Wednesday, January 13, 2016


Skateboard. Digital image. Wallpapers Wide. N.p., n.d. Web. <>.
The good thing about being in 8th grade was that I didn’t need my mother to drive me around everywhere. It was getting embarrassing already. I rode my bike over to my friend Jack's house on a cool October afternoon. We didn’t have any special plans. We were just going to hang out together and talk about stuff like we always did, maybe shoot some hoops.  As I swung my bike onto Jack's driveway, he came excitedly towards me saying, “Hey Edgar, hurry up! Come into the garage. You have got to see this!” I felt myself getting excited, wondering if he was going to show me some forbidden magazines or something like that.
Jack said, “Wait here,” and he ran into the garage. He came bursting out on a dope skateboard unlike any I had seen before. It was made out of two segments that got narrow towards the center where they were hooked together. He pulled up in front of me in the smoothest slide I had ever seen.
“Whoa,” I exclaimed. “Sweet. What is it and where did you get it”?  
“It’s a skateboard my dad and I named Wave-Board: there’s nothing like it out there.  We made it here in my garage. My father and I worked on it for months, planning, sketching it out and then putting it together. My dad is going to patent it and get it manufactured. We’ll get rich, and be famous!”  
“Cool,” I replied, “Can I ride it?”
“Sure,” Jack answered, “Get ready for the ride of your life!”
I hopped on it and it took a while to get the hang of, but eventually I had it going. it rode silky smooth like I was actually gliding on waves. As I rode this amazing skateboard a thought like a dark cloud passed through my mind. I think I felt jealous of Jack, not just because of the awesome skateboard, but also because of the fun he had creating it with his father. But as briskly  as the thought entered my mind, it sailed away just as fast and I was whooping and laughing.
As the day faded into early evening, I realized that I had to hurry home for dinner. I hopped on my bike, which was lying at the top of the driveway.
“Bye Jack, see you at school tomorrow.”
I heard Jack reply, “See you Edgar.”
As I picked up speed going down the driveway, I felt a slight bump and continued to race home so I wouldn’t be late. I didn’t want to get in trouble. My parents could be tough that way. Later that evening as I lay in bed, I thought about the fun afternoon and cool wave-board. All of a sudden, a sick feeling hit my stomach and I remembered the bump. Nah, I said to myself, It must have been a stick.


4 Facts: Ambank Founder's Son Shares His Thoughts. Digital N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Dec. 2015. <>.

I wearily made my way home, lazily moving my legs down a swaying sidewalk, thinking back to the beautiful bursts of color I had just witnessed. I always did enjoy the Fourth of July display down at Carlyle Lake.
Sharp, yellow rays peered out in front of my feet. I turned around to see James in a black car pull up beside me. Although I wasn’t quite in the mood to speak and associate with anyone from work, specifically someone that brought me disdain, I decided to entertain what my co-worker had to say.
            “Nice fireworks out tonight, eh?”
I nodded in silence as his car slowed to my pace.  
“You need a ride home?”
I shrugged in agreement.
“Alrighty, climb in the back.”
Even after his wife had left him, he still kept her seat up front empty in case she returned. I frowned and slid into the back.
            We drove through an adjacent town and then onto a winding dirt road that led to our neighborhood development, which was situated close to our firm. James dropped me off in front of my house, which seemed to loom over us in the darkness. I thanked him and headed in.  
“Oh,” he jumped out of his car and ran up the steps, and lodged his foot in my door while I prepared to close it. “I left a hat here last weekend after your company get-together. Can you pick it up for me?” I nodded and entered the living room to find his hat, the fireplace still radiated heat from the previous fire and I picked the hat up from the mantel.
            I returned to see him staring at my wedding photos in the foyer. His eyes were glossy and wet. His throat moving as if something was stuck and he pined to remove it.
“Come in for some tea,” I suggested. There I would be close to the knives. He agreed, and I put the kettle on the stove. I had never liked James anyway and here he was sitting at my dining table, easy prey that had come to me. When I went to the fridge to get milk, I noticed he had placed his handgun on the table. Fire with fire... Let’s play.
After he picked up his gun, he awkwardly motioned for me to sit down with the barrel as he sniffed back a few tears, and hugged the mug close to his body. I sat across from him careful not to make any sudden movements. I didn’t listen too closely as James complained in a loud and undulating voice about how his wife had cheated on him. He claimed to have become part of the mindless masses. He was a depressed, alcoholic, having a mental breakdown in my house. The barrel of the gun still pointing at me, and my knives so far away. The fight was unfair. I convinced myself that if I were to obey him, I would possibly leave unscathed.
Once he had decompressed, the only evidence of his outburst was a soft layer of tears that covered his cheeks. As a bout of silence filled the room, we both stared down into our mugs. He took out his phone to fill the void. He had received a text. Perfect timing is always when the prey doesn't see anything coming. He gasped and his face widened into a smile and he prepared to text back on his phone. I took the moment into my own hands. I grabbed the gun, which he had placed on the table momentarily, cocked it back, and aimed.
He pressed send and looked up from his phone. An explosion cut the silence. A bullet propelled forward.
Blood poured down his body, and in that moment, his smile disappeared, and one slowly grew on my face as I stepped closer. I stared at his body for a while until I decided to move it to the basement. Yet, as soon as I grabbed his feet, a knock came at the back door. I looked through the glass door to see a woman, her soft brown eyes were filled with loss, regret and now, fear.
She held a phone close to her chest. In panic, I flung my arm out, aimed, and shot. I stood over her body until I decided to move again. How inconvenient, now a body in my kitchen and on my deck. After I had hid both their bodies, and both the deck and kitchen floor had been thoroughly cleaned, I gathered their belongings.
When I glanced down, I saw an unread notification from his wife: I'm outside.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

The Scare

Pain, sadness, stress, isolation, insecurity, misery, desperation, overwhelmed, lonely, afraid, and concerned were not enough words to describe how I felt. I took the pregnancy test, “First Response,” and boom. There it was. Two neon pluses shining brightly into my eyes. What was I going to do? How was I going to hide this from my parents? What was I going to tell my boyfriend?
The next day, I went to school still not knowing what to tell my boyfriend. Suddenly, I saw him from the corner of my eye and decide to, in a burst of confidence go to talk to him. I rapidly walk to him and ask him to have a talk. He says, “Sure, babe.” We walk to a quiet corner, and I instantly start hysterically crying.
“I’m pregnant!” I said.
He gave me a panicked look and said, “ How can this be? Are you kidding me? We used protection, Babe.”
“I don’t know what to say, I didn’t even tell my parents yet,” I told him.
He replied back, “Babe, I have to go to class, but after school we really have to go and talk to your parents, because I’m not ready to raise a baby right now.” The conversation ended like a shattered piece of glass. We planned to meet at my house after school to tell my parents the big news.
The doorbell rang and I rushed to open the door. He nervously whispered to me, “Are you ready?”
I quietly answered, “Not really, but we have to tell them the news... I need the support.” We sat down in the living room waiting for my parents to come downstairs. My mom and dad sat on the couch, and immediately my mom asked, “Is everything ok?”
My boyfriend opened his mouth and started saying, “Mrs. and Mr. Lee, I really didn’t...”
While he is talking I hear the television playing a commercial about how the company, “First Response” sold fake pregnancy tests to more than 100,000 people. I instantly smack my hand onto his mouth, and say, “Mother and father we just gathered you here today to tell you that he is taking me to prom.” Mom and dad reacted in pure excitement.
I gently took my hand off of my boyfriend’s sweaty mouth. He didn’t know what was happening. He thought I got cold feet and decided not to tell them. It took him a while to understand that, that was not the case. I made hand gestures. I whispered to him. I kicked him. Nothing helped. He still didn’t get it. I took him to my room and explained it to him. His response was ecstatic. He hugged me so strongly, I couldn’t feel my body for weeks. This pregnancy scare made me understand how much passion, care, and love he has for me.

"Fake Pregnancy Pranks Have Become More Popular." Clapway. N.p., 02 Sept. 2015. Web. 07 Jan. 2016.

Friday, January 8, 2016


Ultimopaso. Pretty Puddle. Digital image. Deviant Art. Deviant Art, 21 Feb. 2012. Web. 6 Jan. 2016. <>.
After working all day in her little cubicle at her workplace with coffee as her stimulus, she stood up from her desk and moved herself to the window. This was the first time lifting herself up from the office chair since this morning when she went to the bathroom. Looking at all the festive decorations outside, she placed her hands on the cold one-way window. The weather was getting cooler and the sun setting earlier. It was just the right time to watch the sunset, just before six. Resting her forehead on the window, she admired the sky that was painted in arrays of pinks, light blues, oranges and yellows. The clouds were lingering about, sparsely spaced out in the wide field of the infinite sky. From the small gap of the slightly opened window, she could smell the remnant scent of the rain. A crisp and gentle breeze of December flowed in. It was refreshing. She loved the rain. It was too bad that she missed it. Gazing at the delicate, yet imposing scene, she thought about all the work on her desk waiting to be completed. While the sunset was tranquil, her work place was demanding. Focused on her work, she hadn’t even noticed that it had rained. Will I ever reach that peaceful state if I keep working like this?
One of her best friends from high school had called her a little earlier. Like her, he had gone into working in an office after college four years ago. However, her friend had recently quit his job and begun a new career playing the cello which he had played since the age of six.
“It’s so much better,” her friend had said. ”No stress, no pressure. Freedom!”
Of course she had thought about quitting, but things were different for her. While her friend greatly enjoyed playing the cello, she had never discovered her passion. She had never found something that she truly loved doing. With the amount of work she had as an office clerk, she knew that she would never be able to develop her passion. And besides, she thought it was already too late to start something new.
Looking down from six floors above, she saw the bright yellow light from the entrance of the building. Festive decorations including large mistletoes, ornaments, and peppermint sticks, were displayed outside each establishment. There were still some puddles from the rain here and there. One. Two …  Five. Six. There were six puddles. From the reflection of the puddle near the automatic sliding glass doors, she could see the faded pink sky. And from the reflection of the one by the streetlamp that was wrapped with Christmas lights, she saw the cirrus clouds. However, the one near the west side of the office building, where hardly anybody resided, had something strange about it. Instead of reflecting the light blue and pinkish sky, it was dark blue. And something made it seem as if it had depth to it. From high above, she couldn’t see very well. Forgetting that she was still on her shift, she decided to go downstairs to look at it from a closer view.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered to one of her closest co-workers, after scurrying inside.
“W… What?” her confrere yelled.
But it was too late, she was already in the hallway running to catch the elevator. Sorry, I’m sick of working until midnight non-stop. Please give me a break. Something about the puddle gave her courage to finally say that she needed a break after her overnight shift. Within a few moments, she was at the lobby, then rushing out past the sliding glass doors, squeezing through the horde of people, and quickly approaching the corner, behind it lay the peculiar pool of rain.
She came to an abrupt halt after turning the corner. There it stood, the ambiguous puddle. Panting, she took cautious steps towards it as if there was some monster within it. Now, peering from directly above the small pond of rain, she only saw her reflection. Squinting, in hopes to see any better, she noticed that the puddle was not really a puddle. It was something much greater. She gathered six pebbles from around it, and dropped them in, one by one. That’s weird, the stones should settle down on the concrete beneath. For some unknown reason, the stones were disappearing into the ultramarine puddle that perhaps was not a puddle. In a crouching position, she put her face close to the surface of the water. Determined to discern this obscure puddle, she closed her eyes and dove head first into the water without second thought.
Silence. Not even a splash.
Where am I? I can’t breathe. She opened her eyes and found herself in a vast blue space. When was the last time I had a proper break like this? Summer vacation two years ago? Although she could not physically breathe, she was alive. And probably the happiest she had ever been.
I’m too busy.”
“Who’s got time for that?”
“Let me finish this up first.”
In today’s world, we have many reasons to not take a break. We are so caught up in working and studying that we forget how it feels like to break away. Everyone needs a break; even the world’s most capable person needs a break from everything.

Undiscovered Emotions

Yellow Grass. á-Google." Yellow+grassþ. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 Jan. 2016.
I wrote it on a scrap of notebook paper, and I then realized how foolish my wish was.  I was beside the ocean waves, contemplating the desire I somehow dreamed of.  Without thinking logically, I abruptly crumpled the moistened piece of paper and cast it into the sea.
The scrap declared only a few words.
“I’m yearning for someone.”
I tramped on the sand back to the faded road.  It was the middle of autumn.  A new school year had begun.  A new year for me to treat old and new students like sh*t and to tear their mentality to shreds.  I obsess over their misery.
 I began to think of how I ever came to be like this.  I’ve thought about this topic ever since I first became amused with the human emotion of sadness.  Particularly, when I caused the sadness.
I unconsciously thought of my abusive parents.  How they brutally treated me in the past and still do to this day.  They take their frustration and anger from their lives and direct it towards me.
“I’m not even supposed to be alive, anyway.”  I mumbled.  Mom didn’t ask for an abortion.  She decided to bear and tolerate me for a child.  
I’m simply uncared for.  Just an individual who was brought into this life for no good reason.  Nobody actually wants me.  

“Sean, you need to stop this behavior right this second.”
I was in the middle of torturing my latest victim during lunch.  Glasses.  Scrawny and naive.  What do you expect looking like that? Of course someone would pick on a vulnerable child like you and push you out of the lunch line.  
After I finished eating, I walked towards a campaign that a group of students were rambling about in the hallway.  
“Save the Red-Cockaded Woodpecker! Its role in our ecosystem is quite significant! It’s an endangered type of bird, and...”
One of them abruptly stopped talking so enthusiastically.  It was obvious that he was petrified of my own being.  He hung his head in shame.  
I chuckled at the 3 students as I walked past them who were gaining zero attention from anybody.  I proudly gave one of them a look of mockery.  
It was the last class of the day.  And there were only 6 more minutes of it.  I nonchalantly packed my belongings on my desk and observed the teacher, who seemed to be fully engaged in the work on her computer.   
“Alright, you guys are dismissed. Nice job today. Oh, Alicia, can I talk to you for just a moment?” 
I walk up to the door and immediately open it. I then see one of my friends walking out of Art History.  Hayden.  He notices me and nods his head.  
“You wanna hang now? We could go hunting again.  It was really fun last time.” 
“Fine.  I’m getting the 870 rifle this time.  You’re stuck with the small one,” I replied.
“Awesome! We could aim for hares this time.  Or pheasants.” 
Hayden and I have fathers who hunt for mere pleasure.  We occasionally try shooting for entertainment, ourselves too.  I always have the most fun.  
We exit the school building and head toward Hayden’s nearby house to retrieve the rifles, then west where we always go to hunt: Kopan Forest, which is close to the school.  Only a 7 minute walk from here, and only 10 to my house.  We walk without speaking a word.  
We arrive at the forest and our ears flood with the silence of the atmosphere.  Nature is exceedingly peaceful.  
I thoroughly study the scenery and begin walking cautiously.  I notion for Hayden to follow me.  He then mirrors my every movement.  
“Do you think we cou-”
I whip my head around and give him a deathly stare.
“One more word out of you and I’ll make sure you’ll regret it,” I whisper, exasperated.  
I continue to stay alert for any sign of movement.  Any sign of movement, life -- that I could end.  
After a few minutes, I become impatient.  Where the hell are these idiotic forest animals?
Out of vexation, I direct the rifle towards Hayden’s head, jokingly.  But right above his head my eyes notice something.  Something small in size.
“Score” I softly mumbled to myself.  “A coincidence, too.”
Hayden’s kneeled down, covering his head with his arms.  He’s hysterically naive. 
I point the rifle towards a Red-Cockaded Woodpecker.  Endangered, eh? Perfect.  
Hayden reluctantly stood up and noticed where I was imminently about to shoot.  I glanced at his facial expression.  It was an insecure look.
His lack of confidence rubbed off on me, causing me to only shoot the woodpecker at the leg.  The woodpecker soared down, and I could see it flinch.  
I pushed Hayden out of the way in anger.
I run off to the bird to claim it, and Hayden follows me bashfully.  
Looking down at the bird, I study its spotted wings.  I distinctly notice that the bird is still alive. 
I run home.  Hayden fails to catch up with me, but I have work to do.  
I swiftly open the unlocked door to my house.  Nobody at home.  Surprising.  But this is good.  
I dash into the kitchen, grasping the bird with one hand.  I grab a knife. Run upstairs into my room.  
This certainly isn’t a human being.  But it’s a thrilling experience for me.  Finally, something I can torture not just mentally -- but physically.
I grab one of my toy cages I’ve owned since I was a child, a perfect placement for the bird.  I don’t want it suddenly flying away.  
I shove my arm in the cage and the woodpecker falls in.  The woodpecker’s capable only of little movements between his head and wings.  
A smile crawls up on my face.  Pain is pleasure.  
I take hold of the knife in one hand, the side of the cage in the other, and begin to cut the woodpecker’s right wing.  Blood starts to sink into the white spots of the birds’ mellow, dark brown feathers.
What is happening to me?
The bird starts to chirp faintly.  You could only hear it if you were right near it.  
The innocent sounds that come out of the powerless bird.  Why does it remind me of myself?  I’m much larger than this trivial creature.  I’m profoundly filled with dominance.  I simply cannot be defeated.  
Why am I crying? There is nothing to cry about.  I have enough resilience to break down any sadness for myself.  
I am the one who offers pain.  I am the one who offers sorrow.  I am the one who offers despair.  
I release the tension in my hands and the knife clashes onto the table.  I’m sobbing unbelievably.  
I open the toy cage, take the bird gently, and hold it close to my body.  
You didn’t deserve this.  You did nothing wrong.  You deserve to be free.  You deserve to live a good life.  You deserve to be happy.  You deserve to be cared for unconditionally.  You’re a part of this life, too.    
But what is happening? Oh.  This isn’t right.  I must be hallucinating.  My eyes are deceiving.
The bird is gradually advancing in size.  Slowly but surely the bird reaches to a quarter of my height, then half, then…  It’s the size of a human.
The bird blinks twice, turning it’s head in an affectionate manner towards me.  
The bird is transforming.  A slender body is forming quickly.
Brown hair and eyes.  Curvy figure.  Unclothed.  Not much older than me.  She’s so pretty.  I can’t help but feel fondness for her.  
The transformation is what seems to be complete.  She blinks twice.  Turns her head affectionately.  
Is this happening right now? 
“Your wish.”
“What?” My voice was hoarse.  
“Your wish,” she said again.  
“What’s your name?” I say.  
“I don’t have one.  You can name me yourself.”
I stare at her, still trying to process everything that has happened.  
“But I am that someone you have been yearning for.”

He Almost Made It

“They never left, you know,” Yuki murmured, “The nightmares.”
“I know,” Evan whispered back to his best friend.
“Now I think I understand why they did it.” She smiled in a ghostly manner. Yuki looked like a specter, her eyes distant and faded, skin white as paper.
“It’s been a year,” Evan hesitated, “Since we got out.”
“It’s not fair,” a tear slowly rolled down Yuki’s cheek, but she didn’t blink. “It should have been me.” her voice was soft, and to anyone else it would have sounded indifferent, but Evan knew better.
“It shouldn’t have been any of us,” and he knew how melodramatic it must have sounded, “None of us deserved it, not us and not him.”
“If only she hadn’t told us to run.”
“Well, I am grateful she did, we would all be dead if she hadn’t…” Evan was cut off by Yuki’s quiet sob.
“She’s dead too now, why couldn’t it be me?” Her voice rose. “I wish I didn’t let him run behind us, maybe he could have made it…”
Everyone in the art room was staring at her. Her tears fell onto the plain canvas under her. She couldn’t paint, not after they were taken by those gruesome bastards. Not after, she lay there paralyzed, along with Evan, Justin, and a female stranger. What had they injected into them? Did it matter? They had carved their skin with symbols, following their crazy delusions of awakening a demon… or was it the devil? Again, did it matter? They had gotten out… alive. But not Justin… not the girl who had been captive before Evan, Yuki, and Justin.
“We’re going to have to excuse ourselves,” Evan didn’t even look at teacher as he grabbed Yuki’s arm and dragged her dazed body outside. 
And then they were out on the cold rooftop without their jackets. Yuki stood a few meters in front of him. She turned. Her short hair was pulled into her face by the wind as it swooped into Evan’s eyes making him squint, but he could still see her devastated expression.  
“I remember how they forgot to refill our veins with that… substance one day.” Yuki said.
“The girl… she was too weak to run. She told us that it was the only way out. Up the stairs and to the left.” Evan could just barely hear her over the roar of the lightning.
“I will never forget leaving her there. Justin didn’t want to, but she said she just wanted to die. Now I can understand her.”                          
“And then we ran. I knew I shouldn’t have let him get behind and cover for us, but I was so scared. I was scared and I was a coward.”
“No, Yuki…”
“But they heard our footsteps. They knew to kill us before we exposed their secret and surely they were aware that the court would plead them guilty.” She took a deep breath as gargantuan raindrops began hitting her face. Evan said nothing.
“They caught up to us. With the strength we had, I was surprised they didn’t earlier. I guess adrenalin does crazy things to one’s body. But skin can only hold out so much. Justin’s skin. The girl’s skin. They cut it like birthday cake.” Yuki turned her back to Evan. 
“He almost got out with us.” She whispered.
“He almost made it!” she screamed as she dug her nails into her face.
“The trial is tomorrow. They have all the evidence. They have the other bodies that those bastards used, and I know there is no way anyone in the world will let them get away… but why can’t I help but feel so…”
“Terrified? Unsettled? Insecure?” Evan offered, “How can we not?” he continued, “After all that we’ve been through, we still can’t tame the nightmares, all we can do is befriend them.” he walked over to Yuki’s side.
They didn’t touch, look at each other, or speak. Just stared at the enormous campus below them as the rain soaked through their clothing making it stick to their skin. After a while they silently returned to the classroom. The teacher and students didn’t say a word. Everyone in town knew about the kidnapping and the torture they went through, but didn’t dare say a thing to the face of the victims, even though they frequently whispered behind their backs.
 Yuki picked up a paintbrush. Evan finally smiled.

The Long Swim

"Deep Bubble IPad Air Wallpaper." Deep Bubble IPad Air Wallpaper Download. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 Jan. 2016. <>.

The old man woke up that morning, alone in his home, to a gray, cold and stormy day. He pondered what the sea would be like in this weather, as he always, always took a morning swim. Moments later, all thoughts in his mind were forgotten when he remembered his dear, late daughter. She had been the light of his life, and even though she had moved away to the city long ago, they had shared a love of the sea. When she was young, and things were simpler, they used to walk hand in hand down the stone path, across the sand and into the water. He used to call her his little angelfish, colorful, bright and full of life. In the ten years she had been away, he swam alone, diving for coral and missing her company dearly. Now, the weight of her death caused physical pain, and for no other reason than habit, he set off once again, through the driving rain to the shore.

The old man stepped into the ocean, feeling aged and purposeless, gray like the day. The water swirled around his ankles as he gradually got deeper to his knees, deeper still until his head was submerged; no thoughts of ever going back. There was nothing left for him. He would escape to the sea and swim until he couldn’t anymore. Tilting down he swam a stroke; the ice-cold water rippling his sun worn skin. Down into the darkening depths he swam, closing his eyes and feeling the life of the ocean drain away his own. He was slowing, and his only desire was to swim deeper; to escape into the never ending darkness, and to see once again his angelfish.

And there she was. A slender angelfish fluttered in the murky water and skirted around a large rock. With the little air he had left he followed, pushing against the current to circle the rock. There on the other side was his daughter, transformed from the angelfish, colorful, bright and smiling. She beckoned and swam off and he tried with every morsel of energy to pursue, to reach her, to hold her, to never let go. But the distance was too far, too much time had passed and try as he might, no effort could bring her back. His last thoughts were of her smile, perfectly preserved in his memory, before everything slowed and painfully went black.  

He felt sand brush against his legs and air reach his lungs. Like a light switch, his eyes opened to a day totally transformed. His daughter had led him back to the beach out of love, protecting him. The weather, his mind, calm. He would always miss her but the consuming sadness was gone, replaced instead by a sense of peace. “Thank you for saving my life, my angel.” he whispered. Perhaps, he thought, out of love we can do anything.


"Footage of an Old Wrinkled Female Hands with a Big Old Ring on Finger."Getty Images. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 Jan. 2016
 Oh please. Elderly my ass. I am perfectly capable of doing anything I want. I don’t need help. I’ve been in this awful old people house less than a day, and I can’t bear a second longer of it. I eye the keys on the food counter that the old people helper left there. That’s my ticket outta here.
She comes over with a fake smile plastered on her face, “Here’s your dinner, Dorothy.”
It looks like I’m not the first to digest it. In the food area, there is a group of children holding roses. Another Christmas carol, isn’t it. We had Christmas carols two weeks ago. I sit down and a chipper little youngling comes racing over. Oh, f**k off, lemme eat.
An hour later, the helper gently taps me, as if she is afraid I’ll crumble to pieces if she uses too much force. “Let’s go back to your room, shall we? Did you have a good dinner?”
The helper, who desperately needs a haircut, holds out her arm waiting for me to link mine around hers. What? Does she think I need help walking back up to the rooms? Fuming, I decide to go over to my husband’s bed. He will cheer me up. We walk slowly to the elevator, where the helper puts in her key.
“George?” I call.
My voice is hoarse and croaky because they never give us anything to drink in this miserable place in all the three months I’ve been stuck here.
One of the helpers approaches me, her keys jingling as she catches up. “Come, let me help you to your bed.”
“I’m going to see my husband first, thank you very much,” I say. My voice is hoarse and croaky because they never give us anything to drink in this miserable place. The whole four days I’ve been stuck here. George’s hall always smells like white musk, so I know I’m going in the right direction.
“D-Dorothy?” George called. He was making tea in the kitchen.
“Is everything alright?” I asked skeptically. His voice was trembling.
“I don’t know, I-I feel kind of dizzy, and my-“

“Dorothy, is everything alright?” The helper towers over me with a concerned expression.
“Fine. I-I’m fine. I’m not sure what happened there.”
I shake off the eerie feeling I have and keep walking. I’ve been having those visions a lot lately, probably because this place is slowly driving me crazy.
“You can go see him tomorrow morning, it’s late and I don’t want you to wake the others up,” The helper suggests a bit too desperately. She thinks I’m going to cause a racket? She thinks I’m too loud? She’s only known me two weeks, who is she to judge? All that hair probably clouds her judgment anyway.
“Now you listen here, although I know that may be hard because of all that hair covering your ears, I’m not loud and I must go see him!”
The helper lets out an exasperated sigh, and concedes.
Now I can share my letter with him, the one our daughter wrote. “George! There you are, you’re a mess. Let me show you my letter. Come on, move over,”
George’s eyelids flutter and he gives me a blank, glazy eyed look. “Helen?” he says.
The next few hours are a blur of tears and frustration. There is an aching in my chest as my visions are confirmed. The photograph the helper shows me. The photo of George, who, as the helper gently explains, had died two years ago when he fainted and hit his head. The room suddenly looks foreign to me. The helpers try to take me outside, but nothing is there for me either. I know the way I will spend the rest of my life. Waiting to join him.