Waiting

Byrne, Michael. “What Exactly Is Psychosis Anyway?” Motherboard, 19 June 2017, motherboard.vice.com/en_us/article/7xpq39/what-exactly-is-psychosis-anyway.

One day when school ended, Daniella came to the school gate and there was no one to pick her up. Daniella’s mom wasn’t there and her dad was on a business trip. Her mom had a tendency of being late for everything except picking her daughter up from school. Daniella was really disappointed. Unfortunately, her friend Kate couldn’t stay with Daniella at school to wait for her mom because Kate’s mom was already at school. Daniella was really sad to stay at school alone. Daniella called her mom, but no one responded, so she decided to wait at school.

“Where is my mom? Is she okay?” thought Daniella; these thoughts didn’t leave her. Kids nowadays can’t live without their smartphones and other gadgets, and Daniella’s phone died within an hour. At this point she was really bored and just sat at the gate looking at the strangers passing by, waiting for her mom to come. 

“These people are going home, they are going to see their moms. Why is my mom not here? Did something happen to her?” Daniella was disappointed. The more she looked at people the sadder she got. As time went by, all the students, teachers, and the principal had left the school. Daniella was being watched by the security guards. 

“Fuuuuun,” she thought for a second, but suddenly the bright lights of a car caught her attention. The car looked like her mom’s. “Is that my mom? Finally, I’m getting home today,” she thought relieved. However, it wasn’t her mom. The idea that she would be staying at school for a little longer was killing her. 

“Why don’t I just walk home instead of waiting for a wonder? Or why don’t I just ask someone to call my mom? I hope nothing happened to her.” Daniella started to blame herself for doing nothing, “I’m going to solve this problem by myself, I’m just going to walk home.” As she started walking towards the exit, she saw her mom’s friend, Ella, coming into the school.

“Hey Daniella, I’m here to take you home, sorry that you had to wait for so long. Don’t worry, everything is okay; your mom just couldn’t make it here,” Ella said politely. She also told Daniella that she’s currently using her mom’s car.

“It’s okay, I’m happy that you came,” answered Daniella. Ella brought her home. They drove in dead silence: neither of them said anything in the car as they felt a little awkward around each other. Finally, they got to Daniella’s house; all the lights were shut off. The second Daniella stepped into the house the lights turned on and confetti were thrown everywhere.

“Surprise!” everyone exclaimed coming out of their hiding spots, including her mom. Kate was also there. Daniella was really shocked and speechless.

“Why? I waited for you at school for so long and none of you even said a word about it!” said Daniella still unable to shake her feeling of abandonment.

“It’s a surprise party for you, dear, don’t be mad at us,” said her mom. Daniella wasn’t offended after awhile and just began to enjoy this glorious evening in the company of her friends and relatives.

Running Stitch

“Surgery and the Opioid Epidemic.” Healthline, Healthline Media, www.healthline.com/health-news/how-surgery-helped-fuel-the-opioid-epidemic.

As I sewed up the elderly gentleman, I held my breath as the last stitch went in. It was a tradition, a superstition wishing him good luck. Heart transplants were risky surgeries, but vital to ensure the patient’s survival. This one had been waiting for his brand new heart for months.

“Well done, team. Get some rest. It’s been a quiet evening: never a good sign,” I reminded my surgical staff. Another hospital superstition.

I walked briskly along the corridor, hungry for another surgery. Patients lay peacefully asleep; the few nurses on call walked unhurriedly, a perfect evening for them. But I felt apprehensive. Suddenly, my pager buzzed against my hip: an emergency in the pit. I jogged downstairs towards the ER. The mood of the hospital had shifted dramatically. Residents and interns sprinted towards supply rooms, barking orders at each other; nurses paged the hospital staff that weren’t on duty. My eagerness to perform another operation changed to unease. An opportunity to learn new techniques and save a life was one thing. However, a tragedy was nothing to be excited about.

My eyes fell upon a middle-aged woman lying on a stretcher. Her torn clothes were covered in blood, and a thin piece of metal poked out of her skin, impaling her chest. Her eyes were closed, and her breath was ragged and uneven.

It was my sister, Ellie.

“Oh my God! Ellie! Help! I need some help over here!” I yelled desperately. Everyone was occupied with their own patients.

“Nurse! Who else is on call?” I asked Nurse Allen.

“You’re the only on-call attending. The rest are on their way,” she answered in a rush.

“Book an emergency OR. Whichever room is untaken,” I instructed her.

I wheeled my sister into the OR and began the extensive surgery. The metal had thankfully missed Ellie’s heart and other major organs, but one small twitch from either of us could be deadly. I carefully slid the piece out of her chest, exactly the route it entered in order to prevent more damage from being done. Blood started running from the hole in her chest, but we didn’t have enough blood on hand to replace it. She was running out of time.

The heart rate monitor started beeping furiously. Ellie’s heart pulse was slowing.

“Come on, El!” I encouraged as I operated, blood flowing profusely from the wounds.

Flatline. The sharp, constant beep blared.

“Nurse! Get the defibrillator!” I cried at Nurse Allen. She set up the paddles and handed them to me.

“Charge to 300. Clear!” No change. “Charge to 400. Clear!”

“We’ve got a pulse.” Nurse Allen told me, relieved. I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly closed her up.

A few hours later, my pager buzzed furiously as I lay asleep in the on-call room. It was a code blue: someone was in need of immediate resuscitation. I leaped out of bed and sprinted to the room the page was from. But I arrived just in time to here Nurse Allen calling time of death. I glanced at the patient.

Ellie was being zipped up in a large, black bag. Her body was pale and very dead. I sunk to the floor outside her room, breaking down into sobs. Tears ran down my cheeks, and the last thing I remember hearing was Dr. Harrison’s affirmation:

“She would have made it. She was healthy, and the metal didn’t puncture any organs. But whoever operated on her used a running stitch instead of Cushing sutures, so she bled to death. Some idiot intern, I’ll bet. That’s what did her in.”

Betrayal of the Red Shoes

Looking out the window of my house again, I watch the kids starting to arrive at school. They walk up the stairs, slouched, as if they’re walking dead. They drop into their chairs as if they’ve been doing hours of work in the fields. There is this one young boy I always see. He’s around 16, exactly my age. He comes to school always wearing bright red shoes. He, too, seems like there are so many other places he’d rather be when I’m here right across the street wishing I was right there where he is. But at least here isn’t back home where my friends and family were torn apart, terrorized, and taken away. I hear the bell at exactly three in the afternoon everyday. I run into my room and watch them rush out of school with smiles on their faces.

The next day, I see him again; the boy with the red shoes. Except this time, he’s leaving before three o'clock, alone. Is he sick? Is he not feeling well? What happened? What could be the reason for him leaving before everyone else? It must've been something urgent or else he wouldn’t have left. The next morning I see the boy with red shoes come back to school, but yet again, I see him leaving school early. He leaves early the next day, and the next day too. It’s always just before three o’clock. This time there were people by the entrance and I saw him climb out the window instead. I'm assuming that he doesn't want others to know. I decide to follow, his red shoe steps to see where he is heading.

I follow his shoe prints that lead me right around the corner. There he is, standing with some other kids I recognize from school. I'm shocked; I thought they all needed to be in class studying. I walk closer trying to hear what they're talking about. They notice me and I immediately freeze; they start coming closer to me.

One of them yells, “What the hell are you staring at?”

“Nothing, I just don’t understand. Why aren't you at school?” I asked.

“None of your business. Who even are you?” one of the boys replied in a snippy manner.

“My name is Bassam Alhamadam I come from Syria.”

“Wait are you, one of those refugees?”

The boy with the red shoes finally spoke up, “I think I’ve heard about you in class.”

“Really? You know about me too?” For a second I was so happy.

“No, I left class before the teacher could say anything else. So, what's your deal then?” the red shoe boy responded.

“My family and I escaped from Syria as soon we realized home wasn't the same anymore. It was a hard decision to make but it was the right one. We ran away and to this day we struggle to adjust to our new life. My one wish is to go to school; I sit by my window everyday wishing I could learn something new. Tell me, please, what is it like?” I plead.

“It's so boring. That's why we ditch,” another boy says.

In my head I was so frustrated. A wave of emotions hit me from the inside. They were so ungrateful. I couldn't believe the words coming out of their mouths. They are so blessed; don't they understand?

“Converse Clipart Hanging .” Converse Clipart Hanging - Pencil and in Color Converse Clipart Hanging, moziru.com/explore/Converse%20clipart%20hanging/#go_post_10461_converse-clipart-hanging-10.jpg.

More Than You Know

Hughes, Jane. “KosoMasa.” KosoMasa, 19 May 2016, www.koso-masa.net/studying-too-much/.

Since receiving my rejection letter from UPenn on December 24th, all I could focus on was getting into college. I ate, slept, and breathed studying. I was studying for my AP exams, my finals, and getting ahead in every class so I would be prepared for anything and excel at everything. I gave up partying, friends, my social life, video games, and even spending time with my family. Some nights I wouldn’t even eat dinner. I signed up for every after-school activity so that I would have an edge over my peers. Towards the end of the first semester, I reached my lowest point when I began to separate myself from family activities and interactions. This resulted in conversations lost in the void of studying, and experiences gone forever to the black hole of time. It got to a point where all I could think about was studying, and I blocked out everything and everyone from my life who interfered with it. I had one-way conversations with people: talking to them, asking for things, but not paying much attention to their answers or their needs. All that mattered was me and my all-knowing textbooks.
     “Mooooooom. Can you please go get me some Red Bull?"
     “Sorry, honey, I am too tired today. Maybe tomorrow?”
     “Thanks, mom, let me know when you get back.”
     “Honey, I said I’ll get them tomorrow night.”
     No answer.
     1 week later:
     “Moooooom. Can you please go out and get me some Doritos and Mountain Dew?”
    “Sorry, sweetheart, mommy’s not feeling very well today. I haven’t slept a full night in months.”
     “Thanks, ma, I’ll be in my room. Just bring them up when you get back.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This way of life continued on for months; day after day, with no end in sight. My breaks, my weekends, all my time was spent studying. I started missing big family events; my little sister’s birthday party, a dance recital, and karate tournaments. In addition, I demanded complete silence in the house while I was studying, effectively instilling a tranquil atmosphere for the majority of the day. This enabled me to focus on learning without any distractions. I think at that point in time, I spent more hours of the day with my textbooks than with real people, and it only got increasingly worse over time. One day I heard cries coming from downstairs:

“Moooooom. Can you please tell whomever is making noise downstairs to keep it down? I'm trying to study.?”

“I’m trying - do you think I want to hear his crying?”

“Thanks mom, love you.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In May I got my acceptance letter from NYU, and it was one of the happiest days of my life. I decided to rejoice with the people who made it possible: the College Board. I brought some snacks up to my room and decided to do a congratulatory dance. Alas, my work was not done; I would not allow myself to rest comfortably on my laurels. I decided to crack open my textbooks and see if I could start preparing for some of my college courses. My mom, on the other hand, thought that I was deserving of a celebratory dinner with the family. I had become so accustomed to being alone that I actually thought I was happy celebrating by myself in my room surrounded my textbooks and study sheets.

“Sweetie?” She knocked on my door and gently swung it open. “Maybe you should take a break for tonight and eat with us. At least for a little while.”

“Mom I wish I could, but I need to learn this new coding language that just came out ASAP so I don’t fall behind.”

“Ben, I’m serious now. You haven’t shown up for dinner for the past few months. You come home, study, and when dinner’s ready you take it up to your room so you can study some more. For tonight you are eating dinner with us and that’s final. I will see you in the kitchen in five minutes. Love you!”

“No, Mom. Getting into college is not a guarantee of success in the future. If I want to be the best in my field, I have to work harder than anyone else.”

“You can take one night off: it won’t kill you.”

“One missed day is another day my competition gains on me.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Wow, look who decided to show up. Any particular reason for you to bless us with your presence, oh great one?” she replied in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Listen ,mom: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I completely agree that I could benefit from taking a couple days off here and there.”

“Thank you. I also made spaghetti and meatballs, just in case you decided to show up.”

“Perfect. Who’s that next to Noah?”

“Very funny Ben, I thought you lost your sense of humor while you were living alone for 4 months.”

“Mom, I wasn’t joking.”

“Sweetie do you need glasses? That’s your little brother Jake!”

“Little brother!? When did you have another baby?”

A month after receiving my acceptance letter to NYU, I heard a knock on my front door. I opened my door to the “smiling faces” of two Israeli soldiers. I asked them if there was a problem, and if I had done something wrong. They replied that I had missed all of my Tzav Rishon, and were wondering why I hadn’t showed up. “Tzav Rishon! I never even received a letter,” but as soon as the words slipped out of my mouth, I knew where I had gone wrong. I must’ve not read it and dismissed into the “not-a-college letter” pile, other wise known as my garbage can.  After I explained what had occured, the officers said that they are required to escort me to my interview so that I don’t ditch it again. During my interview I told the officer that I already made plans to go to college and that military service did not fit into my timeline. The officer looked at me as if he could care less about my plans and proceeded to fill out my mandatory draft induction card. I was in shock. I could comprehend the situation unfolding. I had a plan. I gave up days and months of my time to reach my goal, yet within the span of ten minutes, all of my hard work and effort was going to be washed away. I informed NYU regarding the situation, to which they replied, expressing how sorry they were for this unfortunate event to occur. In addition, if I’d like to, they would be happy to review my application again in three years.

The Clock in My Heart

       

Created By: John

        A clock, with its ever moving hands, weaves a tapestry of time and death, its constant cry screams a slow countdown.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        It was deathly quiet save for the constant tick-tock of the clock.

        A bead of sweat fell from Peter Hollis’ brows and landed with a plink on the metallic surface of the table. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat; the man seated opposite of him grinned, showing a set of rotting teeth.

        “Shall we begin?” asked the man, the grin never leaving his face.

        Hollis let out a raspy sigh and took out a handgun from his leather briefcase; his eyes locked on the man before him.

        The man looked old and aged, a rare sight to behold these days, yet somehow, the man invoked a sense of fear, a mad desire to know the unknown. Perhaps it is the hollow eyes that seem to cry with sadness but never let out a tear, that invoked such a fear; or perhaps it is the grin that is turned upwards, seemingly suspended in time.

        “Time is passing, friend.” The man spoke again, the words echoed in the enclosed room.

        “There is no need to rush,” Hollis replied.

        “Perhaps not for me, but I feel that you may need the extra time. After all, time is precious.”

        “Is it? The federation had already given us a cure for it; no one ages, no one is constrained anymore, scholars could spend an eternity learning and teaching, and life could be taken by the throat and throttled by any man or child. Time is gone, destroyed by human intuitions.” Hollis replied slowly, cocking his gun.

        A moment of time passed before the man spoke again.

        “Look at the clock, it was made to measure a concept that men do not control; it was made so that what is known could be used to explain the unknown. How little we know about time and how much we longed to understand and control it, much like how we control the beasts on land, the fishes in the seas, and the birds in the air. But men will never control it; instead, they take it for granted; they lavish their lives without a care in the world and waste their energies on fickle disputes.”

        Silence settled between the two men.

        “Do you believe in God?” the man asked, breaking the silence.

        “Of course,” Hollis replied, “The God of the Federation and of the people.”

        “I believe in a god as well. One who destroys both the gods and the divine, one who destroy worlds and universes; all things answer to him and to him alone.”

        The man continued.

        “A long time ago, there was many gods in the world, a Christian god, a Jewish god, a Muslim god, the gods of the Hindus, the gods of the Buddhists; gods who are great and powerful in the eyes of man. But where are they now? Drawn and broken in fictional novels, taught in schools as ancient mythology. Why did they disappear? Why were they forgotten and lost?”

        The man leaned forward, “Time. It is time; time is what rules the world of the present and the worlds of the past and of the future. Time my friend. It forgets, forgives, heals and kills. Life is nothing without time.”

        The man settled back in his seats.

        Hollis stared hard at the creature before him, nothing he said made sense yet somehow everything rang true; time was abolished many cycles ago, the Federation declared it as a terrible evil that must be eradicated and the masses rejoiced. Following close behind, the federation issued the Proclamation of 2251 which created the standard measurements of cycles. The Federal Cycles and Alterations Administration was created soon after. People were happy, life was good, aging was slowed almost to a complete halt, time was no longer a problem at home, work, or school. How could this be any better? How could something uncontrollable be good? Was it not in the best interest for everyone to abolish such a monstrosity?

        Horris grimaced, a silver spike lodged deep in his occipital lobe vibrated, resulting in flashes of lights that danced across his eyes. The Federation has warranted the man’s death; the verdict: blasphemy. The man looked at Horris and smiled. It was a strange smile, the lips lifted into a curl but never reaches the eyes. Sadness perhaps, or maybe it is pain. Or maybe it is a combination of the two. But it doesn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore for this man.

        Horris lifted the handgun and pointed it between the man’s eyes, the same eyes that spoke of madness now sparkled with sadness.

        “Friend,” the man spoke for one last time, “Remember, you cannot buy a single second back even if you offer the gods in the heavens and the devils in hell each a piece of your own soul. Cherish what is here and not what will come. God, if only I knew...”

        Two shots. It was all it took and where there was once a living man, now lies a broken body.

        It was quiet, deadly quiet. Except for the ticking of the clock. Horris narrowed his eyes, no it was impossible. But.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        The clock was shattered, broken into a million pieces from a bullet that passed through the man’s head. And yet.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        Horris clutched his heart, his eyes wide open with fear. “Oh god,” he whispered.

        Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock

        “Oh god, no, please, no, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Horris screamed as he pulled at his uniform, clawing at his ticking heart.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following manuscript was taken from the Federation’s archives. It is a recording of a phone conversation between the Secretary of State, James Richardson, and leading computer scientist, Xin Ye Zhang.

        Zhang: “Sir, the Federation AI has completed the final initialization test and is ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.”

        Richardson: “How much time do we have?”

        “A few hours at most.”

        “Goddammit, how did we reach this point where technology is advancing faster than life itself. It doesn’t seem fair that the machines we created will now create the creators.”

        “It is the only way for man to stay ahead of the other machines.”

        “To become a machine and stop time, huh? Doesn’t it seem strange that the only constraint of the human race is time?”

        “Time is certainly an advantage that the machines have over us. But I think it is only natural for one race to hand the figurative baton to another. One that is better suited.”

        Silence.

        Richardson spoke again, a soft voice that carried all of man’s worries and troubles, a voice that quivered with frantic doubts about the future.

        “Sometimes I wonder -- I wonder if my grandson will know. I wonder if he will ever find out about his ticking titanium heart, his compound quantum brain -- I wonder if they will know. If they will ever know -- that -- that they are not human.”

The Voice

“Your dad hunts, right?” Kai said as he looked up from his phone. We were sitting on his bed, in his pristine, white, empty bedroom. “I’m going to need you to get me his gun.”

Thinking about it, I don’t think I had ever objected to anything Kai said. Of course I’d get him that gun. I liked him too much to object. I believed we were one and the same. I’ve had this obsession ever since we first met, back in fourth grade. The second I saw him walk in with his luscious blonde hair and his confident swagger, I knew he was the one. We got very close after that day. From our first conversation, I felt like I could tell him anything; he was just that kind of person.

The next time we met was in school. He waved at me to come over as I walked past his locker. I discreetly handed him the weapon. No one seemed to notice. Kai always had a lot of friends. I never understood how it’s possible to get so many people to like you. Although in Kai’s case the answer is obvious: he always got what he wanted no matter what it took. That’s what made me begin to follow his word like it was holy.

“All of them have a purpose,” is what he told me. Kai said I was always his favorite; that he wanted me for the company and not for particular services. I was always very proud of this position. I felt like I’d beaten the hierarchy and secured a place at the top, right next to the leader. Kai, at this point, had been talking for 5 minutes, and I wanted to contribute. I suggested to get a map of the school and distract the security in front of the main building. Kai seemed very happy, as he proceeded to smirk and give me a kiss on the cheek. I felt satisfied with my input on the plan, although there was a voice in the back of my head, a silent whisper. It told me to abandon Kai, to break away from his influence. I quickly brushed it off and continued my mental worship for him.

Civil Site Design Group. “MT. JULIET HIGH SCHOOL.” Civil Site Design Group, Nashville, Tennessee, 2005, www.civil-site.com/projects/mt-juliet-high-school/. 

I gave him the newly acquired map the next morning at the bus station. He greeted me with a big hug.

“Today’s the day” Kai whispered with a grin.

I tried to pull the most convincing smile I could even though I hadn’t slept all night. Something didn’t feel right; the voice kept telling me to stop.

The guards were taken care of. I knew that the time was approaching. Every single second that went by felt like another dagger in my stomach. I couldn’t do it. I was too weak. I couldn’t be like Kai, I didn’t even know how to be myself. It was too late, I knew it was. The voice tried to warn me before, but I didn’t listen.

Right as I raced through the library doors, I started to hear screams. Loud, terrified, wails. I felt as if they were my own, like I was feeling their pain. Every time I heard a gunshot, it was like I was the one receiving the bullet. People began running down the hallways, pushing each other out of the way, trying to get out. With all my dismay, the only thing I could think of was to run for my life. It was too much torture. I ended up escaping through the window on the first floor, right by the chemistry room.

The second I got to my house I locked myself in. Remaining in the same position for a total of five hours, I felt all the emotions possible: disgust, shock, fear, regret. They overwhelmed me. I was tricked. I was manipulated. I was not like this. I was not him. My actions cost people their lives. I was a coward, I ran away.

“I don’t know if you’re a magician sir, your card only tells me that you are a lawyer. I’m innocent, I swear, it was all Kai. Please sir, you have to help me. I’ve been trapped here for 30 years.”

Talking Forest

Kayatta, Mike. “E3 Preview: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch.” The Escapist, 8 June 2012, www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/view/video-games/previews/9725-E3-Preview-Ni-no-Kuni-Wrath-of-the-White-Witch#&gid=gallery_785&pid=3.


It was a Tuesday morning and just three days were left until the holidays began! David got up late that morning, however, got to school on time. David wasn’t a good student. Usually, he never did his homework and he was passing all of his classes except English. Since he didn’t want trouble with his parents, he knew he had to work hard during the last week and do whatever he had to do to succeed. It had been a very difficult few week.David was in 8th grade. During the last week of school, his class learned short stories in English. All the class was assigned a project - write your own short story and draw a picture of it. David knew that it was his last chance to get his grade up and pass English, but he had only two days. “Just two days,” he thought to himself. He came home angry. He scram, hit the walls, threw everything around and ignored everyone as if he was the only one.After school on Wednesday, David ran to the forest next to the school that once was so alive but recently was very quiet and scary. As soon as he got there he sat next to a tree and began to cry. Suddenly from nowhere, he heard voices. They were coming from all over the forest. He couldn’t locate where they came from. The singsong voices kept on repeating, “Don’t cry. Tell us your problem and we will help you.”David got scared. First, he shook, then he began to tremble. His twitch that always showed up when he was nervous began to shake his entire body. David asked, “Who are you and where are you?” in a wobbly voice. As an answer, he heard, “Don’t worry, we want to help you!”He began to talk about his project quietly when suddenly he saw tigers, monkeys, and elephants come out of the bushes. He saw the beautiful trees and bright flowers open their eyes and smile at him. He saw the hyacinth macaws, the cockatiels and the budgies sitting on the trees fly down to him and sit on his shoulders and around him in a circle. David was very surprised and didn't whether to be afraid or happy. When he finished telling them about the problem, the trees and the flowers told him they would help him write the story. The birds and the animals agreed to draw a picture of their forest. They said that they always wanted to draw and write, but never had a chance before. They called David their biggest present they ever had. It was very dark and late when David got back home with his completed project!The next morning David woke up earlier than ever and dressed up nicely. He wore a pretty white shirt and jeans that he got as a present from London. He was ready as ever to present his story. David was in a very good mood; he laughed and smiled at everything and his body felt like dancing.
His story and picture were so amazing and interesting that he impressed the teacher and all his classmates. When he finished presenting in front of the class, he looked out the window and saw everyone in the forest waving and smiling at him. The birds were flying in the sky and singing. He was happier that ever. David got a very high grade, passed English and got awarded for the best short story. After school, he ran to the forest as fast as he could to tell everyone the good news and thank them for their help. The forest thanked him for giving them an opportunity to try and do something that always wanted. After that, he knew that he could always go to the forest if he had a problem because they were his friends that would always wish to help.

David and Goliath

This was Samuel’s first robotics competition, FIRST Steamworks. He just spent the last six weeks building a robot with about a dozen other team members. They came from a poor neighborhood; they also had no sponsors. Even though they lived in penury, they were able to come together and build a robot that could shoot balls, collect gears, and then finally climb a rope. This was in comparison to the other teams that were competing, each of which got sponsorships of tens of thousands of dollars and have hundreds of members.

When they arrived at the competition, to their surprise, they were able to take the victory for almost all of their games, a few dozen in total. The team kept on taking the victory for their games, all the way up to the finals game.

Their finals game was against a high school which was sponsored by NASA. The opposing team had received great amounts of money, materials, and tools from NASA; they had access to NASA’s labs and they got help from NASA’s staff. To top it all off, they had over one hundred members due to their sponsors. Sam had thought that it was unfair, how companies choose to sponsor only certain teams and give them as much as they want. He believed that if his team could win this match, if his team could get that golden trophy, that he would prove to the world that even a poor team can win. His would be David and they would be Goliath.

The game was about to begin. Each team’s driver unit was standing behind the line ready to play. Sam and his friend, Josh, were the team’s drivers. They had prepared for this moment a great deal, spending about ten hours practicing driving. The opposing team’s driver team consisted of two identical twin gamers. The twins whole role in their team was to practice driving for the six week build time, spending over three hundred hours just preparing to be drivers, not doing anything else. The referee then exclaimed, “3, 2, 1, GO!”

The drive teams had advanced forward and started controlling their robots. Sam’s team had a simple shooting mechanism, one that would miss every other ball shot and could only shoot about one ball for every two seconds. Meanwhile, the opposing team had a shooter that NASA had created for them, a replica of the one that they sent to Mars earlier that year. It would get all of the balls in, and shot four every second! The opposing team had created a great advantage over Sam’s team, and the whole audience was sure Sam’s team was going to be defeated.

Then Sam and Josh decided to try a different strategy: to only collect and drop off gears, something that their robot had done almost perfectly. With this strategy, they were able to minimize the score gap between the teams. In the last fifteen seconds, both robots had to climb a thick rope approximately one meter off the ground. This was the part that could make or break the advantage that the opposing team had. If Sam’s robot would be able to climb and the opposing team could not, they would take the victory for the competition.






“FIRST Steamworks Field.” Robo Vikes, Wordpress, 7 Feb. 2017, team4206.wordpress.com/2017/02/07/robo-vikes-first-steamworks-strategy/.


Both robots had began climbing, and both managed to reach to the top. Sam was sure that we would lose and his eyes displayed sadness. One of the twin drivers saw the sadness in Sam, he knew he was taking away his victory. The twin realized that this victory would just be another one of many for his team sponsored by NASA, one more trophy to the large collection. However, it would be the first golden trophy for Sam’s team. He was unsure of what to do: nothing and take the victory, or something which would cause his mentor to be mad at him but give a poor team some dignity. The referee had called “3, 2, 1” and at that last moment, the twin commanded the robot to let go of the rope.

Sam could not believe his eyes; the NASA’s team robot had a malfunction at the end which caused for them to let go of the rope, and therefore lose the match! Sam had never felt like he accomplished something in his life up until then. He was able to prove to the world that even a poor team could take down the richest. He was David and they were Goliath. The opposing team’s driver looked at Sam holding his trophy and immediately knew that he did the right thing.

Paper Money

Paper Money

Each day, I lost more and more faith in him and saw more of who he truly was underneath the mask he had been wearing when we first got married. Hank had begun gambling, which soon led to a full blown addiction. In fact, most nights he went out, only coming back the next day at around noon. We were penniless and hungry; we had no hope. One cloudy, windy night Hank returned furious, seething with anger. His hair was a mess, as if he had run his hands through it angrily. I could tell from the look on his face that he had lost another bet that night, and now we were really in trouble. He stormed to our bedroom and slammed the door. I slept on the couch that night. I worried about the kids, and what we would do if we were homeless. 

The next day, he woke up early and determined, with a strange look on his face. He left our apartment that was above a Bún chả restaurant explaining he would be back later. I watched him walk down the street, narrowly avoiding a speeding motorcycle. I felt uneasy so I decided to discreetly follow him. I hid behind corners as he kept randomly walking through the bustling, cramped streets of Hanoi. I saw him approach an altar that had been built in to the tangled branches of a tree, with a man already there, praying to his ancestors and about to offer them the paper money in his hand. My eyes widened as soon as I recognized the man as one of my friends who had helped us settle in when we first moved here. I was not prepared for what happened next. Hank punched the man and then pried apart his fingers to grab the paper money, mistaking it for real money. Hank then took off with the money, leaving my friend Giang on the ground. I ran towards him, helped him up and led him home. He thanked me profusely, saying that this act would ensure good karma. 

As soon as I returned home I confronted Hank, and he admitted he stole the money. I was enraged that he had gone to such extreme measures to get money, and I felt even more confused as to why I married this monster. I kept yelling at him, wanting to express my negative emotions, while he just kept telling me to calm down and repeating that it wasn’t a problem. After our argument he left with the money, explaining he was going to buy food. I let him, not caring about what would happen to him once the cashier realized it was fake money. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. I grew restless as to what Hank was still doing with the fake money. I sat near the door, motionless, waiting for him. My eyes started to droop; the quiet, tinkling sound of the kids laughing echoed down the hallway. The hour hand on the clock chimed again, meaning Hank had now been gone for 15 hours. My heart fell, as I realized that Hank wouldn’t be returning. 

The next morning a shrill phone call stirred me from my slumber. I grabbed the phone and answered. Giang’s deep voice babbled on from the other side of the receiver, informing me that my husband had checked in into his hotel late last night. He also told me of an ominous dream he had had, thinking it could not be a coincidence that he had dreamt this on the same night that Hank had checked into his hotel. In Giang’s dream, his ancestors had visited him, upset with the fact that he hadn’t burned that paper money for them. He apologized to them, and as soon as the ancestors realized what had really happened they vanished from his dreams. 

That same night, a spirit appeared in Hank’s dreams, foreboding his demise. The spirit warned that Hank’s future could only be salvaged if he paid heed to the repercussions of his actions. After this dream, Hank woke up straight away, determined to make things right with his wife. He stood up, and was pacing around the room when suddenly in walked a familiar man. Hank was startled to see him, but remembering his dream he kneeled on the ground and apologized over and over again, nearly weeping. 

With Hank kneeling at his feet, Giang saw with his own two eyes how much Hank had changed in one night, but he wasn’t sure how real this transformation was. Hank jumped to his feet, exclaiming he was going to go make things right with his wife. He hurried towards the hotel door but didn’t even make it past the doorstep, when suddenly the air around Hank shimmered, and Hank turned into a cockroach. Giang cried out in surprise and dropped onto his knees, his hands outstretched towards the cockroach. He cradled it in his hands, wondering how he was going to explain this to his dear friend; wondering why fate had been so cruel.

Pownall, Luke. “Altar in a Banyan Tree, Hanoi.” Tumblr, Tumblr, 2018, lukepownall.tumblr.com/post/164057903491/altar-in-a-banyan-tree-hanoi.

The Thousand Needles

The Thousand Needles

“Needle.” Golden Eye Needles, www.sewletscraft.com/index.php/product/gold-eye-needles-5pc/.