Notice - Short Story

Notice


I stare through the window at the storming rain outside. I hear them complaining about the gloominess, and dream of a time when I would do the same. Yet, I long to be out there, and something such as the weather does not seem to matter anymore. I dream of a time when to me it seemed to matter, and to them, I seemed to matter. The heating is turned on, yet the house feels cold.


I don’t remember when they started fighting, but ever since they did, I’ve been feeling like a whole lot….less. This state of insignificance feels inescapable. It is as if I don’t have a voice anymore…not...not that I ever really did. I’ve tried to talk to them, but it appears that they never really understand what I’m trying to say; they never really notice. I’m slowly starting to feel more and more invisible. They are so caught up in hating each other, that they just keep forgetting me. I miss the days when we’d go to the park. I miss the runs on the beach; she was always such a good athlete, and I could never be sure if she was struggling to keep up with me, or if I was struggling to keep up with her. He isn’t much of an athletic type, but we’d always played and played and played, and I know he enjoyed it just as much as I did. That spark of happiness on his face….it’s all gone now. That’s what I miss. I miss seeing the excitement they had, just to see me when they’d come home from work. They think they’d had a long day; I know mine felt longer. They’ve been busy but so have I. Busy doing, well, nothing more than I’m doing right now - staring out the window. I’m stuck here wishing. Wishing I could somehow express all this agony. Sometimes I wish I was able to cry, or storm out of here in frustration; oh well, I guess not everyone is that lucky.


Footsteps are coming down the stairs. I want to make my move: I’ll tell them how I feel and hope that maybe...just maybe they’ll somewhat understand. As they come closer I recognize arguing by the tone of their voices. I have no idea what it’s about this time, but I know I have to speak out regardless. I walk right over and try to ask if I can go outside. I want to suggest that maybe we could all go out for a walk when the rain stops, but I’m interrupted.


“Be quiet!” I’m shouted at with a semi-angry tone. I understand that now is not right the time. Then again, when is it ever the right time? I tried, but I saw no difference. I go to the lay on the couch in the other room, away from all the mess. The lights are on, but this house feels dark.


Being picked always seemed like it would be the most wonderful thing. Now, my perspective has started to change. I always thought I was one of the lucky ones that found his place in the world. I no longer feel lucky. They don’t see me as part of the family anymore; it is as if they just...own me now, or at least it seems that’s how they view it. So I sit here and keep wishing. Wishing and dreaming of a better life.


“Screeeeech.” - The terrible sound of a poorly closed, poorly maintained, un-oiled door seeps through my eardrum. They act as if they can’t hear it, but it always makes my ears stand straight. They’ve left, although it doesn't really make a difference. I get up to go lay on the couch in the living room. They don’t want me sitting on it anymore these days, but when they’re not around I like to do so anyway. It smells like them; it smells like memories. I head towards the living room when something strikes me from the corner of my eye: the front door has been left the slightest bit open. My head fills with excitement. I wait a minute or two, just make sure they’ve left. I hear the car driving off, and I know this is my chance. The chance I have been waiting for. It has even stopped raining. I push the door open with my legs, and bolt - a four-legged sprint towards the vast nearby field. I’ve been waiting for this fresh air; it smells like freedom and opportunities. It smells like other people and another chance to find my place. I keep running. Maybe now they’ll notice.

Play maker

Play Maker

WHAM!!! It felt like the my world just turned upside down. In fact it had. I was laying on my back after being laid out, and flipped upside down by the opposing teams defender. Somehow the hit, which knocked the wind out of my lungs, didn’t hurt anymore. Every other time I had been tackled as bad as that, it would have taken me a week for the pain, and bruises to go away. Now I feel like this common feeling of pain and hurt when playing American Football has just been lifted. My coach waves me to the sideline with a slightly worried look on his face.
“Willis, are you alright? That was a hard lick.” Asked my coach.
“Heck, yeah coach I feel better than ever. Send me back.” I responded.
“That’s what I like to hear! Remember make sure you are the one hitting, not being hit!”
“Yes, Coach!”
I run back onto the field. I’ve got a new kind of spring in my step. Something about that intense hit turned a switch in my brain. Just like that, from off mode to on mode. I went from taking hits, to feeling like I would be the one giving them. I get to the huddle.
“Landen you sure you alright?” Questioned our QuarterBack.
“I’m ready man. I got this feeling i’m going to be open for a pass alright just keep an eye on me.”
“Haha, okay bro whatever you say, don’t kill yourself alright that was a big hit.”
“Yeah, I know, I aint feelin’ any of it though man.”
“Got you. I’ll keep my eye out.”
After our coaches send some hand signals to tell our QuarterBack the play, we line up on the line of scrimmage. I line up out on the far right hand side since i’m a wideout. My buddy is just next to the inside of me. The defence started to line up as well. I scan the backfield for where the defenders are, looking for a line to follow around them. The much larger linebacker that destroyed me on the last play sent a stare that would have sent shivers down my spine if I wasn't feeling like I was on top of the world. I knew I had something with me that I didn't the play before. Maybe it was god finally gifting me with skill for football, or maybe I was just going crazy.
The Referee sets the ball down in the middle of the field in front of our center, the guy who hands the ball off to the Quarterback to start the play. The defensive-back that is guarding me has a nasty look on his face, just the same as the linebackers. Once again it doesn't affect me at all. I fixate my eyes on the ball, and open my ears listening for the call to hike from my Quarterback. My back leg starts to shake up and down a little, not because im scared or worried. Because I am ready to play, to catch the ball and beat the defense in front of me.
“Set….”
“BLUE FORTY TWO, BLUE FORTY TWO!”
Our QuarterBack saw a hole in the defence. He changed the play so that I send it right up the middle of the field, right past the linebacker. I’m ready, I am dialed in.
“Set. Hike!”
The center snaps the ball back to our Quarterback. The defense surges forward, and the offensive line settles back to form a pocket around our QB. I break the block of the defensive back in front of me with unreal ease. Sprinting to the middle of the field, I smoke past the linebacker, seamingly too slow for my almost on fire from speed feet. I look up toward the QB, signaling I am open for a pass.
Out of his hands the ball flies. The pass so perfect it could get him into the National Football League. The ball falls into my hands so softly it’s almost as if they were pillows. As I turn up field, I am greeted with the most welcome site of all for a receiver like me, an open field to the endzone. A smile streaks across my face as I run faster and faster, I just made the play of the game.
But as I run faster, and faster. The field grows longer, and longer. The end zone farther and farther out of reach. Narrower and narrower the field tightens. A deep pain gashes through my head. I fall backwards, laying facing the sky. Except the sky has bright LED lights that are moving rapidly. No. I am moving. The narrow and long field is now a narrow and long corridor. The doctor above me notions to his partner that I am awake.

The Pod

Having been deployed in Afghanistan for the past two years, I hadn't seen my father, and was excited yet anxious to go to my hometown and visit him. Leaving him responsible for his own medication, while i was away, I was nervous to come home and see what state he was in. I knocked on the door, but there was no reply. The film of dust on the door left a residue on my hand. I used the key from under the rusty neglected plant pot to open the door.

“Dad! Dad!” I yelled enthusiastically, but still no reply. I walked around the house. Everything seemed like it was in place, however, the air seemed hazy and thick. I started coughing as the dusty air entered my lungs. It looked as though no one had been living there for a while. Strange. Then I noticed that the basement door was bolted shut. I broke the bolts and took a deep breath and started walking down the creaky stairs. My coughing started again as i breathed in whatever mold and dust was floating around in the thick basement air.

I spotted a large pod. It was the only thing that didn't seem to have thick layer of dust on it. Strange. I walked over to open the pod, and I saw what looked like the inside of a spaceship. What was happening? Where was dad? What was this immaculate pod doing in his filthy basement? Trying to gather my thoughts together, feeling guilt for having left my father alone, I suddenly heard a strange woman's voice from inside the pod.

“Michael, what happened? Why do you look so young?” asked Beth who was very confused.

“Who are you??” I managed to ask.

“Michael, you aren't being funny come on! What are you doing?”

“`I'M NOT MICHAEL. I’M HIS SON! ‘Who are you and why are you in my father's basement? Get out now or I will call the cops.”

“Wait. Help me.Your father is nuts he has held me prisoner here. He thinks I am his wife and that pod he put together is spaceship on Mars. I have tried escaping so many times but he keeps putting me back in the pod and warning me that I wouldn't be able to breathe the air outside the pod.

That's when I realised how much my dad needed me at home. I apologized to Beth explained my dad’s schizophrenic condition, and sent her on her way. As she started going up the creaky stairs we could both see my fathers; tall figure at the top of the stairs. The three pairs of eyes met and we all started crying. Not knowing whether to be angry at my dad or sad for him, I froze. He ran over to Beth and gave her a big hug.

“Don't leave me sweetie. I can’t be on Mars alone”

“Don't worry darling, I would never leave you here alone.”

The two of them walked happily into the pod together.

Alone...

We were being chased. I could hear the bullets whizzing near my ears. We ran as fast as we could until they lost us. I was lucky that I didn't get shot. Sam, on the other hand, got shot in the knee. She was unable to walk and was losing blood. I carried her to an abandoned house a few meters away. She was only fourteen and easy to carry. I was terrified. It felt like it was happening all over again. I tried to calm myself down. As I started to treat Sam’s wound I heard footsteps.

As I reached over to grab my revolver, I heard a voice,
“ Don’t move a muscle!  This gun packs a .670 inch shotgun shell that'll  blow you to kingdom come.” It was a woman, one of the survivors it seemed. She looked at Sam and dropped her gun.
“She bleeding you have to close the wound fast, or she won’t make it. Let me help you; I’m a doctor,”  she cried. A few hours passed by and Sam was all patched up and was sleeping. I talked to the woman who helped me save Sam. She had a family here once, but after the Epidemic, they all were rounded up and killed. She was the only one who managed to survive.

“It’s pretty late you know. Try getting some sleep”  said the woman as she left the room.
It was morning now. The sun was glowing beautifully. It was time for us to leave. As Sam and I were leaving, the woman asked me how Sam got shot.

“ We were being chased by those  Special Ops guys. They think we’re infected. They shoot first and scan for infection later.” I lied. “We should get going now.” I grabbed Sam’s hand and walked away from the house hoping that she wouldn't stop me for further questioning. “ There was no way I was going to tell that lady that Sam had the cure for the Epidemic and was to be given to the Agency to extract the cure and those jerks were there to kill us,” I thought.

“Jack, I’ve been thinking of asking this from you for a really long time, I know you had a daughter but, what happened to her?”  I stopped. It felt as if my heart stopped beating. Tears dripped from my eyes. I wasn’t able to stop crying.

“I had a daughter named  Elise. When this Epidemic started, We thought of moving out of the city but the situation was way out of hand. They were terminating everyone who seemed contagious. My daughter was hurt and unable to walk. As we were fleeing, we were cornered by a soldier. He had the command to shoot anyone deemed contagious. I told him that we weren't infected. He open fired. Elise got shot and that soldier got hit by a car. Elise was unable to make it. It was the first time Sam saw me cry.

After a few days, Sam and I finally reached the agency, the place where they were about to extract the cure. I talked to the surgeons. They said that they’ll keep Sam safe from the Special Ops guys and said that if they perform the surgery Sam will die. I was shocked with anguish. I told them that I need to talk to the girl one last time. I sat next to her.
“ Sam, we don’t have to do this. We could go somewhere else. Away from all of this. Don’t do this to me.”  I said, crying. She grabbed my hand and said, “Jack, there are thousands of girls like me, that need help. I have to do this.”  She gave me a hug and I was forced to leave. After a few weeks, people were getting cured. Few months passed and everything went back to normal. But I was left all alone...

The Large Bone in the Sky

Nothing bad has ever happened to me in my life, I thought to myself, Could this be the first?

My brother entered the house and scurried down the stairs, and all I remember doing was following him. I stared out of the window, and I could see an unusually shaped plane in the distance.

“What is that?” I asked my brother. No response, as usual. The object moved fairly slowly in the sky.

I bet I could outrun it, I thought to myself. Could this be a large bone? An inordinately large bone that was thrown high up in the sky?

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I encountered a room I had never actually visited before. The room was tiny and the ceiling was pretty low. It contained a small TV, bed, and little fridge with some snacks in it. There was also a bathroom, but that was all that was inside the tiny space. As my brother dragged me into the room, I found my mom (who is the best person in the world; she always feeds me). My sister was there too, lying on the bed. My brother closed the heavy, metal door and then locked it. I could sense fear on everyone's faces. The alarm was still going off.

My mom turned the TV on. A grey-haired, tall reporter with blue eyes and a slightly crooked nose was sitting on a desk talking.

“Breaking News! Rockets launched at Herzliya, Tel Aviv, Ashdod, Be’er Sheva, and Jerusalem. Luckily, no injuries nor deaths were recorded,” the reporter stated.

As he continued speaking, I laid down, baffled, What is this rocket? Why did it hit my city? Could the rocket be the large bone that I saw in the sky? Can I go fetch it later? These thoughts ran through my mind as the siren kept looping.

I turned around to see my family all staring at the TV. They were all focusing on the reporter. The reporter continued talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was thirsty.

I went to my favorite source of water, the toilet. The smell was great and the taste was magnificent. The only problem was that my family would never let me drink from it. I always saw them walking to the toilet, closing the door and then a big splash of water was heard. It wasn’t fair that they got to drink the toilet water and splash it and I didn’t. I’ve always felt different: I walk on four and they somehow only walk on two; I sleep outside and they sleep inside, they eat different food every day, I eat the same. But at this point, I’ve gotten used to it. As I walked to the toilet I looked back to make sure they didn’t see me. They were all focused on the TV, so I slowly and quietly stepped up to the toilet and started drinking. Yum! The water was delicious. I only got a few sips until I was dragged back into the small bedroom. With my mouth full of water, I realized the sirens were still looping. I had already gotten used to them.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I heard a big boom. It was like nothing I had heard before. It was loud, louder than the sirens.

“An intruder!” I barked.

I had no idea what it was. I was petrified. Yes, I bark at intruders and act tough and all but I’ve never been face to face with a real intruder. I kept barking, hoping that he would go away, whimpering that it would leave. I was so scared. I realized in order for him to leave I had to mark my territory here.

But where did this story start?

My day had started abnormally as I awoke to an unpleasant noise outside; it drove me crazy.

“Not the house alarm again… Even worse, there might be an intruder,” I wondered, “No, it’s way too loud to be an intruder.”

I started barking at the alarm. I had no idea where that mysterious sound was coming from. I examined my surroundings, but nothing was different. The tennis balls were scattered around the yard. The table was in its place, and the trees were still.

I was puzzled. “What is going on?” I continued barking at the sky.

I looked through the window into the kitchen but didn’t see anyone in there. Seconds felt like minutes, the wailing alarm kept playing over and over again in a loop. Suddenly, my brother arrived. He came outside to the backyard. The look on his face worried me. His brow was furrowed and his hands nervously fidgeted. I had never seen him so scared. I asked him what was going on. He didn’t respond. He never responds except when I ask to go in the house or for food. I kept barking, hoping that the noise would stop when suddenly my brother grabbed me by my tight, itchy collar that I was forever trying to take off. He began to sprint, dragging me behind him. I was clueless.

***

I never pee in the house, but this time, I had to. For me. For my family. To keep the intruder away. And so I peed on the floor. As I peed, my sister complained,

“Ugh, oh my god, why does she always do this?” she said.

So I answered,

“You are the one who always makes mom angry. You always have to be mean to everyone around you.”

She didn’t respond, so I knew I won the argument. Right after the sirens finally stopped. We waited for a little bit until my mom opened the door. I was glad to be in the house, climbing up the stairs and laying down next to the sofa. My mom stayed back, cleaning after me. I love my family. Maybe we could go fetch the bone later. I thought as I rested my eyes and went back to sleep.





“German Shepherd Dog.” Why Dogs Must Be Followers, www.dogbreedinfo.com/germanshepherd.htm.

Fingers

“Who Are Your Friends?” Mysite, Mysite, 9 July 2016, www.allthingscounseling.net/single-post/2016/07/09/Who-Are-Your-Friends.

Two years have passed since I was formally introduced to the last of my five closest friends. Ethan was the first friend I knew. The earliest memory I have of him was when I was three. He was nearby when I thought some of my other friends had stolen a toy bus that I had. Aidan is a close friend of mine who always points out things that I think are interesting; he is also really close to Ethan. Aidan has ended up sharing a lot of the activities in which another one of my friends participates. This friend is Yusei. Yusei, Aidan, and Ethan help me write and draw which makes sense because all three are extremely creative.

Creativity is one thing that all of my closest friends have in common, as well as always being there for me when I need a hand. Especially when I just need help to grasp something. One of my newer but still very close friends, Claire, has helped me put my hair up a time or two, although she has only braided my hair once. Claire also shares an interest in volleyball, just like Yusei, and my furthest friend (at least in proximity) Sarah. If I am being honest though, all of my friends play volleyball because I do. These friends do almost everything together, which is nice because they also work very well with each other, no matter the differences between them. I can think of many times when my friends tied my shoes, fell asleep at the same time, and helped me make money.

Last time I made a lot of money with my friends was this past summer. I make money with them by working for my granddad’s construction company “Southern General Contracting” on the carpentry crew. Sometimes it can be dangerous for me and my friends. Once I was using a table saw to cut a 2 by 4  piece of wood, and out of nowhere, I felt a tug coming from Ethan, simultaneously I noticed that part of the saw blade had turned red. Ethan and Aidan each had a gash across them. I looked around for help but none was found until I saw five others. I did not recall all of their names, but two were Indian and one seemed British (Now, I know them as Nalini, Ansh, and Boaz.). I got their attention. After this, I ended up in a hospital that my less attentive compatriots happened to drive me to. On one hand, I gained three friends; on the other, two were saved. It was this close call that made me love my friends even more.

This sort of attachment leads to name calling. Most people call me weird because like I said previously, I don’t do anything without my friends since there is very little I can do without them. My friends even go to the bathroom with me. That may be crude, but as I have said they are very close to me, and I find them indispensable. I suspect it is my openness about topics such as this that make others uncomfortable.

By now I hope that I have driven the point home that my closest friends are my right-hand men. There once was a time in my life that I might have known more lefties. That time, however, would have been short-lived because my preschool teacher made me learn to write with my right hand, even though I was left-handed. Now though, I am glad that my preschool teacher introduced me to these friends because many devices in society are made for right-handed people. When I get ready to use one of these devices my friends always come in handy!

The Secrets Beneath The Grave

I was scattered, my hands rummaging ahead of my mind, searching for something, something.

“It’s been ten years,” I whispered to myself.

I look around cautiously to make sure no one else is present. Silence. Stillness. Then I drop to my knees and begin examining the graves.

“Can I help you?” a voice murmured from a distance.

“Get away from me!” I yelled out of sheer terror.

“I’m sorry. I-”

“Get away!” I growled.

“I’m not a visitor, I work here,” he responded.

My body screamed at itself to run away, to release the adrenaline that kept coming in regardless of my inability to use it. Rows of tombstones stretched from right to left, front to behind, like the land where the living meet the dead. Most, however, were overgrown and disordered.

“I’m looking for Abbad Elazar,” I declare, my eyes refusing to meet his.

“He is there,” he muttered, pointing to the grave containing no headstones or plaques.

I make my way towards there, casting my eyes on the freshly dug soil. “How could you bear burying him? Knowing what he did?” I asked, my head speaking to the dusty ground.

“I don’t think about they do,” the man explained. “I think of them as people. People who were full of hope.”

My knuckles turned white from clenching my fists, and I gritted my teeth to remain silent. Rage pulsed through my veins, and when the man even tapped his finger on my shoulder, I swung around and snapped.

“Someone who blows up a market is not full of hope!” I hissed. “The victims have parents, too. Parents who loved them, who raised them to be good people!” I said, pointing to the grave at my side.

“Your child. Was he a victim?” the worker whispered.

“She. Andrea. She was eleven. I sent her to the market to get some spices. Cinnamon, salt…” My eyes welled up, water pooling in my eyes, tears streaming down my cheek. “Ever since she died, I’ve been so angry. At my husband, my children. The world.” I blurted. “Do you have children?”

“No,” he responded.

“To lose them is the worst thing on earth. I thought that maybe if I came, if I saw the grave, it might make a difference,” I cried.

“Has it?” he asked hopefully, his head lifting upwards for the first time.

“No,” I sighed. “She’s still gone.”

I sat there, fatigue engraved on my worn face. All that remained was my shadow against the barren graveyard, so I stood up and dusted off my knees. I wiped off my last streaming tears, but the guilt remained sitting on my chest. In hopes to make amends with the worker, I proceeded to invite him for tea.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he answered.

“My husband will be there, of course. And my family,” I rambled to the Arab man, sharing a smile for the first time.

“No, you wouldn’t want me,” he responded more seriously. “If you knew why I’m here. Why I do this,” he continued.

“Because you bury the people who deserve to be buried,” I recounted, confused and irritated.

“No,” said the man. “Because my son deserves to be buried.”

“You said you didn’t have any children,” I roared, slowly backing away.

“I don’t,” the man said. “Not since that day, ten years ago.”

I latched onto the thought, hoping what he had told me was really only in my head. That this reality was just a dream. Holding my breath, I wheezed uncontrollably, glancing at the grave. Oblivious, I had become oblivious. Everything was drowning and I couldn’t swim. I thought I knew how to swim. I used to believe I called the direction in which my life would go.

“No one would bury him. They wanted him to rot,” the man yelped. “But I raised him. Well. And even after what he did, I still love him. So now, I bury the bombers for their parents. For the ones who can’t allow themselves to acknowledge, to forgive…”

I just sat reliving the imagery of my daughter being taken away from me once again, her small hands leaving mine before her trip to the market. My breathing; erratic, deep, then shallow. I tried to fight. I tried to fight the feeling as my body writhed to be free or shut down altogether. Sweat trickled down my neck, and I sat in exhaust, lifeless.

“So, would you still like to invite me for tea?” he lamented, ashamed under his breath.

For the first time, my anger begins to drain from my eyes. Andrea was out of sight, and I was out of mind.

“Yes,” I assured him.





Bronstein, Paula. Afghanistan, October, 2009. Afghanistan, Oct. 2009.

Runaways

Syria. Aleppo. 1948. It was a very odd morning for Edmundo. The 19 year old Jewish Arab that lost his mother and sister in an air raid three years earlier. He had woken up with the sound of a bomb coming from Israel. He could hear the screams of the people in his Jewish village, although the loudest sound came from his father’s mouth.

“Edmundo wake up! Get your stuff. We have to go now. The bombs are getting closer!” He then stood up as fast as he could, got a backpack from the top of his desk, and met his father at the door.

“This is it” his father said. Without any time to think, Edmundo saw his father’s open the door to the outside world. The discordant screams, the flames, the death that had been brought to his surroundings were unavoidable, but that just made him want to run faster. “We have to be very careful, very quiet. There are soldiers all around.” Edmundo’s father said.

It was early in the morning. Probably around 4:00 am. He and his father arrived at the port. They had to get on a Jewish refugee ship, a ship that most jews who could afford, would get on to escape to Milan, Italy. It would definitely take a long time, but they had to flee.

“Alright, here’s how this is gonna work,” his father whispered from behind the bush they were hiding in “At 5:15 am this ship is going to leave port, there are many ways this can go wrong, but whenever I tell you to run, you do it as fast as you can, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Edmundo answered with respect and a certain amount of fear for his father...

The time had come. Edmundo put the backpack that had rested on the dirt, on his back, and with just a small word the 19 year old boy’s life would change completely.

“Run” his father said.

Edmundo ran. He ran like he never had. He thought of his mother and sister, hoping that his death wouldn’t be the same as theirs. He thought of his father’s depression, but mostly of their future. After 400 meters he had gotten to the door of the ship. They knew most of the jews that were fleeing by the ship, but many of the people in their village couldn’t afford paying for their escape. His father was very known in the Jewish community, and it was definitely to their advantage. Their family had money and used to help poorer families and orphans that had lost their parents in bombings and raids. They had even helped a few people to get on that ship with their families. After a few seconds of adrenaline, Edmundo realized his father hadn’t arrived with him. He turned around to look for him, but it was too dark to see. Suddenly he saw lights in the distance, four precisely. He realized they were flashlights when he saw the men. He couldn't believe it. His father had been kidnapped by Syrian soldiers.

After the news had arrived to the captain, the refugees had reached an almost unanimous decision. The ship would wait in port until Edmundo’s father was rescued. Everyone slept on deck. After the soldiers realized who the man they’d captured was and what he was worth, they sent a request for his ransom. It took Edmundo two weeks to gather all of the money. He borrowed some from friends, and even went back to the house to get some more from the buried safe in the basement. Finally, he had gathered 25 million Syrian pounds (equal to almost 50 thousand U$D).

“There’s your father! He’s here!” a young Jewish boy sitting by the deck screamed, waking up Emundo and the others.

“It really is him,” Edmundo thought to himself, running outside to rescue his father. He had the money in a bag, a gun in his pocket in case something went wrong, and had told the captain to turn on the engines, so that they’d leave as soon as they got his father back.

He could spot his father, being held by two men, one on each side, they were about 50 meters away from Edmundo. He noticed a car behind the men as he walked closer to them and figured the other two must’ve been in the car…

“Tawaquf! Tawaquf!” yelled one of the men holding his father.

Edmundo right away noticed the soldier had a dialect that was different, but could still understand that he was being asked to stop.

All of a sudden a knife was pulled out of the soldier’s back pocket.

“Stop! I have the money. Let’s make the exchange… Please, don’t do anything aggressive!” screamed the 19 year old, already in great stress. In the blink of an eye, Edmundo could see around thirty more soldiers coming out of bushes and from behind the car. It was an ambush. He grabbed his gun that was attached to the back part of his pants, and pointed it straight ahead.

“Drop the gun!” screamed the soldier on the right to his father, “You lost. This isn’t going anywhere! Drop the gun and get on your knees!”

Edmundo was in state of shock. He couldn’t move, but he knew he’d do anything to save his father.

“Take me!” he screamed with fear.

“No, no! Don’t do this! Leave me here, go back to the ship! Leave! Now!” His father screamed, knowing that he would get punished for communicating with his son.

“Shut up! No talking!” The soldier on the left pulled out a gun and hit him in the face with it twice.

Edmundo’s father realized the only way his son could leave that situation safely was if he, himself, was sacrificed. In a matter of seconds Edmundo’s father kicked the man on his right, grabbed the gun out of the other soldier’s hand and pointed it at his own head.

“No!” screamed Edmundo from a distance.

A shot was fired.

Wishes

As I slowly take out a pen from my pencil case, I find him watching me. He always does it. Everyday, he just sits in my room, in front of me, staring at me, as if I’m some sort of creature he’s never seen before. I hate it. But what the heck can I do? It seems like only yesterday we were playing outside my house in the mud, having the best time of our lives. And now? I still don’t understand how… and why…

My father always told me it’s funny how we got along. We are such different people. I mean, look at me, a “weirdo,” as everyone called me at school, and him, one of the funniest, joyful, and kind-hearted people there are. He’s always been the “cool kid.” He’s always been the better sibling. Surrounded by numerous people, he would walk in the hallway holding his head up high, not worrying about anything. Like, how is that even possible? But now, all he can do is watch me.

He’s had hundreds, no, thousands of friends! To be honest, I was always a bit jealous. It must be cool always having people to talk to. It must be cool never having to feel lonely. Well, at least that’s what I thought. That’s what I thought, until the only thing he was able to do was watch me.

Ever since I remember, he was the best big brother I could ever ask for. If anyone ever picked on me, he would always protect me and made sure I was “safe and happy.” But, you know, nothing can change society. Not even someone so perfect. Perfect? Well, at least he was to me.

My “Harry Potter” addiction was considered not cool and dumb at the age of 17, but he always thought otherwise. He thought it was beyond amazing that someone could name every single character without a doubt and know every movie like their five fingers. We would binge watch it all the time. He would always forget the difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and I would have to remind him which one is which. It was kind of ironic. Ironic, because he hated Harry Potter. He hated it more than anything in the world. Yet, every Thursday, at exactly 6:30 p.m., we would sit in our tiny living room, with, what seemed like hundred kilograms of popcorn, and watch Harry Potter. Oh, and he hated popcorn, too.

I remember the day we last spoke. I remember that day so well; it still seems like it was yesterday. I remember every little detail of it, and I will hate that day forever. It was his girlfriend’s birthday. Honestly, I never really liked her, but that’s not important right now. She had a massive “Sweet 17” birthday party at her dad’s pool house and everyone was invited. Yeah, everyone except for me. He thought it was some sort of mistake.

“Her phone must’ve glitched or something,” he said, holding the bright pink invitation in his hand, “C’mon, Liz, get ready. We are going to be late. We can’t be late to her 17th birthday, you know how much it means to her.”

“We?” I mumbled, “But, she clearly didn’t invite me! She doesn’t want me there, can’t you see?” He shook his head at me, indicating that I needed to get ready no matter what.

“I’m not going to her stupid party!” I yelled, “You always make me do things I don’t want to do!”

He yelled in return, telling me I’m ungrateful for all the effort he puts into making me feel more comfortable around people. That was it. I hated when he started that whole “you’re so ungrateful” talk. I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me, leaving him alone. I was not going anywhere. The last thing I said to him was “I never want to see you again!”

In fact, I never did see him again. My brother, Lucas, died in a car crash that night. And, I guess, I got what I wished for. It’s been a while, and the only thing I have left from him is a framed portrait of his beautiful face, which watches me live my lonely and boring life, every day, through day and night. 

Corporate, Lee. Lee-Corporate-Portrait-Wall.

The Quiet Place

The Quiet Place

             It was at the end of my sophomore year in the High School auditorium where 1,000 anxious students were supposed to sit still while being crammed together in a space equivalent to my living room. It was the day of the annual awards ceremony; a school tradition of the ennoblement of those with the best grades. That year like every year faculty separates one person from each grade for the “title,” and they would stand above everyone else in such a manner to say in essence, “I am exceptional. I have reached the highest peak. Admire me.” The lesser students would look up at those faces with envy and with a little shame, always wondering if one day they too would stand in that spotlight. The teachers rose in unison, all eyes on the chosen ones. The clapping began slowly and started into a quiet rolling thunder that reverberated throughout the auditorium. Then the flashing of cameras went off one by one like an endless series of illuminations that would give any normal person a headache on their best day. As the superstars stood there smiling broadly, soaking in all the praise, I stood in silence: forgotten and irrelevant. Was I the only one who felt this way?

             I couldn’t remember the next few minutes when everyone started to funnel off the stage. However, I found myself outside walking towards a place where only I reigned supreme. A domain that was quiet, dark, and serene, consisting of a bench and a lamp post. The lamp post was incandescent and never once went out. The light which shined from it was gentle and gave the dark place a tranquil atmosphere. Adjacent to the lamp post stood an old bench: fashioned from mahogany and made to look like something from art nouveau ever-changing, always growing. Each time I would sit on the bench I would feel like I would disappear and time around me would stand still. This was my safe haven from the outside world. An Escape. I could’ve stayed in that place for a long time and no one would turn their head my direction.

             At one point that day, however, the comfort of escapism wore off, and my mind started to wander. As if in a trance my uncertainty translated into questions: Who am I? What is my purpose? Where am I supposed to be? The tranquil atmosphere began to wane. I suddenly came back to consciousness to see a young woman beside me on the very same bench as I. She looked lost and helpless, only wearing a black dress and a red hat that would further illuminate the dark realm. Her lips twitched, and with it a question: “Sir, do you happen to know why I exist?” she asked.

             I froze, for I knew that no matter what answer I would give it would not be enough, but then I responded: “I dare not say, for I don’t know the answer to that myself.”

             “My mother would tell me that eventually each of us would find meaning,” she said in a graceful tone, “but, no matter what I do, people can’t see me”. After some moments she needlingly asked, “do you know how that feels?”

             “Actually, I do,” I said sympathetically. I continued, “Every day I come to this place to disappear because I’m forgotten in the real world,” and after a minute I then said, “I’ve always been invisible.”

             “Has it been hard for you?” she asked.

             I paused before I spoke and looked towards the lamp post which bathed me in warm light. I couldn’t remember the last time someone asked me how I felt. It was new and strange for me, but at the same time comforting. A tear trailed down my face in relief from my hardships, I then replied: “yes”.

             “Don’t you think it’s strange?” she asked while looking at the ground, and after a pause then said, “The world can be at times so pleasant, yet so cruel,” she continued. “When I felt that everyone I knew started to forget about me that was when I started to question the point of living.”

             “It’s hard feeling insignificant,” I respond dejectedly.

             The young woman rested her head on the back of the bench and closed her eyes. With a soft and meaningful voice, she said: “I guess everyone feels invisible sometimes don’t they?” She then slowly proceeded to get up and brush her clothes off.

             “Are you leaving?” I asked.

             She turned to me and delicately said, “No.” she then lifted her hand out to me and said, “Together we can be seen”.

The Sea King’s Pride

The Sea King’s Pride

Gosen, Svenja. “Pirate Queen.” Digital Work, 2018, svenjaliv.com/pirate-queen/.

Blazing golden light surrounded her as she descended from the final trial site atop the mountain at the center of the Sea King’s Island. As the light faded, Lila marveled at the sight she beheld, miles and miles of her beloved sea. From her place at the mountain's peak, the ship she belonged to looked like a tiny dot among the waves. Squinting her eyes, she realized there were more dots surrounding her ship, meaning only one thing. “The Terra-Angelus Navy!” she gasped hand flying to her mouth. Fearing the worst, she sped down the mountain. Using her new power bestowed by the Sea King, she rushed to the cove where the ship was docked. She sprinted up the gangplank, inquiring about the situation.

A pirate spun to face her upon hearing her voice, “Lila! Oh, thank the Sea King you’re alive! You were up there for so long. We were getting worried.”

“Well I’m here now, but why’s the Terra-Angelus Navy here?”

“It’s a mystery to us, too. They arrived after the seventh flash of light, but they haven’t moved yet.”

Suddenly an amplified voice rang out, rippling across the calm waters of the cove. “Blood-Stained Blade, Captain of the Blood-Spilling Pirates. If you value your life, hand over the Sea King’s Pride! Give us the girl or die.”

Instantly the pirates replied, “Over our dead bodies, you scallywag!”

The response made the navy’s admiral chuckle, “Of course. Typical pirates,” he scoffed, “Mage. Bring us the girl.” The mage nodded as he sunk into the shadows.

“Sorry missy, you're coming with us,” the masked figure whispered into Lila’s ear, drawing her into the shadows and out onto the other ship’s deck. “Mission accomplished, Boss,” he said to the man. And with that, the navy left with the shaken girl, leaving the pirates behind.

“Where are you taking me?” Lila cowered with fear, “Are you going to kill me?”

“You’ll see Miss,” the admiral replied, “Don’t worry, I can’t give that order.”

Once the ships docked, Lila was taken to the dias, where she witnessed a mass of people… bowing… to her? She could hear cries of happiness and “Your Majesty!”.

“Why are you bowing? Please stand up,” she called out, clearly flustered by the sudden action.

“Lila, you are the completer of the ten trials of the Sea King. Thus, the rightful ruler of this kingdom.

“Pardon me, but you are..?”

“My name is Leonard, the chief advisor. But there’s no time to talk, let's get you cleaned up.” Leonard was a wiry middle-aged man, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. But before she could closely examine them, she was whisked away into a room full of maids. Immediately, they sprang into action, pulling out dresses and weird makeup tools. The maids tugged and pulled at her clothes, dismissing her meek desire to dress by herself.

The lengthy tour with Leonard drained her, and she found herself relieved as they reached a balcony overlooking the sea. A nasty drop. Lila basked in the scent of the sea breeze, but the picturesque moment was ruined by the sound of rattling chains.

“Best not to go to close, Your Highness.” Lila ignored him.

“Was that the sound of chains?” she asked quietly.

“Nonsense, Your Majesty, that was just the hinges.” Lila noticed he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’ve been a pirate long enough to know what chains sound like, and that was clearly sound from chains Leonard,” she snapped.

“I’m sure it was nothing. Besides, now you’re a queen, not a pirate.”

“I will always be a pirate, Leonard,” she said quietly before rushing out onto the balcony and climbing onto the railing.

“Your Majesty, please wait!” Leonard shouted. Lila turned around from atop the railing.

“I’m sorry Leonard, but the sea is my home,” she said as she closed her eyes.

He rushed towards her shouting, “NO!!!” But it was too late, she jumped.

Leonard slumped to his knees and cried out clutching his head, “ Damnit! … We lost our sacrifice to the Earthen King. What can we do now? She was the only possible candidate.” He rose from his place on the floor and walked inside muttering, “I guess we’ll have to go back to sacrificing the pure and innocent. Oh well. It has worked for over three hundred years.”

Lila watched him leave and then waited another minute submerged under the waves. Once she counted to sixty in her head, she swam to the surface and climbed up onto the outcropping jutting from the cliffside. She pulled a dagger from the hidden sheath at her thigh and started to cut away her dress to reveal her waterproof, insulated pirate’s gear. She stuffed the ripped garment into a crevice in the rock and proceeded to take out a flask and lighter from the small pouch at her waist. She then dumped the flask’s contents onto the shredded dress and set it ablaze. Once confident all traces of her possessions from the palace were burnt, she replaced her equipment and dove back into the water. Once she reached a suitable depth, she set out towards the rendezvous point the ship’s navigator set. Due to her many years as a pirate out on the open seas, she was an excellent swimmer and an experienced diver. Lila only surfaced three times before the ship came into view. She resurfaced for the last time and started to wave at the ship, trying to get the attention of her crewmates. Once they spotted her, they unfurled a ladder which she used to climb aboard. As soon as she stepped foot on the deck, the entire crew dropped to their knees as she passed. The first mate came up to her, took her coat and handed her a towel, which she took gratefully.

“Lila, how was your stay at the palace?” he asked with a smirk.

“Amazing Jonathan, absolutely amazing. Amazingly horrendous,” she replied with her smile fading to a sneer.

“Just like we thought … Cap’n.”

Company Policy

Justin Connors
Ms. Marcus
English 10
January 11th, 2019

Company Policy

The old man and the boy went to the beach
The boy stepped on a shell and asked the old man, “Why don’t we throw shells away”
And the old man replied, “Everything has a purpose, even the trash.”

     Bright lights flashed on all of the monitors and the sound of a warning siren was deafening, but there was nobody working. There was nobody in the office, on the floor, in the section, or in the entire bunker. What was supposed to be humanity's cradle in a treacherous new world sat empty: its Sirens blaring to empty hallways, and its computer screens displaying to empty cubicles.
Slap! Slap! Slap! The sound of soles slapping the pavement echoed in the quiet alley. The world was burning as Allan Collins rushed to the safety of the bunker, and he had to save it. Well not exactly. In fact, it was quite a splendid day in the small remote town of Castiglione Di Sicilia. The birds were chirping, the Vespas were buzzing, and the coffee was boiling. But under all that, the earth’s core was burning as well, at a deadly level. Allan had sprinted past old ladies with their shopping bags hung over their stick-like, suntanned arms as they grasped for more vegetables. He’d passed school boys playing football in the courtyard and now two hundred meters from the bunker he realized that he couldn’t fail. Before he entered the bunker he stopped to empty his pockets into the trash can, in compliance with company policy, and then he descended into what might possibly be his last home. If only he has stopped to check what he’d thrown away, he would’ve realized he was missing something.

     As Allan descended the spiral staircase that led to the locked door of the bunker, the first door having been left unlocked, he suddenly realized that he’d never taken the time to memorize the password and had left that to his secretary. Luckily he remembered that she’d emailed him all the passwords earlier. After entering the bunker and making his way to the office he realized there was a problem. Aside from the sirens, there wasn’t any noise. No footsteps, no keyboard sounds, and none of the expected hysteria surrounding the coming end of the world. The readings on Allan’s screen were out of this world. The earth’s core, but specifically the area under Sicily had warmed up to within one percent of complete combustion. Allan’s life, his family's life and the small town of Castiglione Di Sicilia had at most ten more minutes. He glanced at the world clock at saw with dismay that the rest of the world had about thirty.

     Allan had one task, and that was to single-handedly cool down the earth and stop the unregulated heating of the earth’s core. It seems pretty hard but Allan had training. In fact, he’d had forty years of it. He got to work, pressing a plenitude of buttons all with their own unique purpose, all of them trying to do the same thing, cool the earth. Those nine minutes were the fastest nine minutes of his life and with one minute left on the clock, he was confident that he had saved the world. All he needed now was one more machine to go operational and the world would be saved. He reached into his pocket for the instructions and after feeling around in his pocket for a while realized one thing, he didn't have them. In fact, they were nowhere to be found. There were thirty seconds left and Allan sat in vain, there in the deafening silence of his office, the sirens had shut themselves off, their purpose fulfilled, his not. He fiddled with his glasses for five seconds, looked at a family photo for ten seconds, wondered what was beyond for five seconds, and then counted down for the last ten. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero… The sirens had started in New York.

     Diary Entry, January 24th, 3010:
     I woke up today with quite a pain in the back of my head and sweat on my forehead as if somehow my head was heating up from the inside. Oh well, it’s probably nothing. Albert says it's because I've been spending so much time studying this new species that we scientists and historians have come to call humanity. We've found their relics littered throughout space and we hope that we’ll soon be able to pinpoint their exact location and check them out for ourselves if they’re still there. Hopefully, they're peaceful, unlike the Vulcans, because everyone knows how well that went. Yesterday one of our probes found something quite interesting in what we believe is the Milky Way Galaxy. It was a sliver of a thin white material floating in space. We have no idea how it survived in space for so long, who it came from, or where it’s from for that matter, but the inscription was the most bizarre little thing. Scribbled on this white material was a group of shapes that looked like PASSWORD, and it was followed by little illegible symbols. Nobody can decipher this code as it’s in what seems to be an extinct language. Boris is currently prepping the time displacement apparatus to travel back to a selected date in the universe to see if he can spot any inhabited planets in the Milky Way Galaxy. He’s traveling back in time because we’re not completely sure if the planet still exists. I think the date is Friday the first of October 1948. Who knows, maybe Earth isn’t just a bedtime story after all.                                   -A.C.

Cummins, Elanor. “Earth.” Popular Science, www.popsci.com/sites/popsci.com/files/styles/1000_1x_/public/images/2018/08/earth_from_space_hurricane.jpg?itok=kle6n6V0&fc=50,50.

War

“So, I guess that means we’re going home then?” asks Charlotte Wallace.

“Yeah, I guess, unless we can find somewhere else to go for summer vacation,” Charlotte’s mom, Stella, replies disappointedly.

“No, I refuse to stay home this summer. We can go to, uh, Florida!” proposes Alyssa, Charlotte’s other mom, “We can take you to Disney World sweetheart!”

“Yay!” says Charlotte, “I’ve wanted to go to Disney World ever since my friend went last year, and-”

“Wait a second sweetie, Alyssa, did you hear that?” asks Stella. She turns the volume up once again: “BREAKING NEWS: FLORIDA HAS NOW BEEN DEEMED TOO DANGEROUS TO GO TO; ALL FLIGHTS ARE CANCELLED. TO THOSE IN FLORIDA NOW, STAY SAFE,”. She lowers the volume again and says Stella “Dang, so there goes our plans of just going to Florida instead, home-”

Alyssa suddenly interrupts Stella’s sentence before she is able to finish, “No! No, we aren’t going home. We can go somewhere else, just not back home.”

“But where? We can’t even go to Disneyland in California because it’s being renovated at the moment,” explains Stella disappointedly.

“Mommy, why do you want to travel so badly?” asks little Charlotte, reluctant to answer her daughter’s question and turns to Stella.

“Charlotte, your mom really wants to travel because she has always wanted to see the world. Your mom is very adventurous and staying here is tedious to her,” says Stella. Alyssa is having a harder time dealing with the war than Stella. The current war is affecting large numbers of people and their lives drastically. People are gathering food and supplies for their war shelters. They’re also attempting to get out of The Americas altogether.

“Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to see the world mommy. Where can we go then?” asks Charlotte.

“Paris! We can go to the Disney World in Paris, and while we’re there we can sightsee!” suggests Alyssa excitedly. They agree to travel to Paris for a during the summer. As they’re driving, they pass a building on fire, Alyssa sniffles. Then the news comes on: “BREAKING NEWS: THE WAR OUTBREAK-.” Alyssa turns the radio off before her daughter can hear. She looks in the back and sees her sound asleep.

They reach the airport, take their luggage out of the car, and advance to the front desk. Luckily they are able to buy tickets to Paris, France at the last minute. They proceed through security, which happens to be longer than usual because of the war. Eventually, it’s time for them to take off. They sleep the entire flight due to the fact that it is 2 a.m and they’re all worn out.

Finally, they land, it’s 10 a.m later that day. They get their luggage and take a taxi to a cafe because they’re all hungry, especially Charlotte, after that flight. While they are at the cafe they not only eat but also begin looking for hotels to stay in. As they are looking, they realize all the hotels in Paris are booked as a result of the war. Alyssa and Stella decide not to give up, and they keep looking for hotels. Then finally Stella declares, “I found one! This hotel says ‘Rooms available’.” They then rush out of the cafe to the hotel.

When they arrive, there is only one room left in the hotel and they go to war with a couple over it and don’t end up getting it. The Wallaces leave while they try to figure out a temporary living situation. They notice many people at war for the last room in hotels, the remaining food in stores, and many other items. The population all over the world is growing dramatically, another result of people from the Americans moving and making resources scarce.

Then right then and there, Stella realizes they really have nowhere to go. They stand there on the sidewalk thinking of what to do, where they should go. Then Alyssa remembers that they can stay with her aunts that immigrated to Paris a few years ago. They unexpectedly show up at their house and are welcomed with open arms. They are glad that being around family has been able to save their summer break.

Diamond, Des. War Background. Diamond, Des. War Background. 

Are You Okay, Henry?

Laying on a jagged, thin bed, Henry awoke, eyes wide, springing up as if he had heard great news. He immediately noticed that he wasn’t surrounded by the usual toys and books scattered around his room. Instead, two nurses hovered over him, constantly analyzing screens with buttons on them and lines that Henry couldn’t make out. His vision was blurred, and he soon realized that he was laying in a hospital bed.

“Hello? What am I doing here?” asked Henry, remembering nothing. There was silence, and the nurses continued to check random screens and pages around the room.

“Can you guys hear me?” Again, silence devoured the recovery room. Henry was anxious and wanted to get out of the bed. All of a sudden, an astronaut in full gear came hopping into the room. Henry’s eyes widened as if he’d just seen a monster.

“Am I tripping?” Henry asked himself. His thoughts were quickly silenced by loud sirens in the distance: ambulances.

“Indeed you are,” replied the astronaut with his low, raspy voice.

“Who are you?” Henry wondered. “Get me out of here!” he screamed in efforts of escaping the nightmare.

“Are you okay, Henry?” asked the astronaut while examining his arm. Henry ignored the man’s question, and plugged his ears with his fingers. The sirens were getting louder.

“Close the door, will you. You’re letting the noise in,” Henry shouted. But the man continued to ignore him as he examined his arm. Suddenly, another man entered wearing red leather Papal shoes, a white robe, a gold chain with a cross on it, and a white hat on his head. A bright glow surrounded him, practically blinding Henry.

“Close the door, man,” Henry begged, “and by the way, nice chains.” Ignoring Henry, the man got on his knees and began to pray. He whispered the same question as that of the astronaut in Henry’s ear: “Are you okay, Henry?”

“No, I’m not okay. Can someone here please explain what’s going on?” Henry noticed that the astronaut and old man responded, though he was unable to decipher what they were saying. All he could hear were the blaring sirens getting closer and closer.

“Someone shut the door!” yelled Henry right as another silhouette appeared in the doorway. This time a massive bearded man appeared wearing nothing but underwear and boxing gloves.

“Here we go again…” The man approached Henry, and with every step, the ground shook. The man, like the astronaut and the priest, asked the same question.

“Are you okay, Henry?”

“I swear to God…”

The astronaut interrupted, “Henry, you can’t say that,” pointing at the pious priest who rose from his knees.

“I don’t care. Can someone please close the door?” The sirens resumed, and this time Henry couldn’t bare it.

“Help! Help! Somebody, please!” The nurses continued to check multiple screens, acting as if Henry was invisible. Henry got out of bed, shoving the astronaut, priest, and boxer aside, and dashed towards the door. As he was about to leave the room, the door vanished and was replaced by a thick iron wall. Henry looked around in horror, searching for another exit, finally noticing an open window on the other side of the room. He quickly ran towards it; it was his only hope to ever escape. He wavered around, and with every step the sirens thundered even louder. As he climbed to the window, he felt a force pulling him back to the bed. The sirens were relentlessly intense, and Henry began to feel hopeless. He layed in bed, plugging his ears and closing his eyes. At some point, the noises disappeared all together. Finally at ease, Henry opened his eyes once again, and in front of him stood two nurses.

“Hello? Where did everyone go?” This time the nurses acknowledged his presence, rushing towards him immediately.

“Are you okay, Henry?” they asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Where did the astronaut, priest, and boxer go?” The nurses glanced at each other understanding that his delusional question was a result of the drugs in his system.

“You were in a terrible accident, Henry, and you broke your arm. The drugs we administered are probably why you’re hallucinating,” responded one of the nurses.

“So you’re saying that no one came to visit me in this room?”

“No one but your mother Henry.” The nurses helped Henry up and led him out of the recovery room. As they passed through the waiting room, Henry noticed on top of his visitor sheet, the signatures Armstrong, Francis, and Mayweather.






ridemedtrust.com

Trapped

The first thirty steps, done. My heart was beating out of my chest and my breath was shortening. I told my friend Hannah, “I’m going back down, there is no way I am doing this.”

She said, “Everything will be fine, I already did this ride, and I really think you will enjoy it.”

Steve, Hannah’s brother, told me, “If I can do it you can too.”

One more flight of stairs and then I would be at the top, and then there was only one way down. The slide is known as Poseidon's Revenge. I had been dreading this all day. This was the one ride I knew I did not want to go on. I had already spent the morning conquering my fears, going down slides I never dreamt I would go down. I thought “that’s enough, no one will make you do anything else. You proved them all wrong.” However, there I was getting ready to go in a slide that shot you up 60 kilometers an hour.

We sat in the line, which in reality was 30 minutes long, but the wait felt like an eternity. I watched as people’s faces turn from enjoyment to fear. The floor dropped from underneath them and with a blink of an eye, they were gone. They were either having the time of their life or going down that slide wishing they were anywhere other than there. As we were approaching the front of the line the couple before us each got inside a tube. The woman was in the far tube on the other side of the platform, and was hyperventilating and something looked wrong. I realized she was just as scared as I was, but she did it. I was starting to believe that maybe I would go down the slide and be fine. The woman went down the slide screaming as if someone just died. Which, made me go back to feeling unsure about going on the slide at all.

During this whole period, of waiting my friends were telling me how everything was going to be fine. Hannah said, “I’ve gone down this and do you really think I would let you on this if I thought it was not safe?”

“No”, I said mumbling.

Unfortunately, Steve proceeded to tell me “I came up to go on this slide earlier and they said I might get stuck.”

“Wait, what,” I asked anxiously.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t happen to you. And if you do get stuck, it won’t be that bad. They will just call the fire department and send you food and water through the slide,” Steve said calmly, but I could tell he was super nervous, too.

I was panicking, I didn’t want to get stuck in the slide, so much so, that I didn’t even realize we were at the front of the line. It was Steve’s turn to go. Hannah and I both looked at each other as Steve went pale. Steve slowly walked to the tube and got in. When he got in he started having second thoughts and then started screaming. “Get me out. I don’t want to do this.” The countdown in the tube started and he made the sign of the cross and then he was gone. I was too busy laughing to realize that it was finally my turn.

The man running the slide had to weigh you to make sure you had enough momentum to get up the big incline, which makes the ride so intense. The man running the slide cleared Hannah, she was good to go. The man said “Step right up,” like I was in some circus.

The light on the scale turned yellow. The worst color it could turn. This meant I would be either okay or stuck. The man said, “So you might end up getting stuck, so if you do just push yourself.”

I lost my mind, “I’m not getting on. Why would I put myself in that situation?”

Hannah said while from the tube, “You will be fine, don’t stress.”

The man said, “Yeah, you will probably be fine.”

“Alright,” I said and got into the tube.

When I was in the tube, I came to the realization that I was in a coffin, cramped, confined, and scary. The countdown started.

“Three….” Here we go, there is no turning back now.

“Two…..” I need to get out of this tube.

“ One.” I was gone.

My breath was taken away and I couldn’t even scream. My eyes were closed the entire time. Then I came to a stop, fast almost too fast. I knew this was a fast ride, but I didn’t know it was so short. I opened my eyes and everything was yellow. “Oh no,” I whispered.

I was stuck. I was stuck in a big plastic tube. I was panicking, I didn’t know what to do. I started screaming. I tried climbing back up the slide to regain momentum; it didn’t work. I tried pushing, but I was still stuck. I started remembering all the things Steve said to me, about how the fire department would have to come and send me food through the slide. I knew I was going to be stuck here for hours, so I started crying hysterically. I was banging on the side of the slide screaming “help!”I thought I was going to die. Something would happen and another person would come flying out of the tube at 60 kilometers an hour and kill me. They would hit my neck and I would be lights out. Then I saw a light and a silhouette of a person. A man with a Panama hat on opened the slide, and calmly said: “Why are you crying?”

The Skis

The woman was a soft snuggly pillow, of neon pink, soaring through the air. I bumped into her so fast that I couldn’t even stop to see if she was okay. My skis just wouldn’t listen to me. They seemed to be having some sort of disagreement. I found myself flying down the advanced slope because my instructor told me I was ready and shoved me down that terrifying trail. I didn’t have time to wonder at his amused expression or why he veered off to the easier trail. Thump. Another casualty. Another pillowy person. Man? Woman? I heard a rapidly growing faint curse. As I lifted off into the crisp cold air, my limbs every which way, I swear I could hear my skis arguing with each other.

“She doesn’t know what she is doing!” the right ski said to the left ski.

“Yes, she does, otherwise the instructor wouldn’t have sent her down this run. Just cooperate, and let’s get her down safely.” the left ski replied.

“Where's the fun in that?” replied the right ski.

My skis were definitely running the show. All I could do was just go along for the ride. Time was playing tricks, it was both going faster than the speed of light and also in slow motion. Damn my ski instructor, what on earth was he thinking? Thinking? Who had time to think. Still skiing. So much snow. I didn’t realize that I had entered a ski park. While skiing I felt that the snow wasn’t soft anymore, so I looked down, and saw myself on a metal ski bar. I was petrified. If I stopped I would fall down, so I didn’t stop. I made my skis parallel and hoped for the best. I ended up flying off the metal bar, landing on my skies and continued skiing as if nothing happened.

“Whoa, did you see that?” The left ski shouted to the right ski.

“Yeah, I was aiming for a big spill.” Answered the right ski with a smirk.

“Good thing I won that one,” the left ski said.

“I’ll give you that. Perfect form on the landing,” the right ski complimented.

I was getting the hang of this; I didn’t know what I was doing, but my skis did. I just wish they would stop arguing with each other and just get me to the bottom in one piece. Oh no, here we go again. This time there was a pole in front of me. Luckily for me my left ski stopped me from crashing into it. I continued skiing down the hill. Suddenly, I heard someone yelling, “Move out of my way! Move!” Bang. Somebody bumped into me. Before I knew it, I was in the air. Way way up in the air, doing a summersault.

“Wheeee!” the skis yelled.

Even my skis were impressed. My skis began to cooperate with one another, so I landed well on my skis, and skied all the way down. Relief. The end of the run. At first I thought it was my skis. People were clapping, and telling me I should go to the Olympics. My skis agreed. Who am I to argue with my skis? My instructor was being put in an ambulance. His skis got the better of him.

Knees

Knees

Shail and I were at a trampoline park on May 2, 2015. He bends his knees and jumps higher than me every time. He did a couple backflips and landed perfectly.

“How do you jump and land so perfectly, Shail?” I questioned.

“Its all about bending and using your knees, Ansh.” The next time I got my turn to dunk, I tried bending my knees, but I went too low and tumbled. He laughed and said, “Use your knees not your butt!” We both laughed and then we went to the foam pit.

He taught me how to prep myself for a jump. We started on a flat surface because he said,

“First learn on the normal ground cause then it will be easier to do it on a trampoline.” He told me to just bend my knees and stand up. I did that for 12 minutes. After that, he said,

“Now try to do the same thing but instead of standing up, swing your arms and then push up from your legs.” He said like a professional coach. I tried doing what he said, and I managed to jump higher than I ever had. I realized that I was hoping by only tweaking my knees. What I really had to do was bend my knees till an approximately 80-degree angle was formed at my knee. I practiced jumping like that for about 15 minutes. I was tired after so much exercise so I went to get some water. While drinking from the fountain, all I thought about was bend knees and release.

I went to the basketball hoop, took a ball, and went back a couple of paces. I took a step, bent my knees, and jumped.

“You touched the rim!” I heard Shail scream with the sound of excitement, joy, and contentment.

“I did touch the rim but I didn’t dunk bro,” I grumbled. I decided I would practice more and then hopefully be able to jump higher. I practiced for another 20 minutes. After that, I went to drink water again. The same words, “bend knees and release” were going through my mind. I went to the rim again and took a ball.

“You did it!!!” screamed Shail when I slammed the ball into the rim.

“Challo, let's have a competition of who can dunk more.”

“Ok bhai” Shail agreed. We decided each of us would get 7 tries and whoever completed the hardest and best dunks won. He started and completed the first two with ease. When he started his run-up for the third one, I couldn’t see him, and I put my hand out to grab a ball that was on the ground. He was running fast and in the blink of an eye, his bent knee collided with the base of my thumb and our heads collided too.

I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke up in a hospital with him next to my bed. I had realized that we both blacked out. He has a cast on his knee which was not bent, and his head was wrapped in gauze. I had a bruise on my head, but it was not covered in gauze. I asked the nurse about Shail’s health.

“He has broken his knee and he has a concussion from you guys’ crash. He won’t be able to kick with his right leg, and he won’t be able to run a lot and fast for the rest of his life. Your thumb broke his frontal plate of the knee which ripped through his muscles and ripped his ligaments and tissues. His knee was also dislocated. He also can’t bend his knees too far and he won’t be able to jump,” the nurse said blankly. I felt like a villain for breaking his knee with my thumb. One thing to know about Shail is that sports were his life. That's all he did in his free time, and he played soccer and cricket for his school. He woke up after the nurse left the room.

“Sorry bro, I never saw you running towards me,” I apologized. Shail smiled and said,

“This is life, stuff happens.” I felt so bad that I started crying. I had ruined his life by preventing him from doing his hobby and passion. The only question in my head and I’m sure in his head too, was, what will he do now?