, taking up half the room.  As well as an overly large plush leather swirly chair.  

     I used to play simple games on the computer that lay evenly on the desk.  

     And if you walked to the end of the hall, you would enter the bedroom.  The single bedroom that held my mum and I.  I slept with her for the longest time, because we only had the single queen bed.  But as I grew old enough to be considered a woman, we sold the queen for two single beds. 

     I first met this boy when I was whirling in circles in the office.  The computer had gone to sleep and as I spun around, making myself sickly ill, I caught a glimpse of a boy's hair behind me in the reflection.  I tumbled out of the chair, toppling it over with fear.  I became scared, paranoid of what I had seen.  I hadn't truly seen someone, it was a trick of the light.  

     But as I fixed the chair and turned around, I practically ran into a boy who was a head taller than me, with sandy brown hair tousled in front of his hazel eyes.  He grinned then, pulling me into a tight hug, sighing with relief as he smelled my hair.  At that moment I couldn't figure out why someone would love the smell of apple so much, but today I could understand why.  

    He pulled away with me still in shock.  From closer up I could see he was a few years older than me.  He looked as though he was nine or ten years old.  He was very lanky, no muscle anywhere.  No fat either.  And he had high cheekbones that lifted as he smiled.

     "Danny!"  His voice was still quite high, but excitement laced through my name as he stared in disbelief.   I felt so confused as to who this boy was.  A neighbour?  A school chum I hadn't taken into consideration?  "Oh Danny, I'm so glad to finally meet you."  At this point fear struck through me that I didn't know him.  And that I never did.  I started to call for my mum, but as I did his eyes widened and he ran out of the room.  I sprinted after him, down the single hall and into the living room.  No door was open, nor window, so I knew he couldn't have left. 

    But as my mum came rushing in with soil on her knees and daisies in her grip,  there was no sign of him.  I told her what had happened, but she laughed and told me my imagination sure was wild. 

     But he was real.  I knew because he came again.  

     I wasn't as frightened, but I was still fearful of who this boy was. 

     As he kept coming, we would go outside into the forest surrounding the trailer and pretend to be professional archers.  Or we'd play hide and go seek until the stars shone our way.  Every time we'd play together, he would never come into my house when my mum was making tea or serving a meal. He told me he didn't want to intrude because she seemed like such a lovely lady.  Of what I told him about her.  I told my mum everything, and finally she asked his name. 

     "Matthew."  I would say proudly. 

     But my mom wouldn't smile at that.  Instead she would frown dubiously, turn back to the kettle or onions she would satee,   Never asking about him. 

     We became best friends as a few years went on.  We both were growing, and soon I was in middle school.  My mum didn't believe that this boy existed.  Every time I would promise he would come over this time, he cancelled and ran home.   We made a rule not to enter each others homes, that our home would be outside.  Together. 

     As soon as I'd get home from school I'd drop my bag and sprint out to the backyard.  There on the same chopped stump would sit Matty, and we would go off on our adventures. 

     It became ours.

     As we grew older, Matthew became quite tall.  He held the same shaggy hair that he had when I first met him, and the same stunning hazel eyes.   He did get more muscular, but thinly so.  I became jealous of his body as mine became curvier, but he would always reassure me it looked better than fine.  That it was perfect.  And not to take any crap from any girl or guy.  

     We didn't go to the same school.  His parents home schooled him, he would say.  And I was fine with that.  We saw each other plenty.  

     But whenever I would bring home some friends, I would check the stump and he wouldn't be there.  He wouldn't come out when I had company, he always said how he would be intruding.  Wrecking something so beautiful.  

     I told him he wouldn't be wrecking something beautiful because he was beautiful. 

     And I remember as we sat under the canopy of trees, he stared at me with a melancholy laced in his iris's.  It made me sad.  It made me want to know what was wrong. 

     But he barely spoke of himself.  He would let me talk about my petty issues with guys, and grades.  Eventually it became normal that we didn't talk about him.  

     It was like I was the main character of his book. 

     But as high school ended, he asked me what I would do now.  

     And I told him about the boy who asked me to move away with him. 

     And I saw the pride grow like a fire in his smile. 

     And I felt his love as he pulled me into his arms. 

     And I felt heartbroken when he pulled away

     and I saw something flicker. 

     Him. 

     He stared at me expectantly. 

     "Danielle,"  He started, "I didn't want to come over, but I think I should now.  I think I should."

     He gripped my hands almost as though he was pleading, but without hesitation I said of course.  And we went into the tiny cramped living space.  And as my mum came home with dirt on her face she smiled at me and sat so close to Matty that I thought she'd sit on him.  I gasped, fearful for a moment, but Matthew turned and grinned. 

     "Don't worry Danny."

     My mum leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I realised what was happening. 

     She was ignoring Matty. 

     But, she wasn't.

     She didn't see Matty. 

     Terror sliced through me, and I stood up suddenly, rushing myself for air. 

     Matthew raced out after me, grabbing my arm to stop me. 

     "Danny, I'm sorry!"  His eyes plead, waiting for me to say something. 

     "What's going on Matt, what the Hell was that?"  He winced at my words, but I had given him what he wanted;

      my voice.

      I trembled as he spoke fluidly. 

      "I love you and your mother so very much, Danny.  You need to know that.  And I am so absolutely proud of you for how far you've come."  His eyes were swelling with tears.  "And I'm so glad to see your bright future.  Please.  Please remember you have a brilliant future."  Confusion shuffled through me.  "Danny,"  He took a deep breath, "I'm your brother."  I was about to speak but he cut me off, "--Danny, mum had a miscarriage before she had you.  Several years before she even wanted to try again.  And daddy?  He left when he thought mum wouldn't get pregnant.  She found out she was with you three days after daddy left."  His face was faltering, "I wanted to grow up with you, so I waited here for you.  you have a life Danny."  I was shaking, crying with upset.  Disbelief. 

    "Matty, no.  No no no."  I was shaking my head aggressively, "No!  You're real, I'm touching you now!"  He looked down at his hands and he smiled sadly. 

     "That's because you saw me when we were so young.  You got used to me.  I'm so sorry Danny.  But I love you so incredibly much.  And I am so proud of you.  I want to watch you get married and have children, but I can't."  Pain flashed through his eyes, "Every moment I stay longer, it hurts Danny.  It hurts so much."  

     He was fading, in and out.  I hugged him tightly, feeling the fabric of his shirt disappear through my fingers. 

     "Matty, oh Matty I'm so proud of you too.  I never thought I could love someone as I do you.  You are the most incredible person I have met, and I owe so much to you.  I won't let you down, Matty.  I owe you so much.  So... so much."  My sobs were clouding my speech, and I shut my eyes tightly.  

     I don't know how long I sat there, but after a while I heard the door slide open, my mum coming over and rubbing my back. 

     "You okay, sweetie?"  I nodded numbly. 

     

I dream of him often.  And I still love him as I hold my son in my arms.  I still love him as I hold the hand of my husband.  I still love him. 

     

     Matthew, I regret that we didn't get to have a life together, but every time I feel a pressure on my hand I want you to know that I think of you.  I think of you watching me grow up and even though I'm still so much a child, I love you no matter what.  I love you Matthew.  

Their eyes were battling each other, the rage sent waves around the empty room,
with nothing in it except packed boxes.
He came home when she wasn't finished packing.
When she wasn't finished saying goodbye.
And he stared at her with anger flowing through his veins, "You've had enough time.  Get out.  Now." 
He flicked his white cuffed wrist to the elevator door, venom dripping from his mouth
like a savage dog.
And she stared at him with disdain, tears flowing freely as her mumbled words made her sound as worthless as she felt. "I'm not ready yet."
This time he began shouting, feeling his heart welting with the frustration that filled his heart
every day
for the past
few
weeks.
"I don't want to see you, Anna!  Get the fuck out, now!"  He stepped closer to her now, taking in the deep brown hair.  Instead of it being neatly pinned back, it was now wavy and full of frizz.  Her once full eyes were empty and heartless.  He felt heartless too.
She gripped the edge of one of the boxes, sputtering, "Please, I can't go yet.  How do you know--"
He gripped her arm, dragging her to the elevator door.  And with the press of the button, the elevator slowly drifted up to the suite.
She cried out, falling against him.  Feeling deflated. 
And he held this woman.
The woman who he felt in love with for the past seven years.
The woman who showed him the world.
Who showed him love.
True.
Love.
He held this woman, feeling her embrace one last time, before she would drift off like the ocean.  Being free.  Truly free.
She looked up at him, her hollow green eyes meeting his with heartbreak.
And he brushed his fingers down her face so gently,
she could've mistaken it for rain.
And then he tugged his finger against her lip, ever so slightly.
"But," her voice was hoarse, "How do you know when it's love?" 
His eyes widened, with reality.
What was love?
Was this terror of a relationship not real?
A facade?
Her pleading eyes bore into his.
But his anger still boiled.
Her rage was still inflamed.
As so when the elevator dinged, he moved Anna into the metal box.  And left before she could watch him as the doors shut.
And he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
And took it as a shot.
And as he curled up in bed
his face was burning hot
from the tears that stained his cheeks
and the pain from the weeks
he was now being torn
from what she said
about the confusion
how love felt dead
and when he woke
he had some gin
mumbling what she spoke
the chance of sleep was slim
each day carried out
little shut eye
many tears
one day
he couldn't try
so he took some pills
and lay his head
after downing some whiskey
his limbs like lead
and he wrote
I quote
"My dearest Anna,
love
is a fanatical word
because people have assumed
that it can sum up a mess
of emotions
but
do not use it in vain
do not
utter it
with uncertainty
I love you
and when I say love
I mean
you make my heart stop
when you look at me
even if you don't
it feels as though I'll vomit
and my shakiness is terrible
and won't stop for hours
even when
you're long
gone.
And I love you
because
when your name is said
my stomach
it flutters
but the problem is
I love you
to the point
where
it
physically
hurts
when I'm not around you
and when you see me
but don't speak to me
I'm getting torn a part inside
and I pray you don't see my corpse
lifeless
loveless
but
I need you to see this
because I was
angry
I still am
but it wasn't with you
it was with my pain capacity
I was broken
I am broken
and I
can't
be
fixed
because
I'll just crumble again
and Oh, Anna
dream well
live well
live free
of strain
and sadness
and anger
and restlessness
watch the ocean
I see it in your eyes
watch the ocean.
With more emotion than you could possibly comprehend,
yours,
but not yours,
Evan James Parker."

To a Pessimist

Her ashy ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk.   Her little hands gripped the cottony rose bag that held her school kits.  As she made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school.   She stepped on cue to each syllable, giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme.    Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky, chasing the birds that glided through the air.  She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one of them felt like a bird.

     Her thoughts walked home with her, until she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy.   But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped through the door.   She slid off her small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door.  She turned, taking in the dust filled cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor.  Although she barely blinked as she hobbled into the kitchen.  Pots and filthy dishes filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare.  All except for a rotten apple. 

     Her feet danced over the glass as she pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim lips.  She spun into the living room, holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn couch.  She sat there for a bit, listening to the dead clock that hung on the wall.   The big hand stuck on three.  She imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click.  She crunched the cereal melodically, humming as she kicked her feet.   Her eyes scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.  The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy yellow filled the shades.  She placed the box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo.  She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the current eighties mix.  She twirled and jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson.  But as she jumped against the ground, the stereo silenced.  Her cheeks flushed as she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became clear that the technology was fried. 

     Slight creaking sounded from the wooden staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the stairs.  A woman who looked older than she was placed her frail hands against the railing.  Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s, and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.  

     “Lynn dear, how was your day?”  Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she pulled the child into a weak hug.  Lynn smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living room.

     “Oh, mama I learned a new song today!  And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he tore my music sheet into confetti.”  The woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama.  I used the confetti to throw into the air.  Everyone was having so much fun with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.”  Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the woman’s response.

     Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she sat down the couch sunk with her.  She patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did.  He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for it.”

     “But he did-“

     “How could you know he meant it?  No one means anything now a day.  They’re all just a bunch of liars.”  The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through Lynn’s curls. 

     Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s ribs.  Her mother frowned thoughtfully.  They sat there with Lynn’s head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains.   Finally her mother spoke.

     “Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s today.” 

     Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the couch.  Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch though. 

     “They told me I’m getting worse.  We are going to have to find you a foster home soon.”  Lynn tilted her head.  

     “But did they tell you when you’d be at your worst?”  As her mother shook her head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we still have time.”   Her mother dropped her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.  But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.”  She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying.  I know we won’t be together for much longer, but with the time we do have… we can make everything special.”  Her eyes glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn.  Her face was solemn.  The wrinkles creased around her eyes and mouth as she parted her cracked lips.  Lynn’s mother took in her daughter.  She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her curiously.  Usually when her mother spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative.  She expected her mother to say something about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die anyways.  But instead, her mother lifted herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort.  She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never fully leaving the cold ground.  Finally, she reached the door.  With all her strength she pulled the door open.  She lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off.  As she turned back into the house, her eyes caught Lynn’s.  Lynn watched her mother move more than she had in the past six months.  She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and place the wreath in it thoughtfully.

     And then she smiled at Lynn.  Ever so slightly.

 

Allice

Looking up into the freezing snow, her eyes slowly blinked.  She stood on a jagged boulder that looked out onto the city beneath her.  But she didn't make her way to the glowing lights.  Instead, she made her way through the woods behind her to begin her search.  She had known that she would have to look for this since she was a mere tot, and she never knew that it would be this calming to try to find it.  She always imagined she would be frightened, her legs buckling.  That she would be too much of a wimp to go out on her own.
To say goodbye to her loved ones.
But she never did say goodbye.
She simply said goodnight.
And then she left.

She shook her head, getting rid of the familiar smiles that her adoptive mother and father gave her.
The sun would be rising soon.  They'd start making coffee in a few hours.  They'd be waking her up for training in a few hours.

But she wouldn't be there to be awoke.

Hopefully she'd be long gone by then.

She shuddered at the thought of their reactions.  She swallowed roughly and wiped her brow as she pictured them sending out the hounds to find her.

Her footsteps became sprints.
She couldn't go through this heartache just to be brought back.
She silently thanked the sky for snowing, hoping it would snow enough to get rid of her scent and tracks.  She thought about using the trees as travel, but realised that even if she was safer, she wouldn't get very far in a few hours.
She adjusted her bag as she swiftly made her way through the trees.

After a while she found herself in front of a cliff.  She swore as she collapsed in rage, pounding her gloved fists into the foot of snow.
She scanned the edges of the cliff, focused on getting across.  Her heart lifted when she saw the two edges of cliffs grew closer a few kilometres to the right.  She moved as fast as she could in her tired state, and she sat in the snow for a moment when she came to the close cliff edges.

"C'mon, Allice."  She punched the ground with agitation for how exhausted she was.
She shakily stood up and peered to the bottom of the cliff.
Pitch black.
She swatted her thick black locks out of her face.
Allice moved to the base of a pine tree, then pushed off to gain speed for her leap of faith.
Her breath froze as she glided over the crevasse,   choking her as she fumbled ungracefully into the piles of snow on the other side.
She coughed roughly into the powder, cursing when a spout of blood splattered the icy rain.
She forced herself up, falling down several times in the process.
Her breath was shallow as she continued down the snow filled field.  She felt uneasy about how open the area was, but she made her way quickly.

She didn't know how she knew where she was going, but her body seemed to move her like a map and a compass.
The sun was setting as she came across the stone building she sought out.
It had runes along each side of the doorway, and without a second thought she placed her palm over the moon symbol.
Her eyes flashed ivory, blinding her vision completely.  Fear shot through her as her body began moving forward by itself.  She felt herself walk forward into a tight space that was quite damp.
After several moments her vision returned, but she couldn't see through the tunnel because it was pitch dark.  She kept walking cautiously forward- if she was moving forward.  Her equilibrium became unbalanced as she became confused as to where she was going.

The tunnel opened up suddenly, and a bright white orb floated in the centre of the room.  Torched filled the walls, giving off a warm yellow glow.  And as she brushed her hair out of her face, she realised it wasn't black anymore.  Instead, it was a vibrant glowing opal.
She swallowed her fear and stepped closer to the orb.
She found it.
She found herself.
She stalked towards the orb carefully, afraid of what would happen.
But as she grabbed the orb, its light shot into her body sending out screams of pain as she shot into the air.
Her hair was flying around her face by forces of wind, growing out in long strands.
Her eyes glowed beautifully as her skin radiated white light.
As the scene calmed, she knew.
She knew everything about her.

Because she wasn't Allice anymore.
She never was.
She was the goddess of light, saviour of lands and creator of being.

But instead of staying in the tomb, she left.
Her light radiated constantly as she went out into the snow land.
By now, the sky had fallen dark, but  still she sent out light to extreme lengths.
She shot up into the sky, meeting the moon as its grace, and she placed herself into the atmosphere.
She knew what she was doing would be helpful to all people.
She knew that this is what she had to do.
And yet, sadness filled her.

Her light became unstable, glowing at immense power.
Until, the light consumed her completely.  Sending sparks of ivory throughout the entire sky.
It formed a shield around the mountains, forest and cities beyond travel.
And by the time the sparks had settled in their cloaking, Allice was no longer a being.
She was a saviour.

It was April 27th of this year when I knew I had cancer.
I didn't go to the doctor, or feel a lump or anything.  But the day was just so... different.  Lethargic.  Painful to think.  As though my body couldn't focus on anything except the creeping agony that I couldn't feel yet.
And all I remember doing that day was blinking.
How every time I closed my eyes, it felt as though a lifetime surged through me, creating, well...me.
I didn't go to the doctor right away.
I scanned my body, did all the feeling tests.  Which was weird, because I had never felt my body so much before.  It was like disturbing sacred land. I was trying to comprehend why I was suddenly so panicked when no one in my family had cancer.
There was no reason to be frightened.
"I'm overreacting."
Was what I kept saying every time I didn't feel a lump.
"There's nothing wrong."
Was what I tried saying when I forced myself to breathe.

I never found anything.

But the doctors I went to did.

They found it in my ovaries.

They told me I wouldn't have blood-related kids.

They told me they were sorry.

They told me about the surgeries.

About the Chemo.

About the pain.

About the life altering chaos I was about to go through.

And when they walked out of the door, they muttered to each other, "She's barely twenty.  Her loss must be difficult."

And all I thought was how dare they.
How dare they try to even comprehend the thought of being unable to carry something that was going to mean the world to them.  Because that new life would be my world.
But in a moment, it was gone.
And I had never, ever in my entire life feel so ripped off.
So angry.
So betrayed.

I didn't pray that night.

I showered.

And cried.

And tumbled into my unkempt bed.

And I slept.

Chemo was expensive.  I was in college, far away from family.  They were supportive, sad.
But I felt anger.
Resentment to them.
Because they pitied me.
I felt like kicked dog on the side of an abandoned road.
And I wanted to scream at them.
That they didn't understand.

But they asked me what made me go seek help.  I told them I didn't feel right.

"Was it a lump?"  They would ask.

"Did it hurt when you weren't menstruating?"  They would prod.

"Did something show you something was wrong?"  They would pick.

And I gave them the same answer.

I felt different.

 I went for a check up.

I got the news.

I wanted to die.

Not from Cancer.  But that fucking thing can go kiss my ass.  It should be easy as it's kissed my ovaries. 

I wanted to die in a different way.  By a car accident, heart attack, falling asleep and never waking up.

But now I'm going to die. 

I caught it a while ago,  so they can only slow the cancer.  Not stop it.  

"Three years max."  The doctors said mournfully.  As though I had already died.

I felt dead inside, so I guess that's the same thing.

I stopped doing things I enjoyed. 

I used to ride my bike by the ocean every day.  Twice. 

I didn't have the strength to anymore.

I used to photograph people at their happiest.

I threw my camera against my bedroom wall.

I tore shelves down in my room. 

I stabbed scissors into the wall.

I never went more than one day without crying.

I always cried until I fell asleep.

That was what I was like for  a year. 

It felt excruciating.

I lost my hair.  I used to wear a wig because I felt embarrassed, but I stopped and started wearing a toque. 

I missed my hair a lot.  It wasn't very long, I was always called a lesbian for having a pixie cut.

But I loved it. 

It was a subtle mouse brown that somehow managed to make me look like a rock star every day without doing anything to it. 

I didn't have to shave my legs or anything anymore though. 
That didn't suck. 
It sucked because it reminded me that I was dying.
And my insides were screwed.

But I went to the doctor almost every day for two and a half years.

At this point, I was on edge daily. 
Not angry, just anxious.

Like, I knew I was going to die any day now.

But I didn't.

In three years I was still alive.

And I felt so much hope well inside of me that I thought I was going to burst.

I think I did burst actually.

In tears.

The doctors didn't know what to say. 

I still didn't have any hair, but I strutted with my bald head high. 

I felt amazing.

I even fell in love.

He was amazing.

He knew what I was going through, but stayed with me. 

He wanted us to get married, have children--
Which he knew we would have to adopt.

But he didn't care.

We were in love.

We travelled all around Europe.

We moved to Paris. 

I became fluent in french.

We had an apartment.

We walked down the river ways.

We were in a book.









But, my book ended five years after I had been diagnosed with Cancer. 

I was twenty four when I died holding my husband's hand.

I was twenty four when I had so much cancer in me, that I could have killed twenty other people.

I was twenty four when my little girl had to kiss her mother goodbye. 

I was twenty four when my life ended.